The Cosmopolitan 1890-10: Vol 9 Iss 6

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VoL. IX ‘THE COSMOPOLITAN. OCTOBER, 1890. No. 6. THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. By GEORGE GRANTHAM BAIN. HERE are eight executive depart- ments of the government of the United States. The eighth was created when President Cleveland, on the 9th day of February 1889, signed the bill creating ‘ 4 —the Department of State, over which Thomas Jefferson presided during the first administration ; the Treasury Department, whose first official head was Alexander Hamilton ; the War Department, of which SECRETARY BLAINE, STATE DEPARTMENT. the Department of Agriculture. So the ‘«‘ Department of Seeds,”’ as it is familiarly termed in Washington, is the youngest of the departments for the transaction of the executive business of the government. Originally there were five departments Copyright, 1890, by THE COSMOPOLITAN PUBLISHING COMPANY. Henry Knox of Massachusetts had charge; the Postoffice Department, with Samuel Osgood of Massachusetts as postmaster general ; and the Department of Justice, with Edmund Randolph of Virginia in the attorney general’s chair. The affairs of

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646 THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. MR. BLAINE’S PRIVATE OFFICE, STATE DEPARTMENT. the navy were at that time and for several years in the hands of the secretary of war, and the affairs of what is now one of the largest and most important departments under the government—the Interior De- partment—were managed by small indi- vidual bureaus. In 1798 the Navy Depart- ment was organized, with Benjamin Stod- dart of Maryland as secretary (George Ca- bot of Massachusetts having declined the office), and on March 8, 1849, Thomas Ew- ing of Ohio, who had filled the positions of United States senator and secretary of the treasury, took charge of the newly created Department of the Interior. The Department of Agriculture was created by Act of Congress February 9, 1889, and Norman J. Colman of Missouri, the com- missioner of agriculture under President Cleveland, was nominated the first secretary of agriculture. The eight men who stand at the head of the executive departments are the chosen confidential advisers of the president, his agents in carry- ing out the policy which he formulates for the execution of enacted law. Beyond this confidential relation to the president these men for many years had no standing offi- cially above that of clerks of a high order. In fact they were spoken of as the presi- dent’s clerks and the term «“‘secretary’’ originally had this significance. But in the Forty-ninth Congress there was enacted a law creating a line of succession to the presi- dency in which the secretary of state, the secretary of the treasury and the other ‘ cab- inet officers’’ in their recog- nized order of importance were named as successors to the presidential office in event of the death of the president and the vice-president. The political exigency which called for the enactment of this law was thesudden death, in the recess of Congress, of Vice-President Hendricks. Under the law then existing, if the president had died the presidency would have fallen to the presi- dent pro tempore of the Senate, and in the event of his death or disability, to the speaker of the House of Representatives. There was no speaker at that time, for Congress had had no meeting. The presi- dent pro tempore of the Senate had not been chosen, but it was certain that he would be a republican because the repub- lican party had a majority in the upper house of Congress. This situation then arose : If the president of the United States died before the meeting of Congress (the vice-president being dead) there would be no one to succeed to the presidency : if the president died after the meeting of the Con- gress and the election of a president pro tempore by the Senate (the vice-president being dead) the presidential office would

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devolve on a man of political persuasion opposite to that of the men whom the peo- ple had put in power presumably for a term of four years ; and thus in a day— yes, ina minute—the whole country would undergo a complete political revolution so far as the complexion of the executive branch of the government was concerned. Under the new law, the president’s ad- visers are his possible successors. If the president should die, Vice-President Mor- ton would succeed to the presidency for the remainder of his term. In the event of the death of Mr. Morton before the ex- piration of that term the secretary of state, Mr. Blaine, would become ex-officio presi- dent of the United States. If Mr. Blaine should become incapacitated or should die, the duties of the presidential office would devolve upon the secretary of the treasury, Mr. Windom, and so on through the en- tire list of the president’s advisers with the exception of the one whose office was. THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. 647 DIPLOMATIC RECEPTION ROOM, STATE DEPARTMENT. last created. The secretary of agriculture is not mentioned in the law of succession, his office having been created after that law was passed. The existence of a ‘‘ cabinet office’’ as such is not recognized at all in existing law ; so the head of a department owes his position as adviser to the chief executive entirely to custom and to the courtesy of the occupant of the presidential chair. When the proposition to establish a De- partment of Agriculture was made in Con- gress, it was spoken of frequently as a plan to create a ‘‘new cabinet office.’’ Upon consultation with the authorities the advocates of the bill (among whom were several aspirants to the honor it pro- posed to create) discovered that Congress had no authority in the naming of the president’s advisers : that the cabinet was a body the existence of which depended upon the president’s will, and that the new secretary of agriculture might never oc-

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648 THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. cupy a seat in the cabinet room. It was confidently expected, however, at the time the bill was passed, that the president would include the new secretary in his list of advisers ; and the expectation was after- wards realized in the action of President Cleveland and his successor, President Harrison. The secretary of state is less accessible than any other member of the president's cabinet. The business of the department over which he presides is conducted with much secrecy. Much of the business of the State Department is of a confidential character, and the negotiations of the sec- retary of state with the representatives of foreign powers, which constitute a greater part of his duties, would be rendered value- less if they were given premature public- ity. It is for this reason that so little is ESE a TREASURER HUSTON SIGNING DRAFTS, TREASURY DEPARTMENT. known of the State Department through the daily papers, and that greater respect is paid to information concerning its trans- actions than is accorded the business of the other departments. The secretary of state is not the less overrun with visitors because he is in a degree inaccessible. But the hours which he fixes for daily business are neces- sarily broken in upon by the demands of foreign ministers, and so the secretary’s movements are very uncertain. They have been rendered the more so during the term of Mr. Blaine (particularly since the death of his son, Mr. Walker Blaine, the examiner of claims for the department) by the fact that the secretary spends a great part ofhis time at his house, and transacts much of the department’s business there. Mr. Walker Blaine was the mouthpiece of the secretary of state for along time. <A quotation from him was regarded as quite as authoritative as a statement from his father. Since his death there has not been so free access to the news of the depart- ment as there was before that time. The duties of the secre- tary of state include cor- respondence with the pub- lig ministers and consuls of the United States and with the representatives of foreign powers accred- ited to the United States, and negotiations relating to the foreign affairs of the United States. He is the medium of correspondence between the president and the chief executives of the states; he has the custody of the great seal of the United States, which he affixes to executive proc- lamations, to commissions and to warrants for pardon and the extradition of fu- gitives from justice. He is the custodian of treaties and of the laws of the United States. He issues passports, publishes the laws of the United States,

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and proclamations for the admission of new states into the Union; and he makes to Congress certain reports re- lating to commercial information re- ceived from the consuls and other agents of the United States abroad. Of course the secretary himself does not do all of these things. He has his assistants and his bureau chiefs who take the routine of the business of the department entirely from his hands and leave him almost wholly free to consider the appointment of the officers of his department at home and abroad, and the conduct of nego- tiations with foreign powers. The appointments which come under the advisory jurisdiction of the secretary of state require an enormous amount of attention. They are among the most important appointments made by each new administration. Unfor- tunately, under our system there is no such thing as education for the dip- lomatic service or of promotion in it. Foreign appointments, which are of such vast importance to the com- mercial prosperity as well as the in- ternational standing of our country, are regarded as a part of the political spoils to be divided up among party workers whenever a new administra- tion comes into power. Hardly a year passes, therefore, that some incom- petent appointee in the foreign service does not involve us in needless trouble or create some small scandal, to the discredit of the government. And this will always be the case while diplomatic and consular offices are put into the political grab bag with other appointments. It is to escape the importunities of office seekers that Secretary Blaine retires to the seclusion of his home on Lafayette square, and in his handsome library conducts the diplo- matic negotiations which form the most important part of his labor. At the State Department Mr. Blaine occupies one of the pleasantest of the long suite of rooms on the second floor of the ten-million-dollar building which flanks the executive man- sion on the west. Around him and in the anteroom through which admit- tance is had to his office are the portraits of the former secretaries of state, his pre- decessors in office. They are not the only historical relics of interest to visitors to THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. 649 COUNTING OLD MONEY, TREASURY DEPARTMENT, the department. In the beautiful library on the third floor is the original draft of the Declaration of Independence in the handwriting of Thomas Jefferson, with interlineations by Adams and Franklin; original papers of Washington, Madison, Monroe and Franklin, of priceless value; Washington’s sword; Franklin’s staff; the sword worn by Jackson at the battle of New Orleans; the desk on which the Dec- laration of Independence was written, and other objects of historical interest. All of these are open to the view of the most casual and unimportant visitor to the building during a certain fixed period of each week day. But what is of far greater’ interest and of inestimable value is the original collection of the laws of the United States, bound in huge volumes, and stored away in seven or eight great rooms where they can be consulted at any time if the published phraseology of any law of Con- gress should be brought into question.

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650 THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. They are all on parchment, and on Eng- lish parchment, too, and the lettering on the first law passed by the Continental Congress is still comparatively fresh and quite legible. The archives of the State Department would fill nearly twenty-five rooms of average size, and there is not one document contained in them that could not be con- sulted on five minutes’ notice. The care- ful indexing and arranging of these archives was the work of Mr. Fish, the secretary of state under President Grant. Secretary Fish found the State Department papers in almost hopeless confusion when he came into office in 1869. The arrange- ment of the archives is not the only work which Secretary Fish left on record to the better organization of the State Depart- ment. He introduced asystem of exami- nations of applicants for consulates, to test their knowledge of subjects connected with their duties, which is the nearest approach the State Department has ever made to the establishment of a civil-service system. The assistants of the secretary of state, of whom there are three, are charged with various branches of employment and are the representatives of the secretary, and, in the order of their importance, acting heads of the department during the secretary’s VISITORS TO BOND VAULTS, TREASURY DEPARTMENT. absence from Washington. Next in im- portance in the department is the chief clerk. Perhaps in the eyes of one-half the persons who visit the department every day he is of much greater importance than any of the secretary's assistants, for he is brought into closer contact withthe general public, who use his office as a bureau of in- formation. The present incumbent of that office, Sevellon Brown, has held his posi- tion for many years and he has the very enviable diplomatic reputation of knowing less about the affairs of the department, when approached by anyone who is not entitled to information concerning them, than anyone in Washington. The business of the State Department which brings it into closest relations with the general public is that of issuing pass- ports to persons who ostensibly are going abroad and who may need them for pur- poses of identification. The number of passports issued in June of this year was 1500, the largest number issued in any one month in the history of the State De- partment. As I have said, these docu- ments are issued to persons who ostensibly are going abroad : asa fact, since Congress reduced the fee for issuing passports from five dollars to one dollar, many of the ap- plicants for them are persons who have no intention to travel in foreign parts and who want them sim- ply as curiosities. The consular bureau, over which Doctor F. O. St. Clair has presided for many years, has a great interest for thecommercial com- munity. Through it are handled and issued in printed form the reports made by our repre- sentatives abroad on the thousands of questions which af- fect our commercial interests. THE TREASURY. The Treasury De- partment is in some

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SECRETARY WINDOM AND HIS PRIVATE respects the most interesting of the execu- tive departments. In the great vaults which lie beneath the Treasury building are stored millions upon millions of dol- lars in silver and gold coin, while in the bond vaults above is a constantly chang- ing accumulation of securities bearing the indorsement of the government for nearly Under the juris- diction of the Treasury Department are printed the coin certificates, bonds, and other securities which are issued by the government each year. And not the least absorbing of the interesting features of this great branch of the government is the Secret Service Division, where sleepless watch is kept, night and day, on those who would defraud the people by counter- feiting money. The present secretary of the treasury is Mr. William Windom of Minnesota, a man of mature judgment and splendid intellectual development and one who has seen much public service. Mr. Windom’s $I 50,000,000, THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. 651 SECRETARY, TREASURY DEPARTMENT. private secretary, Charles M. Hendley, with whom the secretary's visitors are brought in close contact, has an intimate and valuable acquaintance with public men gained through years of service as exec- utive clerk in the White House. Mr. Windom’s duties are of a varied character. He is given by law the man- agement of the national finances. He pre- pares plans for the improvement of the revenue and for the support of the public credit ; superintends the collection of the revenue and prescribes the form of keep- ing and rendering public accounts and of making returns ; grants warrants for all moneys drawn from the treasury in pur- suance of appropriations made by law and for the payment of moneys into the treas- ury; and annually submits to Congress estimates of the probable revenues and dis- bursements of the government. He con- trols the construction of public buildings ; the coinage and printing of money ; the collection of statistics ; the administration

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652 of the coast and geodetic survey, life sav- ing, lighthouse, revenue cutter, steamboat inspection, and marine hospital branches of the public service. The routine work necessary in the discharge of these du- ties is performed on behalf of the secre- tary by the supervising architect, the di- rector of the mint, the superintendent of engraving and printing, the supervising surgeon general of marine hospitals, the general superintendent of the life-saving service, the supervising inspector general of steamboats, the chief of the bureau of statistics, the lighthouse board, and the chiefs of the various divisions in his de- partment. The most interesting feature of the Treas- ury Department to the visitors who daily swarm its narrow hallways is the money stored away in the vaults which fill the greater part of the basement. The largest of these vaults was built in eighteen months’ time and it cost the government $30,000. It has steel walls and its par- titions are of latticed steel. The total ca- pacity of its compartments and of the hall- way that runs between them is about THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. $100,000,000, The silver is stored in bags of heavy canvas, containing 1000 pieces each, packed away in wooden boxes. There are seven other coin vaults in the basement of the Treasury building. The amount of money stored in them changes constantly, for new-coined dollars are re- ceived almost every day from the mints, and, as demands are received from banks and sub-treasuries, they are reshipped to all parts of the country. Every manner of safeguard is thrown around the coin vaults, although it would take a modern Hercules to drag away enough of this silver coin to make it an object to raid the Treas- ury. Where a thief could work to much greater profit is in the bond vault on the first floor of the building. While visiting the department one day last April I asked, as a matter of curiosity, what the value of the bonds on deposit there was, and I was informed that on that day it was $197, 365,- 116.55%. Visitors are taken to view the bond vault freely, but they must go in charge of one of the trusted employees of the department detailed for the purpose by Treasurer Huston. CASH ROOM, TREASURY DEPARTMENT.

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The man who has all this money under his control and who handles, by proxy, several mill- ions of dollars every day, is tall and slender, rather intellectual looking, with sharp features and bright gray eyes that look out through the glasses of a pair of gold-bowed spec- tacles in a frank, fearless way that is distinctly at- tractive. Mr. Huston spends a great part of his time signing his name to treasury drafts. His colored messenger, Mowers, stands at his right hand and deftly blots each draft as the treasurer pushes it aside. Mr. Huston signs about 6000 of these drafts every month. Sometimes there are only three drafts to sign in aday, but more fre- quently the number runs up into the hundreds. Mr. Huston’s private sec- retary is Miss Tanner, the daughter of «‘Corporal’’ Tanner, whose record as commissioner of pensions during his brief incumbency of that office has not died out of public memory. Miss Tanner drew $1800 a year as private secretary to her father, and when he resigned Mr. Huston offered her her present position, which carries the same salary. The cashier's room of the Treasury Department is one of the most interesting places opening into the long and gloomy halls of the building. The long counter, with its wire screens cut up by small pigeon holes, reminds one very strongly of a bank, and the huge piles of money which lie about renew the impression. They handle about $40,000,000 in the cash room every year. It is here that accounts of disbursing officers are settled. It was here that Cashier Silcott of the ser- geant-at-arms’ office of the House of Rep- resentatives drew the money with which he ran away to Canada last Decem- ber. In the bureau for the redemption of worn currency, which is one of the ‘‘show”’ THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. 653 MISS TANNER, TREASURY DEPARTMENT. places of the Treasury Department, women sit all day long, with nimble fingers count- ing theworn-out currency received in pack- ages from banks and brokers and from other sources, and quickly detecting flaws and counterfeits. This is the first work on which women were employed by the government, but they have demonstrated their superiority in work like this so suc- cessfully that now they quite monopolize it. The money counters are among the curious sights of the Treasury Department. Another of them is the Secret Service Division, where counterfeit money of the face value of millions of dollars almost overflows the great safes. The secret ser- vice does not confine its attention to counterfeits. The chief business of the bureau now, in fact, is hunting down the ‘‘moonshiners,’’ or men who run illicit stills. The Bureau of Engraving and Printing occupies a building of its own at some dis- tance south of the Treasury Department. Here are designed, engraved, printed and finished all of the securities issued by the

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654 THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. government. It would take many pages to describe the intricate process through which the special paper goes from the time when it is received and receipted for at the bureau until the finished banknote is de- livered at the Treasury Department, there to receive the seal which is the final stamp of administrative approval. Every sheet THE WAR DEPARTMENT. We are so well accustomed to sneering at ‘our army’”’ that few Americans who have not visited Washington or studied the duties of the secretary of war appre- ciate in any degree the importance of the position which Mr. Endicott occupied in SECRETARY PROCTOR, WAR DEPARTMENT. of paper delivered to the bureau has a history, and the story is kept with uner- ring accuracy through all the stages of its development into banknotes, revenue stamps, bonds, or whatever other security it may find at the end of its career. Cap- tain Meredith, the present chief of the bu- reau, is a practical printer who has worked at the case in St. Louis and Indianapolis and Chicago. his relation to the Cleveland administra- tion and that Mr. Proctor occupies now in his relation to the administration of Presi- dent Harrison. If Secretary Proctor’s du- ties stopped with the direction of purely military affairs—that is, military affairs as the civilian commonly understands them —he would have more time to drive the handsome span of horses which he guides through the beautiful park about the Sol-

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diers’ Home almost every Sunday. But a catalogue of the duties of the secretary of war brings to light a great many unexpected but im- portant duties and responsi- bilities. He performs such duties as the president en- joins upon him concerning the military service; he supervises the purchase of army supplies, transporta- tion, etc., and of expendi- tures made under the army appropriation bill. He pro- vides for taking meteorologi- cal observations at the mili- tary stations and at other points ; arranges the course of studies at the West Point Military Academy; has charge of all public buildings and grounds in the District of Columbia ; purchases real estate needed for national cemeteries ; directs the con- struction of piers or cribs by owners of sawmills on the Mississippi river; makes regulations for several im- portant canals and for the Davenport and Rock Island Street Railroad Company ; makes rules respecting bids for contracts; and causes sunken vessels obstructing navigation to be removed. He supervises the disburse- ments of army officers ; man- THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS OF THE GOVERNMENT. 655 ages the National Park on Mackinaw island, Michigan ; and directs the expenditure of the appropriation for the Mississippi River Commission. He has charge of all the work of improving rivers and harbors ; approves plans for all bridges authorized by Congress; establishes harbor lines ; and supervises and controls the Bureau of Ordnance and Fortifications. This is the pleasant little list of the more important general duties of the sec- retary of war. The army occupies ap- parently a very insignificant place in this category; but the army, nevertheless, gives the secretary of war as much trou- ble as almost all the rest of his duties put together. Not that the movement of OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY OF WAR. the troops occupies any serious amount of his attention. . Major General Schofield is in command of the army, and, seated in his comfortable quarters in the north wing of the great department building, he di- rects his adjutant general to have the troops moved here or there as he sees ne- cessity for their presence in one place or the other. Except in a case like that of the disturbances in Oklahoma at the time of opening of the new territory (when the subject was a matter of cabinet dis- cussion), the secretary seldom bothers himself with the conduct or the move- ment of troops. There is a map in his

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656 office directly opposite his desk, which looks very like the weather maps that are hung in public places, all covered with little colored tags. On this map every morning are suspended from convenient hooks little bits of cardboard which show at a glance what troops are stationed at the different army posts. These tags are yellow, red or white. The yellow tag indicates cavalry ; the red, artillery ; and the white, a body of infantry. The secre- tary, if any occasion arises for such ex- traordinary interest, can step over to the card-covered map and move troops about as easily (on the map) as he would the fig- ures on a chess-board ; and as fast as time and distance can be put behind them the troops will conform to his ideas of location. But it is not in this way that the army gives the secretary of war cause for much annoyance and thought. It is in the dis- tribution of appointments and of assign- ments to desirable posts of duty that the secretary finds himself waylaid and har- assed and annoyed. Not a day passes that some senator or representative in Congress does not present himself with an urgent appeal on behalf of an officer who CHANGE. is tired of the frontier and wants an easy billet in Washington ; or a cadet at West Point who is in trouble, and for whom the secretary is asked to intervene; or a rela- tive or friend of a ward politician in the congressional district who has inadver- tently enlisted and who wants to get out of the army. Over the mantel in the office of the sec- retary of war, in an oblong glass case, is the flag which draped the casket of Presi- dent Lincoln. Below it on the mantel stands a handsome bronze clock purchased by direction. of Jefferson Davis when he was secretary of war. Every visitor to the War Department takes a peep at these and examines with pride the long row of glass cases in the hallway on the third floor containing life-size but not at all life-like models wearing the uniforms which have been used in the army of the United States from 1776 to the present day. These are the only shows which the War Department affords, except the beautiful library, which contains the finest collec- tion of technical books of the kind in the United States. CHANGE. By MARY LOWE DICKINSON. To know ourselves the dearest to our best And best to our most dear, and then to feel Chill spectres of pale Doubt glide swift between— Sad shapes enwrapped in mists of time and change Haunting the sacred places of the soul— Surely to trust, there is no death like this ! Before their haunting presence angels flee, The blessed shining ones of Hope and Faith, And Love that cannot flee, at last lie dead, And there is wreck where peace with folded wings Brooded erewhile, and Joy was wont to be. Yet, wherefore speak ? What help in cry or word? Can moans awake the dead ? The waves heed not The pleading of the pallid waning moon ; Streams flow not upward, turn not back to sleep In upland lakes, however fair they lie! Nay, nay, plead not! The lake may to the sky Look up, and pitying showers from on high May fill its yearning depth to overflow. But then, e’en then, can it forget to grieve The recreant stream that dreams and sings below ?— Heart of its heart, that yet could smile and go?

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HE town in which I made the discovery, although one of the quaintest spots I have found in my wander- ings over Brabant, is dismissed in the more important guide books with less than a dozen lines of descriptive matter, while it is not even mentioned in the others. Singularly enough, in the very spots thus treated I have gathered the choicest bits in my small collection of bibelots. I accidentally came upon the name of the town while sitting at a small estaminet or smoking house called, if I remember rightly, the «‘Gouten Hantje’’ (Golden Hand), in the market square of Bruges, in the very shadow of that magnificent gray old pile the Beffroi. My guide book fell to the sanded floor, landing on its brilliant-hued back with open leaves, and stooping to recover it, this is what I read : ‘“ Hel, a village 1 hr. N. E. of C on the canal leading to T——(comp. p. 9), was once a considerable and fortified sea- port, but has been in a state of decadence since the sea began to retire from it in the xvth. cent. The picturesque Halles were built in 1464-1468, and restored in 16—; in front of the building is a statue of the Flemish poet Jacob de Coster Van Mear- lant. Ruins of the church of Notre Dame, founded in 1180 but never completed, and the Gothic Hétel de Ville, merit inspec- tion ; beyond this there is little of interest ; no hotel, and accommodation for travellers villainous.’’ This last clause decided me, for of course few travellers would dare to fly in the face of such a warning ; there- fore it would be comparatively untrodden ground. In a short time I was travelling in a third-class carriage in company with an old peasant woman who talked to herself the whole way. In due time I was before the gate of «‘ Hel,’’ through which I could plainly see the square, with the unfinished cathedral tower in the distance. The picturesqueness exceeded my ex- A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. By GEORGE WHARTON EDWARDS. pectations. At the left of the square rose the Gothic Hdétel de Ville with its steep windowed roof, surmounted by a most curious pear-shaped cupola, on the bulb- ous face of which was a weather-beaten sun dial ; below I could make out “ The crazed old clock And the ’wildered chimes." I was soon busily at work, having first filled my water bottle at the pump, the noisy croaking of which filled the air with sounds so inharmonious that a porcine matron sought flight with her ample fam- ily down one of the side streets. I had well-nigh finished my sketch when I be- came aware of a subtle breathing behind me, and turning, I discovered what must

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658 have been the entire population of the town, including the sow and pigs, all standing at my back in a row. I had seen in a window before beginning my sketch, among some merchandise, a lovely old Delft pot full of clay pipes. The doorway at one side stood open, and into this I beat a retreat. I would buy the pot as a souvenir of the place—and at the same time have a pretext for entering the house. It proved to bea tobacconist’s shop,as I might have known by the Turk’s head hanging from an iron crane above the low door. The floor was of red brick tiles and scrupulously clean : on one side a fireplace with a shiny brass rim and a pot bubbling over a handful of coals ; on the other a low counter with brass scales IN A SNOWY LACE CAP. shining like gold, for weigh- ing snuff, and a box of clay pipes. Be- hind the counter, knitting calmly and with her eyes fixed on me, was an aged dame in a snowy lace cap of such priceless value that I repented almost having come A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. in to rob her of her Delft pot. I say rob her, for I intended to offer her but five francs. Tomy inquiry she came out from behind the counter, courtesied in a charm- ing manner, and said she did not speak Frankrijk, would I speak Vlaamche? I remembered someone saying that if one but asked for what they wanted in Eng- lish, speaking rapidly and using as many gutturals as possible, one might achieve something of success in the Flemish tongue. The result justified my attempt. I will transcribe my question for the benefit of those who, with a similar knowledge of Flemish, may visit Brabant. ‘«« Brrrengt u dat antikke pot bij t’vinda down !’’ While I was composing this successful sentence, the old dame divided her attention between myself and a jar of snuff which she was taking, not by pinch- es, but by means of a spoon! Excellent dame,dame of intelligence that you are, I salute you from a distance of something over three thousand miles, as my eye rests upon the charming outlines of my ‘‘antikke pot’’but I must not an- ticipate. ‘« Hoe weel kost dat ?’’ I ventured again, as I felt the glaze with my hand, gently removed the clay pipes, and turning it up, looked for the mark on the bottom. Sure enough, there it was, and even an older and more famous mark than I had hoped for. Five francs indeed. Why, I would give ten at a pinch. «« Dat weel kost het Mynheer twee fraancs haalf,’’ she said finally, turning to me and holding up two old twisted brown fingers, and with the other hand crossing the little finger to signify the half. I could scarce- ly believe my ears. Two francs and a half! Why, I had repeatedly offered five dollars to a suave gentleman in Fourth avenue for a specimen one-half the size and without a top at that. Seizing a piece of newspaper which lay on the little counter I wrapped it up care- fully, put a three-franc piece in her hand, and hurried from the shop, fearing she might change her mind—followed by a torrent of «‘dank u veels’’ and astonished ejaculations from the old lady. I moved on towards the town hall, and mounted the steps worn by the feet of the Dukes of Brabant and their fair ladies. I passed through the mighty banqueting hall, still redolent (one may almost imagine

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a sniff of the roast from that huge spit) of the hospitality of the fourteenth cen- tury, when mighty galleys and castel- lated ships emptied here their cargoes from the Orient and Venice, when black- skinned sailors and men in strange garb thronged the wharves where now the polder grass waves peacefully. I stooped to ex- amine the hinges of the inner door. Hinges have a pe- culiar attraction for me, and some very interesting ex- amples were for- merly to be seen here. Alas! the fine oak door, which was covered with many layers of white- wash, was suspend- ed upon simple bar hinges of a common T pattern, which may or may not have been antique, but were certainly not interesting. Hearing a slight noise behind me, I turned and con- fronted a neat-look- ing old body lean- ing on a sort of staff, who at once ad- dressed me in Flemish. Lifting my hat, I asked to be allowed to wander about, which permission was at once accorded. Pointing to the «‘antikke pot’’ strung on the handle of my sketching umbrella, she asked in broken French if I was buy- ing such things. By way of reply I in- quired if she had any antiquities to sell. With a shake of her head she hobbled along before me down the hall, opened a low door in a whitewashed (!) carved oaken door of magnificent design, motioned for me to enter, closed the door behind me, 42 A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. THE MARKET PLACE OF 30. —_—— Fr HEL. and I was alone in what proved to be the ancient burgomasters’ council room. A truly magnificent apartment, wainscoted in oak now black as ebony. A long table occupied the centre of the room, with higl1- backed and elaborately carved benches on either hand. One entire side of the room was taken up by the chimney and fireplace, while the mantel bore in high relief the ancient escutcheon of the town—a ship of a sin- gle mast amid tumultuous waves, but with- out sail, with a sailor hoisting a pennant, surrounded by a banderole, upon which, as near as I could distinguish, was the fol-

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660 A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. lowing legend : + Sigillum + Scapinorum +et+bergensum+de+Hel.+ I found that it had been sculptured by Wantier van Inghen in 1465, who received for his work ten escalins and six deniers de gros. Escalin is a coin of the Netherlands worth about twelve and a half cents. High up in the wall I noticed a peculiar and beautiful iron grilled window. I wanted to examine its detail more closely, but there seemed to be no way in which I could accomplish this. At the head of the table stood a massive oak chair. So high was the seat from the floor that by mounting it I might easily study its design. No one seemed to be near. So dragging it up as gently as I could, and not without noise, I placed it against the wall, and springing upon the seat I took out my pocket sketch book, and soon was engrossed in the beauty of the work, and endeavoring to put in the masses with the aid of a broad-pointed carpenter’s pencil. I had nearly finished when I heard, or fancied I heard, a long-drawn sigh— it seemed the sigh of a per- son in bitter distress. At the same instant the old dame stepped into view from behind one of the high-backed benches. How or when she had entered the room I do not know ; at any rate she only motioned me to follow her. We passed through a side door into the estaminet. The old woman hobbled to the hall, looked out, listened, and re- turning to my side, again asked me if I was buying curiosities. I assured her that I would we buy if offered something good. Beckon-. ing me in a highly mysterious manner, she unlocked a door which I had not be- fore noticed, and disclosing a flight of stone steps leading downwards, bid me descend. The stairway gave access to the crypt, a magnificent vaulted apartment with Gothic pillars. The old dame with her staff pushed away some of the stones at the side wall, and motioned me to drag out what seemed to be a very dirty oak plank. When I had succeeded in hauling it out into the light the old dame pushed me aside, and stoop- ing down with many rheumatic grunts and groans and ejaculations which might have been of a pious character, although I doubt it, seized the corner of her apron and rubbed vigorously at one end of the plank. She then picked up a small stick from the earthen floor and began picking and digging until I saw that there was some sort of ornamental iron work, much rusted, attached to the wood. Uncorking my water bottle, I poured some of it on the spot, while the old woman rubbed with straw and dug with the stick until at length I saw the outlines of a most ex- quisite design in hammered iron. Here and there the volutes and foliations were missing, but in the small clean spot we had made I saw enough to almost make my mouth water. The work was quite as fine as jewelry in parts and was evi- dently a panel of some sort. I took out my handkerchief, and rubbing in a particu- lar spot for a mo- ment found to my joy that the detail proved still more ex- quisite. One thing was clear : I would have this piece at almost any cost. ‘*Hoe veel kost het ?’’ Lasked eager- ly. ‘I will give twenty-five— fifty “4 francs.”’ ‘* EEN HUNDERT FRANC.” Watching the old creature’s face, Isaw it brighten for an instant. Then witha shake of her head she said slowly : ‘‘ Maar, de burgomeester wilt niet, but the work is worth een hundert franc; it is a very fine piece—and very antique; two hun- dert years has it been here—in this very building—the council room upstairs ; but —but the burgomeester wilt niet, and I can’t sell it—but—it is worth een hundert franc—for not one sou less.”’ ‘«Seventy-five franc—five and seventy will I give,’’ I said, taking out my little pocket case and jingling the gold under her eyes. With a shrug of her shoulders and a repetition of the grunts and groans, she at length rose to her feet, and poking

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up the straw over the panel with her staff, shook her head. ‘‘Een hundert franc it is worth—if it should be sold, which it cannot be, for the burgomeester wilt niet, but not for less than een hundert franc—for it is fine and antique,’’ and then motioned me towards the steps by which we had reached thecrypt. ‘Stay,’’ I said. “Yes, I will give you een hundert franc !”’ I did not be- lieve for a mo- ment of course that the burgo- master had any- thing todo with the matter— that was merely a subterfuge to whet my desire and force me to give the price she asked. ‘“Verstaat gij mij. Een hun- dert franc will I give; get me something to unfasten the nails —quick—here !’’—putting the napoleons in her hand which was shaking with greed— ‘‘here is the money.”’ She tore open the front of her dress, and dropping the jingling pieces into her bosom, hobbled out to and up the stairway. Down upon my knees I went and began the discovery of new beauties in the de- tail. Clearing away the dirt and rust which had accumulated, I found that some sort of waxy substance had been forced A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. 661 into the spaces in the work and had formed an admirable preventative against injury. The substance proved to be nothing more or less than common soap. It was some- what difficult to clear.it away, but I was satisfied that I had made a bargain indeed. I found that it was part of a hinge about four feet long from the end to the point, and someeight inches broad at the widest part, forged in iron ; here and there it had been heavily gilded, and bore some sort of inscription, either welded to or riveted upon it. I could not clear away the dirt and soap properly without hot water and turpentine, and I was unable to remove the iron work from the plank, which was apparently as solid as the day it was cut from the log, without an instru- ment of some sort. While I was looking about the crypt for such, the old creature returned and intimated that I should leave my treasure and return with her to the room above, to which I demurred, but upon her insisting, deemed it best to humor her. She made me understand that she would remove the hinge and send it to me at half-past eight that evening by messenger I was to wait at the gate tower on the canal until I saw the messenger with the parcel approach ; then I was to walk along

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662 the canal for some distance, when I would be overtaken by the boy, who would de- liver the hinge to me. All this seemed entirely unnecessary and absurd, but it lent a sort of mystery to the purchase, and I consented, noticing that she seemed immensely relieved. That night anyone on the other side of the canal might have seen a curious figure walking briskly in the direction of C . The figure was reflected in the still waters of the canal and resembled a huge double X. Occasionally it would be lost against the velvety blackness of a clump of wil- lows. If one had followed along after he would have seen the figure enter the gate of Cc , followed by a curious sergent de ville for a short distance in the shadow of the quaint Spanish-roofed houses, who “ THE satisfied himself that it was only one of those demented tourists who did not know enough to remain at home, shrugged his shoulders with the remark that no one could understand foreigners, lighted a cigarette, and once more-took up his posi- tion in the shadow of the gate. The figure walked on through the silent LETTERS WERE BEAUTIFULLY DAMASCENED.”’ A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. streets of C——, past the cathedral with its one ever-burning light shining dimly through the painted robes of the Virgin in the altar window, and after innumerable turnings, emerged into the glare of light at the station. So eager was I to decipher the inscrip- tion on the hinge that I could not wait for morning to come, so with a lot of old newspapers spread on my bedroom floor, a palette knife and a bottle of turpentine, I began the work of cleaning. By dint of much scraping and rubbing the following legend appeared upon the centre panel : Drie gebroeders maekten mij Van Harlebeke waaren zij M—CCCCC—I—III. Three brothers made me, From Harlebeke were they. I—5—5 The letters were beautifully damascened in the iron, a fashion of which I had read, but I had never seen an example of the work until then. If this was a genuine piece—and I had every reason to believe that it was such— then I was in possession of a treasure, for the damasquinerie en cuivre is said to be a lost art, and but few examples are to be found in the continental museums. How to pack and care for my hinge became a serious problem. I did not wish to box it, for luggage abroad is a nuisance, as everyone knows, and it would not fit in either of my trunks, being some eight inches too long. At length I hit upon a plan. I had one of those sliding cases of leather, so common in England, and which are used—pardon the allusion— for soiled clothing. They are ca- pable of being shut up like a tele- scope, or lengthened in a similar manner. I decided to wrap the hinge in several nightshirts, and pack in a lot of my coats and trousers about it to fill the space. The case being strapped made quite a proper looking and portable piece of lug- gage. No one but a collector of antiquities or he who has a love for handicraft will understand my delight in the hinge. I pictured to myself the place I would give it upon my studio wall, where it might be

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A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. seen and admired by my fellows; and I even planned a little supper of macaroni au gratin, reedbirds and vino di Chianti ‘* SWORE VIOLENTLY UPON THE BODY OF ST. LIVIN.” in its honor, at which, amid the apprecia- tive tales to be told of the past summer, the story of the hinge would be given with some success. Delightful anticipation—but I must not depart from my story. That afternoon saw all my luggage stowed in the van save the hinge, which reposed comfortably in the rack above my head, in a first-class carriage of the express train for Antwerp, at which town I arrived in time for dinner at the :‘Grand Laboreur.’’ Need it be wondered at that I was so extravagant as to order a bottle of the best Volney the cellar afforded, when my exile was almost a thing of the past and on the morrow I was to sail for home ? My two trunks remained in the hallway of the hotel, but the leather case contain- ing the treasure I insisted upon carrying to the chamber with my own hands, a proceeding which filled the bellboy with amazement. Several times before I went to bed I was disturbed by the courier of the hotel en- tering my room without knocking, and 663 bearing towels, water, and a chair consecu- tively. I recall now the fact that I thought it curious that the courier, who is gen- erally the most pompous of individuals, should demean himself by bellboy’s work, but it made little impression upon me at the time, save that he seemed somewhat curious about my leather case, which I had deposited upon the bed temporarily. In the morning I arose quite early, and after settling my bill and asking that my trunks be sent at once to the steamer, called a cab and looked about for my leather case, which I had intrusted to the courier, just in time to detect that worthy disappearing with it up the stairs. Upon hearing my ‘‘ Hi! there, where are you going?’’ he at once came down, and taking off his cap explained that he was going up to see if monsieur had left anything behind. «An officious sort of a beggar,’’ I said to myself, as I gave him the remain- der of a handful of coppers and bade him let my things alone. One of the servants being at my elbow, I gave into his hands the precious leather case, and shaking hands with the proprie- tor, who seemed in a most excited state of mind about something or other, bid the man follow after me. I had not gone farther than the cathedral, from the great door of which a funeral was emerging with all the pomp of high mass, gorgeous funeral car with nodding plumes and col- ored lamps, than I found I had lost the man in the crowd, but think- ing that he had taken a shorter cut of which I was ignorant, I did not feel at all disturbed. At the steamer wharf there was the usual bustle and confusion incidental to departure, and I at once went aboard. Some business with the purser occupied THE SERGEANT DE VILLE.

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“str! I HAVE THE HONOR.” 664 me for a short time, after which I sought out my stateroom, in which I found my valise, heavy coat and rug, but the leather case containing the hinge was nowhere to be seen. After as- suring myself that it was not in the room, I went upon deck, thinking to find my man there, with like success. Here was a dilemma; it wanted but a scant half-hour to sailing time and the hotel was not less than half a mile ‘away. It was a risk, but I could not bear to leave my hinge, which assuredly was not on board the ship. Evi- dently, missing me inthecrowd, the man, with the stupidity of his class, hdd taken it back to the hotel. Jostling the people coming on board, I gained the wharf, ran to the nearest cabby, and with a ‘‘Double fare if you take me to the ‘Laboreur’ and back before the steamer sails,’’ jumped in and was soon tearing through the streets. Dashing up before the hotel, I did not wait for the cab to stop, but leaping out ran into the vestibule. Imagine my as- tonishment and indignation to see my trunks still standing in the hall where I had left them. I demanded the presence of the proprie- tor, but he was nowhere to be found. I called for the courier, who at length came. He proved to be an entirely different person from the individual who had made himself so officious, and upon my asking again for the courier whom I had seen a short time before, swore violently upon the body of St. Livin that he and no other was courier. I demanded the reason of my baggage remaining in the hotel when A BRABANTIAN HAPPENING. I had ordered it aboard the steamer to sail immediately. Again he swore that he had received no such order from the proprie- tor, and added that «le diable boiteux "’ was in the hotel assuredly. I looked at my watch, and it, as well as the long-drawn deep note of the whistle sounding at the same moment, told me that my steamer had sailed. That afternoon, while sitting in my room trying to bear my woes and arranging a vocabulary of expletives with which to salute the proprietor when he should ap- pear, a knock sounded uponthedoor. To my response entered a gentleman, hat in hand, who, addressing me in excellent English, handed me a card with a bow. The card bore the following : Louis LAROCHE, Commissaire de Police, Ville de Bruges. I looked at him interrogatively. ‘‘T see you do not recognize me,’’ he said, showing a fine set of teeth in a most irritating manner. I agreed with him. ‘«T regret,’’ he said, ‘‘to have been the cause of your detention, through missing your steamer this morning’’—and then paused. I looked at him with surprise. ‘«To come to the point, I was intrusted with the management of a rather delicate piece of work;’’ here he again showed his teeth. There was something about the man that was familiar to me, but I could not remember where I had seen him before. ‘‘It was connected with your luggage. The burgomaster of Hel notified us yes- terday that a valuable piece of antique iron work had been purchased by an Eng- lish ’’—«‘ American,’’ I interposed. He waved his hand, as if tointimate that my correction was a matter of little conse- quence, and continued—« gentleman, in his town. The object was of great value, and was recognized from the description of the boy who delivered it. It had dis- appeared from the central door of the Town Hall years ago. ‘‘ The informant could not describe you minutely, but we had a list of all the strangers in the neighboring towns who would be likely to purchase such an object. From your profession ’’ (smile and bow) ‘cand the fact you were known to have

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passed through C on the very day of the—the—pardon me, I search a word —the buying of the object, going in the direction of Hel, and returning the same night late from C—— third class to Bru- ges, with a long parcel, which might read- ily have contained the object—we con- cluded’’ (another smile and bow) ‘to trouble you. ‘‘Not having received the information until after you had left Bruges, we were unable to reclaim the object, but we had no difficulty in tracing your movements. We easily followed you to the hotel, where"’ (again a bow) «I undertook the matter myself.”’ It flashed upon me that it was under the gold-banded hat of the courier that I had seen the disagreeable smile—it was all clear now. I fancy my face showed my thoughts, for he said: «« I see you recognize me now,”’ and continued : ‘‘I hope you will believe, monsieur, that I regret sincerely being A PROPHECY. 665 forced to detain you, but you were so very watchful of the object that there was no other way in which to get possession of it. ‘«“We understood at once that you were innocent of any intent to despoil an _his- torical monument, for such the Hotel de Ville undoubtedly is, and recognizing this fact, I am authorized to see that your temporary inconvenience and the expense to which you have been put is made as light as possible. ‘«‘ Here are one hundred frances which you paid to the ‘custode’ for the object, and I have already arranged with the company that you are to select, if it please you so to do, another berth in the steamship which sails on Saturday. Added to this are the renewed assurances of my sincere regrets for your inconvenience. ‘« Sir, I have the honor ’’—and he bowed himself out, leaving me in an entirely dazed condition, with the five louis in my hand. A PROPHECY. By HELEN T. CLARK. I NEVER saw your face—and yet I know On some glad morn its smile will bloom for me In sudden tenderness, and earth will glow On mountain height and plain and silver sea. I never heard your voice—and yet its tone Will pulse in music through some lonely day, Till all life’s hidden griefs be subtly flown, And flowers break forth beside the dusty way. I never held your hand—and yet its touch Will send new strength along my weary arm, And sordid cares, that burden overmuch, Its clasp will lift and lighten like a charm. Your step I know not—yet like ringing sword Its fall will sound upon my toiling way, And I shall turn and listen for that word The heavens themselves will lean to hear you say. IC WMOEEM 6 5 r2.e ee. 4 VANS LY

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LAST iy is a vividly bright day in January— the 16th. There is a tingling crisp- ness in the air as if it were early autumn —a slight frostiness that chills the skin, but does not penetrate the veins. Rather the deep breaths of this keen, pure sea air make the blood pulse with a swift, de- licious warmth, like a plunge into cold water. We are anchored at Brindisi—the an- cient Brundusium of the Romans—which does not by any means look its age. It does not appear particularly attractive either from the wharves, and I am more than ever certain—as I always have been certain—that I could never agree with the haughty provincial who preferred to be first in Brundusium rather than second in Rome. Indeed, all efforts now are bent on being first out of Brundusium, as the train leaves within the hour. The Bri- tannia goes on and around to Portsmouth, but the English government runs a train down through France and Italy to meet the P. and O. steamers, and thus gain five é a& ZL W STAGE. days in the arrival of the Indian and Aus- tralian mails. This mail train carries one passenger coach for the benefit of Person- ages from the colonies who may be in haste to reach home ; and if there are not a sufficient number of these distinguished servants of the empire to fill the car, mere ordinary travellers can occupy the vacant berths by cabling ahead and securing them. I have taken this precaution at Ceylon, and find there will be no difficulty in the matter provided I can get my lug- gage through the customs in time. It is almost impossible to get anything done. The whole ship is in an uproar. Mails and luggage are being disembarked. Many passengers are leaving for a tour through Italy before finally returning to England, fearful of the winter fogs and of the influenza raging there. Italians, with cocked hats and imperial importance of manner, are bullying every one and get- ting things into a hopeless tangle. My luggage is finally marked as passed; a porter is hired to transport it ; I go off to THE HAREOR OF BRINDISI.

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A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. 667 attend to the visé of tickets, despatching of cables and other minor matters, and arrive ten minutes before the advertised arrival of the train. No luggage! I fling out of the car, rush back again to the ship, and discover the missing posses- sions in the hands of a pig-headed Italian who insists they have not been properly examined, and demands the keys. Various necessary additions to my wardrobe dur- ing the voyage have so enlarged the con- tents of my little box that only careful packing and the emphatic sitting down upon it of the stewardess and myself have induced it to shut at all. Now this ami- able official insists, despite the fact that it goes under seal and bond straight through to England, upon opening it and strewing my garments about the deck. I hope I did not forget the dignity a gentlewoman should preserve under the most trying circumstances, but I fancy that my tones, while low, were concentrat- ed, and that the little American I used was ‘‘ frequent and fluent and free,’’ for the man turned pale and wavered. I snatched up my belongings, flung them in pell-mell, jumped upon the box, snapped to the hasp and ran off with a porter —_ - ON THE ITALIAN COAST. towards the train, blank despair in my heart. Happily, Italian trains are not bound down by narrow interpretations of time-tables, and I do succeed in catching it, with the luggage and some few tattered remnants of a once nice temper. It is very destructive of the mental equi- librium to lose the temper so thoroughly, especially if one is out of practice, and it is fully an hour before the exceeding beauty of the country through which we are passing begins to have its soothing effect and to make me fain to forgive the Italians because of Italy! On our right is the Adriatic, blue as lapis-lazuli and gay with flocking sails. Here and there lie little snow-white towns along its shores and between are the gray olive orchards, with something strangely human in their gnarled grotesqueness. Even in flying by one sees flashes of fantastic gargoyle-like resemblances to persons one has known, caricatured into impossible contortions, as if by some medieval hu- morousness. It is not difficult to conceive how people who lived among olive groves developed dryad superstitions and created legends of flying women transformed into trees.

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668 . . . The English government pays the Italian government a large subsidy for this train and the swift passage of the mails, but the ubiquitous person who at- tends to all our needs—is porter, guard, steward, cook, and brakeman in one— has his own ideas on the subject of haste and acts accordingly. When we reacha town where he has friends he goes out, quietly winds us up like a Waterbury watch, dismounts, and is received with affectionate enthusiasm by a little crowd on the platform. He inquires solicitously after each one’s kin unto the fourth and fifth generation, gives his careful atten- tion to all the local gossip and retails the ITALIAN FISHERMAN. A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. news he has been gathering all along the line. When he can no longer hear or tell some new thing he lets us run down with a sudden whir, and we go on our way. At meal-times he retires into a tiny den amidships, and from a space but little larger than a match-box produces delight- ful soups and salad, excellent coffee, well- cooked game, baskets of twisted Italian bread, wine and oranges. At night he arranges our sleeping berths, and I think would perform barber duties and assist with our toi- lets if called upon todo so. Heis a fatigued and blasé per- sonage who looks as if chronically deprived of his due al- lowance of sleep, and he evidently re- gards the travelling public as a helpless, nervous creature always in a peevishly ridiculous hurry. We begin to climb into the mountains and it grows very cold. Oddly angled vineyards hang precariously to the steep sides of the heights, propped into place by dams of stone that keep the soil from sliding down hill. Queer villages are tucked into clefts, with streets that are mere- ly narrow stairs. Now and again we flash by the bold outlines of a ruined castle crowning a crag: the site always chosen with so much discretion that one won- ders not only how enemies ever got in but how the owners them- selves ever emerged—unless they fell out. A film of snow appears here and there, and the cold in- tensifies. Suddenly we catch a glimpse of white heights out- lined against the blue—we are among the Alps, and the St. Gothard tunnel is not far

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A FLYING away. A space of darkness, of thundering, clattering echoes—and then France ! ; Everything is quite different all at once. A fine new fort- ress commands the tunnel; the station is better built, larger and in better repair than those we have seen in Italy. The customs officer, a well-set-up and good- looking Frenchman in a smart uniform, inquires politely if we have anything to declare, and when we answer in the nega- tive sets his heels together, gives a pro- found salutation and vexes us no more. Everywhere is an air of greater prosper- ity, thrift and alertness. The train does not stop to admit of gossiping and goes at added speed. Telegrams have been following me along the route concerning the possibility of catching a ship at Havre. The train is rather behind time and unless the ‘ Trans- atlantique’ will consent to delay her de- parture for an hour or two, it will be useless to attempt to cover the space be- tween Villeneuve, Paris, and Havre be- fore tomorrow at seven. There is hope, however, that she will wait, and Friday night, some two hours. after midnight, the guard rouses me to de- liver a telegram which says I must be ready at four to change cars for Paris. This means leav- ing my box—it is under seal for London — and crossing the ocean with the few belongings in a travelling-bag. I rise and dress quietly, scrib- ble a few notes of farewell to such of my fel- low passengers as have been es- pecially court- and am all ready when we halt at Villeneuve. A young French- man, agent for Cook’s tourist bureau in Paris, has come to meet me, eous, TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. 669 but brings the discouraging intelligence that the ship has refused to wait and that there is no chance of catching her. It is not until I reach America I discover this is a mistake and that the Trans- atlantique waited several hours. This change subjected me to much in- convenience and to suffering, from the effects of which it took much time to entirely recover. For then began a most trying experience, from the strain of which not even the most vigorous constitution could escape unharmed. It is too late— half past four — to return to bed, so I throw myself on the couch and wait forday. A faintrimeclouds the window when dawn breaks, but a breath dispels it, and outside are lovely Corot-like visions— pale, shadowy, gray —worth the lost sleep to have seen. Here and there a thin plume of smoke curls up against the dull frosty sky from the chimney of a thatched, lime-washed cottage set amid barns and stacks. As the day grows peasants from Millet’s pict- ures come out of the cottages and go along the road, carrying fagots or baskets full of potatoes and turnips. Two legs and a ITALIAN GIRL

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A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. **QUEER VILLAGES ARE TUCKED INTO CLEFTS.’’—COAST OF ITALY. pair of sabots appear under a perambu- lating heap of hay. A big dog drags a small cart full of milk cans and a woman with a cap and tucked-up skirts trudges along beside, blowing on her fingers to warm them. All this, just as did Italy, seems very familiar. I know it quite well from pictures and books. It gives one the sensation — reversed — one has in reading a realistic novel in which all the little details of daily life are minutely and accurately reproduced. It is ten o’clock when we reach Calais, and the Dover boat has gone, so there is time for a bath and breakfast—luckily, as I shall not have another meal for forty- eight hours ; but of this I have no pre- vision. The Channel is gray and stormy when we start, and a gout of rain splashes now and then upon the deck. Fat old French gentlemen spread themselves out in chaises longues and make all necessary preparations for sea-sickness. English turn up the collars and thrust their hands in the pockets of their ulsters and stride along the rolling deck. Thesun struggles through the clouds later and turns the gloom to a stormy gray-green and a shift- ing silver—and there looms slowly through the mists the white cliffs of England! For me this keen windy sea is thick with sails the high-beaked galleys of the Conqueror, the silken wings of the White Ship, Henry’s fleet carrying vic- torious armies into France, Drake's and Raleigh’s prows, galleons from the east, certain small sailing craft carrying fugi- tive monarchs—the myriad wings of a nation of sea birds, spread for pleasure or forprey. ... Starting two months ago from a vast continent which the English race have made their own, where the English tongue, English laws, customs and manners reign from sea to sea, in my whole course around the globe I have heard that same tongue, seen the same laws and manners, found the same race. Have had proof with my own eyes of the splendor of their em- pire, of their power, their wealth, of their dominance and orgulousness, of their su- perb armies, their undreamable commerce, their magnificent possessions, their own unrivalled physical beauty and force— and lo! now at last I find from a tiny island ringed with gray seas has sprung this race of kings. It fills my soul with a passion of pride that I too am an Anglo- Saxon. In my veins too runs that virile tide that pulses through the heart of this Lord of the Earth—the blood of this clean, fair, noble English race ! = It is worth a journey round the world to see—

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A FLYING ** This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise ; This fortress built by nature for herself Against infestion and the hand of war. This happy breed of men, this little world ; This precious stone set in a silver sea ; This blessed plot of earth, this realm, this Eng- land, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Feared by their breed and famous by their birth, Renownéd for their deeds so far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, This land land England, bound in with the triumphant sea!’’ of such dear souls, this dear, dear and I understand now the full meaning of this trumpet-cry of love and pride from the greatest of earth’s poets—an English- man. : Dover—and one sets foot at last on the mother soil. Weare, by the way, the only people who call our land a mother. The blue boudoir of a first-class carriage— then English landscapes under the level ravs of asetting sun. Certain character- istics here are very reminiscent of Japan. The neatness and completeness of every- thing; the due allowance of trees dis- persed in ornamental fashion ; nature so thoroughly tamed and domesticated ; the picturesque railway stations and a certain TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. 671 moist softness in the air. But where every- thing there is light, fragile and fantastic, here it is solid, compact and durable. Like the English sea, the English land swarms with phantoms—the folk of his- tory, of romance, of poetry and fiction. They troop along the roads, prick across the fields, look over the hedges and peer from every window. I hear the clang of their armor, see the waving of their banners ; their voices ring in the frosty winter air, their horses’ hoof-beats sound along the paths. Without regard to time or period, to reality or non-reality, they come in hosts to welcome me—to say, ‘And so you too have come to join us. We have waked once more to greet you. We are the ghost of England’s past !”’ Even the folk of the contemporary nov- els are not absent. I see the sunk fence by the coppice where Angelina always bids Edwin an eternal farewell in the last chapter of the second volume, and they are there doing it now. There rides Cap- tain Cavendish in his red coat, home from the hunting-field, and on his way to the handsome old country house yonder where he will squeeze Mrs. Fitzroy’s fingers un- der the teacup he passes her and thus lay the foundation for forty-two chapters of “TREES APPEAR LIKE DRYADS FROM CAR WINDOWS.

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672 jealousy, hatred and all uncharitable- ness. . . . Darkness falls. A dull glare is reflected from the heavens that speaks the presence of a great gas-lit city. A myriad sparks twinkle in the distance—the ‘‘ Lights o’ London.”’ Miles and miles and miles of houses. A_ huge, shadowy half-globe looming against the sky—the dome of St. Paul's 3 towers and delicate spires, and lights shining through many lance-like windows —Parliament Houses, where lords and commons sit in debate long gleams quivering serpent-like across a wavering black flood—we have passed over the Thames, and here is Charing Cross. Clatter, hurry and confu- sion—everyone giving different sugges- tions and directions. I had meant to re- main over night in London and take the A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. to Holyhead and to catch the Bothnia, which touches at Queenstown next morn- ing. This train leaves in an hour and a half. I have not slept since two o'clock the night before nor eaten since break- fast, and my courage is nearly at an end. One of my fellow-travellers who has been most kind to me all the way from Ceylon comes to my rescue and assumes all re- sponsibilities. I am sent off to the hotel to dine in company with two kind and charming fellow-voyagers, Sir William Lewis and his daughter, while he arranges my difficulties. I am far too tired and disturbed, however, to eat, and can only crumble my bread and taste my wine. At half-past eight my friend appears and carries me off to the Euston station. He has snatched his dinner, got rid of the dust of travel and into evening clothes. He has brought rugs and cushions that I ‘“ PALE, SHADOWY AND GRAY COROT-LIKE LANDSCAPES."’ North German Lloyd steamer at South- ampton the next day, but here the news meets me that this ship has been suddenly withdrawn and will not sail till late in the week. My one chance is the night mail may have some rest during the night, a littlecake in case I grow hungry, and heaps of books and papers. My foot warmer is filled with hot water, the guard is induced to give me his best care and attention, and

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A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. PEASANTS FROM MILLET’S PICTURES COME OUT OF THE COTTAGES AND GO ALONG THE ROADS."’ then I go away alone again, somewhat comforted by the chivalrous goodness of the travelling man to the uncared-for woman. I fall asleep from fatigue, am shaken by horrible dreams and _ start awake withacry. The train is thunder- ing througha wild storm. I try toread, but the words dance up and down the page. The guard comes now and then to see if I need anything, and deep in the night I reach Holyhead. Gathering up my mul- titudinous belongings I run through the rain and sleet to the little vessel quivering and straining at the pier. The night is a wild one, the wind in our teeth, and the journey rough and very tedious. The cold and tempestuous day has dawned be- fore we touch Kingstown and are hurried —wretched for lack of sleep and the means of making a fresh toilet—into the train for Dublin. The Irish capital is still unawake when I rattle across it from station to station this Sunday morning, and im- mediately I am off again at full speed through a land swept with flying mists and showers—a beautiful land, green even in January. Later, ruddy-cheeked peas- ants go along the roads to church—a type I am very familiar with in America. I gaze at the sturdy young men and won- der how soon they will be New York aldermen and mayors of Chicago; how soon those rosy girls will be leaders of society in Washington. os Iam growing frightfully hun- gry, having eaten nothing since yesterday morning in Calais. There is the spice cake, but with no liquid save a little brandy in a flask I soon choke upon the cake and abandon it. The train is behind time, owing to the late arrival of the Channel boat, and stops only for the briefest mo- ments. At noon we reach Queenstown, having curved around a fair space of water and past the beautiful city of Cork. The ship has not yet arrived, but will doubtless be herein a few moments, the bad weather having delayed her ; and my luggage is all hurried down to the tender, where I should be sent too did I not wail with hunger. The Queen's hotel is not far from the sta- tion, but the evil luck which has pursued me for the last two days ordains that the kitchen of this hostelry should be under- going repairs at this particular moment, and no food is to be had. By dint of per- severance I finally securea cup of rather cold and bitter tea and a bit of dingy bread. I am warned to hold myself in readiness for an instantaneous summons to the ten- der, for when the steamer is signaled there is no time to waste. Sohastily I make such toilet as is possible with my dressing- bag aboard the tender, and sit alone in the waiting room attendant on the summons.

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‘INVIONA—'NVdVE AO INHSOSININAYM AdVISANV'T V SSHUNWIML GNV SSHUNLVAN SLI NI < Vacs : RE edo THEE yah 38 Fs Pay HERE ou rae rl Je sith Ship tips

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A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. Hour after hour goes by, but nosummons arrives. I dare not move lest the call comes during my absence, and sit there hopelessly, helplessly, overwhelmed with hunger, lack of sleep and fatigue. At six o’clock my patience is at end, and I am clamorously demanding more food, when they bring the long-expected notice. The ship has been signaled, and the tender must be off. It rains in torrents, mingled with sleet, and the wind blows a tempest. The tender puts out from shote and is whirled about like an eggshell. ‘The wind drives us back, and over and over again we essay the passage before we can make head against the wild weather. It is two hours and a half later when we get along- side the ship, and I am chilled to the bone, sick and dizzy for want of food and sleep, and climb stumblingly across the narrow, slippery, plunging path that leads from one ship to the other. : The weather is terrible—a sea- son long to be remembered for the January storms of the north Atlantic. The waves toss our ship back and forth among them like a football. Even were I not too mis- erable to move the plunging of the ves- sel would make it impossible to keep one’s feet. The ship laboriously climbs a howling green mountain, pauses irreso- lute a moment on the crest and then tobog- gans madly down the farther side, her screw out of water, and kicking both heels madly in the air to the utter dislocation of one’s every tooth and joint. Down, down 675 she goes, as if boring for bottom, and when it is perfectly certain that she can never by any chance right herself, she comes nose upmost with a jerk, shakes off the water and attacks a new mountain, to repeat the same performance on the far- ther side. Two-thirds of the passengers are very sea-sick, and I am quite as wretched and prostrate as if I was, too. It is the third or fourth day out, and I am beginning to take heart of grace and to long to leave my stuffy little cabin. The ship is rolling frightfully still, and I am still revolving in my mind an attempt to rise when a sud- den lurch sends the heavy jug full of water flying out of its basin full into the berth, where it smashes into twenty pieces upon my face and chest and drenches me with icy water. The doors of the gangway are left open lest they freeze together, and therefore a bitter wind sweeps through the cabin, so that when I am hauled from my dripping bed, and it is discovered that the key of my box, where are the only dry changes of garment, is mislaid, I am stabbed through and through my wet and clinging clothes by this terrible cold. I am thus suppressed again for another three days, and it is only towards the end of the week—the storm being abated— that Iam able once more to stand on my feet. It is a most amiable and friendly little company that finally assembles in the cabin ; the recent woes we have all passed through having made us sympa- THE COAST OF ENGLAND IN A ‘‘ NOR’ EASTER.”’

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A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. THE VICTORIA EMBANKMENT NEAR CHARING CROSS; ST. PAUL'S IN THE DISTANCE. thetic and considerate. We even get up in time a concert for the seamen’s or- phans, and play shuffle-board on the still uncertain deck for prizes. But this cross- ing of the zone of storms has greatly de- layed us, and it is late in the evening of the eleventh day when we take our pilot aboard. The morning of the twelfth day is cold, but evidently has some thought of clearing, and the sea is less rough. : A rim of opaque film grows on the horizon. Very soon Coney Island is in sight, and as we swiftly near the shore the plaintive reproachful eyes of the great wooden elephant are turned upon us as if to deprecate our late coming. The water has smoothed itself into a bay. A huge gray woman, holding an uplifted torch, awaits our coming. Weare by the shores of Staten Island. «Is this the hill, is this the kirk, is this mine ain countree ?”’ Suddenly a great flood of familiarity washes away the memory of the strange lands and people I have seen and blots out

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A FLYING TRIP AROUND THE WORLD. i Sar ae, ST. THOMAS’ all sense of time that has elapsed since I last saw all this. I know how everything the streets, the houses, the passers-by— are looking at this moment. It is as if I had turned away my head for an instant, and now looked back again. My duties, my cares, my interests, which had grown shadowy in these dim and last two HOSPITAL AND WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, oe ASS. NEAR CHARING CROSS. months, suddenly take on sharp outlines and become alive and real once more. I feel as if I had but sailed down the bay for an hour, and was now returning. Set? The ship slides into dock. I can see the glad faces of my friends upon the pier. My journey is done. I have been around the world in seventy-six days. THROUGH PICCADILLY ON WAY TO EUSTON STATION.

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ae en nae tc mo anery tentang me Te TNT NORSEMEN IN THE UNITED STATES. By KRISTOPHER JANSON. HE old vikings of the north were im- bued with an ardent spirit of adven- ture. They dashed out on the wild ocean in their boats of hide as in their ships of war and took land where they pleased. The world belonged to him who could take it with his sword. And so they raged like tigers and lions on the coast of England and Scotland and Ireland, ravaged France, burned cities in Spain, frightened Sicily and dragged along with them as much booty as they could lay holdof. Inthe churches of France people prayed, ‘(Deliver us,O God, from the fury of the Norsemen !”’ At last they as- cended the throne of England in the person of William the Conqueror.. Modern _ civiliza- tion has put a stop ™ to this warlike ag- gression and the lands are no longer atthe mercy of the Norse _ invaders. But still the curi- osity to see foreign countries, the de- sireto fight against difficulties and conquer them, lies deeply buried in every Norseman’s breast. And when young Carl Bock traverses the isl- and of Borneo and the forests of Siam, and Dr. Carl Lumholtz spends three years among the cannibals of Australia, when Fritjof Nansen on his ‘skees’ (snow- shoes) crosses the ice of Greenland, hith- erto considered an impossible task, and Nordenskjold again opens the arctic re- gions to new discoveries, then all these young heroes have proved themselves to be genuine sons of the old viking race. This desire for adventures and daring deeds together with the harsh conditions of life in their native home has led to the immense Scandinavian immigration PROFESSOR to this country. We Norsemen are in a sense more closely related to America than any other nation. Our countryman Leif Erickson was the first white dis- coverer and settlerin New England. And though his attempt at colonization proved a failure and left no visible trace, still the stories of his daring voyages lingered in the minds of his people and was prob- ably one of the many causes that led Co- lumbus to perfect his plans for dis- covering the con- tinent on the other side of the ocean. We know that Col- umbus visited Ice- land, and it may be taken for grant- ed that he heard of Leif's adventures in olden times. The first Nor- wegian colony we hear of is Bergen in New Jersey, founded 1624. The Swedes settled about the same time (1638) in Del- aware, and the first Swedish church was built at Wil- mington in 1608. “. But these colonies aaa leat were more or less absorbed first by the Dutch element and later by the English. Immigration on a larger scale com- menced in the year 1821 when Cleng Per- son and Knut Eide left Norway in order to investigate the Eldorado on the other side of the ocean. The Norwegian peas- ants suffered then from religious perse- cution. The law forbadeother people than ordained ministers to preach; but the peasants disregarded the command and one of their number, the fervent and tal- ented lay preacher Hans Nilsen Hauge caused quite a stir and revived the slum- bering religious spirit of the people. He was arrested and imprisoned; but the movement started by him could not be

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NORSEMEN IN stopped, and in spite of jails and fines the peasants fought their own fight. Be- sides that, another sect, the society of Friends or Quakers, caused much incon- venience to the established Lutheran church. It was not an uncommon thing that the sheriff came and carried off the children of the Quakers in order that the Lutheran minister might baptize or con- firm them; and if the parents did not partake of the holy communion, they were fined and made to pay their full tithes to the pastor to whose church they did not belong. Such conditions soon became intolerable and the peasants com- menced to look with longing eyes toward the land of liberty on the other side of the ocean. After Cleng Person's return the first emigration society was founded in Stavanger in 1824, and on the 4th of July 1825 a party of fifty-two persons boarded asloop bound for America. After sailing fourteen weeks they landed in New York all healthy and well. It caused quite a stir that anybody had dared to cross the ocean in so small avessel. After\several troubles the passengers sold the ship and cargo ; their religious brethren the Quak- ers helped them along to Illinois, and they settled partly in Rochester, partly in Kendall and Morris counties. They had to go through many hardships. The win- ter set in before they had houses built, so that twenty-four of them were obliged to join in putting up a small log house which gave each person one square foot of room. They earned their living by threshing with flail for their neighbors, for which work they got every eleventh bushel of wheat. But by patience, endurance and hard work they pulled through, and after five years’ stay they sent encouraging letters home asking others to come. From 1825 to 1836 smaller parties came in vessels from Gothenburg, Hamburg and Havre, and the stream of immigra- tion turned to the prairies of Illinois. The tireless pioneer Cleng Person had been tramping all over the country west of the big lakes in order to pick out the best pieces of land for his country- men. When from the top of a hill he looked out over the blooming prairies of Illinois, where the grass stood knee high, and discovered smoke from a chimney, he fell on his knees and thanked God for this paradise opened to his children. THE UNITED STATES. 679 Half dead from starvation and hardships he crawled down to the homes of the pio- neers and got the information that this was the Fox river country, where some Americans just then had commenced to settle. Thither went the next party of Norwegian immigrants, of which Cleng Person was the leader, in the year 1836; and soon the banks of the river bloomed with prosperous farms. Less fortunate were the settiers of Bea- ver creek. They caught the first glimpseof the region in the dry season; and the flat bottoms covered with rich grass seemed very inviting. They built their huts but when the rainy season set in they soon learned their mistake. The water covered the lowlands ; they had to wade through ice and mud wherever they went. In the spring their fields were changed in- to lakes, and when the water evaporated the ague craved its victims. Many died and the survivors fled to their country- men in Fox River and La Salle counties. Norway, Leland, Lisbon, Morris and Ot- tawa soon became centres of the western colonization, and in 1839 the Norwegians attacked the prairies and forests of Wis- consin. Almost every summer the barns and log houses of the older settlers were packed full of new immigrants on their way farther north and west. The first Nor- wegian newspaper was started at Norway, Wisconsin, and the first Norwegian Lu- theran church was built there in the year 1844. The first pastor was a Dane named C. L. Clausen. When the steamers commenced to cross the ocean and the conveniences became greater, when railroads carried passen- gers to the farthest point and friends sent tickets home and met the newcomers at the station, then of course the scru- ples grew less and less, and the immigra- tion gradually increased to its present large proportions. Soon northern Iowa and the whole of Minnesota and Dakota were covered with Norwegian settle- ments ; and the hardy Scandinavian pio- neers are fast filling up the forests of Oregon and Washington. Nay you will find them in the vineyards of southern California, among the mountains of Colo- rado and Idaho, on the prairies of Texas, on the arid plains of Arizona and among the Mormons at Salt Lake City. Minne- sota especially has become a Scandina-

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680 vian state, the fourth part of its popu- lation belonging to this northern race. They are considered a hardy, honest, industrious class of people, where the sa- loon has not exerted its baneful influ- ence upon them. It is almost impossible for us, who live surrounded with all modern conveniences, to measure the difficulties and hardships with which these first pioneers had to fight. Coming to the large city of New York, bewil- dered by the for- eign language and the noisy brawl of the hotel-runners, unable to ex- press them- selves, cheated out of their scant savingsin a thousand ways, packed like freight on board the canal boats, unloaded like cattle at Chicago or Mil- waukee, where other ‘ Christian brethren’ tried to roast them, and at last find- ing themselves left alone under the awning of their wagon out on an immense prairie, with no roads, no traces of human _be- ings; driven to madness by clouds of mosquitoes, by want of food and water—what wonder that many sat down, with their heads buried in their hands, and cried aloud and cursed the moment when the desire for adven- tures and a better future had lured them to this desperate undertaking? And when the land was located, to commence with two empty hands, first digging a hole in a hill or an old Indian mound, and creep in there with the children like woodchucks ; or erecting a shanty out on the windy open prairie, and nearly freeze to death in the cold winter; and PROFESSOR R. NORSEMEN IN THE UNITED STATES. when the summer came, to work, work, work, suffering with ague, hearing the sick children moaning and crying, un- able to attend to their wants, beyond reach of any physician, not seeing smoke from a neighborly chimney for many miles; perhaps scared to death by wild beasts prowling round their lonely huts, or by Indians, in their war paint, shout- ing in a barbarous language and swing- ing their tomahawks. When we now sec the smiling farms in the thickly settled regions, with schoolhouses and _ churches and postoffices, we would not dream that this had been a wil- derness forty, or fifty years ago, changed as it is now into a garden by the industry and patience and unflinching en- ergy of the old men and women who now sit in their armchairs, broken down by rheumatismand overwork, or sleep under the turf by the old oak or pine tree yonder. Amer- ican history will not mention the names of these courageous pioneers, who have done more for its glory than soldiers on the battlefield. But it ought not to forget their deeds ; and their grandchildren who now occupy the farms will bless the toil and sufferings of their predecessors, who have bequeathed to them comfortable homes and a happy future. But this peaceful battlefield is not the only one where the Norsemen have shed their life blood for their adopted father- land. In the civil war they were found in almost every western company ; and the Fifteenth Wisconsin, consisting only B. ANDERSON.

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NORSEMEN IN THE UNITED STATES. HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN. of Scandinavians, gathered its bloody laurels on many battlefields, especially at Chicamauga where their commander Colonel Hans Hegg, son of one of the first settlers, was killed. «‘I think I shall have to send my Fifteenth Wisconsin,”’ General Sherman used to say when some- thing risky was to be done. Besides farming and money-making the common Norseman’s mind is occu- pied with two things—politics and re- ligion. Having fought for his independ- ence and being at last united with his former foe, Sweden, the Norwegian is very jealous of his liberty and always on his guard against any encroachment up- on his right of self-government. He hasa vigilant eye, is politically wide awake, and Norsemen therefore make good ma- terial for citizens of a republic. Still the Scandinavians have not exercised a great political influence in the West, though some of them, like the Norwegian Knute Nelson of Minnesota, have attracted at- tention as members of congress. The reason for this must be sought in their 681 mutual jealousy which al- ways is likely to frustrate their occasional efforts at co- operation. Being born and educated in the narrow valleys of Norway and separated one from another not only by mountains but by dialects and customs, the Norwegian farm- er’s mind is accustomed to move in a narrow circle; his interests rarely stray beyond his farm, his parish or his dis- trict. It is very difficult for him to drop his little local scheme, for the benefit of the larger commonwealth. While the Germans or the Irish al- ways keep close together and thereby obtain political power, the Scandinavians are always divided against themselves and an easy prey to eloquent demagogues who take advan- tage of their national preju- dices. This stubborn narrow- ness and lack of public spirit makes itself particularly felt in their religious conflicts. The Scandinavian Lutheran church of America has split into six different organizations, which have hitherto waged a sort of civil war one against the other with all the harshness and cruelty that character- ize internecine combats. The disagree- ment has related partly to questions of doctrine, partly to government and in- ternal organization; and as no party was willing to yield, each has magnified its flies into elephants. The Norwegian is a born controversialist. He likes to discuss, to twist words, to push argu- ments, to indulge in hair-splitting defini- tions; and as the religious field is the only one in which he feels himself at home, he gives free vent to his fighting spirit in his ecclesiastical controversies. A Scandinavian Lutheran church con- vention offers a tragi-comical sight. It is held quite in medizval style. No quarter is given to the slightest heresy; wholesale condemnation, the stake and eternal damnation await the sinner that goes astray. The Bible is considered a great arsenal of doctrinal weapons and projectiles.

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682 The combatants launch Biblical thun- derbolts against one another ; Moses and David and the prophets are made viking chiefs who brandish their swords with delight ; and when one of the parties is about to be pushed to the wall, its minis- ters command a charge of bayonets along the whole line with St. Peter and St. Paul as standard bearers. The inspiring words of command, the smell of powder, the smoke of the burning heresies stir up the farmer. He feels his importance as a crusader ; the fanaticism of his lead- ers influences him and he considers him- self a sentinel of God’s kingdom on earth, whose holy duty it is to resist and repulse all those modern innovations that come and ask for admission in the allur- ing guise of ‘progress.’ In this stubborn belief in the infallibil- ity of their own party the reason must be found why three of the Lutheran socie- ties during three years have struggled in vain to unite.* They have labored ener- getically and some of them are excellent- ly organized. Each party has its high school and theological seminary. The Norwegian synod has its seat of learning at Decorah, Iowa, presided over by Pro- fessor Larsen; the Norwegian-Danish conference at Minneapolis, Min- nesota, (Augsburgh seminary), at the head of which are Professors Sverdrup and Oftedahl. The Aug- ustana synod has its seminary at Marshal, Wisconsin and the Hauge synod at Red Wing, Min- nesota. Besides these the Norse- men have colleges at Willmar and Northfield, a seminary at Parker, Minnesota, and a nor- mal school at Sioux Falls, Dakota. In former days the Lutheran societies violently op- posed the common school and tried to establish separate paro- chial schools. Now this oppos- ition has partly ceased, but it still has some strength in the Norwegian synod. And we re- ceive in these very days the in- formation that the Bennett law of Wisconsin, which would impose the teaching of the English lan- guage on every school in the state, is likely to be defeated by the opposition of the Scandina- NORSEMEN IN THE UNITED STATES. ian Lutheran ministers. Besides the Lutherans, the Baptists and Methodists have gathered around them quite an important Scandinavian element. Dur- ing the last seven years a Unitaria: movement has also been started at the head of which stands the Norwegian author and theologian Kristofer Jan- son. The centre of this movement is Minneapolis, where a handsome church has been built. Other places where lib- eral societies have been formed are St. Paul, Underwood, Fergus Falls, Linden in Brown County, Minnesota, and Hudson, Wisconsin. The movement seems to pros- per. Among the Norwegians who have left their old country in order to use their influence and talents among their emi- grated countrymen we also may mention Professor Breda, now of the State univer- sity at Minneapolis, a man of rare attain- ments and ability, and Professor Edward Olsen whose untimely death his country- men have not ceased todeplore. The latter occupied the professorship of Greek at the Chicago university and was then elected president of the newly founded university at Vermilion, South Dakota. During a visit to his brother, the well- known drygoods merchant S. E. Olsen at CONSUL P. SVANOE, CHICAGO.

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Minneapolis, he spent a few minutes at the editorial offices of the Minneapolis Tri- bune. Suddenly the alarm bell rang, the building was on fire and, before the flames were extinguished, the bleeding remains of Professor Olsen were picked up from the ground. He had tried the fire escape, but had dropped down. The deceased had been a member of the Oriental congress, and was the only one—so it was told— that was able to address each one of the many delegates at the convention in his native tongue. In our list of educators we must not for- get Professor W. W. Wraaman, Profes- sor Hendricksen and Rasmus B. Ander- son. Professor Wraaman has been for some time superintendent of Hennepin county schools, and is now the president of South Minneapolis academy. He has done much for the introduction of the En- glish language among his countrymen and has published a very practical hand- book. Professor Hendricksen was for many years professor of history at the College of Beloit, Wisconsin, and is now editor inchief of Skandinaven, one of the oldest papers published in the Norwegian- Danish language. R. B. Anderson was fora series of years professor of the Scandinavian langua- ges at the Wisconsin State university at Madison; went from there into business as a life-insurance agent for the Equi- table and was appointed by President Cleveland minister resident at Copen- hagen, Denmark. On returning to the United States he resumed his business life and is now acting as agent for one of the large cod-liver-oil companies of Nor- way. He is a good type of the self-made Norseman of America. His father was Bjorn Anderson, a Norse peasant’s son, and his mother was the daughter of an officer in the army. In the aristocratic circles of Norway such a union was con- sidered a misalliance, and as Bjorn An- derson also was a Quaker, the prejudices with which he had to contend were well- nigh insuperable. He therefore resolved to escape with his young wife to the land of liberty and crossed the ocean in the spring of 1836. The two first years were spent at Rochester, New York, where he worked as acooper. Then he moved farther west to La Salle county, IIli- NORSEMEN IN THE UNITED STATES. 683 nois, and at last pitched his tent on the site of the present town of Albion, Wisconsin. Mrs. Anderson was the first white woman who settled there. They had to endure all sorts of hardships and sufferings, but they did not lose cour- age. They were endowed with a will of iron. Inthe first two or three years six cents was all thecash money they owned. With the few products they could spare the husband had to go through the un- cultivated wilderness to Milwaukee, the nearest town, seventy miles distant, in or- der to exchange them for necessaries of life. During his absence his wife stayed alone in the log hut with the children, only visited by an occasional Indian. In this school of hardship young Rasmus grew up. He remembers with pride that he earned his first money by peddling apples. By energy and hard work he achieved success. He visited first the Norwegian college at Decorah, Iowa, but his independent nature rebelled against the tyranny of the school and he was compelled to leave. Later we find him as professor, first at Albion college, then at the Wisconsin State university. His in- fluence has been great as a teacher but still greater as an author. The language and literature of his mother country be- came his favorite study, and he has done more than any one else to introduce in America a knowledge of the remarkable old Norse civilization. His chief works are a Norse Mythology, Viking Tales of the North, America not Discovered by Columbus, and The Younger Edda. He has also by translations tried to make the best Norwegian works of fiction known to the American public, partic- ularly the peasant novels of Bjérnstjerne Bj6rnson. He has also translated Win- kel Horn’s Handbook of Scandinavian Literature and several of the master- pieces of Georg Brandes, the celebrated Danish critic. Another man of letters who has made himself famous is Hjalmar Hjorth Boye- sen. Coming to this country at the age of twenty-one he still conquered all the difficulties of the English language to such an extent, that he was welcomed as a contributor to the principal American magazines and soon became a full-bred American. His first novel,Gunnar, made quite a hit and has been published in

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684 seven editions. The picturesque nature of the land of the midnight sun and the odd fancies and customs of its people opened a new world to the American reading public. Gunnar was followed by a series of novels—Tales from Two Hemi- spheres, Falconberg, Ilka on the Hill- top, A Norseman’s Pilgrimage, Vagabond Tales, Idyls of Norway, The Light of Her Countenance, and several others— by which this author has a secure place in American literature. In 1874 he was called to the professorship of German in the Cor- nell university at Ithaca, New York, and moved in 1880 to New York city where he was offered a professorship of Germanic languages and literatures at Columbia College. Scandinavian artists have not as a rule found America a golden land of promise. Very few have come here to stay. Ole Bull, who married an American lady and settled at Madison, Wisconsin, ruled despotically everywhere by the magic of his violin, and even the busy prosaic western America stopped to listen to his wonderful strains, in which the whole Norwegian nature quivered in melodies. Edmund Neupert also occupied a promi- nent place in the musical world of New York. But besides these names, I know of no prominent Norwegian musician who has settled here. Stars have come on a visit, and left again. Among the painters, two have tried their luck in the growing western cities. One of them, Melvold, died in the utmost poverty; the other, Gansta, does not en- joy a very enviable existence at Minne- apolis. The culture of the rich west as regards art is not as yet sufficiently de- veloped to enable it to distinguish be- tween pretentious charlatanism and true artistic merit. The sculptor Jakob Fjelde has made himself favorably known of late by some busts of prominent men. He has been engaged to model the bronze figure of the muse of History for the public library at Minneapolis ; but he also complains bit- terly of the hard struggle an artist has to encounter in our western states. In this row of artists I will also place Mr. Struck, the architect of the splendid Normanna hall at Minneapolis. It is self-evident that the larger number of Norwegian im- migrants belong to the poorer classes, NORSEMEN EN THE UNITED STATES. who have come here to better their mate- rial conditions. Among the exceptions to this rule we must count the many able physicians educated in European uni- versities, who have made America their home. Prominent among these are Dr. Knut Hoegh of Minneapolis, probably the best surgeon of the northwest, and Dr. Doe of Chicago. The Norsemen most eminent in the le- gal profession are Ingolf K. Boyesen of Chicago, the author’s brother, and A. Ueland of Minneapolis. These gentle- men enjoy the full confidence of their fellow citizens and have a well-merited reputation for ability and honesty. Mr. I. K. Boyesen has twice been offered the nomination for a judgeship when a nomi- KRISTOPHER JANSON. nation was equivalent toan election. But his practice is so remunerative that he can not as yet afford to give it up in re- turn for judicial honors. A great number of the Norwegian im- migrants remain in the cities as skilled mechanics or as laborers. The growing western communities do not fully appre- ciate what they owe to these faithful toil- ers. They are grinding the wheat at the flour mills, they are handling the logs at the saw mills, they are digging the sew- ers and paving the streets and planting the parks and driving the teams and do- ing much of the housework. Some of

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NORSEMEN IN them, though relatively few, have ac- quired wealth and position. I will not mention those who happened to own land where the large cities of Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis and St. Paul now are situated. They got their mil- lions into their pockets by mere chance. But I mean those who by their own ef- forts have amassed fortunes and who ex- hibit in their success the typical quali- ties of their race. Among these Mons Andersen of La Crosse, Wisconsin, is the best known. Commencing as a poor lad by sawing wood for people, he scratched his English a bec on the saw- buck in order to learn the language. Americans immediately noticed that here was energy worthy of assistance and they helped him along. Now he has be- come the chief of a large drygoods estab- lishment and owns a beautiful residence at La Crosse. His native simplicity and modesty have however not forsaken him. In journalism the Norse-Americans have unfolded a startling activity. One of their earliest ventures was The North- ern Light, published in the forties by Hegg & Reimert at Norway, Racine coun- ty, Wisconsin, in the interest of the Free Soil movement. Though it was nota finan- cial success and expired after two years of precarious existence, it had the merit of having first signalized the fact that the natural sympathies of the Norsemen were with the party of freedom and opposed to the then menacing slave power. Inci- dentally it also raised one of its publish- ers, Mr. Reimert, into prominence in state politics. He was a presidential elector in 1848 and subsequently a member of the constitutional convention and of the state legislature. In 1849 The Northern Light was bought by Knute Langeland, and under the changed name, The Democrat, de- voted itself with much energy and ability to defending the cause of abolition. At the end of a year and a half it again gave up the ghost. The Emigrant and Fe- drelandet (The Fatherland), which after a season of separate existence wisely unit- ed their cerebral and financial forces, con- tinue to address the Norse immigrant (at La Crosse, Wisconsin) and devote a vast deal of space toreligious controversies of a more or less acrimonious kind. The editor of Feedrelandet and Emigranten, Mr. F. THE UNITED STATES. 685 A. Husher, has been a member of the Minnesota legislature and has recently been appointed United States consul to Fort Stanley and St. Thomas, Canada. A remarkable man who was associated with Norse-American journalism in its early days was the late Marcus Thrane. He had been imprisoned in Norway for inciting the laboring population to revolt, and after having served out his sentence came to the United States. He first set- tled in Chicago where in 1856 he pub- lished Den Norske-Amerikaner (The Norse-American) which can scarcely have been a very profitable enterprise as its subscription list was later presented to a new paper called Skandinaven which con- tinues its prosperous career up to the present day. Skandinaven was. un- doubtedly the first Norwegian newspaper in this country which proved a financial success. This was due to various causes, foremost among which were the character and ability of the editor, the above-men- tioned Knute Langeland. Mr. Langeland during his long editorial career exercised a greater influence than any other man in moulding the opinions of his country- men into sympathy with American in- stitutions. He was Norse to the back- bone and yet a thoroughly loyal Ameri- can. A plain rugged man he was, with no grace of speech and manner, but rigidly upright, deeply religious, and withal pro- gressive in a careful and deliberate way. He was in the best sense representative of the people whom he addressed; he un- derstood their interests and the working of their minds; and they therefore listened to him and made his paper the great suc- cess which in the course of time it became. A goodly share of credit for this success belongs to another sturdy Norseman, Mr. John Anderson, the publisher of Skan- dinaven, who by his intelligence, in- dustry and energy has worked upa great printing and publishing department in connection with the paper. Skandi- naven is and always has been republican in its politics. Its present editor, Mr. Peter Hendrickson, was formerly a professor in Beloit college, but abandoned an aca- demic fora journalistic career. Heisa clear and vigorous writer and, though a strong partisan, is personally as courteous and genial as editorially he can be dis- agreeable, if you happen to be a democrat.

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686 Another Norse-American journalist who being born an American (but of Norse parents) may perhaps disclaim the appellation, is Mr. Victor Lawson, the editor and proprietor of the Chicago Daily News, which is said to have the largest circulation of any newspaper in the west. Mr. Lawson is the son of a Norse immigrant, Ivar Lawson (or Lar- son), who was part proprietor of Skan- dinaven during its early days. I cannot refrain from pointing to this intelligent, wide-awake, energetic and enterprising gentleman as an instance of what, under favoring circumstances, the Norse immi- grant may become in the second genera- tion. Mr. Victor Lawson is as American in feeling and sentiment as if his ances- tors had come over in the Mayflower. He has assimilated the best qualities of the American character, while yet retain- ing a certain Norse sturdiness, a fearless courage of his convictions, and a fine independence which refuses to follow a party where his conscience disapproves. It is these qualities which have made him the power that he is in western jour- nalism. Eminently worthy of honorable men- tion as a journalist is Mr. Luth Jaeger, formerly editor of the influential weekly, Budstikken, in Minneapolis, and now editor of The North, an excellent, ably edited journal printed in English and de- voted to the noble task of educating the Scandinavian immigrants to be good and loyal American citizens. Mr. Jaeger is a democrat in politics, and his paper is in- dependent with a pronounced democratic tendency. The same may be said of its Norse namesake, Norden, published by I. T. Relling & Co. in Chicago. Mr. Relling is one of the many intelligent Norsemen who became Mugwumps in 1884 and have since drifted in the direc- tion of democracy. His paper which is conspicuously fair-minded has naturally reflected his political conversion, and is now a most vigorous and much-needed champion of tariff reform and reform of the civil service. Mr. Relling is also at the head of a prosperous publishing house, and makes a specialty of the im- portation of Scandinavian books. It is an undeniable fact that the Norse- Americans have not hitherto wielded a political influence at all proportionate to NORSEMEN IN THE UNITED STATES. their numbers. Though imbued with a strong sense of personal independence and endowed with considerable aptitude for political affairs, they have failed to secure the recognition from the repub- lican party to which their loyalty and staunch support would seem to have en- titled them. Where they are strong enough to defy all opposition, they have sent men of their own race to the state legislatures, and in a few instances also to congress. The Honorable Knute Nel- son of the fifth “Minnesota district, is the only Norseman who has attract- ed national attention and made a rec- ord of which his countrymen have any reason to be proud. He had the courage to vote against his party and support the Miils bill in the fiftieth congress ; and what was more, he knew how to state the reasons for his temporary apostacy with much force and cogency. Mr. Haugen, another Norseman, who represents a Wis- consin district in the fifty-first congress, made his countrymen blush at seeing his vote recorded against the international copyright law, and Mr. Lind, a Swede, even went to the length of making a speech in favor of sustaining the present disgraceful condition. In Minnesota and Wisconsin, Norse- men frequently figure on the state tickets as candidates for various offices and usu- ally on the republican side, and in the Dakotas they are sure to. play a consider- able part. A great drawback to their political preferment is however their ani- mosity to the Swedes. The American party manager is not given to making nice distinctions ; and it has been found impossible to impress him with the fact that Norwegians and Swedes are separate nationalities. He calls them both Scan- dinavians and can see no reason why they should not combine upon common can- didates and back them with the force of their united strength. This is the secret of the comparatively small political influence which is wielded by the race which in Minnesota might be the dom- inant one and in Wisconsin and the Dakotas at least holds the balance of power. (* After this article was written the information comes, that the three parties at last successfully have completed their union, at a meeting in Minneapolis, in the month of June.—Ep.]

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VOLCANOES NEAR SAN jose DE GUATEMALA. A GLIMPSE OF GUATEMALA. By FRANCIS J. A. DARR. HE voyage from San Francisco south to the Isthmus, in the slow, coal-sav- ing steamers of the Pacific mail, is not such as to inspire one with love for the sea; and notwithstanding the inconveni- ence of landing in open roadsteads, San José de Guatemala was a welcome sight to all of us. The shallow waters of the Pacific coast of Central America make it necessary for steamers of any draught to anchor in the open sea at about two miles from shore ; large, flat-bottomed launches, rowed by twelve scantily clothed low caste natives, then approach the side of the vessel to transport passengers, baggage and freight to the long iron piers which have been built out beyond the surf. The passenger seats himself in a chair supported by block and tackle to a crane above, and when all is ready is swung out into space, and rapidly lowered into the launches. The operation is safe enough on quiet days, but in rough weather one receives many hard knocks, if lucky enough to escape a ducking, which is a source of much amusement to the natives and heartless passengers who crowd the deck to witness the discomfort of the un- fortunates who are going ashore. On a clear day the view of the moun- tains from the port is very impressive. It is but a few miles from the backbone of the Sierra Madre, which from here south to Costa Rica fairly bristles with volca- noes. From the low country of the coast up to the 4500-foot elevation of Guatemala city, the Indian dress passes through every grade, from absolute nakedness to a complete costume of sandals, trousers, shirt and hat. The railroad to the capital passes through many Indian villages of adobe huts with thatched roofs, sur- rounded by heavily laden tropical fruit trees. The life of these indolent, lazy natives is sleeping, eating, smoking and drink- ing, when they have earned enough silver to purchase a quart of +‘ aguadiente.”’ From the windows of the train one catches many views of domestic life. Here a woman grinding corn for the « tortilla,”’ there, the frijole or black bean, and always watched by her three or four little chil- dren, one for every year of her married life. The last one, or baby, is folded in a shawl on her back, shoving his chubby fists into his mother’s hair and seeing how much he can pull out. Their cooking utensils are of native pot- tery and answer every requirement. It is said that the native Guatemalteco can tell at a glance not only in what district any particular piece of pottery was made, but that he will also name the village. A run of about three hours brings you to the town of Escuintla. In former days this was the distributing point for the interior of Guatemala; was headquarters for ox teams ; contained the homes of many of the wealthiest traders in balsam, coffee, sugar and cochineal, and promised to soon outstrip in population and importance even Guatemala itself. The aniline dyes killed the cultivation of the cochineal bug, the railroad was pushed from the coast, through Escuintla, over mountains and ravines to the capital, ox teams were sold as beef cattle, and today Escuintla is but a poor ghost of her former self. To a traveller, however, it presents every char- acteristic of the ideal, lazy tropical town. The narrow cobbled streets are lined with

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A GLIMPSE OF GUATEMALA. INDIAN ‘‘RANCHOS’’ BETWEEN ESCUINTLA AND THE VOLCANOES. dismal-looking adobe houses, and at cer- tain cool hours of the day are filled with gaudily dressed Indians from the sur- rounding ‘‘ pueblos,’’ bringing every vari- ety of fruit and vegetable known to the climate. These farmers, so to speak, are never anxious to sell their produce until they arrive at the « plaza,’’ where they ar- range their baskets in rows to await cus- tomers ; but often when going at a dog trot some cook will call out to them, that she herself may be spared a trip to the ‘«‘plaza.’’ Though competition at the mar- ket is brisk, all venders combine to keep the price up and never cut rates unless in secret. Fruits and wild vegetables are wonderfully cheap ; but potatoes and peas, or in fact anything requiring cultivation is high in price. Escuintla has an altitude of about 300 feet, and from eleven in the morning until five in the afternoon a native of northern climes must remain in the shade to be comfortable. The quiet burning heat is something terrific ; the large-leafed plants fold up, while small sprigs seem to die. Perspiration streams down the faces of passing Indians, whose leathery skins glisten with moisture. Animals seek the shade of trees, everything living seems to rest. The hot sun shines from a clear sky until about three p.m., when dark storm clouds roll down the mountains shading the entirecoast. Large drops of rain fall first, gradually increasing until the very heavens seem to have opened ; and as suddenly the storm passes away, followed by the cool sea breeze, moistened by the rain. The refreshing sensation is delightful, there is new life everywhere, the plants open, blooming roses are again moist and fragrant, loaded mules are once more on their way, and the deserted streets are again filled. In such warm regions ice becomes the greatest luxury, and itis only recently that ice machines have been suc- cessfully worked by natives. The water of Escuintla is tepid before being cooled by evaporation in earthen jars, and is brought from some large springs, a few miles distant, by Indians, who dispose of it from door to door at a moderate price, while the ordinary water used for washing purposes is brought through the city in the old aqueducts built years ago by the Spanish priests. At many corners there are public water troughs, where the poor and those who have not running water in their houses procure their supply. Earthen vessels holding from three to five gallons of water are balanced on the head, by first making a rest by placing a twisted cloth on the crown, coiled in a circle. This balancing feat is acquired only by long practice, and there are few prettier sights in the tropics than the pict- uresquely dressed and graceful native girl, almost unconsciously carrying the water jar on her head. One often meets really handsome women among the In- dians. Brought up from early childhood accustomed to every exercise, their figures develop most beautifully, and every move- ment becomes naturally graceful. From sixteen years of age until say thirty is their prime ; after that they fade rapidly, and are wrinkled hags at forty. Their dress consists of square-shaped shirt with

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armholes, which in color varies with the age and taste of the wearer, from white and black, through all colors and shades ; the skirt is wound round the body outside of the shirt and both fixed in place by a stout belt ; a light shawl and a many col- ored headpiece complete the costume. Many adorn themselves with coral necklaces and bangles, made by stringing small silver coins on stout cord. The avenue of San Luis on the outskirts of Escuintla is lined by two rows of gor- geous palms, which are much nobler varieties of that southern forest king than are found anywhere in the West Indies. None of the aged inhabitants I met were old enough to tell me the age of these trees, nor any more than that they were regarded as old when they were children. The undergrowth and luxuriant vegetation around the town is of that dark green com- mon to the eucalyptus or blue gum tree of California, and as the railroad gradu- ally ascends the heavy grade to the east the refreshing coolness of the mountains is soon felt, and the rich heavy foliage of the coast is superseded by the sparse growth of higher altitudes, until the banana and pine- apple plants are replaced by mountain oak and apple trees. The question of labor in Guatemala is growing more serious every year, and even now the planter puts a mort- gage on his hired men for the -next year by advancing them any- where from fifty to $100 apiece. This is what is called a system of «: habilitacion,”’ and it has spread from the farm hands of the country to the domestics of the city. One employs a cook, she immediately bor- rows a month’s wages: she calls it a loan, but it might just as well be called a gift, because one never sees it again, and A GLIMPSE OF GUATEMALA. 689 she will always owe that amount, unless more is lent. Of course, in any particular department where the president or one of his minis- ters may own a coffee estate, all other own- ers have to stand aside until the favored ‘“‘ finca’’ is well supplied with labor ; INDIAN GIRL OF GUATEMALA. and sometimes powerful owners have so drained the country of able-bodied coffee pickers that weaker proprietors have lost entire crops amounting to many thou- sands of dollars. The power of the head of government is so absolute that he is able to persecute this or that coffee grower at will, and there is little or no re- In order to be a successful coffee course.

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690 planter one must have some influence with the heads of departments ; if a na- tive, the influence is generally political in its nature; but if a foreigner, one has to pay for all one gets, Earthquakes are of daily occurrence in the vicinity of Amatitlan, and many ruined houses and shaken-down churches can be seen on all sides. Those most severe were felt in Antigua, about 108 years ago, when that city was entirely destroyed. The cathedral of San Francisco, with walls varying in thickness from five to ten feet, was completely destroyed. Huge arches built of cut stone were broken like so many pipe stems. Shortly before arriving at the city the train passes close to the national peni- tentiary, built by General Barrios. Sur- rounding the inte- rior buildings there is a wall about twenty-five feet in height, wide enough at the top for sentinels and guards to be post- ed, and enclosing an area of about ten acres. The interior ar- rangements are so crude, the cells so uncomfortable and the lowest tiers so damp and’ un- healthful as to re- call the dungeons and prisons of the Middle Ages. The liberal party came into power, with Barrios as its lead- er, in the revolu- tion of 1870 and 1871. He immedi- ately began to beautify the capital, to lay out fine streets, to erect creditable public buildings, and in a hundred dif- ferent ways to improve the dirty, ill- smelling Spanish town, until the con- trast became so great that now it is called the Paris of Central America. The old monks had constructed a simple but ex- cellent system of water supply, but their drainage plans were defective and epi- demics had been frequent. American en- A GLIMPSE OF GUATEMALA. gineers corrected this ina great meas- ure, and the city now compares very well in that respect with some of the most favorably located towns of the United States. One’s sojourn need not be of long dura- tion to learn that though the military despotism of Barrios accomplished some good results for the country at large, it was nevertheless a reign of terror. Citi- zens were never sure that on the follow- ing day they might not be in prison. In- numerable spies were employed, and no doubt many used their secret influence to punish and persecute personal enemies. The system developed into an inquisition ; no man was safe. Arrests were frequent and at night, without charges being pre- ferred or accuser named. The peniten- AVENUE SAN LUIS, ESCUINTLA, tiary was commanded by an army officer, responsible only to Barrios and his min- ister of war, Barrundia ; and many fami- lies today mourn for members who were last seen entering its gates. During thirteen years, over 3000 polit- ical prisoners disappeared in the peniten- tiary and were never again heard from! Many claim that the number is nearer 5000. In addition to the wholesale exe- cutions, numberless political prisoners

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A GLIMPSE OF GUATEMALA. THE CATHEDRAL, GUATEMALA CITY. were whipped and tortured to extort con- fessions. The methods of punishment were numerous and barbarous; it will suffice to relate a single instance. A certain colonel had in some manner in- curred Barrios’s hatred. By degrees: he lost his grade in the army until he was confined by the police. From being one of the most zealous, brutal, and cruel of his chief's supporters he himself had become a prisoner. He was a giant in stature and strength, and numerous trials at the whipping-post produced but little effect upon him. One night, after a very severe lashing, he allowed himself to curse his persecutor. RUINS OF THE CATHEDRAL OF SAN FRANCISO, ANTIGUA, GUATEMALA. 44

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A GLIMPSE. OF GUATEMALA. we ee AVENUE DE CALVARIO, ANTIGUA, GUATEMALA. Orders were then given to use petro- leum ; his cut and gashed body was sat- urated with oil ; he was tied to a cemented floor and set fireto. The petroleum did the work. It is possible that the complete sys- tem of espionage exercised under Barrios has rendered Guatemaltecos suspicious. A stranger immediately feels that he is re- garded with curiosity by all who see him ; the nature of his business, the probable length of his sojourn in the country and the source of any influence he may have will all be inquired into with the greatest minuteness. The country is full of new schemes for railway lines, electric- light systems, tele- phone plants, colo- nizing projects, the building of new seacoast piers and even of the plant- ing of vineyards under public pro- tection; thus when- ever a stranger does appear he is said to be connected with this or that enter- prise. As a rule the Germans, Eng- lish, French and Italians receive a much more cordial welcome than the Americans, and the people as a nation are much more Eu- ropean than American in customs, feeling and sentiment. The growing power and influence of the United States is regarded with jealousy ; emigrants from our country are not de- sired ; they view us in the same light as the Californian does the «‘ Chinee,’’ con- sidering that nothing but money would attract us to their shores. The excess of Indian blood is by degrees darkening the complexion of the entire race. The only hope of the country must come from for- eign lands; they are indebted to us for nearly every piece of engineering work they have; their regular communication | ie - 4 {is IED. oer eee GRAND PLAZA, GUATEMALA CITY, SHOWING THE GOVERNMENT BUILDINGS.

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with the outside world is by means of American steamers, and yet we see the authorities always throwing the weight of their influence against things American. Their far-seeing leaders must see that in time the overflowing population of the United States will cross to the south of the Rio Grande; the Mexicans will be first absorbed, the Central Americans next ; and yet we see these people already begin- ning to attémpt to keep us out, just as effectually as they would push back the ocean from their coasts with the palms of their hands. For many years Guatemala has been the most active advocate of the union of the Central American states. While such a union would be advantageous to that small brood of half-breed republics, it should be accomplished by peaceful means. During Barrios’ time his supporters made loud claims that he had no designs on the presidency of the union, but I do not think that today there can be found 100 honest Guatemaltecos who would swear that such was the case. You may varnish over Guatemala’s de- SOLITUDE. 693 sire again and again, but the true incentive remains the same, i. e., to control the new union as she does her own departments today. Whatever strange sensations one may feel in a land not thoroughly hospitable are soon forgotten in only casually study- ing this unique race, so near every re- finement of civilization and yet clinging to Spanish customs that our Sioux and Apaches will scorn in a few years. The ‘‘mozo’’ or laboring Indian still carries his pack or «‘ canasta’’ on his back, like a beast of burden, and the coffee machinery of the remote districts has all been trans- ported over the mountains, piece by piece, in the same manner. The conventional low rambling Spanish house, enclosing a tropical garden, the beautiful stone and ‘‘adobe”’ religious structures and the bright-colored costumes of the Indians attract the eye at every turn in the streets, momentarily banish- ing any sad thoughts that even a moralist might entertain concerning the future of this gay and thoughtless people, who take so few steps forward in this age of univer- sal rapid progress. SOLITUDE. By FREDERICK PETERSON. It is the bittern’s solemn cry, Far out upon the lonely moors, Where steel-gray pools refiect the sky, And mists arise in dim contours. Save this, no murmur on their verge Doth stir the stillness of the reeds ; Silent the water-snakes emerge From writhing depths of water-weeds. Through sedge or gorse of that morass There shines no light of moon or star ; Only the fen-fires gleam and pass Along the low horizon bar. It is the bittern’s solemn cry, As if it voiced, with mournful stress, The strange hereditary sigh Of age on age of loneliness !

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HORSES AND RIDERS. By Hznry CABoT LODGE. Oattempt to say something new or even something with a flavor of novelty as to the art of riding a horse, in anything short of a volume, would be a vain under- taking. Yet when one gazes upon those who ride and even while one rejoices that their number is ever on the increase, it is impossible to believe that a reiteration of some of the old truths as to what consti- tutes good riding can ever be amiss. This, at all events, is all that the present article aims to do—to present very briefly a few of the principles which the writer has come to believe most essential to success in an art that is well worth any man’s cultivation. These conclusions, even if they prove to be familiar, are the results of many years. of practice, study and ob- servation. I have ridden constantly ever since I was put on a pony at nine years of age, I have followed hounds in various places and over all sorts of country, and I have had the advantage of studying the art for a short time with the best and most scientific horseman I have ever seen.* These opportunities have not been ex- ceptional, but they have taught me some- thing: the difficulty of the art itself, and the manner of my own shortcomings, if nothing more. It is possible that I may be able to suggest something which will be of interest or assistance to others who love the horse and the saddle as I do, and this is my only excuse for venturing on such well-trodden ground. I shall not attempt to develop my views by means of reminiscences, although all who ride have plenty of them, for in the matter of riding ‘‘teaching by example’’ is not a system which approves itself either to my taste or my capacity. At the risk of seem- ing didactic therefore, I shall try merely to set down some of the conclusions at which I have arrived after a good deal of expe- rience and some thought, and which appear to me to be most helpful to good riding and to the proper training of a horse. In what I have to say I shall begin with the dumb animal. We can afford to give him precedence, for it is pretty certain *M. H. Ll. De Bursigny. that the animal who can speak will, in the end, always get his own case stated as fully as it deserves. History runs back for many centuries, but it does not reach the time when there were not relations of some sort between men and horses. It is not creditable to the more intelligent member of the partner- ship that the most remarkable fact about this long association after many years of civilization should be the nature and dis- position of the horse. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the fact that the horse is still gentle and docile, that he is still preéminently useful to man, is little short of a miracle in view of the treatment to which he always has been subjected. Horses, except in a very small percentage of cases, always have been, and are now, broken and governed in almost absolute defiance of the laws of their nature. The Arabs, perhaps, and a certain number of persons engaged in the training of race- horses of great value, break colts with some reference to their nature, and there is probably an equal number of intelli- gent and highly civilized men who treat the broken horse after he comes into their hands with some regard to his natural qualities. These exceptions are so few, however, that they do no more than prove the rule, and have had and can have but little effect upon the equine race, the great multitude of horses in daily use among men. The treatment of the horse as an animal to be trained and used by man is almost universally wrong, and the first lesson that anyone ought to learn who wishes to become a horseman in the broad sense concerns the nature and disposition of the horse itself. The horse is one of the most timid and nervous of all known animals. He is quite as timid as the deer, which is gener- ally spoken of as typical in that ‘respect. His means of defence and offence are feeble and clumsy in the extreme, not going be- yond a lumbering blow with his hoofs or an awkward pinching bite with teeth formed only to crop herbage. The stag with his heavy antlers, is a much more formidable foe than any stallion could pos-

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HORSES AND RIDERS. sibly be, and yet noonewho has ever tried to stalk deer or who knows anything of their habits would set a stag down as other than atimorous animal. Practically, the only means of protection against its ene- mies possessed by the horse are its suspi- cious watchfulness and great speed. Its only safety in the days of wildness was in flight-and to flight it always resorts still, in a moment of terror, although, like all other timid animals, it will fight after its fashion, if cornered and driven to despera- tion. In addition to the deep-rooted in- stinct which teaches it to fly from any real or imagined peril, the horse is sensitive, ex- citable and more susceptible to punishment and tokindness in the simplest forms than any other animal of which we have inti- mate knowledge. It is true that we often hear it said thata horse has courage, but the expression is misleading, forit is not at all the quality which we mean when we speak of courage in men or in fighting animals. With the horse, courage is only the cour- age of effort or endurance, never that of re- sistance or attack. In moments of intense excitement, to which the horse with his high nervous organization is peculiarly susceptible, he will charge a battery, run until he drops dead with exhaustion, or face a fence or ditch from which under ordinary circumstances he would recoil. A short time ago, a horse racing to a fire with an engine tore his hoof entirely off in a railroad track, but he raced on and gave no sign. The injury was not dis- covered until the fire was reached, and then the noble animal was put out of his agony by a merciful bullet. Courage of this kind the horse can show under stress, but the fighting courage of the bulldog, of the game-cock or of man he never pos- sessed and never exhibits. How then is this nervous, timid, ex- citable animal broken to man’s use? The answer can be given in a word. He is broken and always has been broken by a system in which violence and force are the predominant features. He is treated as if he combined the attributes of the rogue elephant and the man-eating tiger, with the tough hide of the one and the cunning ferocity of the other. Sometimes the violence and the force employed are moderate and do comparatively little harm. Sometimes they are. extreme, as in the case of the «‘ broncho,’’ which has 695 been broken with such summary brutality for generations that it is a marvel that the ponies of the western plains are not all hopelessly vicious buck-jumpers instead of producing only a comparatively small proportion given over to this evil propen- sity. The amount of violence used in horse-breaking depends, in fact, entirely on the character of éach individual en- gaged in the work. Horse-breakers, as a rule, are neither highly educated nor very thoughtful persons, and they resort natu- rally to force when the animal under their hands makes them impatient, as he is cer- tain to do sooner or later. Be it much or little, however, violence is almost invaria- bly used in breaking horses, and the aver- age man seems to proceed on the theory that the horse is naturally vicious. In reality a naturally vicious horse, that is, one which will of its own motion attack man witk the intention of injuring him, is as scarce as a white blackbird. There are horses which have been made vicious by breaking, although even these are rare enough, but the horse vicious by nature is practically unknown. Yet the theory on which horse-breaking proceeds among civ- ilized nations is that we are dealing with a fierce creature which must be subdued by fear. Fear must be appealed to with the elephant or the tiger and with many other animals, but it is greatly out of place in dealing with a horse. The mere statement of the proposition, indeed, is sufficient to show its absurdity. We wish to break an extremely timid and nervous animal to our uses and we do so by adding to its fear, and control it by making it more afraid of us than anything else. The process ought to be the exact opposite. We ought to make the animal obedient and useful by giving it confidence in us and making it regard us as its protector and friend and not as its tyrant. The more a horse is punished the more his sensibilities are deadened, while by punishing as little as possible it is easy to get a horse to re- spond to the tone of voice or to the slight- est touch of hand or leg. It is a waste of words, however, to try to reform horse-breaking. The present system has been in vogue for an indefinite time. The world gets in a rough way what it wants, and the mass of men en- gaged in the business have neither the time nor the wish to change, even if they

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696 had the power of reflection sufficient to en- able them to see the need and the value of improved methods. With the people to whom the horses come when they. leave the hands of the horse-breaker the case is somewhat different, and the improvement in the methods of training and using horses, although slight, has been both cer- tain and steady as civilization has ad- vanced. With those, therefore, who use the horse and who desire to use him in- telligently, with the greatest security and with the best results, it is always possi- ble to get a hearing, and to such persons even an imperfect sermon may be preached with interest if not with advantage. In this paper I shall speak, of course, only of the horse under the saddle, and if anything that I may happen to say has, by good fortune, a wider application, I can only re- peat Doctor Holmes’s words that * This is a moral that runs at large. Take it, you’re welcome, no extra charge.”’ What, then, is the first point to be under- stood by anyone who wishes to ride not only well but intelligently, and to get the most and best from the noble animal under him? The first thing is to understand the nature of the horse, which I have already tried to describe briefly. For in order to be a real horseman in its fullest sense a man must both love the horse and comprehend its nature. I have seen many a bold rider in the field and some skilful trainers in the school who regarded their horses simply as machines by which they might get somewhere or do something, and who were, therefore, not horsemen in the right sense. If a man understands the nature of the horse he knows, as I have said, that he has to do with a sensitive and timid animal. In order, therefore, to get the horse into the habit of obedience which is the foundation of all good results in riding we must win his confidence. It is, of course, absolutely essential that the horse should understand that the rider is the master, from whose will there is no appeal, and it is probable that at least one occasion will arise in which the rider’s control can be demonstrated only by the application of force. But it must never be forgotten that this is the rare exception, and that the best rider is he who uses force least frequently, and when he does use it applies it in such a manner that the horse knows precisely HORSES AND RIDERS. what the punishment means, and dreads it accordingly. To get a proper control of a horse the rule is, as I have said, to get his confi- dence, and this is obtained by kindness, patience and the creation of habits. All three are essential, but last not the least so, for no animal, not even man, seems to be so entirely the slave and creature of habit as the horse. Let me give a practi- cal illustration of just what I mean. The average horse at the outset is afraid of a railroad train. Very few—I am speaking of course of horses who are neither broken in spirit nor dulled by age—care to stand near to a train passing at even a moderate rate of speed. At the station of a little town in Essex county, Massachusetts, there is a horse, not high spirited, but sound and well fed, whose business it is to take people from the train to their various destinations in the neighborhood. When not so engaged he starids with his wagon parallel to the inward track of the railroad and facing the same way as the trains which pass on that side of the line, from which he is separated by a platform perhaps five feet wide. Thirty or forty trains a day pass along that track. Some stop at the station, others are express trains which rush by at the rate of forty miles an hour. When these trains pass the station that horse stands perfectly un- moved, hardly turning his ears. If any- one thinks that this is not a display of con- fidence, let him stand on the platform of a station while an express train comes by, with closed eyes ; and if after performing this simple experiment he is not convinced that the horse to which I have referred shows nerve and confidence, in this in- stance born of habit, I am very much mis- taken. It is much the same thing, I be- lieve, in taking horses into battle. After the first alarm and surprise at the sounds of the battlefield the confidence born of excitement and confusion prevails and the horse goes readily and even eagerly into the fight. If he is wounded and recovers from the wound, I have been told that it very rarely happens that he can be got back into battle again, because he asso- ciates the battlefield with injury and pain. Therefore in ordinary life the object of the horseman should be to impress upon the horse’s mind that the objects which alarm his timid nature are not going to injure

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HORSES AND RIDERS. him, and that the demands which the rider makes upon him will neither hurt nor pain him. When such unlimited confidence can be developed by habit it can also be de- veloped by patient kindness and by the simple reward of a kind word or a slight caress, on which the horsesets great value. Let us take as an instance of what I mean the very common matter of shying. The wild instinct which causes a horse to re- gard with intense suspicion anyunfamiliar object where he fancies that danger may lurk leads him also to contemplate im- mediate flight as soon as his suspicion is aroused. The ordinary method of dealing with a timid horse is to let him take you unawares by shying, and then punish him severely for following the dictates of his nature. In other words, the common prac- tice adds to the fear of the object the fear of ensuing punishment, which is connected in the animal’s mind, not with his shying, but with the object that made him shy, and the next time he will probably spring away with redoubled vigor. The proper treatment is very different. In the first place a rider ought not to be taken un- awares by a shying horse. It is, of course, impossible to always foresee that a horse will shy, but these cases do not occur very often. Still more rarely a rider must force a horse by an object which terrifies him by means of punishment, but this is only necessary when the rider’s safety or that of others is involved. The true method with a timid horse when his rider sees him show slight but unmistakable indi- cations of fear is to turn his head by a slight pressure of the bit slightly away from the dreaded object, keep him moving, speak to him constantly in an encouraging voice, and by no means punish him. Ex- cept in the case of unusually timid horses, in nine instances out of ten a horse will pass perfectly well an object which he fears if he is encouraged and soothed by the voice. In other words, give him confi- dence. Make him understand that you are not only his master, but his friend and protector, and that when you speak to him he may be sure that he is in no dan- ger. Almost all the accidents which occur with horses, either in riding or driving, come from the instinctive timidity which teaches the horse to break away from any- thing that he fears in blind and headlong flight. If, when he is frightened, he ex- 697 pects the infliction of pain from his master he becomes uncontrollable almost at once ; but if he anticipates kindness and is ac- customed to rely on his master's voice and hand, the impulse of flight is soon quieted. What I have said about shying is merely an illustration of the principle which should be used in training horses. That is, we ought to teach them the habit of obedience and confidence in order to get from them the best results both of use and safety.. There are, of course, great differ- ences in the nature and intelligence of horses. They vary in these respects as widely as men, and these differences must be taken into account. Some learn very quickly, others very slowly, and all have great cunning and persistence in evading what is demanded of them. But the same general rule applies to all. Be patient and kind, and above all unyielding, for if you ever allow the horse to conquer when you have once set out to make him do some- thing, he is not likely to be of much value afterwards. In regard to the training of saddle horses it would be quite impossible within the limits of such an article as this to enter into any detailed discussion. The utmost that can be done is to throw out a few general suggestions. Most people—I am speaking of course of riders—are sim- ply carried by their horses from place to place. They think that they are riding because they stay on the horse's back and give a general direction to his forward movement. But this is not riding. The man who rides in the true sense of the word is the one who has his horse under control, and whose horse never makes a movement in any way except by direction of his rider. I do not mean to underrate the difficulties of sticking on a horse, still less do I undervalue the nerve and courage which are the absolutely essential qualities of any kind of riding. But courage and sticking on, although essential, are still only a small part of the art. Every man who undertakes to be a rider ought to know, in a rudimentary way at least, how to make and train a saddle horse. Train- ing a saddle horse is something against which a prejudice exists in many minds, because it is associated with «‘ school rid- ing,’’ and yet ‘school riding,’’ as it is commonly termed, or in better language the art of training a horse, is the most im-

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608 portant thing that any horseman can learn. In the first place it breeds the condition of mind in which most riders are sadly de- ficient. It is the liberal education of horse- manship, and like every really liberal edu- cation it teaches liberality in judging other riders and all systems, and gives a man a breadth of view which is as important in this as in graver matters. The school rider who is nothing else is no doubt dis- posed to be narrow towards those who are proficient in other directions, but this is merely because he is not a school rider in the true sense of the word. That is, he has not been properly taught about the training of horses, for a properly taught rider is aware that there are certain funda- mental principles which are to be found in every kind of good riding. He knows, for example, that the cowboy, the Arab, the Mexican, the cavalry officer, the English jockey and the English fox-hunter are all in their way good and sometimes admirable horsemen. But the tendency of men who have never tried to understand the science of horsemanship, so far as my own experi- ence goes, is to undervalue any kind of riding which is superficially different from theirown. The English, for example, are the great cross-country riders of the world ; that is, more men have been in the habit of riding across country in England, and it has been practised there for a longer time than is the case with any other nation. So much everyone will admit, but the English theory appears to be that owing to these facts Englishmen have a monopoly of riding, and that in the true sense of the word nobody but an Englishman knows howtoride. It is fair tosay that the great English jockeys who ride flat races are probably unequalled, but aside from this there is nothing very surprising or very unusual about English riding. Riding across country is the best of schools to make a good seat, but it is not extraor- dinarily difficult, and there is probably hardly a riding nation in the world whose good riders cannot jump horses over ob- stacles as well as any Englishman. The mental attitude of the Englishman about riding always reminds me of what befell a friend of mine many years ago. My friend had been a very gallant officer in our civil war and had been three times severely wounded. When the war was over he travelled in England, and at a din- HORSES AND RIDERS. ner party in London was asked by a dis- tinguished English general whether we were able to teach our men to fight in line. ‘« Why not?’’ was the reply. «« You could teach monkeys to fight in line if you tried.”’ There is no peculiar English monopoly either in riding or fighting. As Doctor Johnson said of a certain book : « Yes, sir, many men, many women, many children might have written it.”’ In learning to ride well, therefore, or, which is the same thing, in learning to train a horse, it is best to realize that you have before you not an accomplishment which is in its nature wholly empirical, but an art and a science to which you may devote a lifetime without reaching perfection. The objects of riding are first, to stay on your horse, second, to control him absolutely, and third, to get from him the best and the most that he can give. To achieve these objects constant practice is the most essential, and practice under the most varied conditions, both of gait and ground. But practice alone will not suffice. It can make a bold and vigorous rider sometimes, but never a complete and finished horseman. For this, study, in- struction and observation are all needed. It is not my purpose, even were it possible here, to set forth the best system of riding and training, upon which vol- umes have been written. But it is possi- ble perhaps to illustrate my meaning as to the necessity of work and thought in order to become a good horseman. The two factors of riding on horseback are seat and hand. Both are, of course, essential to good results, but the second is depend- ent on the first. Without a good and a strong seat a good hand is impossible, although a good seat by no méans in- volves necessarily a good hand. I saya good hand, but the true phrase is an intelligent hand, for the technical ex- pression a light hand or a heavy hand is misleading. <‘‘ Light hand’’ is used as synonymous with a good hand because the most obvious sin in this direction is to pull or bear needlessly on a horse's mouth. The hand ought, of course, as a rule to be as light as possible. But to imply that a light touch on the bit is always right is as absurd as tosay that there is no harm in dragging on the reins continually. In order to get a horse in hand or to force him into his bridle it is

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HORSES AND RIDERS. often necessary to use the utmost press- ure of which the rider is capable to com- pel the horse to give to it before it is in the least relaxed. What is wanted is an intelligent hand, one which never uses the bit except as a means of guidance, to convey to the horse the rider’s wishes and to control the horse’s movements. Ifthe rider holds himself in place by the reins, as many riders do, or if like most riders he allows the motions of his body in the saddle to be communicated to the horse’s mouth by the bit, then he has neither a good nor an intelligent hand. The mo- tion of the hands, in other words, must be entirely detached from the motion of the body, so that the rider never gives a sign tothe horse by the reins which he does not mean to give. I have seen many a man on horseback who thought he had a seat, but who was really kept in place by bracing himself between the horse’s back- teeth and the stirrup irons. I have seen not a few strong rough riders who had a good grip on the saddle brace themselves still further by holding on by the reins. These men of both classes invariably have pulling horses or horses who dread the bit, which is equally bad and dangerous. They have no hand, and consequently but little guidance or control of their horses. Most riders, even very good ones, balance themselves unconsciously by the reins and permit the motions of their body to be communicated to the horse, giving him the wrong sign at the wrong moment and hopelessly confusing him as to their wishes and intentions. To get the hands properly detached we must learn to ride without reins. This instruction is given in all military schools and in good pri- vate schools and is too often forgotten afterwards. If anyone doubts the fact that riders rely on the reins too much and do not keep the hands entirely detached from the motions of the body let him se- lect a soft piece of ground or go into a ring, put his horse into a sharp trot, slip his feet out of the stirrups, drop his reins and foldhis arms. He will soon discover that his hands form a more important ele- ment than he imagined in keeping him in his saddle, when they ought to have nothing to do with it. Thus, however, we come back to the seat, the essence and source of good riding, the rider's capital, which must sustain and 699 support him and enable him to do what he pleases with his horse. Whyte Melville says that the best seat is acombination of grip and balance, and I do not know that any better or more concise definition’ can be given. Atthesame time, like most con- cise definitions, it requires a good deal of explanation. For example, grip is all-im- portant, but grip in the wrong place is worse than none at all, for then it not only fails of its own .purpose but destroys bal- ance as well. Let me try to enlarge the definition a little. The most important point in a rider’s seat is the knee, for in its position there can be no variation. It must always be in close contact with the saddle. Above and below there may be separation, but never at the knee. When you can see a gleam of light between a rider’s knee and the saddle, that rider’s seat is bad andinsecure. Ifthe separation is momentary and accidental, the seat is for that moment bad. If it is habitual, then the rider has no seat. If, however, the grip is right, then the knee will be in place ; if wrong, it will be detached from the saddle. Ifthe rider holds on with the back of the leg below the knee the knee bows out and cannot touch the saddle, but if he grips above the knee with the thigh the knee will bein position. Nothing illustrates the true position better than a cowboy who is a really good rider, and I select him as an example because he is not the product of a school, but of the hardest of all mas- ters, experience, and of the inexorable conditions of his riding. The cowboy is obliged, in the first place, to meet in buck- jumping the severest repeated shocks or reactions that a horse can give. Then he is compelled to ride anywhere by day or night, to cover long distances, to go at speed over the roughest and most broken country, to descend and ascend the most perilous and precipitous slopes, and to turn and twist in pursuit of cattle at a dead run, while his hands are occupied with a lariat ora quirt. There is no need of scientific discussion here. A man who has to do all this must ride not only well but correctly, otherwise he will fail in his work utterly and disastrously. If we look at a cowboy, therefore, we see that he rides with a long stirrup, depending more, perhaps, upon balance than is either necessary or desir- able in other forms of riding and with other saddles. But we also see that the thigh is

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700 nearly straight, and from the knee up is perfectly flat to the saddle, giving astrong grip, while the lower leg is entirely at lib- erty, the body erect and swaying in unison with every movement of the horse, and the hands free from all dependence on the body. Go now toa good military school, or to the best instructor you can find, and every one of these qualities of riding will be those which you are taught to emulate, for every rider wishes to do with his horse in greater or less degree what the cowboy does as a matter of business. No doubt, the cowboy has much to learn. Ina polo field I think he would be at once an opponent of the most formidable description, but put him on a big well-bred hunter, on a small Eng- lish saddle, and in his first run he probably would not distinguish himself at his fences. Still less would he be able to train and de- velop a well-mannered saddle-horse. But he is, nevertheless, one of the best riders in the world, and he is of value as an ex- ample because his only teacher is actual ex- perience of the most varied kind, and the qualities of seat which he attains are pre- cisely those which scientific teaching incul- cates as the first conditions of good riding. The principles of a good seat are those then which I have enumerated in the cow- boy : the flat thigh gripping the saddle, the lower leg free to give impulse, direc- tion and control to the horse, the body erect, and moving in instinctive harmony with the horse’s motion, and the hands entirely independent of the body. In this way the rider keeps his place by the grip of his thighs and the balance of his body, and never gives the horse any sign, either with hand or heel (the «: aids,’’ as they are called in the ring), except the precise one which he intends to give. It is notin the least necessary to be a cowboy to acquire these qualities of seat. Ride a sharp trot- ting horse without stirrups, ride across country after hounds, study with a good teacher, and you can attain them in a measure, at least, and if you are successful you can learn a good deal that a cowboy has neither opportunity nor need to ac- quire. Get all three of these teachers, if you can, but if all are not possible it is well to remember that the most easily come by, the short trot without stirrups, is the most efficient in making a seat and getting a man.down in the saddle. When the good seat is attained what re- HIORSES AND RIDERS. sults can you get? In riding as in every- thing else in this world, the first thing is to know exactly what you want and the next thing is to know how to get it. What you want and all that any good rider wants is to have his horse walk, trot and gallop perfectly evenly and squarely, to be col- lected and in hand, to go against the bit but not on it, to be ready to respond to any direction and able to jump freely in good form, answering to hand and heel. It sounds simple enough to say that all you want is to have a horse walk, trot and gallop evenly and squarely, but the man who can bring his horse to it habitually is a most admirable rider, andso rare that I can count on my fingers the men I have known who were capable of it. Moreover when a horse reaches that point he is beau- tifully trained. There is a popular idea that school training is merely teaching a horse tricks—circus tricks as they are called by the average rough rider whose great exemplar is the English groom. The ‘‘tricks’’ in question are not the objects sought in training a horse. They are merely the means to the end, which is to make the horse walk, trot, gallop and jump properly, to subject him to the will of his rider, and to get from him the best and most of which he is capable. There are performances known to everyone who has studied the «haute €école’’ called com- monly the «‘ high airs,’’ which require the utmost skill and which really result in lit- tle but their own execution. I am quite of the opinion of Colonel Anderson, who con- siders them of slight value and advises the average rider to refrain from attempting them, which he is pretty safe not to do in any event. But every rider wishes his horse to go evenly, to be in hand, to turn or jump easily and in good form, and these things can only be reached by the school methods, because those methods are scien- tific and immutable. A rider must learn to control his horse’s hind legs by the grip and motion of his own legs, for the hind legs of the horse are the great motive power. He must be able to collect his horse by bringing the hind legs under him, and make him move forward or backward. He must be able to make his horse move in hand, giving to the bit, and turn short either by the fore legs moving in the pir ouette or by the hind legs in the reversed pirouette or rotation. To have the horse

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HORSES AND RIDERS. walk and trot squarely in hand, it is neces- sary to learn the passage, but beyond the Spanish walk and trot, which are impor- tant in order to develop and extend the gait, it is certainly not necessary to go, and it may be doubted if, with rare excep- tions, it is beneficial. Up to this point, however, the scientific methods of the school are absolutely necessary in training a horse, and they impart a strength and correctness to the seat and an intelligence to the hand which nothing else can give. At the same time the school cannot do all. It will give strength and exactness and in- telligence of hand and lég, but it is apt to lead to rigidity. To get, in addition, ease and flexibility of seat a man must ride in the open ; not on the road, for that leads to nothing, but on the plains, in the polo field, or, best of all, across country after hounds. The great merit of riding across country is not the jumpmmg, for a horse can be jumped in aringor a pasture, andsitting ajump is largely a knack or trick. But after hounds a man must ride at speed over broken ground, down steep slopes that bring his heart into his mouth, and must jump in cramped corners from a stand, walk or trot, meeting unexpectedly, per- haps, a drop on the further side of halfa dozen walls. This endless variety of move- ment gives an ease and suppleness to the seat and an unconscious accommodation to the movements of the horse which can be obtained nowhere else. The essential practice of riding without stirrups or across country can be had al- most anywhere, but first-rate instruction by a really scientific horseman of the best class is not easily found. In the absence of such instruction much can be learned from books. The best book on riding, con- 701 sidered as literature, is Whyte Melville’s Riding Recollections, for it was written by a man who was at once rider and writer (a rare combination), and has a lit- erary charm wholly apart from its subject. It is also absolutely free from the boasting which makes most English books on riding thoroughly unattractive. Riding Recol- lections teaches the best of all lessons, that a good rider must be liberal and tol- erant as well as catholic in his tastes, be- sides many others hardly less important, but at the same time it makes no pretence tobeing scientific. The best scientific work that I know is Colonel Anderson’s Mod- ern Horsemanship, which is at once sim- ple, thorough and sound. Everyone, how- ever, interested in training ought to read the great book of Baucher, the founder of the modern science, and if he wishes to go into the higher intricacies he can follow this by the treatise of Baucher’s pupils, MM. Raab and Ruhl. When all is said, however, practice, study and patience are the best masters. They will teach the difficulty of the art and its value. They will show any man that for the development of nerve, energy and courage, so useful in all the affairs of life and so preéminently valuable to a people called to arms, and for the sobriety and temperance in things physical so necessary to any success, no outdoor sport or exercise can equal riding on horseback. They will teach also that liberality of opinion in this as in other matters is best, and that no men have a monopoly of good riding any more than of virtue, but that there is something tobe learned ofall by him whorightly seeks knowledge, and who judges others with the charity with which he would himself be judged.

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A SUCCESSFUL MAN. By JULIEN GORDON. _ CHAPTER VI. HEN Daniel Lawton dis- embarked the next morning at his pier he found his buggy and man wait- ing for him. The latter handed him half a dozen letters and telegrams which he read on his way through thetown. Whirl- ing along the street he chanced to look up as he passed the sign of a new tailor who advertised himself as being a branch of a celebrated London firm. ‘««T don’t take time to get myself clothes, or to have my hair cut, hardly. I havea great mind to stop and lookin here. I think Fred told me it was a good place.”’ He was never vacillating, but prompt of action, and in a moment he had thrown the reins to his servant and was in the store. A clerk with very red cheeks and a waxed mustache approached him lan- guidly. He looked narrowly, almost im- pertinently, at the new customer, the gen- eral cut of whose jib did not suggest ex- travagance. ‘« How can I serve you, sir ?”’ Mr. Lawton had for years patronized a little Hebrew tailor who continued to turn out his clothes from the same mould with praiseworthy constancy. He felt some compunction at this infidelity, and hoped the poor old Jew would never know. ‘« Measure me for a suit,’’ he said. He ordered himself two and finally three, one a rough light gray for morning wear. ‘You wish the latest styles, sir, I sup- pose?’’ asked the highly colored clerk, eying Mr. Lawton’s black broadcloth coat with ill-concealed scorn. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose so.’’ He laughed a little nervously and shamefacedly. ‘‘ Make them in the fashion. I am not much on dress, as you see, but I’ll go the whole figure this time.”’ ‘Will you give me your name, sir?”’ asked the man. He whipped out a note- book and a pencil, which he held sus- pended between his thumb and index, ‘‘and I will fix the hour for trying on early next week, sir.’’ «Mr. Lawton, Daniel Lawton; per- haps you know my offices.”’ The heads of the English master of the establishment and his bookkeeper jerked up suddenly from their desks. The for- mer stepped out briskly. ‘«Pray be seated, Mr. Lawton! Pray be seated! Hi’ope you will be pleased with us, sir! We will do our hutmost! Hi think, sir, we have made some things for your son, sir! No one would hever him- agine to look at you, sir, you could ’ave a son that hage. A fine young gentle- man, sir, with a helegant figure !”’ ‘‘He takes after his father,’’ said Mr. Lawton pére, much amused. ‘‘ Narrower in the chest, sir,’’ mur- mured the clerk, who had become more flushed. ‘‘ We will be ready for you Tues- day at eleven.”’ ‘«Make it ten, and I will get around early. I am very busy.’’ «Yes, of course, sir, of course! any hour you wish.”’ ‘‘ Would you like to look at some light cloth for an overcoat, sir? We make them up in all styles for twelve pounds— sixty dollars, I mean, sir! No? not to- day? This way, sir! Would you likea match? Here, Hawser ! quick ! alight !’’ Three clerks darted out simultaneously from behind their counters. They all wanted to have a nearer view of Mr. Lawton, and took a long stare. He found great difficulty in making his escape, but did finally, after having light- ed acigar, get himself into the street. He was paying the penalty of his greatness. Later, when he reached home, he found his wife standing outside on the porch, much disturbed and excited. Fred was dawdling about with his hands in his pockets, waiting for the trap which was to convey him tothe station. He was going off with his chum Blake for a week’s gun ning, and there was an endless array of gun-cases and cartridge-boxes piled up on the piazza steps.

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A SUCCESSFUL MAN. «Did the expressman give you back the dollar and a half change, Kate?’’ Mrs. Lawton was saying, hardly taking time to greet her husband. ‘«No, ma’am,’’ said Kate, who was en- gaged in fastening a recalcitrant strap. ‘‘He gave me back a dollar and a half's worth of itipudence.”’ “It is perfectly abominable the way that company steals,’’ said Mrs. Lawton. «They are simply robbers. I do hope, Daniel, when you are Governor, you will put a stop to such things.”’ ‘‘Oh mother, don’t bother! ’’ said Fred, loftily, as if from heights where dollar bills were plentiful and unimportant. Mrs. Lawton was clad in a cambric wrapper such as hang in the late summer, at reduced prices, out on sidewalks in front of large dry-goods establishments. It may be said, however, that she had purchased it in the season and at its original value. Seeing it with other gaudier ones, she had thought the color pale until it had come home. It was, in fact, of a brilliant saf- fron pink, and was distinctly unbecom- ing. ‘Why, Mollie!’’ said her husband, ‘you look like a flamingo.”’ ‘Yes, I know ; I hate the thing ; but I wanted to see Fred off comfortably and I have not had time to dress.”’ ‘‘ The way you mollycoddle that boy is absurd,’’ he said a little dryly, and went into the house. At the dinner she asked him about his meetings over the bay and spoke of the probabilities of a successful election ; but Fred’s departure and the fear lest he was not provided with sufficiently warm flan- nels, and above all the expressman’s guilt, were with her still, and she threw no eagerness into her questionings. He had somehow failed to speak to her of his first visit to Mrs. Gresham ; he did not now mention the second. Why? Perhaps it was due to a naturaily reticent nature. On that first evening he had cas- ually told her of his introduction, but he was introduced to so many people and obliged to shake so many hands, male and female, that it made small impression upon his wife. It had-always bored him ; she thought it would continue to do so to the nd. Immediately after dinner he made his escape to his study. He looked over some political attacks 703 upon himself in the journals of his antag- onists. It was difficult to pick flaws in him. They were very mild, and they failed to annoy. He then wrote a fewim- portant letters, after which he tried to think what he should say on the morrow at a meeting of workingmen that he was to address, but somehow his brain refused to work. It did not matter much. He was never at a loss when the moment came. He felt now a mental lassitude that was not common to him, and thought he would find the aliment he required upon his book shelves. Hecraved, as it were, to rest his spirit upon some lofty ideals, but even his favorite authors failed this even- ing to arrest his attention. He threw aside the books and began to think, and his revery was one of despondency. He asked himself what after all was this struggle and effort for? What had his successes brought him? How ephemeral their joy, how insufficient their attain- ment! He was no pessimist, no senti- mentalist, but we all touch these mo- ments of disillusion and discouragement. Now, he thought to himself, life was half over. Youth, ah! bold brave youth! Even that was gone—youth which women adore! His heart contracted in sadness. Then, suddenly, as he sat there musing over the worthlessness of earth’s best prizes, a thought rushed past him and touched him with its wing : a thought of rapture, for which all else might well be jeopardized ; near which all others paled. He shuddered from head to foot. He had been through all his past a man of energetic principle and forceful, even aggressive, will. He dismissed the dizzy vision, instantly pushed it from him, com- pressed it way down in the darkness of his being where no one might suspect and he himself not dwell upon it one moment more. It left him at peace—for an hour. But what are will and energy, nay, principle, in the first travail of an awak- ened passion? Tet men cavil as they may. The river flows smoothly enough. See how gently it glides between its flow- ery banks! But dare to dam it up, and then, even after years, loosen only a tiny stone, make but an inch’s rift in the soil, and behold, through the floodgates the long-pent waters, wild, exultant, escape ; broken, torn, with the wreck of a conti- nent upon its bosom !

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704 People prattle of Truth, «« The loving Truth,” they say. Artists paint her in her splendors, crowned with majesty, bearing aloft in undraped chastity her lamp of pure fires, searching the hearts of guilty men to ransom and redeem them. But Truth is ugly enough, and as I see her now her lamp is turned down, her garments bedraggled, and the bright pict- ure I would fain show you is marred with smoke and seared and soiled. The thought, the dream, came back to Daniel Lawton later as he lay upon his couch ; came back, and this time he did not shrink at its approach. He welcomed, hugged, gloated over it, the sweet delir- ium of it, the poison and the pleasure ! He held it close to himself, warming him- self at its glow, lingeringly now in wil- ful dalliance, until Truth, weeping, put out her torch ! CHAPTER VII. SHE had said she would make him the fashion ; he became the lion of the hour. His family scattered, about this time, for a trip into the mountains, and he was left to his own devices. Frequent short jour- neys were necessary in this interim for the exigencies of his canvass. His home was unsettled. He concluded to run over to the Goshen house and make that his headquarters for a brief season. It would be a sort of holiday, a respite and rest he greatly required—so at least he said to himself, since Truth had veiled her face from him. And thus it came to pass that he was in vulgar parlance ‘(taken up.’’ We hear the significant expression, and must ac- cept it without explanation. Mrs. Langton fancied him. She in- vited him to her Saturday evenings. She was a dried-up little old woman who made the sunshine and the rain in the coterie over which she reigned. People said she was amazingly clever, and she certainly had a wicked tongue. She expressed her- selfas much honored by Mr. Lawton’s will- ingness to appear at her soirées. She never gave her guests anything but ices, tea, and conversation, and liked to catch distinguished odds and_ ends, specimens of eccentric or foreign humanity, as a form of inducement. Tom Fane, who kept bachelor’s hall, A SUCCESSFUL MAN. gave Mr. Lawton a reception, and all the ‘« smart ’’ people turned out, as they were wont todo for his entertainments. He was invited to five dinners a night, to coaching parties and yachting parties ; to lunch- eons, garden fétes, picnics and teas. And he accepted everything or nearly every- thing, where he felt sure he should meet her. Of course he knew and everybody else knew it was Mrs. Gresham who had launched him, and people smiled and said ‘Isn’t it funny?’’ Men put him up at their clubs or took him off for a day’s fishing. Fair women asked him for his portrait, almost for his autograph. Once in a while he said or did something that was unexpected, but it was overlooked and excused. The word ‘ provincial’’ was never applied after the first ten days of the furore. One caviller insisted that he said ‘“‘lady’’ where ‘‘woman’’ would have sufficed, and after a heated discussion one night at a dinner where he had held the people spellbound for fifteen minutes with his eloquence, he suddenly apologized and said, ‘I have talked too long; I must ‘quit.’’’ A young woman tittered, and whispered to her neighbor she thought the expression countrified. Her neighbor replied vaguely it was probably ‘ west- ern.’’ An erudite old gentleman who over- heard the remark, who was an authority on language but at the same time snob- bish, and who always kept abreast of the successful swimmer, thought the expres- sion was admissible, and on the whole quaint and picturesque. A woman who hated Constance because Jack Gresham had flirted with her desperately before his marriage, and then had taken himself and his ducats to another shrine, intimated that Daniel Lawton said ‘‘ Yes, ma’am,”’ when he addressed a girl of twenty. Then a tender feminine voice, which was always raised in the defence and never in the attack, asserted unhesitatingly that this accusation was an atrocious libel, but that even if the charge were true it was only a trifle old-fashioned ; one who had so sur- passed others might well be forgiven if he was behind them in so insignificant a matter. ‘- Everyone,’ she said, «said ‘Yes, ma’am,’ a hundred years ago, and even now one had to use the words as an ac- companiment to one’s courtesy when pre-

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A SUCCESSFUL sented to Queen Victoria or her daughters, if spoken to by these royal ladies.”’ So the ripple of talk ran to and fro, up and down, and Mr. Lawton’s social bark was carried safely over these little eddies upon which so many are doomed to in- stantaneous wreck. He was at once too modest and too self-respecting even to suspect their existence, and more, he was too absorbed; for the temptation he had at first repudiated and then courted had become an obsession of every hour. Every moment he could spare from his political duties—he would soon have to start on another pilgrimage; there were important principles of his platform he must explain to his more distant constituents—every moment, I say, was spent with her. People laughed, thinking the intimacy extraor- dinary, anditwasso! Allthey knew was that they were happy together. Of each other’s past, its associations and its ex- periences, they never spoke. Of course she knew vaguely that he was a married man, the father of children, but she in- stinctively asked him no questions and he was silent. Of her he hardly thought as of a wedded wife. Mr. Gresham's hunting expedition seemed to have extended itself indefi- nitely, for he did not return, and the hus- band remained a myth whose reality Law- ton tried to forget. The husband, the worm at the heart of the rose! He who should one day return with claims and tyrannies! It was well to banish him, blot him from the memory. With a childish simplicity Lawton avoided looking at the photographs upon Mrs. Gresham’s drawing room tables, at the portraits upon her walls, lest he should some day meet the eyes that he dreaded. In the meanwhile nothing could be more charming than their walks, their talks, their communings. She was surprised to find he had read everything, and that even the works of contemporaneous fiction which interested her were not unknown to him. His comments upon them tal- lied with her own views, but had some- thing fresh and vigorous in them, and however different their traditions might have been they met here upon the same ground. Of art, too, she was amazed to find him an incisive critic, possessed of a naturally correct taste. She knew that he could hardly have had the time, in the MAN. 795 stress of his active life, to cultivate zesthet- ics, yet his artistic perceptions seemed to her of no mean order. Constance was sitting one morning un- der a tree on her lawn picking at a banjo (I regret that I can use no more impressing verb). She was a good musician, a pian- ist of some originality and sentiment; but it is only in novels that women reach the F above the line at the first trial and dance admirably without preparatory in- struction. «Art is long,’’ and Constance drew more discords than harmonies from the instrument upon which she had only lately begun to experiment, and which fills so many modern drawing rooms with anx- iety and gloom. Fortunately her audi- ence, an Austrian attaché and a French first secretary of legation, did not seem harsh censors of her poor performance, and applauded her effort with fervor. It is hardly to be marvelled at. These stringed instruments have the advantage that they may be carried into the sunlight, and furnish a lovely woman an opportu- nity of posing under green boughs in graceful positions and picturesque hats, and with pretty arms bared to the elbow. Mrs. Gresham did not play in private theatricals; her contempt for the public had not reached this climax. She must therefore be pardoned if her dramatic in- stincts found a more innocent vent. Suddenly, as she sat listening to the chorus of praise sung by her two foreign visitors and was yawning behind her hand at their inanities, her lips parted, her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed. A thought had struck her. She cast aside her banjo, and fell to dreaming of another instrument from which she drew no dis- cords and on which she played with con- summate address. Practice makes perfect and it is also an advantage to have genius. She bethought herself now of a great heart which she held palpitating in her palm. She could feel its wild throbs, al- most listen to its pulses under her fingers; upon its strings she liked to play. From its keys Constance could draw rapturous melody, for she was a skilled artist. With a woman’s keen insight she had guessed long since that it was hers, and the desire to play upon it at this very minute grew into a positive longing. She became so distraite that the quick- witted strangers saw they were importu-

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706 nate, and in a few moments had taken their leave. On winged feet she flew to her secretary and had in less than a quarter of an hour despatched a note to Daniel Lawton. For it may as well be said here with sorrow that the good re- solves which Mrs. Gresham had so lately made to the stars had melted, like them, into the dawn, and that when Truth veiled her face from Daniel Lawton, her own Recording Angel covered its eyes and wept. This written message was one of those three-cornered ones that smell good and may mean so much or so little. To Daniel Lawton it meant exactly that he was to dine with her that night—and for the first time alone. The fumes of it were in his brain through all of the summer’s day. When he presented himself at eight o’clock his hostess was not in her boudoir. He waited for her patiently, for expect- ancy, which can be the most terrible of ills, can also be the sweetest of human joys. At last the gray portiére with its border of roses was lifted and Mrs. Gresham crossed the threshold. He.mastered his agitation with difficulty, but her own tran- quil greeting had soon somewhat calmed his heart-beats and put him at his ease. They had only time to exchange some banalités before dinner was announced. He gave her his arm across the numerous drawing rooms and their progress was, to the man at least, a beatitude. The dining room was almost in dark- ness, except the table, whose gold embroid- ered cloth, strewn with flowers, chased silver, rare porcelains, fruits and bon-bons, was radiantly illumed by numerous wax lights. Peering into the frowning gloom Lawton thought it almost a pity the splen- did apartment should be kept sodim. He himself liked a room to be very light. He expressed this opinion and she laughed low and told him he was a Philistine with old-fashioned ideas, but that in fact Mr. Gresham was just the same ; all men were alike, afraid of the dark, like children, and when her husband was at home an extra chandelier was always lighted for his benefit. ‘“‘T am making the most,’’ she added, ‘‘of my liberty. I like it this way best.”’ She spoke quite naturally and as a mat- ter of course, and seemed surprised that A SUCCESSFUL MAN. her remark was met with an awkward pause. They returned to the boudoir for their coffee. She offered him a cigarette, but he declined it, and the agitation which had possessed him earlier came back upon him with redoubled force. She, on the con- trary, was gay and apparently undis- turbed. She rallied and chaffed him about his new rdéle as a man of fashion; upon his social success and his conquests. But he answered her in monosyllables, and grew at last absolutely taciturn. The serious- ness of his attitude gained upon her in a peculiar way. As his spirits seemed to dampen hers rose, until at last she became merry and even a little wild.’ She ban- tered him with unmerciful raillery, laying particular stress upon his attentions to a maiden of thirty summers and large fort- une, who had showered him with cour- tesies, and evidently entertained a roman- tic admiration of his person. As he grew more and more gloomy she grew more and more light. She was probably intoxicated with the sense of her own charm. She felt that every movement ofher lips, every shrug of her shoulders, every quiver of her eyelids, every intonation of her voice, with all its joyous and pathetic cadences, every curve of her hand and wrist as she raised them or they lay upon her lap were eagerly marked, nay, devoured, by the silent man who sat beside her, and she was secretly filled with pleasure that she could thus beguile him. Judge her not too harshly! Women who have no turn at philanthropy, are not possessed of genius, and who love power, have but this arena. Had he been bolder she might have been more prudent, but his respectful homage awakened in her a childish temerity. He did not even vent- ure to approach her, sitting at some dis- tance across the shaded room, with only that sombre fire growing in his eyes. She felt so sure of him now ; he was sucha gentleman. Ah! they might say what they would, he was that. I think that his Satanic Majesty himself sends a special messenger sometimes to preside over a woman's toilet, to peep and hide and beckon in the plait of a dress, in the curve of a girdle, on the end of a shoe, in a coil of hair. Had the bold imp some hand in arraying Constance for this hour ? She wore a gown cut very low, as was

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A SUCCESSFUL MAN. the fashion of the moment, displaying her beautiful arms and glowing bosom. It fell in rich folds of golden satin close to her long rounded limbs, making her every motion a rhythm of charm. The dress became her, toning down her rich color, and casting up strange lurid reflections into her eyes. A woman's talk is more brilliant when she is conscious of looking her best. As time sped on, however, she could not have told why, her own spirits began to flag and falter. A certain restlessness of his continued quietness, a sense of uneasi- ness and of danger in an atmosphere which seemed to grow a little stifling. Perhaps she, who was never maladroit, had teased him long enough; perhaps she had gone too far and wounded him. She disliked the thought. At last, glad of any change, she made an excuse to rise and ring for a glass of water, but as she did so he also sprang to his feet. It was too late for her to shrink from him. All the pent-up fierceness of the years was raging in him now. If she had wished to rouse him she had succeeded. She had only time to take a step or two backwards in her newly awakened fear when he had her by the wrists. He held them as if in a clasp of iron, and as he did so he looked down upon her as a keeper does at the creature he will tame. Constance knew she had met her master, and had neither the will nor the power to struggle or to stir. After holding her thus in his grasp of steel for a moment, speechless, he drew her to him with inde- scribable violence, and stooped as if to seek the warm soft lips of the temptress, but suddenly, and with an exclamation of terror, he threw her from him, and pick- ing up his hat, which lay at hand, almost ran from her presence. She tottered and would have fallen, had she not clutched a neighboring chair, but her high heels were not made for such exercises, and in her unsteadiness her head rolled against the wall. She sat down with her hands over her heart trying to quell its tumults. Her blood ran riot in her veins, and the thought uppermost in her was «I have never known such joy!”’ She was fastidious, refined, for after all she was a haughty woman, or rather was possessed of that form of pride which gives the illusion of force ; yet she who 4 797 had so resented the first touch of his hand upon her arm when she had stood on the rocks and thought him guilty of familiarity was neither shocked nor an- gered now. Women prefer brutality to coldness ; and all great feeling dominates. A fa- mous Russian writer tells us that so enor- mous is the power of a genuine passion that a woman who hated the man who so loved her and knew her visit to him would mean death, vet went, drawn to him by some incomprehensible fascina- tion, to meet it at his hands. Up in the mountains the next day Mrs. Lawton and Clemence were sunning them- selves on the piazza of the hotel. ‘‘T have letters from Fred and from your papa, Clem,’’ said Mrs. Lawton. ‘Well, I hope they are having a better time than I am; thatis all I can say.”’ Miss Clem’s tone was disconsolate. She had not yet taken her elder brother's advice as to modulating it. ‘‘Why, papais quite gay, going out a great deal; and do you know, Clem, he has been to the Greshams’; to that Mrs. Gresham’s you are always chattering about.”’ It had been easy enough to write of it casually. Of course Mrs. Lawton had heard of «‘Sea Mew.’’ The papers were full of its beauties, the purity of its archi- tecture, the correctness of its landscape gardening. Young America is still dazzled at her own prowess. She puffs herself, and struts and swaggers and advertises. «Oh dear! I wish it was Clemence. ‘Nonsense, child! Do you suppose Mrs. Gresham would trouble herself with a little schoolgirl like you ?”’ ‘«Hurry up and call me that, mammy ; it won’t last much longer.”’ ‘“No, it won't,’’ and Mrs. sighed. ‘« Why do you sigh, ma?’”’ ‘‘Oh, because I loved my babies, and they will soon all be men and women. Well, I am glad your papa’s resting. He needed it ; he looked worn out.”’ «“So he knows that Mrs. Gresham? Well, I have always noticed the good things happened to people who didn’t care a picayune about them.”’ ‘You seem to think Mrs. Gresham me,’’ said Lawton

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708 quite wonderful. What.do you know about her ?’’ said Mrs. Lawton smiling. ‘Well, she is wonderful. I hope to be exactly like her some day. Who knows? When papa's Governor perhaps I shall marry a swell !”’ ‘Clem !’’ said her mother frowning, «I I don’t want You must | don’t like that kind of talk. your head running on beaux. think of your studies.”’ Miss Clem made a wry face. ‘ Well, mammy, it is the truth that old people get all the fun and don’t care a bit about it. They enjoy things in such a tiresome, dull sort of way.”’ ‘‘] suppose you think me and your fa- ther very old, but we don’t feel so, and you won't when you are our age.”’ ‘‘I think you are just sweet, mammy, and you don’t look old and you cannot look cross, even if you try ever so hard.”’ Mrs. Lawton shook her head. ‘‘ When papa’s Governor you will have to go out in society more, won’t you, ma? Can’t I have a low-necked dress, please, please ?’’ ‘‘ Wewill see. He must be elected first.’’ ‘«« Oh, it’s a walk over ; everybody says so,’’ said Miss Clem sententiously. She had infinite confidence in her father’s lucky star. ‘Why, Marcus M.’s just trembling in his shoes !”’ CHAPTER VIII. LEAVING a letter for Mrs. Gresham, Law- ton had departed. It is the fashion of the day to laugh at all romance and to say that love is out of date. Yet we know that there are rugged soils in which it still may flourish ; that while in a heart like Con- stance’s, which has wasted its strength in futile coquetries, the flame may at its best burn but fitfully, Lawton’s was still capable of all its height of sacrifice, all its depths of tragic despair. His letter moved her totears. With the intense humility of all deep natures, his poor heart floundered hopelessly in the throes of this new-born sentiment. He implored her pardon for having looked a moment up from the flatness and dreari- ness of his own existence to the poetry and beauty of herown. He poured out at her feet all the richness of an idolatry that expected nothing and asked for less. She carried the missive about with her for two A SUCCESSFUL MAN. days, in her dress, close to her bosom. There are hymns of worship which women find it hard to destroy. On his distant round of political speech- making his audiences were more than ever persuaded of his rare gifts. The topics he was obliged to present to them were prac- tical and hard enough, but it may be that a ray of the martyrdom that he suffered —for he had sworn to conquer himself —pierced through even their unpromis- ing dryness. He was never more scath- ing in denouncing corrupt, dishonorable and crooked methods ; his invective was never more scorching, keen and withering ; his exhortations to courage, to manfulness and vigilance, more noble. People trem- bled under the magnetism of his eye and voice, and came out and looked at one another and said: ‘‘ This is genius ;’’ for there was something in the man that im- pressed them strangely, with a hint as of some dark foreboding. Later this was re- membered and commented upon by his friends, those party leaders whose enthu- siasm for him had known no bounds, and some of whom had accompanied him. Two weeks had passed, and Mrs. Gresh- am was resting on the terrace one after- noon after her horseback ride, when her friend, May Gerold, was announced. ‘*Where in the world have you kept yourself all this time, Madam May? We have seen never a sight of your beloved visage. Dearme! what asmart gown !”’ ‘Iam grateful that you notice my ab- sence and glad you admire my frock. I have been across the water, stopping at the Ramseys’. I came back an hour ago, and only wonder I lived to come back at all.”’ ‘« So bored ?”’ ‘To extinction! The most tiresome lot of men—perfect jackasses, and the women not much better. Even Geraldine was a comfort. She is at least larky enough to keep one awake. What have you been about over here ?’’ “Oh, the everlasting treadmill; the same old round! But this is the end ; the season isover. I too have been bored unto death.’’ Constance said the last words fervently. «Jack returns tomorrow, and Wednesday I am expecting a house party of fourteen. Mrs. Langton gives a ball on Tuesday, the Days’ musicale is on Mon day ; et voila!”’

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A SUCCESSFUL «A ball? How extraordinary! So late in the season.”’ «Mrs. Langton thinks she will have fewer undesirable people.’’ ‘« And where is Mr. Lawton ?”’ To her question Mrs. Gresham replied indifferently : «‘ How should I know?”’ and gazed at the view as if Daniel Lawton was a wraith who had vanished into the ambient ether. Mrs. Gerold had not enjoyed her trip, and had grave doubts’of the Turkish min- ister’s fidelity during her absence. She felt rather cross. ‘« Well, I know then, for I saw him this morning.”’ Mrs. Gresham's heart gave a leap, but she managed to conceal her perturbation and only inquiredcalmly: «Ah! really. What was he about ?”’ ‘« Kissing his wife.’’ ‘«« That must have been an edifying spec- tacle in public,’’ forcing a smile which it must be confessed was rather a feeble effort. ‘I thought myself that the time and place were ill-chosen, but there they were, kissing each other according to their lights. He was in the railway station, and she and a lot of children were getting out of the cars. I suppose he had come to meet them.”’ ‘What dress shall you wear to Mrs. Langton’s, May?’’ asked Mrs. Gresham abruptly. ‘My swagger gown, my mauve and silver.”’ ‘‘T wouldn’t advise you to,’’ said her friend dryly. «It is not becoming.”’ ‘‘ Not becoming ! Well that is acrusher ! Why, I thought myself simply angelic in mauve.”’ ‘«My dear,’’ and Mrs. Gresham shook her head decidedly and laughed a little discordantly, ‘that is an illusion which had better be dispelled at once. You are too brune for those light lilac shades. I should strongly recommend you to keep to your black.”’ ‘‘I do think, Constance ’’—Mrs. Gerold was almost crying—“« this is the most un- kind thing I ever heard you say. Why, it was you yourself who insisted on my ordering that gown, which has nearly ruined me, and that everyone admires.’’ ‘IT have not the slightest recollection of the fact,’’ said Mrs. Gresham, leaning back MAN. 709 languidly with half-shut eyes; « but if I did, je vous ai mis dedans—that is all I As to people—they do tell such can say. lies.”’ ‘‘You are disagreeable today, Connie. I think I had better leave you.”’ Mrs. Gerold rose stiffly. Mrs. Gresham entered no protest. ‘I do verily believe,’’ continued the young widow, lingering, ‘‘that you are angry at what I said about Mr. Lawton."’ ‘‘ What has Mr. Lawton to do with your gown?’’ asked Constance with some asperity. ‘‘A good deal, Ifancy. Before I depart, Connie, don’t you want to hear what his frati looks like?’’ Mrs. Gerold went on provokingly. ‘Certainly, if it amuses you, but I can- not be expected to take the same interest in men’s—harems that you do.”’ Mrs. Gerold winced. The thrust was ungenerous, and Constance was ashamed of herself. The surgeon will tell you that if you but touch upon certain nerves the most heroic patient must writhe and scream ; and a young warrior of my acquaintance who had faced bullets upon the field of battle, once was known, in the tortures of the dentist’s chair, to seize the innocent author of his sufferings by the throat and inflict upon him corporal punishment of such severity that the poor little doctor cried out for mercy. ‘« Let me see!’’ Mrs. Gerold screwed a single eyeglass into her left eye and gave her friend an exhaustive stare. ‘She is taller than you are, Connie—nearly twice your height. I should say a regular stun- ner, aregular beauty ; a high stepper, like that sorrel mare you wanted Jack to get you last year. She has Circassian eye- brows and Oriental eyelashes, a Grecian nose and an Egyptian chin, a slender waist, a full bust, and the voice and gest- ures of a houri. I tell you what, my dear, the possessor of such charms is a lucky fellow! Ta-ta!”’ Constance’s sense of humor, which was ordinarily keen, found, unfortunately, no food in this comprehensive description. When Mrs. Gerold’s brougham crunched away upon the gravel she gave an audible sigh of relief and of contemptuous dis- pleasure. Yet ridicule is so paralyzing a weapon that the measure of her vexation

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710 hardly reached the height of what her late tormentor would have called «a fit of the tragics.”’ She slowly unfastened two buttons of her summer riding-dress and drew a letter from her breast. She held it hesitatingly for a moment in her hands, turned it this way and that, and then angrily murmur- ing: ‘*Bah! so much for love and for friendship !’’ tore it into a hundred pieces. ‘IT wonder,” she thought bitterly, « if any other soul is as lonely as mine. Ever since early childhood I have felt the isola- tion. What is the matter with me? I seem incapable of single simple emotions. Those I love offend my taste, and where I have hated I have always pitied. Is it the fault of my own temperament? Am I too fastidious, and are not such subtleties weaknesses? We chatter of sympathy— what is it? To suffer together? Who tru- ly suffers with us?’’ She should have known that a high civilization is never obtained without a corresponding loss of robustness. A sense of mortification and wounded vanity lingered with her through the day, mingled with asentiment which was at once more poignant and less un- worthy. Mrs. Gerold in the meanwhile laughed heartily but not very good-naturedly at the picture she had drawn. The quiet, plump matron she had seen descending from the drawing room car and claiming a perfunctory conjugal greeting was so unlike her portrait ! Twelve hours before, while returning from his own wanderings, Lawton’s eyes had chanced to rest on the pages of a weekly journal which he had hardly ever before opened. A young woman who had occupied in the train the half of his seat, and had perused its contents with a fever- ish avidity had, on alighting at her sta- tion, left it behind her. He had, indeed, heard the paper spoken of as a social sheet which battened like a parasite on the wounds which it inflicted. Its poli- tics were hazy and variable, following the evil humors of its editor. Its literary criticisms were probably bought. As he flicked over its pages carelessly, pages filled with cruel personal allusions, low in- nuendoes and obscene jests, he wondered what attraction it could have had to the sweet-faced girl who had sat beside him. You see he was a simple-minded person, A SUCCESSFUL MAN. and he associated maidenhood with a love for the poetic and the beautiful. This gross materialism held his attention with a mix- ture of curiosity and disgust. Suddenly, as Mr. Lawton was about to throw the paper aside, his eyes became arrested by a heading in larger type than the rest: «‘Mrs. Slack Dresham’s new Lap-dog.’’ He read it from beginning to end. Under the name of Dawton he was made to dance for the public. And what a dance it was! Everything that the most venomous political rivalry might have inspired, everything that the most petty personal rancor and spite could have invented, was heaped upon him in coarse freedom, and under the faintly dis- guised names hardly a detail of his late social experiences escaped or failed to be held up to merciless ridicule. His po- litical creeds and methods, his dress, his appearance, but above all, his social tri- umphs, were minutely recorded, and be- came the target for a hundred poisoned arrows. His vanity and self-love were not inor- dinate, and he could have laughed in scorn, but for the dragging in of Her. He was malignantly called the new lap- dog, whom she had cajoled and petted ; had made absurd at the moment of all others when the world’s eyes were upon him. That which had been to him of in- effable sweetness, an experience at once refined and profound, was made the sub- ject of vulgar and ribald jests. Of his wife it was kindly said that in the new role of man of fashion he had forgotten the partner of his early obscurity—the village girl who had once been good enough for him but whom he had now far surpassed. She had been left to darn her stockings in desolation by the dese- crated hearth, while his head lay, like Samson’s, on his new Delilah’s knees. To people of true sensitiveness such things are terrible. That a creature like Constance should be held up, almost by name, to public opprobrium—he knew that hundreds would read and understand —filled him with a rage all the more vio- lent that he knew it was impotent. His own part in the performance seemed to him both heinous and horrible. Whether rightly or wrongly she had embodied for him, in the brief summer days that were over, everything that a woman could of

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A SUCCESSFUL MAN. delicacy and of loveliness. He had per- haps overrated her. Who can say? He who has no such illusions is indeed pov- erty-stricken. Daniel Lawton had for the first time in his existence tasted of a draught which if it be indeed poison is of a flavor so exquisite that it would make death welcome; he had smelled for one moment of that sombre flower whose per- fume leaves undying memories. During his drive homewards with his wife and daughter, whom he had gone to meet a few hours later with his habitual courtesy, he told Mrs. Lawton he had an invitation for a ball for her. ‘‘Oh, mamma, mamma, you must go!”’ cried Clem, clasping her hands. ‘I will dress you had He had found a card from Mrs. Lang- ton, and had immediately resolved to go to this ball, and totake his wife with him. He had written and told theold lady that Mrs. Lawton would be at home on the day mentioned, and she had by return mail, with effusive apologies, sent another card. He thought his wife a perfect lady and he blamed himself for having given the world a chance to doubt it. He repented, He Iam sorry to add, of nothing else. knew she was a woman to whom a low thought or coarse word would be impos- sible—a woman before whom they would expire upon lips fain to utterthem. He remembered that some of the ladies of fashion he had met and who might criti- cise her—he was not dull of perceptions— were less fastidious and might well emu- late her in this. The invitation was accepted, Clemence having persuaded her mother that the com- ing glories of gubernatorial precedence would necessitate certain social efforts and concessions. Early the next morning Mrs. Lawton sought her husband's study, with anxious wrinkles upon her usually smooth forehead. ‘‘Do I disturb you, dear?”’ He looked up wearily. ‘Not at all.’’ He had been perusing all the morning a discursive treatise on the tariff laws. “IT want to ask your advice; you will think it unimportant.’’ Mrs. Lawton was deprecating. ‘Daniel, do the ladies wear very fine clothes at the Goshen house? Are they very dressy ?”’ ‘‘T didn’t see any la— any women at the hotel excepting in very plain things, 711 my dear ; travelling gowns mostly. All the society, you know, is outside at the villas and cottages, and they are very fine ingleed,’’ he explained. She sighed. ‘‘ Oh yes, of course ; I knew that. I didn’t suppose,’’ she continued tentatively, ‘‘that my brown satin would do. Clem says the waist is too high. Do they wear low waists to everything ?"’ ‘Pretty low, it struck me,’’ said Mr. Lawton laughing, and at the same time some recollection made the blood rise sud- denly up under his hair, and he fidgeted a little nervously in his chair. «You see,’’ she continued, «I have so little time. But,’’ she added, smiling at him, ‘‘ I don’t want to disgrace you, dear.”’ He winced. «By all means,’’ he said hurriedly, and rather huskily, «‘ get a new dress, and at once.’’ Something which he gulped down would come up in his throat. ‘« You can have all the money you want. Fix yourself up handsomely, Mollie ; don't stint yourself in the expense.”’ He spoke as cheerily and kindly as possible, and the thought passed through her mind how different he was from many husbands. He, too, soclever and wonder- ful. The flush had left him and his face was pale. ‘«Well,’’ she said, «I will order the carriage, and Clem and I will drive into town to Madame Elise’s. She must be made to get me up something in three days.”’ She thought it was rather a pity to dis- card the brown satin, which was very handsome, and had a train, and was trimmed with real lace, but Clem had posi- tively insisted that it was not full dress. ‘«T will put it in the trunk, in case we stay several days, or are asked to dine out,’’ she thought. ‘‘Oh! by the way, Daniel’’—she put her head into the door again—I wish | you would step to the stable and see the new mare. They have put her into the box stall. She'll do splendidly for the buggy. The man says she is very fast in single harness. She is spirited, he says, but gentle, and I think you wiil find her convenient in the mornings.” The autumn had declared itself rainy. The weather was lowering. It had poured steadily for nearly a week, and the tides were extraordinarily high.

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712 Madame Elise, as she measured Mrs. Lawton, asked if Madame had heard that the old dock under Harbor hill, where peo- ple went of a Sunday afternoon, had bgen swept away and that even the cliffs: were more or less undermined. Then they chattered of ribbons and embroideries, and storms and tides were alike forgotten. When the new gown came home Mrs. Lawton tried it on, with two neighbors who had dropped in, Clemence and Kate the housemaid in attendance. It was voted ‘‘ very becoming’’ and a great suc- cess. It was indeed suitable andrich. It was a heavy violet silk relieved with white lace, somewhat cut away about the shoul- ders, and with sleeves which met the long gloves, which had been provided for the occasion, a little above the elbow. The ingenious Frenchwoman had combined all the requirements of fashion and of her con- servative customer. Clemence was wildly excited. No dé- butante at her first party could have had a ‘‘send-off ’’ of more promise than this mother of a family. A handsome white lace fan was produced. There were pretty slippers, and even violet hose, and Clem exclaimed, ‘‘ Well, ma, you are just com- plete !’’ while Kate, at the doorway, em- phasized her admiration by repeated ex- clamations that «Mrs. Lawton would be the beautifulest belle at the ball.” Alas for human prophecies and their meagre fulfilments ! CHAPTER IX. WHEN the night of the ball arrived the storm was raging with a fury that made the gaslights in front of the hotel flare and blink like the eyes of old age. The torrents of rain lashed against the window- panes of Mrs. Lawton’s whitewashed bed- room until their sashes shook and moaned under the stress. If Clemence had only come with her mother all might have been different ; but the foolish Irish girl had alone accom- panied her mistress, and dropped early in the evening the comment «that very few probably would venture out on such a night and that the new dress would un- doubtedly be ruined.”’ People who go to their first party after twenty years of seclusion require discreet and tactful handling. Mrs. Lawton’s A SUCCESSFUL MAN. vacillating couragesank. When theskirt was half over her emerging head she suddenly lurched out of it with unusual alertness. «Kate, take the horrid thing away! I should look like a fool in it! I simply can't put iton. Give me my brown satin !”’ she said in desperation. Kate, frightened at her own influence, entered now a feeble protest, murmuring that ‘‘ Miss Clem would be very angry,”’ but she knew from the start that it was all up with the violet silk and white lace mag- nificence. When Mrs. Lawton surveyed herself in the high-necked long-sleeved dark gown, only brightened at the neck by a few diamonds which did service on all grand occasions, she felt relieved and almost consoled. She had pictured herself sitting in unblushing effrontery amid a bevy of wiser dames who would naturally, on this frightful night, have consulted the dic- tates of wisdom and sobriety. Of course a few flighty young misses would still wear their white frocks, but she felt sure the older married women at least would be less foolish. Her own foolishness will ap- pear incomprehensible to the mondaine who slips into the nudity of her ball cor- sage with as much ease as she does into her satin shoe, but Puritanically bred ‘« provincials ’’ of modest and retiring dis- positions will more fully understand. Mrs. Lawton felt some trepidation at acknowledging her cowardice to her hus- band. She wished to explain to him that it was a sense of unfitness and not econo- my which had prompted her to the change of toilet, but when they were at last en- sconced in the carriage he seemed so dis- trait in manner that she imagined he must be composing an oration, and she only casually mentioned to him that she had donned the high-necked gown. ‘‘T dare say it will look very nice, but what will Clem say?’’ He spoke ab- sently, as if in a dream, and she could only hope when he saw her he would ap- prove. He was in a fever of unrest at the thought of once more meeting Constance. She had not replied to his letter, and there had been no sign between them since that evening when he had so completely lost himself. He wondered if she were forever offended, and felt that now when she saw him with

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A SUCCESSFUL his wife the abyss he had himself put be- tween them could never again be spanned. The impulses which had prompted him to bring Mrs. Lawton were too complicated for analysis. The reader who is no novice in the intricacies of human motive will require no explanation, while to the un- imaginative and inexperienced even the inscriptions on guide-posts are indistinct. Probably a form of pride which is akin to humility was the strongest motor. Al- MAN. 713 old lady in an ermine tippet, she nad on the only high-necked gown in the rooms, when four or five men were introduced to her in rapid succession. Whether it was an overwhelming conviction of her mis- take in not, having worn the violet silk, or a natural inaptitude at conversation with unknown gentlemen, certain it is that she found herself quite unable to en- tertain them. After having expressed her admiration of the really brilliant scene, THEY WERE WOMEN AT THE VERY LEAST TEN YEARS OLDER THAN HERSELF. most immediately after they entered the room Mrs. Langton separated them. ‘‘Mr. Fane has something particular to ask you,’’ she whispered in Mr. Law- ton’s ear. ‘Something political, I think, about your party organization here.’’ Mrs. Langton liked to be considered au fait about everything. ‘He is looking all over the place for you. Go, like a dear, and find him, and I will take charge of your wife.”’ Mrs. Lawton had indeed hardly time to realize that, with the exception of a very having commented upon its animation, upon the warmth of the atmosphere inside and the dismalness of the storm outside, she had nothing left to say to them. She noticed that by and by they one by one became restive, and finally, in the increas- ing rush and crush of new arrivals, made hurried excuses of other claims upon them and gradually fell away from her. She was left at last standing quite alone in a doorway, rather giad to be rid of her cava- liers, and yet hardly knowing where to place herself.

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714 She espied an empty chair in an em- brasure, half hidden by the voluminous skirts of two middle-aged ladies, resplen- dent in «« shimmer of satin and glimmer of pearls,’ with a profusion of vari-colored feathers upon their heads. They were women at the very least ten years older than herself. They looked well and fresh enough, however, and she gazed with wonder at their bared necks and rather envied them their pluck. One was in pale rose, the other in a deep sapphire- colored satin. There was’ no doubt of it; she herself had made a fatal blunder. At the mere idea of telling Clemence she grew alarmed. The child would be so disappointed. She had been so proud of that other gown. Almost unobserved Mrs. Lawton managed to ensconce herself behind these showy dowagers. Not being accustomed to belle- dom, or to any homage from men except such as was prompted by the merest friend- liness, she felt somewhat lonely to be sure, but not mortified, and on the whole inter- ested and rather amused. Soon, probably, Mrs. Langton or her husband would come up. Her neighbors were engaged in an ani- mated conversation. They spoke in an audible whisper, and indulged now and then in low well-bred laughter. Some- times she caught the thread of their dis- jointed talk, and then lost it again in the general hum, the blare of the band and the tread of the dancers in the adjoining ballroom. When they, however, men- tioned Mr. Lawton’s name, she would have been more than human had she not listened. ‘Which is he? I was away when he was here. Do show him to me!”’ ‘«There—over there! Don’t you see! He is putting his hand up to his head; leaning against the portiére. The man with the gray hair.’’ ‘*What, that young-looking man?’’ said the first speaker, putting up a long gold eyeglass. ‘‘ Why, he is certainly very striking. A fine head.’’ ‘«Do you think he looks so young? He is gray.” ‘I should say from forty to forty-five. It is a splendid face. I am quite surprised. They say there is no doubt he will be Gov- ernor.”’ «*Oh, my husband is such a partisan! A SUCCESSFUL MAN. He of course believes it; thinks that he is a very remarkable man; but then there are those who doubt. One can never be sure. Each side is carried away by its own party hue and cry.”’ Mrs. Lawton listened and was edified. ‘«These men whose lives are full of serious interests really live longer and look younger than the idlers. It is what we don’t do that wears upon us. So at least I tell my son, who is, I regret to say, a flaneur.”’ «Very cleverly put. Has hea family ?’’ ‘‘Who? Mr. Lawton? I think there is a wife. I fancied somebody said she was to be here tonight.’’ ‘«T don’t see her with him.”’ ‘I wonder what Connie Gresham will say?” ‘«Oh, by the way! yes, I hear it is quite a flirtation!’’ ««She is such an incorrigible coquette. I must confess I think the young married women are carrying that sort of thing too far.”’ ‘«*Ah, well! Mrs. Jack is very attract- ive, and men will burn their fingers.”’ ‘© wonder her husband allows it.”’ ‘«Oh, my dear, it is the fate of the hus- bands of pretty women to be a little neglected.’’ «Connie is certainly fascinating and clever, and the house is admirably ordered. I like her, but I think her foolish about somethings. Now this man——’’ Then others came up and the subject changed. Mrs. Lawton too came out of her win- dow seat. She wanted air, she was sti- fling. She didn’t believe what she had heard, not aword of it. Daniel would not lend himself to such a thing. It was im- possible ; he was above it. Nevertheless as she pushed through the crowd into the next room her limbs were trembling in a strange fashion. Here she found the mothers of two or three disconsolate daughters huddled together in a corner. She sank into a seat beside them. One, who seemed communicative, turned to her amiably : ‘« My girl is so timid,’’ she said. «I cannot get her to even stand up and show herself.’ The girl in question, who had very thin shoulderblades, jerked them, and emitted a little groan. ‘«« She has such a lovely gown,”’’ said the

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A SUCCESSFUL MAN. mother. «It is so silly not to go into the ballroom and show it and dance.”’ ««] might stand there all night and no- body ask me,’’ said the girl snappishly. ‘«« Not a soul, and you know it.” «« Well, it is all your fault. Other girls get on who have rot had half the advan- tages.”’ ‘My daughter is just the same,’’ said another mother sympathetically, who was seated just behind a young lady in scarlet tulle. «She is too particular. Young Bolton asked her for the cotillion but she refused him flatly and says his shoes al- ways smell of blacking. It is perfectly ridiculous, I tell her. Débutantes cannot afford to put on airs.”’ ‘‘T haven’t got anybody to put on airs with,’’ said the snappish girltartly. «No one ever comes near me.’’ ‘«« You are too modest, my dear,’’ said the second mother, secretly enchanted at her own daughter’s greater success. Mrs. Lawton noticed that the first mother put her foot out under the cross girl’s chair and gave her alittlekick. The dull pain she had felt was passing off some- what and she was thanking God that her Clemence was not here but safely at home and asleep. That was some comfort. Happiness and fame and honor seemed to be away in the glittering pale-blue dis- tance where swinging lamps and fragrant flowers and splendid jewels and radiant women were moving in a panorama of warmth and light. Here were congre- gated the bitterness of discontent and fail- ure. It was just then that Mrs. Gresham crossed the room upon her husband’s arm. ‘‘Why, there is Mrs. Jack Gresham ! And Mr. Gresham is with her !’’ ‘«« They say that Mr. Lawton who is run- ning for Governor is a great friend of hers.”’ ‘‘ The more fool he. a dance !”’ ‘Is it for the dance, I wonder, he has put on those lavender gloves that are a mile too large for him, poor thing? I saw him pass a few moments ago.” ‘‘ There was an abominable squib about them in the weekly — .’ And the first mother mentioned the paper Daniel Lawton had read with such anger. ‘‘Oh pshaw! Who cares? Not Mrs. She will lead him 715 Jack, I am sure. All she thinks of is her own amusement. She won’t mind.” ‘««She is just perfectly exquisite,’’ ex- claimed in concert the girl in scarlet and the snappish girl, gazing after Mrs. Gresh- am’s retiring form. «« The gentlemen certainly admire her,”’ said the mothers in unison, but without heat. Then the first mother added, «Is her color her own, do you think ?”’ May Gerold now passed through on the Turk’s arm—it is to be supposed he was still in the « first stage.’’ She had taken Mrs. Gresham’s advice and wore black. She looked extremely distinguished, with her straight, slim figure, her pallor, and her near-sighted eyes under their black brows. One of the gentlemen who had been pre- sented to Mrs. Lawton early in the even- ing, conscious of his shortcomings and at the instigation of the hostess, who was still detained at the door,now came forward and offering his arm gallantly asked ifshe would like to see the dancing. She remembered that she took it. She talked to him mechanically on various topics. While she did so she saw her hus- band approach Mrs. Gresham, look at and speak to her, and then she knew. Those cruel women need not have enlightened her. There are instincts more unerring than the sense of hearing. She saw their eyes meet and mingle. She had never seen this expression in her husband's before. All the truth flashed upon her sick soul. Dramatic people who express more than they feel can probably form no conception of what emotion means to slowly stirred, commonplace, placid natures. The latter have no eloquence with which to voice their woe today, no facile pen that shall dilate on it tomorrow. Tongue and pen will be alike unavailable, but the agony is there all the same. It is commonly said that a jealous wom- an can do no justice to her rival. This isuntrue. The passions have quickened perceptions of their own which are more generally correct than false, and their illuminations are often clearer in such minds as are ordinarily obtuse. Constance was dressed with great sim- plicity, but Mrs. Lawton did not make the mistake of imagining her to be simple. She recognized at once that her repose ‘and

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716 the graciousness of her cold smile were of the highest art. She wore soft white crépe de Chine, with some pearls at her throat. There were lilies of the valley in her gir- dle and a great loose bunch of the same flowers in her hand. Sometimes her arm hung by her side and sometimes she raised the bouquet and buried her face in its blossoms. Mrs. Lawton noted too that her color was genuine ; and that if she was a coquette and a flirt she was also something more; she made the women about her look tawdry, loud and over- dressed. The barnyard fowl that cackles over its brood is a peaceful bird enough, but let some common enemy hover near, and with ruffled wings and threatening beak and talons it may become a dangerous antag- onist. Pussy lies before the hearth and licks her furry paws, purring and calm as a slumbering infant, yet, in a moment, if her rival Ponto should show his face at the drawing room door you have the tiger-cat, fierce and furious, with glittering eyeball, quivering tail and foaming mouth, ready to spring. Even the toothless old lion of whose docility the keeper has boasted will, if that keeper deprive him for but one hour of his food, turn upon him in frenzy and tear and mangle and suck the blood of the hand it fawned upon. The wild beast only sleeps ; it can still get up, shake it- self, growl, prowl, kill. Mrs. Lawton saw her husband approach Mrs. Gresham. Shesawthe young wom- an’s nonchalant manner change to one of eager pleasure, for Constance had passed through many moods since we left her, and tonight they had all culminated in an intense hunger to see him again. It did not escape Mrs. Lawton’s strained atten- tion that the countenance which had been so indifferent became almost tender, as the expression of one across whose smiling flits an idea of pathos. She also noticed that Mrs. Gresham's prestige was shared by the man beside her, and that they two seemed to be courted and petted in an atmosphere of equal hom- age by the group which surrounded them. She glanced down at herself and felt her- self to be not only dingy and dowdy, but insignificant, old and hideous, and with a sudden revelation of her husband's physi- cal attractions, which was as penetrating as a desire of the senses, she became the A SUCCESSFUL MAN. prey of an acute jealousy of his beauty as well as of her rival’s. She hated them both. So in this gentle woman's breast awoke the savage.instinct—the animal— with its appeal to her sex and to her van- ity. She would have liked to tear the pearls from Mrs. Gresham's throat, to spit at and strike her, to trample upon her flow- ers, to insult and mar her loveliness. Her reason must have tottered for a mo- ment, for she went so far as to imagine that they were speaking of her together ; that Mrs. Gresham asked who she was and that her husband repudiated her; that they were ridiculing her together. They had, in fact, not even seen her, being mu- tually absorbed. Of course, in a saner moment she would have known he was incapable of such baseness. Her suffer- ings became so insupportable that she de- termined to end them, and suddenly turn- ing, asked the man who was with her for a glass of water. The instant he had left her she accosted a servant who was pass- ing with a tray of empty glasses: «I am feeling ill,’’ she said to him hurriedly ; ‘please help me to my carriage; and do you see that gentleman over there speak- ing to the lady in white? In about fifteen minutes, mind you, not sooner, tell him his wife went home; had a little head- ache; nothing serious, and he must on no account hurry, he must stay. Now promise to do this for me, and come.”’ The servant, an old man with stooping shoulders, who had been in the family for years, stared at her with his sunken tired eyes. ‘Certainly, ma’am, certainly! I will tell the gentleman. Shall I call Mrs. Langton? Would you like a maid?”’ His sympathetic voice and kindly man- ner so unnerved her that she feared she could not repress the tears, but she made a superhuman effort. ‘No, nothing, only come !’’ she said so decidedly that he deposited his tray and followed her. He helped her into her fur cloak and went out to tell the footman. This smart English lackey called out for the carriage, which Mrs. Lawton had prudently ordered very early. It was one from a livery sta- ble ; respectable, but not elegant ; and he helped the mcdestly atttred lcne person into it with civility, but without enthusiasm. She was thankful the drive was not too short ; she could give way to her despair.

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A SUCCESSFUL MAN. On his part Daniel Lawton’s evening had not been without incident, for he hadat last seen . . . the husband, and, as is the case in real life where nothing happens but the unexpected, it had passed without compli- cations of any sort. Mrs. Gresham had introduced the rosy, jovial, round-faced fel- low to him, and he had been forced to ad- mit to himself that he seemed manly and frank. In fact, Jack Gresham had few ene- mies, and the worst these could say of him was that he was not overburdened with brains and that he grew, sometimes, a trifle heated over his wine. The two men had shaken hands and talked for a few minutes about hunting. He had heard him address her as «‘Con”’ and had looked in vain in her eyes for an expression of fear or of dis- like. Shall I add that she had even been amicable in her manner, had called him ‘“«Jack,’’ and had asked him to bring her a cup of bouillon, and that when he did so she nodded her thanks to him pleasantly ? The conviction was unwillingly borne in upon Lawton, whostudied their minut- est actions with the keenest anxiety, that Mrs. Gresham did not shrink from her hus- band with loathing, and that their rela- tions, whatever they might be, were at least friendly. It was indeed difficult to im- agine one’s self detesting Jack Gresham ; he was so very good-natured. Lawton, himself, to his immense regret, found it impossible to do so—not yet, not at once, at least—well then—no matter. Even if the plane were a lower one, one hour of life, one hour! Hewas starving and she was here beside him! The pure breath of her mouth fanned his cheek, the touch of her hand was upon his arm. Oh, the ecstasy of it! And Constance—for women are pro- verbially indulgent to the men who love them—leaned to him, speaking low, sweet words, filled with that happiness which his adoration and his presence always gave her. Probably she did not even notice that his gloves were too large for him. The marked improvement in the matter of his costume of late she had ac- cepted as the most delicate incense of flat- tery to herself. She had reached that stage of sentiment where such discrepan- cies as might still exist struck her as pathetic, and as such, endearing. At any rate this thing had been « different ;’’ of this she had felt sure from the beginning. 717 To him she was as an elixir of strong wine, renewing, stimulating to the utmost every faculty of heart and brain, rousing him to fresh ambitions. He told himself this was growth. While she felt with him like a tired chaser of shadows who grasps at last the real. There was something broad and sweet in the man. He had dwarfed her own world. CHAPTER X. THE domestic delivered his message faithfully : fidelity was his strong point. He did so just as Lawton was about to seek his wife. He was too upright and honorable a man to bring her here, a stranger, toa house where he felt at home, and to wound her by any disrespect or neglect. He was, as I say, about to look for her and present to her some of his acquaintances. He had even thought it probable that she and Mrs. Gresham would meet, and although not enough a man of the world to face this ordeal with entire composure he would rather have died than seem to shun it, and had, in fact, determined to let things take their course. Now for an instant he thought, with a qualm of conscience, of following her, but, man-like, he was provoked that she had not waited for him. Hetold himself that her impatience was childish in the ex- treme, and the more he thought of it the more annoyed and irritated with her he became. How would she ever meet the exigencies of her impending position if she were so easily baffled by her first social effort ? So when Constance’s eyes bade him stay he lingered. Socrates himself must have had his hours of recklessness. When he reached his rooms two hours later and stopped at his wife’s door all was silent and dark. He turned the handle and found it locked. He therefore concluded she was asleep. But Mrs. Lawton was not asleep. After he had gone to his bed she crept up noiselessly and leaned against his door. She listened to his lightest movement, to his breathing, as if they would betray to her his secrets. It is a great shock to find the heart you have rested on in peace filled with tumults of which you know nothing. Lawton had never been a demonstrative

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718 man, and Mrs. Lawton, albeit loving, was of a calm temperament ; her demands upon his affectionateness had at notimes been great. Now, standing shivering with bare feet on the cold floor of her dreary hotel room, she remembered all of the past, and marvelled that she had been so easily satisfied. Lately he had been even less warm than usual, and she, in her silly security, had attributed it to the cares and anxieties of his campaign. She had, of course, known that the world was full of folly, of untruth, and of sin, but she had never believed that these things could touch herself. She read of them, heard of them daily, and had fan- cied that she alone wore a magic armor, was safe. What an idiot she had been ! Now, she felt sure that he had never loved her. A woman’s faith, which has burned steadily for years, will waver at a breath. A man’s, once accorded, is with difficulty shaken. She thought of Constance, and in her own humility asked -herself what qualities she possessed to cope with sucha sorceress, and she said to herself, ‘« None.’’ She had been engrossed with her house- hold, with bringing up the children, and she had shared none of her husband’s pur- suits, none of his literary activities. Even his political career she had borne with, rather than encouraged. How could she fill the manifold requirements of such a mind as his! He had made strides and left her behind. All was clear to her now as the day. As she stood there in her wretchedness she longed to cry out to him, to touch his hand, to creep into his arms and be com- forted ; but the anger and pride of her of- fended womanhood rose up and checked her and she gave no sign. When he met her the next morning he found her and Kate booted and spurred and packed for an early boat. She mur- mured something about being worried ; that little Dan had a cold, and that she had decided not to remain another night. She bade him farewell quite cheerfully. He was obliged to remain until the evening to be present at an important committee meeting. It would be one of the last, for the elections were drawing nigh. A week later the great day had arrived. The incessant rain had at last ceased. The storm seemed to have blown itself out, and A SUCCESSFUL MAN. the wind-swept valley was at rest. A bright sunshine shone upon the scene and lighted up alike the banners of Marcus M. Curley, which flaunted in the fresh north wind with an impudent assurance, and those which waved across the street a hid- eous effigy of Lawton's fine face. Curley’s supporters were loud in their braggings, as people are who lead a forlorn hope, and are really wading knee deep in despond- ency. The voting was brisk, and the streets were full of men. There were crowds about and at the polls. They said it would be one of the largest votes that had ever been cast; but everything was well-ordered and quiet. Party feeling ran high, but there was no disturbance. The police, who patrolled the town, were on the alert, but had hardly more onerous duties than usual to fulfil. A few war- rants had been issued to the deputy mar- shals for the arrest of persons accused of illegal registration. A few men charged with ‘‘ impersonation ’’ were seized at the instigation of the inspectors and held for future examination. A certain number of jubilant Irishmen who had celebrated the day early by co- pious libations,and who were a trifle noisy, were collared and hustled off to the station houses. Among the vehement supporters of the two opponents the Independents crept about sullenly, maintaining as to their own intentions a sphinx-like re- serve. They seemed to be coquetting be- tween the rival factions, who, in their turn, felt the pulse of this agitating mi- nority which resists, protests and warns, caressing and making them overtures. One could never know until the ballots were counted how an extra vote or two might turn the scale. Lawton remembered after his mid-day meal, of which he partook at his office, that besides being election day, this Tues- day was one of some significance in his private annals. It was theanniversary of his engagement. He had forgotten it in the morning. It had been their wont— his and his wife’s—always to celebrate the afternoon with a téte-d-téte drive into the country, unless indeed, which had rarely happened, business or illness interfered. He now remembered it with compunction. He had noticed that his wife’s manner was marked in its coldness since the fatal ball, but he had pretended not to remark the

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A SUCCESSFUL MAN. change, as people do who live in fear of explanations and their consequences. All deceit and trickery were hateful to him and he hoped there was nothing. It was at any rate safer toignore. It is easier, however, to say ‘‘ what is beyond rem- edy should be beyond concern,”’ than to put this sound philosophy into execu- tion. Today, it must be confessed, he rather dreaded the téte-d-téte, but it was not in his character to shrink from unpleasant contingencies. He reminded himself of her many virtues, of her unselfishness, of her devotion to his children, and his con- science smote him. He would not appear negligent. He telegraphed to her that she must not forget what day of the month it was; that he would be out at three to drive her to Harbor hill, and begged her to have the new mare put into the light wagon. In an hour he received her answer. It was short: “I will be ready."’ Ata few minutes past three they started. He found his hands were full with the young horse, and for the first half-hour little else was spoken of between them ex- cept of her merits and demerits, her possi- bilities and peculiarities. She seemed somewhat skittish, and chafed on the bit, but Lawton was an experienced driver, having learned in his boyhood to break in colts on his father’s farm, and managed heradmirably. His wife had implicit con- fidence in his skill, and was not by nature timorous. They then spoke of the elec- tions, and he expressed himself as glad to escape for a couple of hours from the heated excitement of the town and the im- portunities of officious friends into the freshness of the quiet fields. The raindrops still fell from the trees above them and the mud flew up high under the wheels. When they reached Harbor hill these topics, however, were ex- hausted and there arose a certain chill and embarrassment between them. Wedged so closely into the narrow wagon, bound together so mightily by the ties of custom, by years of mutual interests and mutual sacrifices, these two people felt themselves in that moment immeasurably far apart. hey sat shoulder to shoulder, now and then pushed up together by the jolts of the springs on the uneven road ; yet they were ill at ease and would have given 719 worlds if they might have done with this drive, which was such a mockery, and be once more asunder. But Mrs. Lawton had come with a purpose and that pur- pose was to be accomplished. She tried two or three times to say what she had come to say, but her mouth was so dry she could not speak. At last she did muster up sufficient courage. ‘‘Dan,’’ she said, ‘‘Dan, I want to speak to you.”’ ‘Yes, my dear?’’ touching the mare’s neck gently with the whip, but somehow his heart stood still. ‘* When I left that party the other night it was not the headache that drove me away ; it was the heartache, Daniel.” There was something so solemn in her tene that he found no word to say to her. «« Listen,’ ’ she continued, «and I will tell you all. I cannot tell you what I heard. It is useless. Those fashionable folks have tongues in their heads that are as bitter as the adder’s. No matter what I heard, though they talked of you, Dan- iel—and—and of that woman, till I felt I ought to scream out to you and force you to listen to me and be warned! No, —it was not that! I am no gossip my- self, and I don’t lay too much stress on what tattlers say. No—but I saw you go up to her, and I saw you look at her as you never looked at me, and I seemed to—to—to have—lost you !”’ She gasped for breath, and he remained speechless. ‘‘T understand now perfectly, Daniel, that I have been a fool; I have been too busy over the house and the children. When I saw those women I felt I was nothing. I have neglected myself. I cannot talk, and I cannot even dress. When I thought of all that would be ex- pected of me now that you will have such a big place I felt like running and hid- ing, or asking you to let me go back to ma, for—for—for you never have loved me, Dan, I am sure of it! And, do you know, when you hung over her I knew how it was. I hated her, I hated you! I felt outraged, but I saw her power! I do not think you have been wicked—are those women up to that?” she asked with strange astuteness. ‘««Don’t they care too much for them- selves? But if I tell you what I thought,

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720 will you forgive me, Dan? I thought she asked you who I was, and that you said you did not know ; that you laughed at me together! Daniel ! Daniel !’’ and she clutched at his knee with one of her hands convulsively, ‘‘say it was not true! say it was not true! You would not deny your little Dan's mother !’’ In her agitation she had grown half wild again, and her eyes fixed his with an anguish of questioning. Then something in the man’s being gave way. His head fell forward on his breast and he broke forth into violent tears and sobbings. Her own tears flowed freely now at the sight of his un- wonted emotion, and they fell upon her hands like a healing balm, for at least he was not of stone. At the sight of her pain he too suffered. There was another wit- ness of this scene, to whom, if in- comprehen- sible, it gave greater free- dom. As Lawton raised one powerful hand to his face to wipe away the great drops which trickled through his fingers the mare trembled, feeling the joy of the slackened rein. It is impossible for the chronicler to know why or at what she took fright. Some workmen were blasting rocks in a neighboring quarry. An explosion a little louder than the preceding ones was the first signal. In a moment Lawton was erect with the reins tightly rolled about his wrists, his feet braced firmly against the dash- board. An instant later he cried to his wife : ‘‘Throw yourself out! I cannot hold her !’’ and they were hurling toward the cliffs. Harbor hill on its inward slope was a gentle declivity of grassy meadow, the land dropping to the valley. On the sea A SUCCESSFUL MAN. it was a high steep cliff of sand and loose boulders. As the mare made for and neared the precipice, Lawton repeated his command to his wife to cast herself to the ground, but she hesitated. AN HOUR LATER THE NEWSBOYS WERE SHOUTING THEIR EXTRAS. A few yards from the edge he tried, with frantic energy, to turn the mare’s head. The wagon swerved round with a jerk under them, and he felt the back wheels sink. The soil, undermined by the recent floods, had given way. The mare herself seemed to know that her last hour had come. As the earth caved in under her hind legs she snorted with agony, and her eyeballs shot forth flame. Mrs. Lawton had just time to throw her- self across her husband's breast, and so, clinging closer to-each other than ever they had done in the first pure transports of their boy and girl affection, they were swept down together into the eternal silence. An hour later, in the neighboring towns and on the highways, the newsboys were running about shouting out their « Ex-

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A SEA CHARGE. 721 tras’? announcing to the world that Dan- Through the still evening air Constance, iel Lawton was elected Governor of the leaning at her window, heard their distant State by an overwhelming majority. cries. LOS ‘ -ew 4 fee F1LGG.> ” nn ee Wate wnrnge- pur alin rot > A SEA CHARGE. By ESTHER SINGLETON. LINE after line advancing, on they march, The strong sea-soldiers, with white flags unfurled, As far as straining, eager eye can reach ; And as the wild waves’ battle-cry is hurled Across the ocean "field, with furious might The front ranks charge, and in the darkling night The snowy hosts one luminous instant gleam Ere all the brave men perish on the beach, Dead for their cause, known only to the Sea, That mother of great passion and great pain. Out of the deep, the great deep Mystery, World of unknown, abstract and fantasy, Rise great white-wingéd hopes, to die in strife Upon that narrow ledge which we call Life.

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A PISCATORIAL DINNER. By CHARLES PELHAM-CLINTON. HE fame of the lord mayor’s feasts is worldwide and a Greenwich din- ner at the Ship but a little less known. While the markets of the world have been ransacked for the first, the sea to its very depths has been searched for del- icacies for the last-mentioned, and the first ‘fish’ dinner eaten on the banks of old father Thames is a red-letter day in the existence of any one who appreciates what fishmongers call ‘sea food.’ Ordinary dinners appeal only to one sense but the Ship din- ner appeals to the whole five. That of taste is certainly well satisfied ; hearing is gratified by the pleasant flash of the water against the piers and the strains of the music floating across the river; that of seeing is pleased by as pretty and varied a view as could be desired; smell—well that can hardly be said to be gratified though it certainly is appealed to as Thames mud is hardly as odorous as it might be. It is putting the cart before the horse to describe the dinner be- fore one arrives at the Inn. Now that the tramway has monopolized the highroad to Greenwich, the trip there is hard- ly ever undertaken by land, and the river is used. The easiest place to start from is Westmin- ster bridge close to which is the pier from which start the ‘penny’ steamers. Odd little boats they are, not comfortable and far from clean, but used daily by hundreds of thousands. Once on board away we go past the Thames em- bankment owing its origin to the® philanthropy of an American ; past Charing Cross station, Som- erset House and under Black- friars bridge, in and out among the hundreds of odd-looking craft that blockade our path until Ton- don bridge pier is reached. Here ‘ All out!’ is the word and passengers for Greenwich move a few yards down the Café gee Dine. Ponche 4 la Romaine East India Madeira The Duke Mortilla Fohannisberg Cabinet vit. 1862 gold bronze seal (Leiden), CHAMPAGNES, Roederer Carte Blanche Pfungst Special Reserve Dents & Geldermann's Gold La Vintages 1874. Sorbet a la Frangaise Selts frappé Cigarette Clos de Vougeot Chateau Yquem vint. 1858. Ligueurs Old Brows Sherry hatedu Larose, vint. 1875 Port, vint. 1863. Eau de Vie pier where a large steamboat awaits them. It is more roomy and comfortable than the other and starts only at stated hours, so we have time to sit on the pier and to look around. Close by is London bridge 728 feet long, built in 1825-1831 by John Rennie and costing about the same as the FIMERIGAN INDEPENDENGE de Menu TORTUE CLAIRE TORTUE Like GRAS VERTS AU jUS CALLIPASH ET CALIPER AILGRONS DE TORTUE ETUVEE EN VIN DE MADERE WHITEBAIT CARRELETS ET PERCME SOUCHSS SAUMON DE SEVERNE ETUVEE EN VIN DE CHABLIS RISSOLES DE HOMARD PETITES SOLES FRITES BOUDINS DE MERLANS A LA DANOISE ANGUILLES ETUVEES EN VIN D'OPORTO CRABE A L’AMERICAINE CHRISTINES A LA MANTUA FILETS DE ROUGETS ETUVEES EN VIN-DE LAFII¢E HMOMARD A LA CETTOISE ST, PIERRE A LA LUCULLUS FILETS D'ESTURGEON A LA POLONAISE TRUITE DE LOCH LOMOND GRILLE A LA TARTARE PAUPIETTES DE FILETS DE SOLE A LA RAVIGOTTE FILETS DE TURBNTS A LA CREME AU GRATIN ECREVISSES 41 \ BORDELAISE LAMPROIS A LA DIEPPOISE wh, FILETS DE TANCHE A LA ROYALE COTELETTE DB SAUMON ECOSSAIS A L’ORIENTALE WHITEBAIT ALA DIABLE CREVETTES EN BUISSON GLACE ANGES A CHEVAL KARI DE RAIE AU RIZ SALMI DE CAILLES A L'ESSENCE CHAUD FROID DE FILETS DE Ris DE VEAU A LA BELLE VUE HANCHE DE VENAISON HARICOTS VERTS CANETONS ROTIS ET PeTITS POIS VERTS ASPERGES EN BRANCHES ORTOLANS AU FEVILLES DE VIGNE ROTIS ET SALADE A LA FRANCAISE BACON AND BEANS GUS DE PLUVIER JAMBON DE MONTANCHET A LA DIABLE ET SALADE DE TOMATE FOIE GRAS EN ASPIC DAMES D'HONNEUR NOUGATS A LA CHANTILLY GENOESE CHARLOTTE D’ABRICOTS MERENGUES A LA CREME PETITS ECLAIRS AU CHOCOLAT MAZARINE DE FRUITS GLACE SPONGADA DI ROMA PAILLES DE. FROMAGE LAITANCES DE HARENGS AUX CROUTES GLACES EAU DE GROSEILLES EAU DE CERISES CREME AU PRAISES © cREME D'ANANAS EAU DE RAISIN Des AMANA, MBLON, PECHES, FRAISES, NECTARINES, RAISINS, CONSERVES Mercredi, le 4 Fuillet, 1888. WT Pate. Manag MENT. Brooklyn bridge. Away in the distance can be seen the dome of St. Paul's and on all sides are vast wharfs and grana ries. What curious shipping one sees on the Thames. The collection comes from

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A PISCATORIAL DINNER. every part of the world and carries every species of merchandise. The barges are odd to look at and are of much the same pattern as those in use a couple of centu- ries ago and are propelled down stream by two men tugging at the unwieldy oars. However, the hour arrives and ‘ All on board for Greenwich !’ sends us scurrying over the gangway, and with a ‘toot, toot’ of the whistle away we speed down the river. The captain of a Thames steamboat must be a person of great consequence as he does not communicate his orders to the engineer himself. A small boy with a shrill voice is the go-between. Where this breed of a boy is maintained I know not, but never in my ordin- ary walks abroad have I come across boys with voices of the pitch and ear-piercing quali- ties of those on board these steamers. ‘Ease her!’ ‘Stop her!’ ‘Back her!’ ‘Gentle!’ ; ‘Now!’ «Go ahead!’ in the same shrill falsetto mingle $f with the dulcet tones of the in- | evitable band on board and the hum of life from the banks and craft around. Gradually the forests of masts are replaced by trees in the distance, and about halfan - hour from London bridge the | air has become sensibly purer and Greenwich is in sight. A fine sight it is too. The grand old buildings erected at - least 200 years ago are the _: foreground, while a canopy of | glorious old trees on the hill- side makes a refreshing back- ground after the sterility of London. Above the green foli- age appears the observatory, and as far as appearances go we might be a hundred miles away from the biggest city in ; the world. The shrill falsetto gives the word ‘ Ease her !’ ‘Stop her!’ as the Water Witch glides up tothe pier. An antique water- man fastens the ropes and pushes out a gang plank, the band makes its final attempt to 46 ——————— 723 collect coppers, everyone rushes to the gangway and in a moment we are on shore. A walk of but a few yards brings one to the old ship Inn, and the best thing todo is to secure a table before taking a walk about Greenwich. The green lawn in front of the Inn and overlooking the Thames seems the most desirable spot to refresh the inner man ; and the selection made, the proper thing is to take a stroll through the old hospital and see the sights while dinner is being prepared. The grand block of buildings that were once the home of disabled and ancient seamen occupies the site of an old palace known as Placentia built by Humphrey duke of Gloucester and which in 1012 was ENTRANCE OF THE SHIP INN, GREENWICH

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724 a favorite camp ofthe Danes. Henry vi. made a grant of 200 acres to duke Hum- phrey in 1433 and another of the same amount in 1437. On the site of an old palace that stood in Edward 1.’s time duke Humphrey built Pleazaunce, or Placentia so called from its charming situation. Edward Iv. en- larged the park and stocked it with deer. Henry vii. was born s at Greenwich and bap- ,, tized in the parish { church and afterward a spent vast sums on it. ol Several royal tourna- — ments were held here, and it was in the park *-: at Greenwich that Anne Boleyn dropped the: ill-fated handkerchief that was brought in evidence against her as being a signal to an admirer and caused her death sentence. Queen Elizabeth was very fond of Pla- centia and spent much of her time there particularly in the summer. Her first chapter of the Order of the Garter was held in St. George’s hall, and many sub- sequent ones. The ceremony on Maundy Thursday, on March 19, 1572, in remem- brance of Christ washing the feet of the poor, was enacted here but is too long to repeat. Suffice it to say that she performed the office daintily. Sir Walter Raleigh’s famous feat of throwing his satin doublet before the queen was en- acted at Greenwich. In 1605 James I. settled Greenwich pal- ace and park on his queen, Anne of Den- mark, and great alterations were made. Charles 1. also was much at Greenwich prior to the civil war, and his queen al- tered and added«to the improvements made by Anne of Denmark, Inigo Jones being the architect. In 1652 the commonwealth desiring funds wished to sell the park but nothing was done and in 1654 it was used by the lord protector as aresidence. Charles 1. found it in sad want of repair and pulled a good deal of it down, building again at a large cost from plans by Evelyn. Wil- liam 11. did not care for Greenwich but A PISCATORIAL DINNER. LAWN OF THE SHIP INN. queen Mary wishing that disabled seamen should have as good a hospital as that of disabled soldiers at Chelsea, resolved -to add to the buildings, complete those unfinished and turn it into a hospital. No time was lost and though Mary died before its completion, to her is due the grand old pile now standing on the banks of the Thames. The grant was made on October 25, 1694. The whole place was al- tered and many new buildings added, that known as queen Anne’s building being commenced in 1698. In 1705 there were 300 pensioners within the walls; so no time was lost. The paintings in the great hall have been added from time to time until the naval gallery is the finest of its kind in England. In 1738 no less than 1000 pensioners were housed within the walls and in 1778 double that number. Each pensioner received a weekly allow- ance of seven loaves, three pounds of beef, two pounds of mutton, a pint of pease, one pound and a half of cheese, two ounces of butter, fourteen quarts of beer, one shilling a week tobacco money and also once in two years a suit of blue clothes and a hat, three pairs of stock- ings, two pairs of shoes, five neckties, three shirts and two nightcaps. In 1865 a commission of inquiry rec- ommended an act of parliament to be passed with a view of closing the Royal hospital as an almshouse and in 1869, in

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pursuance of an act passed, Greenwich hospital ceased to bea home for disabled seamen after being used as such for over 150 years. Thoughthe building still re- mained, the main features of tke place had goneina great measure. The hospital was turned into a naval college in 1873, but the picturesque old men whose deeds of valor are written on the pages of the histories of the world had gone never to return. Since then it has been turned into a training school and boys play where the heroes of old wan- dered around. Though the pensioners have gone, whitebait remains and this is the chief at- traction at Greenwich rowadays ; and of this we are reminded by the clock on the centre tower chiming the hour of seven, and urged by the musical notes we leave the time-honored old buildings and return to the ‘ ship.’ An appetizing odor prevails that awak- ens the consciousness that the keen air has given a zest to the appetite and that a look at the menu may not be amiss. In this of course whitebait will figure prominently. When that delicacy was first recognized as suchI cannot find out, but at a funeral feast given at the Hall of the Stationers Company on May 28, 1612, ‘six dishes of whitebait’ figure on the bill of fare. About the end of March whitebait make their appearance in the Thames, and continue to improve until the end of Au- gust. W. John Timbs in his Club Life of London, says that he found in an old book written by Pennant, «‘ Whitebait are esteemed very delicious when fried with fine flour, and occasion during the season avast resort of the lower order of epicures to the taverns contiguous to the places where they are taken.’’ If this be true times have changed and either the tastes of epicures fallen or the standard of white- bait raised as no greater delicacy can be placed before a gourmet. That her ma- jesty’s government do not despise white- bait is amply demonstrated by that now formal ceremony the ‘ministerial ° fish dinner’ that takes place at the close of summer sessions and in which whitebait plays a very prominent part. In olden times it was the custom for the ministers to go down from Whitehall in an ordnance barge ornamented with gay- A PISCATORIAL DINNER. 725 ly colored flags and streamers. Nowa- days the prosaic steamer is used, or if one of the ministers happens to have a launch they all go down in that. The origin of this dinner is told by Mr. Timbs in his work; ‘* On the banks of Dagenham Lake or Reach,in Essex,many years since there stood a cottage occupied by a princely merchant named Preston, at one time M.P. for Dover. He called it his ‘fishing cottage’ and often in the spring he went there with a friend or two as a relief to the toils of his parliamen- tary and mercantile duties. His most fre- quent guest was the Right Honorable George Rose, secretary of the treasury and elder brother of the Trinity House. Many a day did these two worthies enjoy at Dagenham Reach, and Mr. Rose once in- timated to Mr. Preston that Mr. Pitt, of whose friendship they were justly proud, would no doubt delight in the comfort of such aretreat.’’ The day was named and the premier came ; so pleased was he that he then and there settled a day for the coming year and for several years his an- nual dinner was considered a matter of course. The distance however was great and Sir Robert Preston proposed that the annual dinner should be taken nearer London. Greenwich was chosen. The party gradually increased, Lord Camden being the fourth member added. Later on came Mr. Charles Long, afterward Lord Farnborough, all being Sir Robert Preston’s guests. The number still in- creased and at Lord Camden’s suggestion Sir Robert was relieved of the expense, though he still insisted on providing the buck and the champagne. In due time Sir Robert died, but Lord Farnborough kept the dinner up,and from the fact of the invitations now going out in ministerial boxes, in due time it came to be that only ministers were invited. From this small beginning came the present important function. Curran and Samuel Rogers dined to- gether here, and Charles Dickens’s safe return from America in 1842 was cele- brated. here. The list of names that are recorded includes Cruikshank, Tal- fourd, Milnes, Hood and Marryat, and in 1856 Douglas Jerrold dined with Dick- ens just prior to the death of the first named. Of course the old ‘ship’ is gone but the

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726 new one is worthy of its ancient name and fully keeps up its reputation. The small decanter of golden sherry is the solitary piece of color on the white damask, and we eagerly scan the menu laid before us by the waiter : THE SHIP GREENWICH. CARTE DE JOUR. Flounders Souchés. A PISCATORIAL DINNER. than ten courses of sea food he can length- en it very considerably if a private din- ner is required. Last year American in- dependence was celebrated by a banquet of great magnificence, and as the menu is a work of art, I give it here. ‘The only marvel is how human nature could accomplish the gigantic task set before it. LANDING OF THE GREENWICH BOAT. Salmon Souchés. Rissoles of Lobster. Fried Slips. Stewed Eels. Crab Omelette. Grilled Trout—Tartar Sauce Salmon Cutlets a I’Indienne. Whitebait (plain) Whitebait (bedevilled). The champagne is iced to perfection and the sherry and white wine good of their kind. A feeling of philanthropy steals upon one as over a cup of coffee and a good cigar, one ruminates over the chan- ging scene in front and one’s mind runs riot over what changes that river has seen in the last two hundred years. A chat with Mr. Bale the manager brings out the fact that the ministerial dinner takes place in August, and that while the carte de jour contains no less Mr. Bale showed me a quaint old coin of the sixteenth century on which is a representation of the Ship Inn, so we can safely say that for close on three hundred years travellers have been warmed and filled on the ground we are now using. The cigar is out and the night air grows chilly and the appearance on the water of thousands of twinkling lights shows that sundown has long gone by and that even the endurance of an English twi- light is not unlimited. The bill is pro-- duced, the amount paid, and in a few moments thecry ‘Go ahead!’ in that same shrill voice wakes the quiet echoes of the evening, while the thud of the engine tells us that we are speeding back to London, and our fish dinner though lost to sight is to memory dear.

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M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. BY BRANDER MATTHEWS EB attempt a portrait of a man of let- criticism which gives the note to contem ters after the subject has already sat porary thought. It is in the former class, i to two limners as accomplished as Mr. among the “grave, learned, definitive ’’ : Henry James and M. Jules Lemaitre is ven- critics that M. Sarcey must be placed ; but turesome and savors 7 ainiamadia = of conceit; but nearly fifteen years have passed since Mr. James made his off-hand thumbnail sketch of M. Sarcey, and M. Lemaitre’s more recent and more elaborate por- traiture in pastels was intended to be seen of Parisians only. Moreover Mr. James, although he praises M. Sarcey, does so with many reserves, not to say a little grudgingly ; he even echoes the opinion once cur- rent in Paris that M. Sarcey is heavy—an opinion which M. Lemaitre denounces and disproves. It is in person that M. Sarcey is heavy -in body, not in mind. Heis portly and thick-set, but not thick-witted. He is short-sighted physically, but no critic has keener insight. His judg- iments are as solid and as firm-footed .s his tread. Sainte- seuve has indicated the difference be- tween the ‘ grave, learned, definitive ”’ criticism which penetrates and ex- plains and «the more alert, and more lightly armed” ™ Ree ee) | | Ae =e TTT TE a aoe ae Ot A ret FRANCISQUE SARCEY. 00 ae Acted ae ue Se

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728 his serious and elaborate decisions are ex- pressed with perhaps as much liveliness and as much point as anyone of the «« more alert and more lightly armed’’ may dis- play. M. Sarcey’s wit is Voltairean in its quality, in its directness and in its ease. Though his arm is strong to smite a cut- ting blow if need be, yet more often than not it is with the tip of the blade that he punctures his adversary, fighting fairly and breaking through the guard by skill of fence. And of fighting M. Sarcey has had his fill since he entered journalism more than thirty years ago. Born in 1828, he was admitted to the Normal school in 1848 in the class with M. Taine and with Edmond About. _ For seven years after his gradua- tion in 1851 heserved as a professor in sev- eral small towns, constantly involved in difficulties with the officials of the Second Empire. In 1858 he gave up the desk of the teacher for that of the journalist, and coming up to Paris by the aid and advice of About, he began to write for the Figaro. The next year the Opinion Nationale was started, and M. Sarcey became its dramatic critic. In 1867 he transferred his services to the Temps, which is indis- »pttably the ablest and most dignifiéd of all Parisian news- papers ; and tothe Temps, in the number which bears the date of Monday and which ap- pears on Sunday afternoon, M. Sarcey has contributed for now nearly a quarter of a century a weekly review of the theatres, slowly gaining in authority until for a score of years at least his primacy in Paris as a dramatic critic has been beyond question. In addition to this heb- domadal essay M. Sarcey has descended daily into the thick of contemporary polemics. He writes an article nearly every day on the topic of the hour. When About started the XIX* Siécle after the Prussian war, M. Sarcey was his chief editorial contribu- tor, leading a lively cam- paign against administrative abuses of all kinds and ex- posing sharply the blunders M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. of the ecclesiastical propaganda. He has little taste for party politics, which seem to him arid and fruitless ; but in the righting of wrongs he is indefatigable, and in the discussion of urban improvemeuts, enter- ing with ardor into all questions of water supplies, sewerage and the like. And to the consideration of all these problems he brings the broad common sense, the stal- wart logic, the robust energy which are his chief characteristics. He has common sense in a most uncommon degree ; and its exercise might be monotonous if it were not enlivened by ironic and playful wit. Calling on him one day a few summers ago and being hospitably received in the spacious library which his friend M. Charles Garnier, the architect of the Opéra, has arranged for him in the wide- windowed studio of a house purchased by him from the painter who had built it for his own use, M. Sarcey told me that he was a little surprised to discover that such rep- utation as he might have outside of his own country was chiefly as a dramatic critic, whereas in France he was known rather as a working journalist. Sitting JOHN LEMOINNE.

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M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. on the broad, square lounge below the wide window—the - famous: Divan Rouge of which M. Sarcey himself has told the leg- end in the pages of a French review—I suggested that perhaps this was owing to the merely local interest of the subjects the daily journalist was forced to deal with, while the Parisian dramatic critic dis- cussed plays, many of which were likely to be exported far beyond the boundaries of France and beyond the limits of the French lan- guage. I asked him also how it was that he had never made any collection of his dramatic criticisms, or even a selection from them, as Jules Janin and Théophile Gautier had done in the past, and as M. Auguste Vitu of the Figaro and M. Jules Lemaitre of the Débats are doing now. I regret that I cannot re- call the exact words of M. Sarcey’s answer, although my recollection of the pur- port of his remarks is dis- tinct enough. He said that he had not collected his weekly articles or even made a selection from them because they were journalism and not literature :—the es- sential difference between journalism and literature being, that the newspaper is meant for the moment only while the book is intended for all time, or as much of it as may be; he wrote for the Temps his exact opinion at the minute of the writing and having in view all the cir- cumstances of the hour. He said that in a book an author might be moderate in assertion, but that in a newspaper, which would be thrown away ‘between sunrise and sunset, a writer at times must needs force the note; and when it was worth while he must be ready to declare his opinion loudly, with insistence and with undue emphasis. Of this privilege he had availed himself in the Temps, and this was one reason why he did not wish to see his newspaper articles revived after they had done their work. (Here I feel it proper to note that a careful reading 729 of M. Sarcey’s feuilletons every week for now nearly fourteen years has shown me that although his enthusiasm may seem at times a little overstrained, it is never factitious and it is never for an unworthy object.) FRANCOIS COPPEE. A second reason M. Sarcey gave for letting his dramatic criticisms sink into the oblivion of the back number is that he always gave his opinion frankly and fully at the instant when his impressions crys- tallized, and that he sometimes changed these opinions when a playewas revived or when a player was seen in a new part. ‘‘ Now, if I reprinted my feuilletons,’’ said he laughing, «‘I should lose the right to contradict myself.’’ ‘‘To look at all sides,’’ Mr. Lowell tells us, ‘‘ and to distrust the verdict of a single mood, is, no doubt, the duty of a critic,’? but the hasty review of a play penned before sunrise, while the printer's boy waits for copy, is of necessity the ver- dict of a single mood ; and this is why M. Sarcey feels the need of keeping his mind open to fresh impressions and of holding himself in readiness to modify his opinion if good cause is shown for a reversal of the

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730 previous decision. And the criticism to which Mr. Lowell refers is, in one sense, literature, while the rapid reviewing of — ALBERT WOLFF. contemporary art can never be more than journalism, tinctured always with the be- lief that what is essential is news—first its collection-and secondarily a comment upon it. In this same conversation with M. Sar- cey in his library he told me that he had planned a book on the drama—‘‘A His- tory of Theatrical Conventions,’’ was to be its exact title, I think—but that he had done little or nothing towardit. The drama, like every other art, is based upon the passing of an implied agreement be- tween the public and the artist by which the former allows the latter certain privi- leges ; and in no art are these conventions more necessary and more obvious than in the art of the stage. The dramatist has but a few minutes in which to show his M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. action and he can take the spectator to but a few places; therefore he has to select, to condense, to intensify beyond all nature ; and the spec- tator has to make allow- ances for the needful ab- sence of the fourth wall of the room in which the scene passes, for the directness of speech, for the omissions of the non- essentials which in real life cumber man’s every movement. Certain of these conventions are per- manent, immutable, in- evitable, being of the es- sence of the contract, as we lawyers say, inherent in any conceivable form of dramatic art. Certain others are accidental, temporary, different in various countries and in various ages. A history of theatrical conventions as M. Sarcey might tell it would be the story of dramatic evolu- tion and of the modifica- tion of the art of the stage in accord with the chang- ing environment; it would be as vital and as pregnant and as stimu- lating a treatise on the drama and its essential principles as one could wish. I expressed to M. Sarcey my eagerness to hold such a book in my hand as soon as might be. He laughed again heartily and returned that he had made little progress and that he was in no hurry to set forth his ideas nakedly by them- selves and systematically codrdinated. ‘‘If I once formulated my theories,’’ he said, ‘‘ with what could I fill my feuilleton —those twelve broad columns of the Temps every week ?”’ What M. Sarcey has not yet done for himself the late Becq de Fouquiéres at- tempted in a book on L’Art de la Mise en Scéne, the principles laid down in which are derived mainly from M. Sarcey’s es- says in the Temps. M. de Fouquiéres, itis to be noted, had not M. Sarcey’s knowledge, his authority, his vigor or his Tings

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M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. style, but his treatise is logical and valu- able, and may be recommended heartily to all American students of the stage. That M. Sarcey should ever feel any difficulty in filling his allotted space is in- conceivable to those who wonder weekly at his abundance, his variety, and his overflowing information. The post of dramatic critic has been held in Paris by many distinguished men, who for the most part regarded it with distaste and merely as a disagreeable livelihood. Théophile Gautier was frequent in his denunciation of his theatrical servitude, speaking of himself as one toiling in the galley of journalism and chained to the oar of the feuilleton. In like manner M. Théodore de Banville and M. Frangois Coppée cried aloud at their slavery, and sought every occasion for an excursus from the prescribed theatrical theme. Even M. Jules Lemaitre strays from the path to discuss in the Débats a novel or a poem not strictly within the juris- diction of the dramatic critic. M.Sarcey is never faint in his allegiance to the stage, and he is never short of material for ex- amination. If there are no novelties at the theatres, there may be new books about the stage. Or if these fail there are questions of theatrical administra- tion. Or in default of everything else, the Comédie-Frangaise is al- ways open, and in the dull days of the summer it acts the older plays, the comedies and trage- dies of the classical rep- ertory, and in these M. Sarcey finds many a peg m which to hang a dis- quisition on dramatic cesthetics. I will not say that I have not found the same truth presented more than once in the 700 of M. Sarcey’s weekly es- says that I have read and preserved, or the now and again 731 same moral enforced more than once ; but that is a pretty poor truth which will not bear more than one repetition. Perhaps the first remark a regular reader of M. Sarcey’s weekly review finds him- self making is that the critic has a pro- found knowledge of the art of the stage. Of a certainty the second is to the effect that the critic very evidently delights in his work, is obviously glad to goto the theatre and pleased to express his opinion on the play and the performance. No dramatic critic was ever more conscien- tious than M. Sarcey, none was ever as indefatigable. Often he returns to seea piece a second time before recording his opinion in print, ready to modify his first impression and quick to note the effect produced on the real public, the broad body of average playgoers but sparsely represented on first nights. Next to his enjoyment of his work and | HENRI MEILHAC

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732 his conscience in the discharge of his duty, the chief char- acteristic of M. Sar- cey is his extraor- dinary knowledge, his wide acquaint- ance with the his- tory of the theatre in Greece, in Rome and in France, his close hold on the thread of dramatic development, and his firm grasp of the vital principles of theatricart. Heun- derstands as no one else the theory of the drama, the why and the wherefore of every cogwheel of dramatic mechan- ism. He seizes the beauty of technical details and he is fond of making this plain to the ordi- nary playgoer, con- scious solely of the result and careless of the means. He has a marvellous faculty of seizing the central situation of a play and of setting this forth boldly, dwelling on the subsidiary developments of the plot only in so far as they are need- ful for the proper exposition of the more important point. By directing all the light on this dominating and culminating situation, the one essential and pregnant part of the piece, M. Sarcey manages to convey to the reader some notion of the effect of the acted play upon the audience —a task far above the calibre of the ordi- nary theatrical critics, who content them- selves generally with a haphazard and hasty summary of the plot, bald and bar- ren. From M. Sarcey’s criticism of a play in Paris it is possible for an intelli- gent reader in New York to appreciate the effect of the performance and to under- stand the causes of its success or its fail- ure. His criticism—even when one is most M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. CHARLES GARNIER. in disagreement with his opinions—is al- ways informed with an exact appreciation of the possibilities and the limitations of the acted drama. Here is M. Sarcey’s real originality as a theatrical critic—that he criticises the acted drama as something to be acted. With the possible exception of Lessing—whom he once praised to me most cordially, declaring that he was delighted whenever he took down the Dramaturgie and chanced upon some dictum of the great German critic con- firmatory of one of his own theories—with the possible exception of Lessing, M. Sarcey is the first dramatic critic of literary equipment who did not consider a tragedy or a comedy merely as literature and apart from its effect when acted. La Harpe and Geoffroy might have contented themselves with reading at home the plays they criti-

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M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. cised for all the effect of the performance to be detected in their comment. Janin and Gautier were little better: to them a drama was a specimen of literature, to be judged by the rules and methods appli- cable to other specimens of literature. Now no view could be more unjust to the dramatist. A play is written not to be read, primarily, but to be acted ; and if it isa good play it is seen to fullest advantage only when it is acted. M. Coquelin has recently pointed out that if Shakespeare and Moliére, the greatest two dramatists that ever lived, were both careless as to the printing of their plays, it was perhaps because both knew that these plays were written for the theatre, and that only in the theatre could they be judged properly. Seen by the light of the lamps a play has quite another complexion from that it bears in the library. Passages pale and dull, it may be, when read coldly by the eye, are lighted by the inner fire of passion when presented in the theatre; and the solid structure of action, without which a drama is nought, may stand forth in bolder relief on the stage. A play in the hand of the reader and a play before the eye of the spectator are two very different things ; and the difference between them bids fair to grow apace with the increasing attention paid nowadays to the purely pictorial side of dramatic art, to the cos- tumes and the scenery, to the illustrative ‘‘business’’ and the ingenious manage- ment of the lights. No one knows better than M. Sarcey how sharp the difference is between the play on the stage and the play in the closet, and no one has in- dicated the distinction with more acumen. He judges the play before him as it im- presses him and the surrounding play- goers at its performance in the theatre, and not as it might strike him on perusal alone in his study. And this is one reason why—if it were necessary to declare the order of the critical hierarchy—I should rank M. Sarcey as a critic of the acted drama more highly than any English critic even of the great days of English dramatic criticism, when Lamb and Hazlitt and Leigh Hunt were prac- titioners of the art. The task of Hazlitt and of Leigh Hunt was far different from M. Sarcey’s. The English drama of their day was so feeble that few except pro- fessed students of theatrical history can 733 now recal, the names of any play or of any playwright of that time ; and therefore the critics devoted themselves alinost alto- gether to an analysis of the beauties of Shakespeare and of the art of acting as revealed by John Philip Kemble, Sarah Siddons and Edmund Kean. Lamb's subtle and paradoxical essays are retro- spective, the best of them, and commemo- rate performers and performances held in affectionate remembrance. He wrote little about the actual present, and thus he avoided the double difficulty of dramatic criticism as M. Sarcey has to meet it today in France. This double difficulty is, that when the dramatic critic has to review a new play he is called upon to do two things at once, each incompatible with the other : he has to judge the play, which he knows only through the medium of the acting, and he has to judge the acting, which he knows only as it is shown in the play; and thus there is a double liability to error. HENRI TAINE, Neither the dramatist nor the comedian stands before the critic simply and di- rectly—each can be seen only as the other is able and willing to declare him. It may

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734 be said that the dramatic critjg does not see a new play—he sees only a perform- ance, and this performance may be good or bad, may betray the author or reinforce him, may be fairly representative of his work and his wishes or may not. It is not the play itself that the critic sees—it is only the performance. If the play is in print, the critic may correct the impression of the single representation, or he may do so if the play be revived. Lamb and Hazlitt and Leigh Hunt, dealing almost wholly with the comedies and tragedies of the past, all of which were in print and in their possession for quiet perusal, had a far easier task than M. Sarcey’s—they had to do little more than comment upon the acting or express their preéxisting opinion of the play itself. M. Sarcey has to judge both piece and the acting at the same time, and he has to judge the piece solely through the medium of the acting and the acting solely through the medium of the piece, and it may happen that either medium refracts irregularly. Every actor, every dramatic author, every theatrical manager knows that there are ‘‘ ungrate- ful parts”’ and ‘parts that play them- THEODORE DE BANVILLE. selves.’’ Out of the former the best actor can make but little, and in the latter the defects of even the poorest actor are dis- guised. No dramatic critic is better aware of this double difficulty than M. Sarcey, and no one is more adroit in solving it. As far as natural gifts and an unprecedented ex- perience can avail, he avoids the danger. He is open-minded, slow to formulate his M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. opinion and always ready to give a play or a player a rehearing. He is never mean, never morose, never malignant. He is not one of the critics who attack a living author with the callous carelessness with which an anatomist goes to work on a nameless cadaver. He is no more easy to please than any other expert whose taste is fine though his sympathies are broad ; but when he is pleased he is emphatic in praise. It was in The Idle Man, in his wonderful panegyric of Kean’s acting, that Dana said, ‘‘I hold it to be a low and wicked thing to keep back from merit of any kind its due;’’ and M. Sarcey is of Dana’s opinion. He is capable of dithy- rambic rhapsodies of eulogy when he is trying to warm up -the Parisian public to a proper appreciation of M. Meilhac’s Gotte or Décoré, for example; and al- though nobody can love New York more than I do, sometimes one of the Temps reviews of a new play at the Vaudeville, of a revival at the Odéon, or of a first ap- pearance at the Francaise is enough to make me homesick for Paris. As a critic even of the drama, M. Sarcey has his limitations. He is now and then insular—Paris (like New York) had its origin on an island. At times he is dog- matic to the verge of despotism. He has the defects of his qualities; and the first of his qualities is a robust common sense, which is sometimes a little commonplace and sometimes again a little overwhelm- ing, a little intolerant. Common sense is an old failing of the French. «‘ We have almost all of us,’’ says M. Jules Lemaitre, ‘‘more or less Malherbe, Boileau, Vol- taireand M. Thiers in our marrow.”’ A characteristic of all these typical French- men was pugnacity, and this is one of M. Sarcey’s most valuable qualities. He fights fair but he fights hard. His long campaign against M. Duquesnel as the manager of the Odéon and his repeated attacks on the theories of the late M. Per- rin, until the death of the administrator of the Comédie-Frangaise, are memorable in- stances of M. Sarcey’s tenacity. They are instances also of his sagacity, for time has proved the truth ofhis contentions. Again, when M. Zola made a bitter and personal retort to a plain-spoken criticism, M. Sar- cey returned an answer as good-tempered as any one could wish, but as convincing and as cutting as any of M. Zola’s many

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M. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. opponents could desire. When M. Sarcey picks up the gauntlet, he handles his ad- versary without gloves. In the reply to M. Zola as elsewhere, M. Sarcey confessed his abiding weakness— the incurable habit of heterophemy which makes him miscall names in almost every EDMOND ABOUT. article he writes, setting down ‘«‘ Edmond"’ when it should be «‘ Edward,”’ and the like. But blunders of this sort are but trifles which any alert proof-reader might check, and which every careful reader can correct for himself. They areall of a piece with M. Sarcey’s writing, which abounds in familiarities, in slang, in the technical terms of the stage, in happy-go-lucky al- lusions often exceedingly felicitous, and in frequent anecdotes from his wide read- ing or from his own experience. The re- sult is a style of transparent ease and of indisputable sincerity. Nobody was ever in doubt as to his meaning at any time or in doubt as to the reason why he meant what he said. To this sincerity M. Sarcey referred in his reply to M. Zola, and to it he owes, as he there declared, much of his 735 authority as a dramatic critic. With the public, intelligence and knowledge count for much, and skill tells also, and so does wit ; but nothing is as important to a critic as a reputation for integrity, for frankness, for absolute honesty in the ex- pression of his opinions. To keep this reputation free from sus- picfon M. Sarcey declined to solicit the succession. of Emile Augier in the French Academy. In a dignified and pathetic letter to the public, he declared that although he believed that most of the dramatists who belonged to the Forty Immortals would vote for him, and although he believed that both be- fore his candidacy and after his election hecould criticise the plays of these dram- atists as freely as he did now, yet he did not believe that the public would credit him with this fortitude. «The author- ity of the critic lies in the confidence of the public,”’ he wrote ; and if the public doubted whether he would speak the truth and the whole truth as frankly after he had been a candidate or after he had become an Academician, his opinion would lose half its weight. To guard his freedom he told me once he had re- fused all honors, even the cross of the Legion of Honor. He declared in this letter that he hesitated long, and that he knew the sacrifice he was making. If journalism had been without a representa- tive in the Academy, perhaps he might have felt it his duty to be a candidate, but M. John Lemoinne was one of the Forty, and there were already two or three other journalists drawing nigh to the Academy, ‘“‘who will fill most brill- iantly the place I give up to them.’ He concluded by declaring that his ambi- tion was to have on his tombstone the two words which would sum up his career— ‘« Professor and Journalist.”’ He began as a professor, as a teacher in theschools, and now for thirty years he has been a journalist, a teacher in the news- papers, loving his work, and doing it with a conscience and a fidelity which make it an honor to the modern newspaper. SOS

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O begin with, do not mistake me, she was not a little red devil or a little devil in red. Ah, no! she was sweetness itself. To be sure, bright scintillating flames darted from her eyes, not the lurid flashes of limbo, but the soft, ambient lights of innocence. If I stop to tell you how sweet she was I will never get on with my story. I saw her first at the Monday Dancing Class, at the Mendelssohn. There had been three dances, but this was the first I had at- tended. Oh! sorry loss! Giesman was playing La Colombeas I entered. Noone could help noticing her as she danced ; had she been seated and not dressed in red I would hardly have seen her, at least I thought so then. Red, to me, is simply the infuriating rag. In my narrowness every art feeling in me was offended. I call it red, an un- common red. It was not crimson, car- mine, rose-madder or scarlet, nor any relative at all of those fiends of color, ma- genta or solferino; it was light vermil- ion, somewhat the color of a tulip where pierced by sunlight, and there was not another color about her. Startling effect ! for it was not a fancy ball. Had Whistler painted her in that daz- zling costume he would have called it, most likely, a symphony in vermilion. Corals clasped her white throat and arms, a red fan, red hose, red slippers, red buckles—a fine glow of light over all, blanching to a dazzling whiteness the oval face, round arms and swanlike neck. She was a beautiful dancer. I watched her -her fingers scarcely touched the hand of her partner, or his arm her slim waist. She appeared to be dancing alone, and he a shadow dancing after and around her, in the weird mazes of that sad and dreamy waltz. Was it all enchantment, and she a phan- tom dancing with a shade that brought out the brilliant whiteness of her arms and the fiery glows of her red apparel? I saw her only of all the merry dancers in that measured dream. The music stopped suddenly, as it always does when you want it to goon. Her partner withdrew his arm as suddenly, and left her poised in air, like a little red moth. I became aware of ashock—electric, perhaps ; found I had actually been holding my breath and dancing in spirit after her. I was tired, exhausted. ‘Who is that?’’ I asked, turning to a fellow, a sort of cousin of mine, who was watching her also. ‘« Why, have you never seen her before ? She has been at all the dances.”’ ‘« But I have not.”’ ‘‘Miss Devilet she’s, called; new this season, from California or Oregon, where the big trees are and all gigantic produc- tions come from. Im-mense—isn’t she? Once seen, never forgotten—at least, her red dresses.”’ ‘Red dresses! does she always wear red ?’’ ‘Yes, of some shade or other — red costumes, quite different from dresses. I’m not strong on color, confuse my greens and blues, pinks and yellows. Could not pass for the navy on that account, scores of years ago—that is, four—you may re- member. But you are a colorist, and can name every shade chromatically.”’ ‘‘Don’t gibe me. I’ve known blondes wedded to blue, brunettes to garnet, ‘’afs and ’afs’ to corn color or pea green— I spare you the technical names—but a blonde—red ! whew! it makes me shud-

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MISS DEVILET. der «as if ole har had loped ober my grave,’ as the darkies say ‘down in ole Virginny.’”’ “If anything pains my esthetic taste, it’s bold bald red. All the grays and browns in my nature repel it. A red hat, ared dress, of all things a red ball dress. Why, it’s not at all nice of her to wear red.”’ ‘« Not at all, but how eloquent you wax ! Someone she likes must have told her she looks well in it—likely some California fellow ; they have gaudy taste out there, you know.”’ «What! with yellowish hair? ugh! ugh! I wish she didn’t, for she dances well. All I want at these affairs is a girl who dances well and is dressed in good taste ; if she’s not positively ugly, I don’t mind. I shut my eyes and think of the one face in the world for me, and imagine I’m dancing with her.’’ «Fine imagination—I quite envy you. How about that ‘one face’ —ideal, of course? It does pay sometimes to be an artist.’’ ‘« Look, she dances light as a feather ; no dead weight on your hands to lug around as a beet. Keeps perfect time. I’ve tried her.’’ ‘Yes, I know all you can say on that score. I’ve not taken my eyes off her since I came, when she’s dancing. Stun- ning, perfectly stunning—never saw the like of her off the stage—but I will not dance with a red dress.”’ ‘«Don’t you wish you were color blind for once? Why, her dress is not red, it is purple.”’ ‘‘Goodness ! purple! that’s worse; no wonder you could not pass. I’ve been plagued with colors all day, and I’m not going to keep it up any longer and dance with her.”’ ‘‘ Notarash resolution, for I fear neither of us will get a chance. I’ve not been able to get but a half waltz in all three dances. You can swear away about ‘red’ but I can tell you Miss Devilet is a de- cided hit.’’ ‘‘ Miss Devilet ! Her name’s enough to damn her let alone her red dress. Any- thing like her relative ? "’ ‘‘How serious you are; it is not her real name, simply a sobriquet Nives, a sharp fellow, gave her, who'll shake hands with you on ‘the red dress question ;’ he’s the room, with your face as r 737 a leader in this set and all the fellows ‘caught on’ immediately. They say she knows it, too—rather funny, isn’t it? Come, let me present you to Miss Book- staver for the next dance—the girl in blue, from Boston, you know.” I looked in the direction my cousin in- dicated, saw a tall thin girl in imperial blue with pallid cheeks, colorless hair, and the inseparable eyeglasses. Shrugged my shoulders, made a bee line for the little girl in red across the room, nodded to Duval, who was talking with her, looking down into her deep blue eyes from the height of his six feet. ‘««Excuse me a moment,’’ he said, as he left her side and came toward me. ‘‘Here I am, Duval, against my will ; for God’s sake present me, quick."’ «Certainly. What's the matter, Terry ? You look excited. Come—Miss Flam. beau, my friend, Mr. Stanhope.”’ I started when I heard her name. ‘Will you graciously give me the next dance,”’ I asked in my old-fashioned Southern way. ‘I cannot, it’s given ; I’m quite bank- rupt tonight,’’ she said sweetly. ‘You dance well, Miss Flambeau,’’ I tamely remarked. With surprised frank- ness she looked me full in the face. ‘‘Do you think so? You're very kind, but it takes two to makea waltz. Waltzes should be movable feasts—the lesser waltzer giving way for the greater. I might give you half of the next after the next after the next—you can try me. It’s too bad to spoil an entire waltz if our steps don’t rhyme perfectly, but I’m _ rather easy to dance with—have the adaptive faculty. But,’’ she hesitated, «if you dance very, very extraordinarily well it will be hard for me to give you up. I'll give you the last half and then I must, whether I want to or not. I’m always thinking that there will come along some day a better waltzer than I have ever known, an ideal, you know, and we'll ‘waltz away for a year and a day’ into illimitable regions of space, tithe music of the spheres.’’ She went On even more gayly : «I’m not going to dance witha single poor waltzer tonight—oh, happy, happy night!’’ She waved her small white hands with an undulating motion, rising and falling rhythmically with the music, looking far beyond meas if she

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738 saw someone I did not and to whom she was in haste to go. Divining my thoughts she recalled her gaze, and, fixing her eyes on me, said : ‘‘ Perhaps, maybe, who knows? you are the one—we cannot tell until we try,” she laughed roguishly, and commenced beating a tattoo with her little red toes in a pretty, piquant manner, Someone came and carried her off to dance. «Au revoir,” she whispered over her partner’s shoulder, and with it came lit- tle shafts of flame from her smiling blue eyes. «Au _ revoir’? — was it a challenge to return to her? I joined a group of men who were up- holding the door. Why did the Lau- reate’s verses that had lain so long dormant awake in my memory ? * Were it ever so airy.a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed ; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a cen- tury dead : Would start and trem ble under her feet And blossom in purple and red.”* ‘‘Red,”’ that word is the answer to my self-put question— red. The wise say it is better to begin witha little aversion—in this case it was great aversion, at least for the red dress and petite figure, for a June-like beauty had always been my ideal. At the present time it was said I was deeply interested in a tall girl, with black hair and eyes, a superb fig living on Madison avenue. I was paintfig h€r portrait ; this may ac- count for the rumor. Still and still, this little scrap of flesh and blood, no bigger than a firefly, had danced into my mind and alighted, to say the least, on the out- side edge of my heart, and I made no effort ‘o brush her off. I could not keep my eyes MISS DEVILET. MISS DEVILET. off her soft lithe little figure or her tiny slim feet flying through the air lighter than thistledown. Her face and features made © little impression on me. She was white, fair, with gleaming arms, violet eyes and a glint of gold in her hair reddened to au- burn by her bright draperies. But it was neither form nor face nor hair nor eyes that bewitched me, but the whole, the charm- ing, daring personnelle, for bold indeed was this little blonde who chose «‘ reds’’ for her color and wore them without the least bravado—a color I fairly de- tested in dress or elsewhere. The first part of the dance was over and we all went out for supper. Straight as an arrow sent from an Indian’s bow I made my way to her—she was playing with an ice. ‘‘Why don’t you take one? You look warm.”’ ‘Who wouldn’t, by your side?’ glancing at her garments. “Oh! my red dress; poor little red dress, poor little red fan, for what are you not responsible ?’’ and she smoothed them down softly with her free hand. ‘ Every- body’s against you, even gentle, tolerant maimuna,’’ looking up archly. ‘Red's a very friendly color, I assure you, at: least I find itso. I like it all the more since every- body’s against it or makes believe they are. Blood is red; fire, sunlight, life itself is ruddy ; roses, wines, tourmalines—rea- sons enough, or shall I give you more? Plenty of them; many as beads on my rosary. But it’s bad taste your eyes say, for all that, though your lips are sealed by politeness. I’m sorry for you. You gen- tlemen ought to be very thankful I wear it. What color shows off so well your black coats, trousers, ties and great dark eyes when you have them? Unselfish reasons, are they not? Look at Mr. Thimbleton with a red carnation in his buttonhole ; he knows red is kindtohim. Why, I like him without even knowing him— sim

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MISS DEVILET. patica,’ you know. You'll change your ideas when you see my rose room, my Car- dinal and my Poppy. You'll like them. You've got just the face to; I can read it like a book.”’ «« When am I to see Cardinal and Pop- py? I’m quite curious. Who or what are they ?’’ I asked quickly, very much aston- ished at myself. ‘« Wednesday is on my card, but I’m not rigid about small matters.”’ ‘Wednesday? I shall be delighted, Miss Flambeau.”’ «Au revoir,’’ she said again, with a glance sideways as she went off on the arm of Clarke, her escort, who was madly in- fatuated with her. I set down my ice untasted and went back into the hall. It was still, and I threw myself into a seat and commenced hauling myself over the coals. I was a club man, and called by my friends a misogamist, and here I had just pledged myself to call on a little girl who wore red dresses and spoke herown mind freely—two things I hated, for I still cher- ished the old Southern pattern of a wom- an—gentle, yielding, soft-spoken, low- voiced, a light step, but withal proud and aristocratic. - Heavens! what was I coming to? Cousin Ned came up and said: « Terry, why don’t you dance tonight? The music is irresistible—enough to make a stick dance.”’ ‘‘Thanks, awfully ; weak.”’ ‘« Lame excuse, but your eyes are not or you could not have talked so long with Miss Devilet and cheated Sims out of his half waltz. He had his revenge, however. He said he forgave you and pitied ycu, as you were catching the scarlet fever ; it’s very contagious this season, more or less around ; nearly every man belonging to the dancing class has had it, lightly or severely.’’ He laughed with a knowing look. ‘‘ We think it will go hard with you ; it always does with adults—ha! ha!”’ ‘Well, if you want to know, I will tell you ; it was because I could not waltz with her.’’ My tone was such that he turned on his heel and left me. I felt constrained to stand and watch her fly by, dragging me, as it were, round and round the room after her, until I was sick, dizzy, and began to believe in possession of devils. The 47 my ankles are 739 waltz ended and people commenced to go. I caught a last glimpse of her in a red wrap of some soft woolen stuff, with red down embracing her throat, as she descended the stairs. I heard the door slam and the car- riage rollaway overthestones. It seemed as if all this noise was going on inside of my head as I walked out into the starlight, feeling dazed, lonesome and thoroughly disgusted with myself. II. WEDNESDAY came, and with it many doubts, misgivings and queer sensations as to identity. It found me on my way to Miss Flambeau’s. I ran up the steps, pulled the bell vigorously. While wait- ing for the servant to answer I felt strongly tempted to run away. If I nad done soI should have undoubtedly gone back and pulled it again, for a nameless something drew me to her. What, ex- plain who can. I did not, however, make the experiment as I was quickly relieved from the temptation by the opening of the door. The servant took mycard. ‘This way, sir; the rose room.’’ He drew aside the red hangings for me to enter. It was rather a small room, furnished entirely in red. Although somewhat prepared for it, the effect was startling. The walls were red and paintings in the same key hung on them. Henry Parton’s divine Roses caught my eyes and kept them. Flame- colored rugs of all weaves and all countries were strewn carelessly over the red wood floor. All was red; hangings, tapestries, cushions, chairs, divans. A wood fire burned bright on a red-tiled hearth, in front of which lay a beautiful red setter stretched at full length; he pricked up his ears as I entered and gave a friendly wag of his bushy tail. Ona red-covered table were costly red books and a rare Bohemian vase filled with blood-red roses, which exhaled a delicious fragrance. On the window ledge stood a great jardiniére gay with a variety of scarlet blooms. Near by a small red cockatoo, in gorgeous beauty, lifted its crest intelligently and eyed me from a gilded perch. A roseate hue was cast over all by red shaded lamps and red waxen tapers that lighted the room. As I stood scanning my unique surroundings and was muttering ‘‘ A pretty hell she’s made

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740 MISS DEVILET. it,’ I heard a faint rustling. I dropped quickly into a chair, assumed a nonchalant air, just as the miniature princess swept in with trailing garments of red plush, holding high on either side red draperies of India silk in her slender white hands. Long open sleeves fell from shoulder to skirt, bordered with scarlet down. Inside sleeves of red fishers’ net cov- ered her fair arms but did not conceal their whiteness. I stepped forward. She put her soft small hand lightly in mine for an instant ; it looked so deli- cate I did not close my dark fingers over it—the touch was all Icould bear. I broke forth a awkwardly, “Very pretty room— fine setter.’’ “Does it pleasure you?”’ she asked quaintly, her color deepen- ing as the red cockatoo raised its crest and screamed jeal- ously. She laughed and called softly, ‘Poppy, Poppy dear, don't speak until you're spoken to; where’s your man- ners?’’ Poppy ceased. Turning to me, ‘‘ How did you enjoy the dancing class ? Why did you forget our half waltz ?”’ ‘I forget! that’s cruel. You did not wish to give it to me, you only half promised. You're too great a favorite.’’ ‘* Now, really, that’s too bad. I did truly mean to give you a half one; but you flatter; I don’t understand flattery ; I’ve Scotch blood in my veins and, like ‘ Rab,’ take life seriously.’’ ‘It’s truth, I do not flatter. I wanted only to waltz with you ; after I saw you dance it was my fancy.”’ ‘‘You have fancies? that’s a weakness; I have reasons. Grace Garland’s a fine dancer and my cousin, a very pretty girl, quite queenly. I’m sorry you were not introduced, and she asked me ‘ who you were?’ I was so selfish not to think of it. It's not entirely my fault ; people will spoil me and indulge me and make me selfish—everything my whole life long has conspired to make me so—and I hate selfish people.”’ ALL WAS RED ; HANGINGS, TAPES- TRIES, CUSHIONS, CHAIRS, DIVANS.

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MISS DEVILET. ‘«« You've a splendid dog, a noble fellow, Miss Flambeau ; what do you call him?”’ I asked, to change the subject. ‘«« Cardinal—do you like it?”’ “Very appropriate. Did you him ?’”’ «Oh no, my Uncle Tom sent him to me Christmas, with a lovely red collar on his neck with his name engraved on it. But then he knows I’m wedded to reds and he is very, very indulgent to me. Naturally, for I’m his only niece. Oh! you don’t know how preciousI am! I’m the only child, the only grandchild, the only niece ; those are the reasons. Don't you like reasons? Poppy came too at Christmas; Uncle Dick sent her. All my presents were red ; even my seven books were bound in beautiful red, and all be- cause I, little I, choose to wear red. It made Christmas shopping so easy for all who loved me; it was not a bit tiresome. Why, a stick of red candy or a red, red rose would do for me. Wasn't it jolly for my friends? Do you like reasons?’’ «Greatly. Tonight I think I likethem rather better than usual, they’re so in- teresting.’’ name ‘‘Much more so, you'll find, than fan- it’s very nice of you to fall in so cies ; smoothly with my way of thinking. When we're older friends I'll tell you some of my reasons and you can tell me some of your fancies—a fair exchange. You may laugh at my reasons and think them foolish if you choose, I like candor and frankness in friendship. Then some of them may be truly foolish,’’ she added, with a sweet touch of humility, «and you ought to laugh at what’s foolish ; why should I feel hurt if you laugh at what you ought to laugh at? There, now, I’ve got into reasons again—how they always do crop out before you know it. Then you'll tell me your fancies and let me laugh at them. Some of them must be, in the nature of things, foolish; sentimental, likely, and very unreasonable.”’ I was bored; she ran on too long. I picked up one of her red books—Browning. I was surprised ; it opened at « Paracel- sus,’’ where a broad red ribbon marked the ‘Do you like Browning— Para- celsus ?’ ’’ I asked eagerly, all on fire. ‘Yes, rather, in the shallows—it’s deeper than Ican dive. I go down as far as I dare, then I come up for air. It’s excit- place. 741 ing—every time I go down I go deeper. After awhile, who knows? maybe I can go to the deepest depths ; though in Bos- ton they think it unfathomable. I mark what I understand thoroughly, and red- line the un-understandable—to me, of course.”’ I was charmed—my ennui fled like a bird of the night. How fair-minded she was—so honest in her judgment of her- self and her powers. ‘Did you mark this?’’ I asked, reading, ‘‘I would love infinitely and be loved.”’ ‘“‘Yes,’’ coquettishly. understood that, a child could. like it?’’ she asked unaffectedly. ‘‘I do very much but would add one word more.”’ ‘‘ What word ?"’ ‘“« Infinitely.”’ ‘« Yes? read it with your added word.”’ ‘««T would love infinitely and be loved’ —infinitely.”’ ‘«« That’s fine, fine ; why, you are better than Browning—poor Browning, I will not be fickle to you. Why, he left it gen- erously just on purpose for you to add. Of course, to me, it’s all imaginary—I’m such a child I’ve never been in love, never in my whole life ; strange, isn’t it? I’m too fond of and too full of reasons to love ; reasons make it very hard for a girl to love,’’ she explained with simplicity. ‘‘Don’t try, Miss Flambeau, let rea- sons alone,’’ quite sharply. ‘‘ Reasons should not meddle with love ; there’s no such thing as reason in love, I speak from experience.’’ I stopped short, for my words had taken away my own breath with astonishment. She started, drew in her breath with a little ««Oh!’’ and pet- ted her red ribbons. I got my breath and went on rashly. ‘‘ Reasons area torment at any time, chilling everything ; reasons are inharmonious, chilling everything, I say, with their eternal shoulds and should nots, whys and wherefores and hows. Have reasons for everything, if you fancy, Miss Flambeau, but sparelove. Love flies from reasons as a dove from a hawk, or love confounds them. I speak froma near experience.”’ She seemed a little awed by my vehe- mence and her voice trembled as she asked boldly but with hesitation: «In your near experience, Mr. Stanhope, did love fly away from or confound reasons ?”’ “I thoroughly Do you

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742 I looked at her almost tenderly against my will and in a softened manner said, ‘«Confounded them and me too.’’ She laughed quietly and I heartily, regaining my composure. Still I did not relish hav- ing madea jack of myself. I arose to go, not wishing to be betrayed into it again, having lost confidence in myself. Cardi- nal did not understand my vehemence or our laughter. He went and laid his head on the knees of his little mistress, and lifted his great brown eyes first to her and then to me, asking an explanation. I stooped and patted his head. They were both pleased. He wagged his tail joyfully and she held out a wee bit of a hand, looked at me with her large innocent eyes very pensively and said : «T’m sorry—very sorry. flirting—is it you or I?”’ ‘‘ NotI, Miss Flambeau,’’ I replied very stiffly and with some hauteur. «« Au revoir,’’ she murmured absently, looking down on Cardinal. How could she make that last remark ? I did not fancy it, and that everlasting stale ‘« Au revoir’’—they were harder to stand than her petite figure and her everlasting red dresses. I experienced a repugnance, an entire revulsion of feeling, as soon as I closed the door. I was an ass, a fool, and there was no help for it. I could not go back and tell her so. And I continued to be a fool and an ass for I went again and again, growing fonder and fonder. Once a week at first, and then twice; then walks, the opera, flowers—the usual way. The florist asked me «If I only painted red flowers?’’ or «‘Was I a crank on that color ?”’ I could not blame him, as I always ordered ‘‘red’’ flowers. I bore it meekly for her sweet sake. I understood now how her relatives were ‘‘ very, very indulgent,”’ and «: how precious she was.’’ I even had the folly to take her a box of Maillard’s candied rose-petals. ‘‘She could not eat them,’’ she blushingly told me, «« it would make her feel like a cannibal ; hoped I would not think her ungrateful.’’ I thanked God, delighted to discover in her such a rich mine of common sense and I committed no more such follies. Then there was no mote counting of times, because I could not stay away—the little rose room sheltered me every even- ing. Cardinal came to the door to wel- Somebody’s MISS DEVILET. come me; Poppy ceased to scream with jealousy, for I made quite a pet of her. Fairy still held out a timid slender hand with « Au revoir’’ at parting—even that hated expression could not keep me away. I very seldom saw her alone ; she had innumerable beaux, smiled alike on all, walked, went to the opera, received flowers, bonbons from all with an uncon- scious easy grace. I was horribly jealous and unhappy. When I did get a chance to see her alone a dumb spirit possessed me. I had noth- ing tosay. All her little efforts to win me to talk were in vain. I cherished re- sentment and enjoyed her discomfiture. I would pick up a book and read the bit- ter things that would meet my eye, then something beautiful would soften me and I would read from Browning the sweets that would speak for me. Those who read of love as those ‘‘ who talk of love makelove.’’ Iknew it, but she, sweet in- nocent, I believed did not. I think she rather looked on me as an oldish man who was disappointed in love, and pitied me. One night I saw her alone; after the usual greeting she began : ‘‘When I first knew you I said that when we got to be old, old friends I would tell you some of my reasons. Then you got to dislike reasons so unreasonably | did not keep my word, but I mean to. «« As I said then, ‘ red is a very friendly color to me.’ I love to dance; oh, how I love to dance! Why, it is the only one thing I do love inordinately ; and then I’m so small—next to nothing at a dance. I’m often overlooked, especially at ger- mans. I stand no chance crushed in be- tween great queenly beauties, so stately and tall. Once upon a time, when I was real young, somebody asked papa who was the prettiest lady at the reception. Mama spoke up and said, ‘ The lady in the red dress was always the prettiest to papa.’ Hedid not like it, but it was true. I noticed afterward he always asked, ‘ Who was the lady in the red dress or the handsome girl in the red hat?’ Then long afterward I saw something in ‘ Life’ about a young girl who worried about her complexion and said she could not go to a dance because it was so bad; her friend said, ‘ Never mind, put on your red stockings and it will never be noticed.’ So I resolved, timid as I am, to wear red

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MISS DEVILET. at the very next dance, to the horror of drab-loving mamma and my dressmaker, for Nile green was the rage. I did, in spite of all, and had a most gorgeous time ; and ever afterward when I wore red I had royal times; never had a dance to give away to a late comer, as you may remember the first night I saw you. I'm not pretty, only sweet-looking, they say, and red is so friendly it makes me look white, very white ; I’m insignifi- cantly small and it spots me out. I had some true compliments, the kind I like, from some people I like, and now I do not feel at home in any other color. I love it sincerely for itself. Reasons thick as thistles crop up for loving it, and that settles it. Come now, confess, is not red a very reasonable color at least ?’’ Then, very ardently, «‘ You will be friendly to it for my sake and not hate it so. You don’t know how horrid your eyes grow when you glare at it.’’ She looked up playfully to see how I took her words. I looked interested. She went on. ‘Long ago, when I first knew you, I felt ashamed—was almost a traitor to it, you bore it such malice I’ve caught you shut- with your eyes. ting your eyes against it, and sometimes looking up at the ceiling so as not to see it. You’re guilty, you know you are. To go back—wasn’t it strange? You wouldn’t have known of my. cowardice if I had not told you, but I have a reason ; it’s a kind of atonement for my treachery. I like atonements. I was awfully afraid of you the first night, you looked so old and wise. I’m always bold when I’m afraid—that’s the reason. I revel in reasons.’’ I smiled tolerantly at her childish talk, seeing the woman at the bottom of it, but my heart pained me when she called me ‘‘old and wise.’’ I commenced to feel very old and very unwise. Nothing now would or could stop me in my course. I was a human cyclone demolishing everything that stood in my way. ‘‘All you say may be true, likely is, but old as I am and wise as I am I will never like red. I shall never be satisfied until I see you in white, Miss Flambeau.”’ ‘‘Wear white! I! Oh dear, what a strange creature you are! Just as I think I’ve brought you over to my lines of thought and expect you to take the oath Then’ 743 of allegiance to my colors you show the white feather and beat a retreat. I do believe you’ve been chatting with papa. He’s so old-fashioned he just loves to see girls wear white muslin dresses, blue ribbons and ringlets. Dear me, I did not know you belonged to his era before. Everything is spoiled. It’s not kind of you to spoil everything just when I’ve been so confidential. ‘‘Neither of you will ever see me in white until you see me laid out stark and stiff in my coffin. Neither of you would like to see me in white that way, I know. Then, all shall be ugly white be- cause I cannot help it ; a white shroud, a white coffin, white flowers, my face, my lips and my hands white. They’ll cross them so, and put a pale lily in them, and all my girl friends will be in white, and everyone will forget about my hateful red dresses and think of me ever after- ward in white.’’ She went on in a low sad voice with her eyes down-dropped. ‘© A soft snow will flutter down and cover the earth and the trees and everything. All, all shall be white on that happy day. They’ll make a place in the snow and they will lay me down in peace in that solemn whiteness ; the flakes will gently fall and cover me fondly and only a little white mound will tell where I lie.’’ Suddenly, ‘Then you will have your cruel wish. You'll be sorry and sigh so— Ah!’ and lay your hand on your breast so, ‘ Ah, if I could only see her just once again all in that dear fed she loved so well to wear.’ That would be a great atonement, wouldn't it? Isn’titjolly?’’ She laughed gayly like a pleased child and went on. ‘Red would become an ideal color to my friends, and everything bright, bright scarlet would speak to their hearts of poor little dead me—I would like that. How silly I am. Don’t look serious ; smile, please, I ask you to,’’ she added very imperiously. I smiled absently. ‘I don’t believe you heard a single word of all I said so finely.”’ «Yes, I did, but I was seeing another picture, a happier one.’’ ‘« How cruel, all my eloquence wasted ; it doesn’t matter whether one’s silly or wise, it’s all the same in the end. Every- thing’s the same in the end ; death is the only real, real thing in the world.”” She was disappointed in me and could not conceal it. She went on bravely in the

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744 effort todo so: ‘Just like a man; so in love with his own ideas he never hears a word a woman says.”’ ‘‘You’re severe on men. In my pict- ure you were all in white too, some soft thin gauze with a long flowing veil, white flowers on your head and in your hand a pale lily, if you choose, Miss Fairy. All your girl friends in white, and oh! you looked so lovely —no one who ever saw you would wish to see you in red again, but would say, ‘The bride looks fine in white, so pure and chaste, her hands clasped so.’’’ I took her twosmall hands and put them together as we do a dear child’s when weteachittopray. ‘Oh! so sweet, so gentlethe little bride did look, just —as you are looking now.’’ She un- clasped them, snatched them hurriedly away, hiding them behind her with a puzzled brow, and burst into a merry ringing laugh. ‘So you’re going to marry me off, just for the sake of getting me out of red for a single day. What a malicious hatred you have for my darling, darling color. You've a heart of stone. Marry me off! it’s too funny, isn't it, Poppy? No wonder you scream. Iwould too, if I were a cocka- too.”’ ‘‘Funny or not,’’ I said roughly, «I was marrying you in my mind while you were drawing that doleful picture just to see me feel bad—it.is a woman’s trick.” She winced. I went on: «I was marry- ing you, and saw you a tiny bride all in white— but not off—oh, no, not off, for all the reds in the world ; I’d buy youa red blanket first and see you dressed like a squaw rather than see youin white that way. I’d even have you married in a red robe first and swear eternal allegiance to reds for the rest of my life,’’ and I was in dead earnest. She looked at me admiringly. ‘‘ How good you are; you're truly grand when you talk like that ; why, I never dreamed you had so much fire in you. Isn't hea dear, Poppy, now he’s a good friend to our color. Hurrah!’’ She added half seriously : ‘If ever I should be so silly as to wear white even that once, when I couldn’t help it—it’s beyond imagination —I'd go right back to red, as moth to flame, as soon as the ceremony was over, even if I died for it. I’m wedded to it and no No one mortal man shall divorce me.

MISS DEVILET. need expect anything else of me, for if they do they’ll be disappointed and you may tell them so for me—when you marry me— off.’’ She rattled on, not wishing to give me a chance to speak and knowing how I hated levity. I brokein abruptly. ‘For God’s sake stop teasing and do be serious, Fairy. You once told me you were, but I’ve seen nothing of it. I can stand this no longer.’’ She shuddered, trembled and colored deeply, folded her hands be- fore her on her knees and resigned her- self to listen. I felt- ashamed. of my brusqueness. ‘Seriously, my little dearest, couldn't you make up your mind just to wear white once, to please me, for a very short time. You know it won’t take long. I ask it as a great favor, you understand ; don’t laugh at my awkward way of put- ting it.”’ Sighing she said: «It is a very great sacrifice you ask of me, but I think I could, if I tried hard, wear it just a little while—to please you—you’ re such an old, old friend. Why, I will, the very day you marry.”’ ‘« The day I marry you, for marry you I will.” ‘«« Off ?’’ she questioned archly, shyly. ‘««« Offhand,’ dearest, if it must be < off,’ for ‘Llove infinitely and would be loved’ infinitely.’ ‘« That’s asking a great deal of a girl who wears red dresses and has reasons ; but I can love—infinitely, maybe—who knows ?—I do.”’ ‘“‘If so, whom, Fairy ?’’ I asked with trembling jealousy and fear, for rumor had linked her name with another suitor. ‘‘Ask Poppy, she knows—I told her long ago when I first found it out.’’ ‘‘T asked you, Miss Flambeau, and you must answer.”’ “Must I? Why, then I will—y-o-u— whom else, and such a crowd of reasons. You said you were going to marry me. If you marry me you must love me —we’ll make believe so, anyway—if you marry me I must marry you, and if I marry you I must love you; we'll make believe again. What a delicious lot of reasons—better than a Japanese jar of Huyler’s bonbons. I do love reasons, don’t you? Say you do even if you don’t. I'll understand and it'll not be the least of

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MISS DEVILET. 745 a fib. But you must—must is the word—for I love, I dote on reasons and red dresses.”’ «« And I on the sweet child who wears them.’’ I clasped my arms about her very gently and kissed her quickly. PR, RAS « ‘Oh! don’t, please, you crush my red dress; I hae IE : don’t like it to be spoiled. We both love burning / pare fiery red dresses, don’t we?’’ she said with em- ee eee barrassment. ‘If we don’t we are very ungrate- ful, for red dresses got us into all this trouble— that’s the true reason of it, both you and I know. You would never have loved me had you not seen me first in a scarlet dress. Why, maybe you don’t love me —me—my own self — now.”’ It was her way of stopping my caresses. I knew it, did not understand or like it, but my thirty odd years or my six feet three did not help me one whit. I did not even think of trying to kiss her again; I was. thoroughly abashed. She was deeply in earnest in doubting if I loved her for herself. She was a questioning soul and I knew she would weigh my love in the balance .as she did her own, and I felt sure that mine would outweigh hers. It was growing late and I had to go. What a tearing away it was for me ; she whis- pered sweetly «Au _ revoir,”’ with a beaming tenderness of manner entirely new, as she gave nie her next-to-nothing ofahand. I bent down and kissed it reverently, as I would that of a sick child ; something held me back from the burning kiss I started to that choked me for utterance. I was amazed — at myself. If she felt a pang at parting she LOOKING INTENTLY INTO THE HEART OF THE gave no sign. This made me wretched and FIRE. (S 746. tad !' mesa a Se ee petulant. I said: « Fairy, darling, I’m tired of «au revoir,’ I won’t stand it much longer—I cannot. What’s going to be done must be done quickly. I’m not going to wait—don’t ask it of me, dearest child.”’ ‘«« Poor ‘au revoir ’—it’s not sad, I like it—it’s just as if one shut one’s eyes and opened them again. ‘Now I see you, now I don’t, nowI do.’ Why, I used to play it in church with the minister when he was preaching a long sermon, years and years ago, when I was a little girl. Isn’t it funny I did not know you then? I do believe you dislike everything about me, what I wear, what I say, the very words I use. You used to show it plainly though you didn’t mean to, but you have been more tolerant, more indulgent of late. Oh! what an infinite love, to overlook so much in little me. I cannot take it in all at once without reasons. ‘ You won't press upon it, and the words of sudden fire- Snslnalintetshciiiibeiiascee inet Retedidd ait dilsiatnds, cb add denderdiealtiededics tile aed hacer ommend tae + ween

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746 stand it much longer?’ Well then, you shall not—if you keep on being good. Poppy, tell him to complain to dear papa, he’s tender-hearted and a good listener.”’ Honorable little soul, she wanted every- thing done properly and no slight put upon ‘‘dear papa’’ where she was con- cerned, and I knew it was right that I should see her parents. ‘‘ May I do so, sweetheart ? Good-night.’’ She was silent. She would not repeat «‘au revoir’’ nor use a substitute. I lingered longingly, but not daring to kiss and embrace her ere I went. Still I was happy. I left her sitting silent, looking almost sad, gazing into the bright embers that glowed on the hearth, and rushed away. I well knew she was questioning her own souland minetoo. I saw ‘‘ dear papa’’ the next day and everything was arranged to my mind. ‘Ifit’s her happiness it is mine, if it’s her wish it is mine. She is our all, and may God bless you if you make her happy,’’ he added solemnly. ‘She's a very delicate piece of mechanism ; like spun glass, very fragile, to be dealt with gently. And then, Stanhope, you'll not mind her sweet wilful ways or her little oddities, she’s sweetness and innocence itself.’’ It was very pleasant to hear her father speak in this straightforward, sim- ple way to me of his only child, whom he had just given to me and whom I loved so deeply. It humbled me, touched my heart, and I swore inly to God to be faithful and true to the trust. Tet. EASTER with its-glorious joys and Al- leluias had come and gone. There was to be one more dance. I took her to it, little red dress and all ; if it had been snow white or soft gray I could not have been happier. I was color blind. She wore it. The dance was over and we reached home alittle earlier than usual. It was very cold. I went in, ostensibly to warm myself for a few moment. as it was a long ride to the club ; but really in hopes of a kiss or two. Fairy was very untouchable ; chary of caresses, she rather suffered mine than otherwise. We were standing at the fire, heaped high with blazing logs—she was warming her little red toes. After look- ing intently into the heart of the fire for a few moments she lifted her eyes to mine and, looking thoughtfully into them, said MISS DEVILET. slowly in a suppressed voice, ‘‘ I feel very strange tonight, Terry, and there’s no reason,’’ she smiled sweetly, ‘‘ for I am happy, infinitely happy ; everything has come to me. ‘I have fed on the roses and lain in the lilies oflife.’ Everything seems changed to me. I am changed too and you are changed. Do you know, I think now I shall never care to dance again or wear red. I just want to hide myself for- ever in your heart.’’ As she said this a soft love-light crept into her eyes. «I don’t think I ever can wear it again. All dur- ing Lent my red things spoke to me— louder and louder on Good Friday—Red is His color, the color of His precious blood spilled for us on that day. Terry, Terry, ‘Miss Devilet,’ as they call me, dies to- night—red will never know me again—it is too sacred a color for me to wear. I have never suffered. Just see those clear red flames leaping up, up—how purifying they look. ‘ The very heavens are not pure in His sight.’ How lovely they looked to- night aswe drove home. I thought ofthe verse: ‘While all things were in quiet silence, and the night was in the midst of her course, thy almighty word came down from heaven, thy royal throne,’ and I felt very near Him—I suppose it’s all because it’s Eastertide and I’m so happy. How beautiful is the Scripture!’’ How beau- tiful I thoughther. I had never seen her so lovely, and seeing her in this revealing mood I did not stir until she paused in her speech, determined not to leave her while she was unfolding her sweet soul to its beautiful hidden depths. I was ravished with astonishment. My bright-winged little red moth seemed transformed into a burning seraph and was soaring toward the sun. ‘Terry, dearest Terry ’’ (it was the first and only time she ever called me thus), she went on in an intense manner that made my heart beat fast, for there was re- pressed feeling in manner and voice that she had never betrayed before, «I am go- ing to ask you—something—something hard—very hard—hard for us both—please don’t kiss me tonight or put your arms about me—I don’t know why I ask it— I just ask it—the spirit of sacrifice—maybe renunciation—I love you so when you give up things. How sweet it would be if we could both, you and I, give up everything for Him, even—even—each other.”’

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MISS DEVILET. 747 I was cut to the heart. Great dread fort to fly, but watched them lick up about seized me. I stepped into the hall to lay her in fatal fascination, paralyzed by fear. aside my great-coat, turned to re-enter I sprang toward her, dragging a large rug et cmt ee — ——— I STEPPED INTO THE HALL TO LAY ASIDE MY GREAT-COAT. with persuasive words on my lips; as I with me, threw her gently as I could on did so she gave a surprised cry of fright. the floor, clasped my arms about her dear At the same moment I beheld tongues of neck to choke back the hungry flames that i flame playing about her ; she made no ef- were feeding upon her—my body was be- :

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748 tween her face and them ; my action had been so quick that my weight smothered them, and they were extinguished. My clothing was charred, my back blistering, my hair scorched and dropping from my head. She lay unconscious. I could see her face, felt her sweet breath upon my lips, could have kissed her, but I would not. I prayed God tospare her. I did not dare to move lest the flames might burst forth anew. I could only cry out at the top of my voice. The family and servants soon reached us. They were all very cool ; her father examined her clothing to make sure the fire was entirely subdued. Being sat- isfied that it was, I afose and lifted our darling on to the little red divan.. We had sent at once for the doctor, but before he arrived she opened her eyes and looked around, but did not seem to know us. A LITTLE PEARL CRUCIFIX SHE ALWAYS WORE. Cardinal came and looked at her with pleading, sympathetic eyes and thrust his cool nose against her little feet. Poppy cried dolorously as if she too understood matters ; even her flowers drooped their MISS DEVILET. heads sorrowfully. Her father, mother and I on our knees bent over the couch, hoping, watching for recognition. After a little her mother’s sobs seemed to arouse her. She opened her eyes again and they fell on me; her pale lips trembled, then moved. I leaned closer. ‘Sweetheart, what is it?’’ I thought she asked for something. «« Au revoir,’’ she moaned faintly. This moved me to tears ; it was as if a dagger were thrust through me. ‘Take this, darling,’’ urged her mother, pressing a glass of wine to her lips. She moved them aside, looked at her intently, then at her father, breathed forth a plaintive «Au revoir.’’ After that she looked on us no more, but felt in her bosom for a little pearl crucifix she always wore. We saw as she lifted it from her breast in her wounded hands that the flames had burnt its likeness on her tender flesh. She saw it and ral- lied, smiled as she pressed the crucifix to her lips; a beautiful light illumined her blue eyes as she moaned out with effort and pain : «Oh! I—suffer—I—suf- fer—it is—sweet—sweet.”’ She then caught sight of theburnson her hands, smiled with greater joy, murmured very audibly with a note of exultation in her voice, ‘« Sweet Lord— I suffer—sweet Lord—I touch —the hem of Thy—blood- stained — gar- ment— hide me — forever — in its scarlet— folds.’’ The dear Lord heard her prayer and the pure fire of her life burnt quickly out. As the morning star trembled in the east her sweet breathing ceased. Appareled in the white bridal robes I

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had so longed to see her wear we laid her in a white casket of softest velvet, her flame-scarred hands meekly folded, her pearl rosary clasped between the pale fingers, the crucifix on her virgin bosom, a tall lily by her side, and the long veil drawn over the white face, pallid lips and wounded hands. ‘‘ Her lily lids half veiled her eyes, As if she looked in mild surprise Up at her soul in Paradise.”’ All her girl friends, in white, knelt around the snowy bier. All, all was white. The soft snow fluttered noiselessly down, draping earth and trees in vestal A VISION A VISION OF ELD. 749 garments. We made a place in the pure new-fallen snow and laid her virgin body down to rest’in the solemn whiteness un- til her sweet Lord bids it arise. A desire to renounce, to suffer, to deny myself, take up the cross of Christ and follow Him in His passion, giving love for love, life for life, now burns in me a consum- ing fire, enkindled by the bright torch of her pure soul as it flamed up to Paradise. In a few months I will knock at the door of the Kentucky monastery at Gethsemane, and ask the white habit of Saint Bernard from the abbot, that the slow fever of life may burn out in love and suffering. OF ELD. By JAMES B. KENYON. How have the swift-winged centuries sped ! What unguessed circuits time hath run! Yet, though uncounted years are dead, Shines on the same clear sun. I see once more the vaulted aisles That pierce tne dim and cloistered wood ; Again the pomp of summer smiles O’er all the solitude. Light breezes from the mountain side Bring bell-like bayings of the hounds ; While slim ears, round the forest wide, Leap at the vibrant sounds. Amid the trees gay pennons gleam ; And, hark! from soft-curved, supple throats, Heard silverly as in a dream, A peal of joy out floats. There sweeps the stately cavalcade : The high-born dames, the knightly men, With whip and spur prick through the glade— I see them all again. I see the proudly tossing plume, The glittering casque, the ribboned spear, And, riding through the fragrant gloom, Launcelot and Guinevere. And where yon dusky branches spread Above the queen’s deep-shadowed eyes, Sir Launcelot, with low-bent head, Hears Guinevere’s replies.

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A PEEP AT THE FLOUR CITY THROUGH THE RAILWAY BRIDGE. THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. By CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U. S. ARMY. ““¢~OING to Boston tonight, are you ?’’ J said a New Yorker to a friend from the west. ‘‘ Doesn’t it embarrass you a trifle to choose between two or three routes ?”’ ‘‘Why should it? Whenever I take a run from St. Paul to Chicago I can choose between six or seven, any one of which will give me every comfort you offer here, some of them more, and for less money.”’ ‘* You don’t mean it ?”’ ‘I do, every word of it. If you want to see metropolitan life in what you are pleased to term the wild and woolly west, come with me and take a peep at the twin cities, St. Paul and Minneapolis.”’ In the geography of our boyhood we learned that the head of navigation of the Mississippi was at the Falls of St. An- thony, and our juvenile imaginations were stimulated to a conception of the scene by a woodcut of a couple of ramshackle mills perched on the rocks by the side of a tum- bling torrent. All around was treeless prairie. The torrent is there today, bor- dered on both sides by lofty buildings wherein the ceaseless whir of a thousand mills tells the world that any week in the year 100,000 barrels of family flour can be ground out within those walls of brick or granite. Up stream and down, both banks are lined by mills, mills, mills. Saw and lumber mills above the great bridges ; flour and woollen mills—but mainly flour— below. Six, eight stories they tower aloft, the smokestacks belching clouds by day, the countless windows flashing with elec- tric lights by night ; the massive stone abutments and arches of the railway bridges echoing to the clang of machinery and the roar of tumbling waters. Aye, here are the wild rapids famed by the old French missionaries—‘‘ the rushing of great rivers.”’ ‘From the forests and the prairies, From the great lakes of the Northland, From the land of the Ojibways, From the land of the Dacotahs.”’ But where now are Ojibway and Daco- tah? where the forest and the prairie? In this the once favored haunt of the red man, not a vestige of the painted Nado- wee Sioux remains. The forests have been felled and floated down the winding stream; the broad prairies are criss- crossed far and near by lines of metal

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THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. whereon the clanging cable car, puffing motor or whirring electric train dart to the suburbs of two great cities whose centres lie, perhaps, ten miles apart, whose out- skirts melt one into the other on the wood- ed plateau half-way between. Twins of the Northwest, yet eager rivals. Twins by name, yet totally un- like by nature. Banded together by countless ribbons of polished steel, yet struggling asunder by widely diverse in- terests. Cities where the luxury and re- finement of the east confront on every side the primitive customs of the west ; where the towering facade of St. Paul’s great hotel looks down on hovels worth $1400 a front foot ; where from the breezy restaurant in Minneapolis, twelve stories above the street, the ashes of your cigar go sifting down through 150 feet of space upon the humble roof of Sam Lee, laundry- man. Cities which send forth each night, over a dozen different roads, great trains of Pullmans heated by steam, lighted by electricity and upholstered to match the ‘«Congressional Limited’’ between New York and Washington. Cities that have sprung up like young giants of commerce and manufacture—content with a modest 40,000 apiece ten years ago; contending fiercely today over the prior right to place 200,000 opposite their names in the cen- sus table of the nation. , It is hard to conceive of two cities geo- graphically so close together, characteris- tically so far apart. To St. Paul came in the early days representatives of old and wealthy families in the distant east. New 751 York and Massachusetts sent their sons, young professional and business men, to join with the Rices, Sibleys and Flan- dreaus in building up the new city as the practical if not the actual head of naviga- tion. Up to the close of the rebellion St. Paul was the only city spoken of; but in 1871 the railways began reaching thither, tempted by the vast possibilities of the great Northwest and by those saw and flour mills struggling up at the Falls. Rugged lumbermen from Maine and mill- ers from the Genesee valley of old York state were the pioneers of the town beyond the big bend of the Mississippi—the big bend guarded by those white martello towers perched high up on the bluff where old Fort Snelling stands. The rail- ways made the millers independent of creeping raft and light-draught steamer that re-shipped the sacks and barrels on the levees of St. Paul. The railways placed the bustling new town, with its whirring mills and prairie wastes, on in- stant equality with the older,staider burgh that lay hemmed in by its encircling bluffs a dozen miles down the streant. Ten years after the war they stood on nearly equal terms. Today the « Flour City,’’ the westernmost, the youngest, has taken the lead in population, and claims it in daring, dash and public spirit. It remains to be seen whether, after all, the staid, conservative methods of the older city will not give it greater influence in the future of the beautiful state of which it is the beautiful capital. Here is the very centre of the loveliest VIEW OF ST. ANTHONY AND MINNEAPOLIS AS THEY WERE IN 15858.

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752 section in all the Northland. Forest and prairie are dotted in every direction by hundreds of mirrored lakes with bold, wooded shores, and, winding through them, levying tribute from one and all, twists and turns the Father of Waters. ‘* And the Spirit stooping earthward, With his finger on the meadow, Traced a winding pathway for it, Saying to it, ‘Run in this way.’ ”’ Gitchie Manito, the mighty, made with his index a veritable letter S between the rocks at the foot of the great falls, over which he taught the waters to leap, and the bold bluffs a dozen miles to the eastward. Here at the foot of the S the river has bur- rowed down from a level with the prairie and scooped a cafion for its current through the yielding sandstone. Perched on its lofty point, Fort Snelling looks down upon the first grand circular sweep of the river, and St. Paul stands, like New Orleans, on the convex side of the next great crescent. The « Flour City ’’ of today lies mainly on the west side of the river, stretching south and west to the chain of beautiful border- ing lakes, yet leaps the stream, and there on the eastward bank has planted its mam- moth exposition building, where every year the people throng to see the produce of their state and listen to the strains of Cappa’s famed New York Seventh Regi- ment band. True, Seventh Regiment fel- lows wandering through the west have sometimes thought they saw strange faces in the familiar fatigue uniforms, and envi- ous citizens in other western burghs have declared the band composed of ‘‘ pick-ups "’ by the way ; but Cappa is there and enough of the leaven of the genuine band to leaven the whole lump and thrill the wild west- erners with glorious melody. Take the elevator and glide to the lofty tower, and the view for miles in every direction is su- perb. Sometimes it is obscured by drift- ing smoke from countless mill chimneys ; but we mean to settle all that, says Min- neapolis. The edict has gone forth. There is water power here sufficient to whirl all the mills in Minnesota ; so why blacken our skies with sooty smoke? Down with chimney and furnace. Hereafter our mills shall be run by water power only. But, even when thus partially obscured, that outlook is one never to be forgotten. For miles to north and south the fair land of lakes and woods and rivers is spread THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. beneath the eye, smiling in summer sun- shine. From the northward, winding be- tween its leafy shores, the Mississippi comes sweeping down, babbling over shal- lows or swirling in deep eddying pools. Somewhat unsightly are the upper sub- urbs. Huge, unpainted pine rookeries, from which the high smokestacks pierce the sky ; countless piles of lumber, freshly sawed, and now spread out for the season- ing of wind and sunshine, filling the prai- rie breeze with the fresh fragrance of res- inous pine. Then the outlying cottages in little garden patches ; then the blocks of humble wooden homes of thousands of operatives ; then the glistening roofs and walls of more pretentious cottages ; then blocks of handsome dwellings, tree em- bowered ; then the arrow-like streets of the business section on both sides of the rush- ing stream, hemmed in by its walls of mills and by its arched viaducts of stone. The thoroughfares are thronged with peo- ple and with vehicles of every known de- scription, all going full tilt. Everything, from the cradle to the grave, from cable car to hearse, goes at top speed. Nothing liv- ing can dawdle in the constant whir of those rushing mills. Life has a nervous energy that is sui generis here in the Flour MINNEHAHA FALLS. Sweet Minnehaha, like a child at play, Comes gayly glancing o’er her pebbly way, Till reaching with surprise the rocky ledge, With gleeful laugh, bounds from its crested edge.

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City. They say you never see a dog stop to scratch himself in Minneapolis. Its papers, prompt to make a point in favor of the town, will tell you it is because there are no fleas on a Minneapolis. dog. The truth is, he has not time. From the height os WABASHA STREET BRIDGE. of the great tower on which we stand the general level of the city of the Falls is cop- ied in perhaps a score of red brick squares by a corresponding level of the roofs. Then come startling exceptions. First, look across to the westward. Through the floating smoke veil, almost at our feet, is the bridge spanning the river and carrying the great central artery of the city from shore to shore. On the near side is the plant of the great Pills- bury mills ; across the tumbling water the long rank of rivals; beyond them the yards of the Milwaukee road. At this end they call it the Milwaukee, at the south- eastern terminus the St. Paul. Close at the wa- ter’s edge is the Union station, where a dozen roads fill or empty their trains. Just beyond it the great central artery has its bifurcation. As Hennepin avenue it stretches away south- westward, and like the other leg to a pair of huge dividers, Nicollet strides a trifle further southward, both heading for the glistening waters of that chain of lakes that peep through the green foliage of the suburbs. Five black railways come sweep- ing townward from that quarter, several of them twisting and turning about the THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. 753 wooded shores of that loveliest of summer seas, Minnetonka. Hereabouts all Sioux- named waters are Minnes. The bluff- spanned valley that breaks the prairie sur- face far to the south, joining the gorge of the Mississippi six miles away, is that of the Minnesota (Cloud Water). The clear little lakelet just south of Minnetonka is Minnewashtay (Good Water). The pretty stream that drains all that fair plateau and comes rippling and dancing along the southern suburbs of the bustling city bears a name that is immortal wherever Longfellow is read and loved. Barely four miles away, right among those densely wooded slopes, it takes its plunge from the heights. ’Tis there “ —the Falls of Minnehaha Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, Laugh and leap into the valley.” It was there, long before whirring mill and whirling sawlog vexed the current of the greater stream, that there dwelt the old arrow maker of the Dacotahs, and with him his dark-eyed daughter, ‘* With her moods of shade and sunshine, Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, Feet as rapid as the river, Tresses flowing like the water, VASAT wu STREETS OF MINNEAPOLIS. And as musical a laughter ; And he named her from the river, Minnehaha, Laughing Water."’ It was there, after his fabled journey from the shores of Gitche Gumee, the Big Sea Water, in his ‘‘ moccasins of magic,”’ that Hiawatha came to woo and win his Dacotah bride. It is here that Min-

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754 neapolitan and St. Paulite forget for the time being that rivalry exists between them, except when it is the same girl whose beauty lures them into love-mak- ing at the foot of those wondrous falls. Look where you will from the top of the ‘towering height whereon we stand, the beautiful campaign is studded everywhere beyond the steel-belted cities with these gems of lakes. Clear, sparkling in the sun- shine, rippling in the breezes, the water- ing places of these favored townships are at their very gates. Each summer day the crowded trains bear their loads of Min- THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. water, two of them, Como and Phalen, within its very boundary—and Como is the paradise of the small boy, indeed, of mothers and children by the hundreds. Here swarm the future lords of creation, plunged breast deep in sparkling waters and still deeper in a state of bliss and nud- ity. Dozens at a time the youngsters are splashing through the wavelets, happy as only boys and puppies know how to be. The waiting trains, hissing at the station, will land them and their mammas in less than ten minutes in the heart of the love- liest city in the Northwest. | \ Berend Cyrierman . neapolitans to the beaches of this western city’s Coney Island. Minnetonka is all a series of wooded points and deep-shaded inlets. It is alive morn, noon and night with every manner of craft, from the big side-wheeled steamer down to the tiny cockleshell canoe. Great summer hotels tempt thousands to Bay St. Louis or Excelsior beach. Bands from Chicago or Milwaukee are hired by the season. Those at home have work erough of their own. : What Minnetonka is to Minneapolis, White Bear, with its villa-dotted shores, is to St. Paul; but all around « the Saint- ly City’ are other lovely little sheets of SUMMIT AVENUE, ST. PAUL, IN WINTER. With such surroundings, with such constant temptation knocking at their very doors, it is little wonder that the staid burghers of the capital city and the hustlers of the up-stream town are both given to outdoor life, and that the habits of the summertide tend to similar fond- ness for outdoor sport and pastime even in the dead of a winter the like of which no seaboard city ever knows. The mer- cury may be out of sight, but the popu- lace swarms forth in furs and brightest colors. The sky is cloudless, the sun- shine radiant. The smoke from furnace or cottage chimney floats straight to the zenith. There is a snap and sparkle, an

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THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. 755 BLANKET TOSSING AT THE ICE PALACE, electric life in every breath of air that makes one forget to ask the reading of the thermometer—makes one even forget that he has nose or ears, perhaps, until some bustling passer-by, lunging along in a toboggan rig or bulky overcoat of wolf- skin, stops short and claps a handful of powdery snow upon what would speedily be a missing organ, but for this friendly pleasantry. Staid St. Paul has its winter carnival, wherein the worthy city fathers give themselves up to frolic with an aban- don that would do credit to that other crescent city at the tropical end of the river. The great ice palace is built, and gleams with electric light and colored fires by night. Every man, woman and child in all St. Paul seems to take part. There are snow-shoe clubs and toboggan clubs by the score. There is the maddest variety of uniforms. There are wild gangs of hilarious brokers who seize and blanket- toss every catchable masculine. Drum- mers’ clubs parade in mid-January in dusters and palm-leaf fans. There are equipages that in cost and beauty would shine in Central Park. There is a winter king of the carnival, who defends his stronghold against all comers in a grand final storming of the ice palace, in which the whole population seems to participate, and in which fireworks by the ton and enthusiasm by the cubic acre are lavished in magnificent display. The leading thoroughfares become long arcades of brilliant light arched over with countless globes of fire. The massive bluffs that hem the winding valley are muffled in their mantle of snow. The river itself 48 goes swirling southward under armor-plating of solid ice. The lofty iron bridges, spanning the stream from shore to shore—some de- scending in easy grade into the lower town, some, like gossamer web, leaping the chasm from bluff to bluff— are twinkling with moving lights. The network of the streets of the lower city on both banks is traced by hun- dreds of sparkling lamps. The lofty turrets of the cap- itol, the city hall, the grand facades of the Pioneer Press and New York Life build- ings ; the scores of beautiful homesteads far up on the heights of Summit ave- nue and St. Anthony’s hill are brill- iant with illumination. The electric globes blaze high aloft. Above all spar- kle the stars in skies as clear as the ether of heaven. Below, in restless, joyous motion, swarm the populace. And allthe time the Ice King’s biting breath plays on glowing cheek or wrinkled brow, keen, yet utterly forgotten. Envious neighbors speak of St. Paul as sluggish and slow ; but the winter carnival gives the lie to the very thought. There are people to whom the intense cold, even with its stimulus and exhilara- tion, is so trying that St. Paul and Min- neapolis are sometimes shunned in winter; but to those who fear no such foe it is the perfection of a winter home—no sudden changes, no depressing fogs, no slush and mud with each alternate day. Spring comes late in April, but it comes to stay. June brings summer roses and mellow sun- shine. Even the dog days, when Sirius burns through the long August nights, have their joys for the stay-at-homes ; and the evenings on the river up toward Snell- ing, where the shadows of the bluffs and wooded shores are deepest, keep the boat clubs in request, and the railways to the surrounding lakes in full and triumphant blast. St. Paul is the home of the merchant and the professional man ; Minneapolis of the lumber king and miller. Lawyers abound in the old town ; artisans in the new. The former is republican in the sense of culture and conservatism ; the latter

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756 democratic, even fiercely so, in popular vim and enterprise. St. Paul, from lofty bluffs, looks down upon the valley in serene content. Minneapolis, from its level of a prairie, peers aloft at its twelve- story cornices, and ever strives to climb. The bold contours of the one seem the home of level-headed comfort ; the flat surface of the other the abode of restless energy and ambition. If the census enu- merator lands St. Paul far behind the de- sired 200,000, the city takes it coolly and waits for time to remedy the shortage. When Minneapolis misses the notch by some 40,000, the Minneapolitan calls the AN APARTMENT BUILDING OF ST. census mana ‘chump ;"’ takes hold him- self and rolls up a list of names the census taker never heard of. Like a modern Macbeth, his slogan is ‘‘ Damned be him that first cries, Hold, enough.’’ And, in- cidentally, woe betide the man who doubts the record. It was in the war days that the story was told of two rival regiments: The chaplain remarked in presence of the col- onel of the First that he had just bap- tized twenty members of the Second. ‘«Mr. Adjutant,’’ was the order, «detail fifty men to be baptized forthwith. I’m damned if the Second shall get ahead of us in anything.’’ And such is the indomi- table spirit of Minneapolis today. Envi- THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. ous detractors may say she stuffed the cen- sus out of all proportion, and a paternal federal government may be compelled to lop off some dozen of thousands from her estimate of her bustling family circle ; but the defeat will be but temporary—Minne- apolis is first cousin to Banquo’s ghost, and will never down. She has buildings today at which rustics and eastern men gaze in equal wonder. The West hotel is the finest edifice of the kind—so says the travelling public—this side of New York. Yet it and the thou- sand guests that can cluster under its mas- sive roof are overshadowed by the lofty Lumber Exchange across the way, where, at a dizzy height above the street, the name of Edison and his elec- tric light and motor plant can be read all over the northward county. The new Masonic temple vies in elegance and cost with the grand struc- ture on Twenty- third street in New York ; and the Guar- anty Loan Com- pany’s building claims, perhaps without danger of denial, to be the finest office structure in the world. The effect of standing in its great central court and gazing aloft to the roofing of translucent glass is like that of looking up to the sunshine through fathoms of clear green sea water. Twelve stages are there counted from below, paved with glass, hemmed in with network of twin- ing steel, light, graceful, yet impene- trable. Six elevators shoot up and down with the noiseless swoop of bird; pas- sengers in an instant are borne from the marble court to a garden like that of New York’s famed Casino, only the Casino would droop a diminished head after one look at the height to which her rival climbs. Here one can rise superior to the turmoil ever raging at the structure's base ; forget even the melancholy ruin of PAUL.

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THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. 757 LAKE COMO. the Tribune building just below, itself a once boasted pile, yet scorched and gut- ted in a single night by flames that would find naught to feed on here. East, west, north and south, the state of the Northern Star lies at the feet of the beholder ; and Minneapolis comes here to break fast, lunch and dine ; to play billiards and smoke, and plan for future greatness when all its office blocks shall be as high and splendid, and no city east or west shall point to any- thing she cannot parallel or beat. Look eastward from this new perch: at our feet are the roofs of the level city. Away, a half-dozen squares, the big bus- tling mills, the stone-arched bridges, the tumbling, seething waters ; then the farther shores, with mills again ; the domes and spires of the university beyond ; then the outlying homesteads, tree-embowered ; the distant groves and emerald slopes; the darting trains on their iron roads; the great elevator of the North- ern Pacific in the mid- dle distance ; and then the suburbs of another city gleaming in the sunshine over against the dark bluff line far beyond. There stands St. Paul, with its host of beautiful dwellings ; with its winding shad- ed avenues, its deep- lawned, terraced home- THE MISSISSIPPI BELOW MINNEAPOLIS. stead lots, its state- ly churches, its tall apartment flats, its huge wholesale warehouses, its great business blocks, and its big but unsightly capi- tol. Any ten min- utes in the day you can board a train to flash you thither. If you miss the ten-fifteen on the ‘«« Short Line,”’ take the ten-thirty on the Northern, or one of those inces- santly starting on the “Soo,” the Milwaukee, the Central, the Omaha, the St. Louis. Your choice is practically il- limitable ; and in twenty minutes you are in a different atmosphere, social, com- mercial and professional, and almost politi- cal. Here, too, are electric cars and cable roads that wake the echoes with clanging gongs ; but there is a singular serenity of movement on the streets. The crowd and rush and bustle are subdued. The wheels roll smoothly over the perfect asphalt of the shaded avenues all through the resi- dence portion. Third and Seventh streets absorb the retail traffic. The great Union depot has its incessant come and go of crowds and trains ; but all are down out of sight under the bluffs or deep in bridged ravines. Over the orderly movement of the metropolis, from the towers of the great city hall, a chime of bells rings out

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758 each quarter-hour with solemn diapason that seems to speak of spire and cloister, and falls upon the ear like benediction. Even the men seem of a different mould. Everybody out west belongs to some society or other. The left lapel of every other coat you see bears some little but- ton that tells of membership in lodge, chapter, commandery, camp, circle, con- sistory or Grand Army of the Republic. There are Pythians, Odd Fellows, Masons and ‘“‘comrades”’ in both communities. Whiskered faces and the copper but- ton abound in Minneapolis. The gray mustache and the tri-colored silk of the Loyal Legion are prominent in St. Paul. Drop in at the arched doorway of the Minnesota club and stroll to its lounging room, and the habitués are lawyers, edi- tors, railway officers,engineers, architects, merchants and soldiers. On the rolls are war-tried leaders by the score. In its de- liberations there is the dignity of the «‘ old régime,’’ in its welcome the courtesy of the distant east. The fine oil painting of its first president reveals him in broadcloth frock coat, with the button of the Loyal Legion in its lapel, yet in older days «« Hal A. Dakotah ’’—name famous among hunt- ers, trappers and frontiersmen—far more often wore the garb in which appears sturdy Joe Rolette, in Sioux leggings and moccasins, on the opposite wall. Here they canonize the latter. But for him their capitol would have been stolen by St. Peter. He vanished with the bill that would have done the deed, and it is not the only time the ‘‘ Saintly City ’’ has had to battle stoutly to retain the capitol. Since their recent difference over the cen- sus matter Minneapolis would rather see it in Jericho. And upon the beautiful heights that overhang the busy lower city, all among those shaded streets are homes in which luxury and refinement are ever blended. Village lanes could hardly know greater peace and security. They are « far from the madding crowd’’ in the marts below. Hammocks swing lazily on the broad piazzas ; agile young fellows stroll with bonny maids in boating costumes along the driveways, or spring to meet the fly- ing white spheres skimming the tennis nets on every other lawn. Basket phaeton and village ‘«‘tub’’ trundle about from block to block «‘ tooled ’’ by girls who can- THE TWIN CITIES OF THE NORTHWEST. not help knowing how pretty they are, chased by swarms of laughing children. The Aberdeen and the Albion, beautiful apartment houses, tower from the midst of the home district and make one think of the neighborhood of Central Park. Over on the grand row of bluffs that rise above the bench on which so much of the city stands, the broadest, finest street of all— Summit avenue—follows the trend of the heights, and is bordered by lovely and luxurious homes ; and where one bold lit- tle spur juts out further than its fellows, the surveyors have girdled its crest with winding driveways, and here are other homes—the daintiest bits of modern archi- ‘tecture, the cunningest conceits of domes- tic comfort ever seen—from whose shel- tered porches or latticed windows the lower town spreads out like a map, a gorgeous spectacle of myriad lights by night, with the shining river, like a span- gled girdle, belting it beyond. Underneath the bluffs and parallel with their general direction runs the electric railway. Take its whirring car and in five minutes you are crossing the cable line at the old ‘«Seven Corners ;’’ in an- other five are buzzing down Seventh street—the Bowery of St. Paul. A quick turn to the south again lands you in the heart of the wholesale section, where mammoth blocks of buildings, brick and sandstone, look down upon you from their seven-story windows. Here is the supply depot of the great Northwest. Boots and shoes, blankets and clothing, pork, sugar, groceries, provisions of every kind but flour—no need to go outside of Minne- apolis for that—here are purchased from every town and ranch from the boundary line to the Iowa border, from ‘ Gitche Gumee’’ to Coeur d’Aléne. Three squares away and the Pioneer Press building looms even above that of the magnificent New York Life, and the grandest newspaper edifice in America, or out of it, stands sentinel over the metropolis. What the New York World may yet do to outrival it remains to be seen. Today it knows no peer. Massive and beautiful, its every story is a model of convenience; its in- terior court is like some wonderful shaft sunk deep in earth or hollowed from an- cient Babel; its spiral stairways of ex- quisite design run from stage to stage, looking like fluted columns from below.

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Elevators rise and fall in their cage-like shafts in noiseless flight. Every need of a great journal is supplied within its walls, and every profession finds office room on a dozen floors. Six hundred and fifty thousand dollars, they say, went into this massive pile ; but that would not have be- gun to pay for the superb edifice that, only half as high, encompasses its base, —the Endicott Arcade. Facing Fourth street is a fagade of rare beauty of design, capped at its summit by a massive cornice where a four-in-hand might drive. The roof, six stories above the street, is overlooked by six more of the Pioneer building. From turret to foundation stone it is the best that genius can devise or money buy. From turret to foundation stone, even to the beautiful marble soda fountain in the chemist’s around on Robert street, every item of its construction is the design of one of the Saintly City’s talented young architects. Even Boston had to say there was noth- ing to criticise or condemn, and Boston’s million went into it ungrudgingly. That one building is a metropolis in itself. Deep in the bowels of the earth are bored its artesian wells. Down in its vaults are its boilers, its dynamos, its air fans. It is utterly independent of city water works or lighting plants. Under its broad wing on both sides ofits beautiful arcade, paved with rare mosaics, flanked with choicest marbles from Languedoc, Sienna, Belgium and even Numidia, lighted by 4000 square ROSE AND EDELWEYISS. 759 feet of opalescent glass, every manner of retail trade finds its nook—tailor and bootmaker, haberdasher, confectioner, tobacconist, draper or chemist. Aloft, every profession has its convenient home, reached without fatigue by the same noiseless nest ofelevators. Every known modern convenience is found on every floor. Even the Union League and other clubs have their connecting suites of rooms, and people from all sections of the country stroll through its vaulted passage- ways and wonder indeed if this can be the west. Without its walls the city traffic hums and surges, but nosound penetrates within its solid masonry. All around and on every side in many an adjoining square are buildings well-nigh as mass- ive, yet—this is the wild and woolly west. Nightfall andtimetogo. Six great trains stand under the roof of the Union depot, all bound for Chicago over devious routes. Two will glide away around the great cres- cent under those eastward bluffs and skirt the beautiful river for miles down stream. Look back as you. speed away around that long, graceful curve. The city sparkles with a thousand lights; the bridges span the valley in lofty lines of glowing stars. Thestars themselves peep down into their images in the placid sur- face beneath. The speed increases. The train darts behind sheltering screen and a leafy curtain rises before the Twin Cities of the Northwest. ROSE AND EDELWEISS. By H. T. SUDDUTH. HAZE-WREATHED and fair, two beckoning summits rise On life’s horizon, and, in morning sun, Their roseate heights, commingling, seem but one, As blithe the youth up to the summit hies, With dawning hopes that vie with morning’s skies ; But, stumbling through the mists, one peak he takes, And scales its height with bruises and with aches— To find, at last, a gulf between them lies ! O guerdons rare of strife and life’s turmoil ! If but thy zeniths met in one bright star, And yawning gulfs did ne’er thy peaks divide, Then earth and heaven would meet to crown our toil, And Love and Fame would beckon from afar, Where rose and edelweiss bloom side by side.

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REVIEW OF CURRENT EVENTS. By MvuRAT HALSTEAD. ONGRATULATIONS are due the country upon the silver law. Itis an event of the first magnitude and settles a question of the utmost consequence that touched all interests. The further agita- tion of silver’s position as a money metal will be comparatively feeble, for the judg- ment is general that the right thing has been done substantially. There has been much that is remarkable and instructive in the discussion of silver as money since the policy of the resump- tion of specie payments was clearly de- fined. The ratio between silver and gold in this country values silver three per cent. higher than is done in the coinage of the powers of the Latin union, but the European fancy is that there is something scientific in the proportion of fifteen and a half to one. It has followed that in all the silver conferences the European contention has been that the first thing to be done is the adoption of their ratio, in the name of uni- formity and the metrical system, though our difficulty is that though we value silver three per cent. higher than others, still its parity with gold could not be maintained. The change that we needed was to put more silver into the dollar in- stead of taking three per cent. out. Here we were confronted by the fact that our silver dollar is the only coin never changed in the century of our money sys- tem in the weight of fine metal, and before the war our silver coin was sent to the melting pot, because under the ratio it was worth more than gold. This caused a good deal of miscalculation and led, dur- ing the suspension of specie payments, to a popular misapprehension of the history of silver as a money metal, and the rights of the people in it. Then followed the issue of the Chinese, or trade, dollar and the suspension of the coinage of the old silver dollar, the only legal-tender silver coin. This is the circumstance that has been styled the demonetization of silver, and it has been exceedingly magnified. The full meaning of the dropping of the coinage of legal-tender silver was not ap- prehended until we approached specie re- sumption, and then it seemed only fair that, as we had two money metals when suspension occurred, we ought to have both to resume with, as the word ‘coin,”’ so important in contracts, including that of the bonds of the United States, always meant, in law and history, ‘‘ gold and sil- ver.” The resu't was the ordering of the coin- age of not less than 2,000,000 a month of standard silver dollars. It was believed this would advance sil- ver in the markets, but owing to other influences the price steadily declined. Europe ceased to coin silver freely. Ger- many adhered to the gold-standard policy and sold silver, and the silver mines were very productive, supplying the white precious metal in quantities far exceed- ing the proportion of gold under the ratio. The decline of silver was so marked that there was a change in the drift of discussion and in the elements of the con- troversy. The first champions of silver as unlimited legal tender, secured by sup- plying silver dollars, thought only of fair play for the people at large; while the single-standard partisans held that the only real money was gold, and their pol- icy would magnify all securities by the augmentation of the purchasing capacity of the dollar. The uses of silver for the purposes of inflation were pressed and all who habitually advocated false-money theories rated as silver men, though they cared nothing for silver save as it might be employed to reduce the power of the dollar in purchase. The silver radicals gained strength from the action of the gold monometalists in re- fusing to recognize the true place of silver and the importance of the silver option to the people. There is no doubt there was for a time danger that the most extreme measures for forcing the silver, under the name of free coinage, would prevail. A large share of the peril came from the persistent injustice to silver of those representing capital at

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rest, and the paper obligations that must be made good by labor as long as the pub- lic credit stands. It would have been most unfortunate for the country if our money system had been thrown into confusion by the success of extremists on either hand, one set of whom would have deprived us of silver and the other of gold. At the critical time Senators Sherman of Ohio and Jones of Nevada got together and agreed upon the compromise which speedily became the law of the land, and which it is not too much to say settles the silver question. The government is to take about $5,000,000 of silver per month and issue notes for it at the gold valuation, and they are redeemable in gold. Behind each sil- ver-dollar note is an amount of silver equal to a gold dollar's worth. That makes it a gold note. The new arrange- ment adds, it is believed, $60,000,000 a year of paper as good as gold to the circu- lation. This is equal to the opening of a gold mine yielding at the rate of that sum annually. It wili be commercially stim- ulating, but not intoxicating. It secures an abundant circulating medium, with- out inflation, for the limitation is the accumulation of gold value. There is no point of weakness in the system. The steady rise in silver in the. London mar- ket shows the importance of our legisla- tion. Instead of importing silver to meet our demand, we have been exporting the silver product at advanced figures. The situation should be eminently sat- isfactory to silver men who are not in- flationists. The solution is fortunate. Usually in money history a matter of such far-reaching moment as this has come to pass by easy stages, each advancing the logic of preceding steps, and the effect is discounted before the deed isdone. The silver settlement was a surprise. No one could tell what was going to happen. It was a sudden stroke. The profits of it are therefore not to be confined to the few, but distributed among the many. Every- body shares it because no one was in the secret. Two great influences will work together for the general good. First, the element of uncertainty as to money stand- ards has been harmful for many years. No one could tell within thirty per cent. what the value of the dollar was to be. REVIEW OF CURRENT EVENTS. 761 This state of doubt is the paralysis of enterprise. It has been removed. Capi- tal is free and not afraid. Second, the abundance of good money is assured. Running through all the fol- lies of the fiat financiers, the idea of mak- ing money with stamps, and as the green- back advocates said, issuing the currency to equal the demands of trade, is the streak of truth that it is well to have an abundance of money. Of course we should add that the money must be good —solid—equal to the best—good as gold. If it is as good as gold there cannot be too much of it. The truth is well understood that such are the facilities for the transmission of intelligence and the speed of transporta- tion, and so highly organized are the bank- ing systems and so various and rapid the means of employing credit, that there is a constant decrease in the percentage of cash actually handled in monetary trans- actions. It is less than five per cent. in this country. This enables us the more securely to rest upon the gold basis. It makes up for the scarcity of gold. And yet in a country so vast as ours, of such varied and enormous interests, it is im- portant that the money shall not all be in the grasp of those who make it a busi- ness to handle money and multiply it by turning it often, with small percentages of advantage in the turns. There is a liberal supply, but it is wise to counter- act the tendency of the contraction of the banknote circulation. Complaint is made of the extent to which farms are mortgaged, and the farm- ers have no doubt availed themselves too freely of their credit, and are paying dear- ly for the artificial system through which they were accommodated. The working- men are feeling pinched, forthey haveseen the rise in securities and the assurance of golden interest on watery investment, ex- ceeding the slow gains of the recompense for hard and honest labor. They know there was given to the masses of product- ive laborers the world over relief from the strain of paying the rent of real es- tate and incomes from paper obligations, by the gold discoveries in California and Australia, and that this was in great part the force which augmented the prosperity of mankind a generation ago. This re- lief was not at the expense of any class,

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762 REVIEW OF CURRENT EVENTS. for all classes shared in the prosperous march of the nations. Through wars and rumors of wars, the pressure and burden of gigantic arma- ments, the undertaking of huge schemes of improvement, the unmerciful and un- precedented increase of debts, and the requirement to pay the interest upon obligations national and corporate, mu- nicipal and individual, the extension of monopolies, and the organization of ‘‘trusts,’’ there has been a feeling that the people who do the work of the world have too much to carry, and that it would be the highest and most wholesome states- manship to afford the industries a meas- ure of relief, harming none and helping all. That has been found in the silver law so far as this country is concerned. It will help the farmer and the worker in shops, it will loosen the iron fetters upon poverty and infuse beyond the realiza- tion of good fortune the hopefulness that sweetens toil. It is too early or too late for the mil- lennium, but we shall have better times. The silver law is what the alchemist sought in vain, for it transforms silver to gold. By the application of the gold measurement to silver it becomes gold for all the changes of commerce and the pur- poses of money. The silver law will stand and mark an era. It is not the last thing we are to do with the money metals. We shall pres- ently see where the markets go with the two money metals and then should re- touch the ratio that they may codperate on even terms. Then the true policy would be to recoin both our gold and our silver, for the great mass of our coins are clumsy. The credit of the country would be the more secure if there was a large supply of hard money in the pockets of the people, and if gold circulated from hand to hand as commonly as silver. With silver dollars and twenty-dollar gold pieces the metallic money is almost forbidden to circulate. The mints will soon be released from the obligation to go on grinding the silver-dollar grist, and if we have the courage and the intelligence to take our true position as the great pro- ducers of gold and silver, and fix the ratio as the markets have it, we should recoin the gold in half eagles and the silver in half-dollars—and that would lay deep the foundation of the public credit in the pockets of the people. * * * THERE are two classes of cities—those darkened and afflicted with coal smoke and those that have comparatively preserved the purity of the air. Next to contami- nated water supply, the pollution of the at- mosphere with the unconsumed carbon in soft coal is the heaviest of the forms of calamity precipitated upon a great com- munity. Thecities of the Ohio and Mis- sissippi valleys have long suffered from an abomination of smoke that causes the de- spair of housekeepers, for it smirches their best work and renders all efforts to preserve the virtue of cleanliness futile. The car- bon vapor is wonderfully penetrating. It finds ways into the closest-fitting drawers, and it saturates carpets and curtains and clothing, blackens some works of art and renders others impossible, stains the stones in the houses and the leaves and grass, drifts like an infernal snow over the roofs and wears out the patience of the people, wearied at last with endless wash- ings all in vain. It is difficult for those who have not lived under the dominion of the Soot Fiend to understand the intensity of the interminable discomfort involved. In thirty minutes, in many American cit- ies, after one’s hands are carefully washed they are perceptibly soiled, and linen tes- tifies that it is fresh by its whiteness, for it does not take long exposure anywhere in the air to make it distinctly shadowy. It is a slight mitigation that when one has clean hands and cuffs and collars, specta- tors must notice the fact. Clean persons get full credit for perseverance in ablu- tions. They are saints, and everybody knows it. It will not do to hang out shirts or sheets or anything white to dry, for such articles would be dark first. Hot drying closets are a necessity, and must be close beside the washtubs. Unhappily the black-vapor plague is spreading. The use of soft coal is increas- ing on the Atlantic coast, and in Europe there is a cheap fuel composed of com- pressed slack that is doing mischief. Twenty years ago Chicago was a brilliant city ; it is now dismal with dirt in the air. Manufacturing industries have increased rapidly, and cheapcoal means cheap power, and the cheaper coal on the great lakes,

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as along the great rivers in the west, is the soft and foul article. It burns beauti- fully, but sheds an awful gloom. Chicago is not as badly off as Cincinnati, Louis- ville and St. Louis, but it has passed Lon- don in the smoky race of grimy evolution. The evidence that smoke is of teeming and prosperous industry is consoling to those who participate in the profits, but it is not a perfect compensation. In New York the gradual but constant encroachments of the Demon of the Black Vapor are marked, and contrasted with the situation a quarter of a century ago there is no doubt of the unfavorable change. Look over the city from an elevated posi- tion and itis manifest that the employ- ment of steam power has been augmented within a few years at a striking ratio, and whether we regard the vast space of Brooklyn or of lower New York or Wil- liamsburg or the plains of New Jersey to the Orange mountains, we see white puffs of steam and note a murky air, with here and there pillars of cloud showing the in- trusion of soft-coal furnaces, a peculiarity of which is, that when they come they stay. The superiority of Paris over London in the brightness of her streets and the trans- parency of the air is maintained, but some degrees of this boasted supremacy have been lost, and it is to be feared they will not be recovered. There are a multitude of devices for the consumption of smoke, and it is fair to say that all of them have some merit and none are wholly satisfac- tory. Marvellous results are duly attested in many cases, but as a rule smoke inspec- tion and consumption fails: to clear the air. Nowestern city has been materially helped, and all enjoy smoke inspectors and abundant patents. The offensive smoke is the visible tes- timony of imperfect consumption. The flagrant offenders are the stokers and next to them the kitchen girls. Where there is the most smoke coal is cheapest, and the habits of the people in making.and replenishing fires the most profligate. Paris is a bright town primarily because the French are so frugal in the use of fuel. Give Paris coal as they have it on the Ohio river and American habits in feed- ing fire, and the fair city would soon be black as Pittsburg was. Not only are there prodigious quantities of soft coal on the Monongahela and the Kanawha—and REVIEW OF CURRENT EVENTS. 763 coal floats a thousand miles in barges at the same figure of expense per ton that it costs to elevate from the boats to the carts—there are also coal mines in Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, and the black clouds over the steam-power establish- ments and also the kitchen range and grate fire indicate the abundance of fuel, carelessness in firing and indifference to the quantity consumed. It is to this ex- travagance that the excess of dirt in the air is due. The great first receipt for the consumption of smoke is that there shall be economy in the expenditure of coal, and that the stokers and girls in the kitchens and house firemen shall be brought to a realizing sense of their duty to do their work intelligently, carefully, decently andinorder. Without this, all the smoke- burning contrivances ever patented will only modify the overshadowing evil. The city in which there has been a trans- formation scene that points the way hope- fully to better things—to cities that shall be fairer than those of our day and genera- tion—is Pittsburg. The deliverance from the fame of being the most begrimed in the world came in the discovery and use of natural gas. This gas has been so abundant as to very largely, indeed, al- most altogether,supersede coal as fuel in the houses as well as the manufactories, and Pittsburg has gained a reputation for beauty to take care of. It is said that if the natural gas should cease to flow the Pittsburgers would never go back to the old fashion of burning the crude coal, but use manufactured gas, and perpetuate the enviable distinction of purity. The ut- most attention should be given, in the cities remote from natural-gas fields, to the popularization of the proposition to take advantage of the cheapness with which coal gas can be manufactured and the tremendous heating capacity it pos- sesses, and convert the coal into gas be- fore applying it as fuel. The bulk of the difficulty is that the furnaces for steam raising are, outside the natural-gas re- gions, invariably constructed for the use of coal, and the reconstruction of fur- naces and boilers would be a work, if not wholly impracticable, of almost incom- prehensible magnitude. In eastern cities, where soft coal is mak- ing its way, it would be well to restrict the building of furnaces for it. Those

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764 who do not want the hard article might try the gas, and speedily, with due intelli- gence and encouragement, there could be cultivated a decisive public opinion on this subject. It would be a grave misfortune indeed if the affinity of streets in this part of the world for dirt should be matched by an atmosphere of the same character. The growth of the great cities around Manhattan bay is so remarkable that as there is a reasonable assurance for a few years of a full supply of good water, measures should be taken to secure the continuance of the sparkling transparen- cy of the air. * * * THE state of New York has tried a very interesting experiment in the execution of a convicted murderer by electricity, and it ought not to have been an experiment. The object of the law to employ the dy- namo instead of the gallows, was that the official destruction of human life should not be attended with unnecessary violence and suffering. This was in part defeated by the imperfection of the appliances at Auburn, where the electrocution took place. It was the novelty of the affair that shocked the public. There is a deep sensitiveness about capital punishment, and any radical change seems to those who are morbidly conscious of the terrors of death in any form to be an added hor- ror. Even if we are to believe that Kemm- ler was conscious after the first shock, it cannot be said that he was tortured, for he was spared all but the requisite con- tact with the deadly current, and there have been many cases of bungling in hanging that have caused scenes of the most revolting character. It is uncertain for what length oftime criminals executed on the gallows retain their consciousness. If their necks are broken the rest of course is oblivion, but where the process is mere strangulation there is room for conjecture. There has been much argument whether the victims of the guillotine are aware that their heads are off, and there have been cases of snapping eyes and facial expres- sions of marked character that have been taken to mean that the simple severing of the neck does not end all instantaneously. Perhaps there is no more certain method of killing than the use of the garrote, which is the Spanish instrument with which death is dealt according to law. It REVIEW OF CURRENT EVENTS. is an iron collar, and the tightening breaks the neck and produces instantaneous suf- focation. There is something almost fero- cious about the guillotine. The spectacle of a French execution is peculiarly ghast- ly. There is acertain dramatic style about it,and the hideous mutilation, the dripping axe and the terrible machine itself make the affair horribly impressive. The cere- mony is far more frightful than that of the employment of the gallows. The idea of the New York movement was to enlist science in the cause of humanity. Making allowances for all the exagger- ations of sensational writing and the in- tense agitation of the officers and the wit- nesses, it must be said that the electro- cution at Auburn prison was of such a nature that its repetition should be made impossible, and yet the system is not con- clusively condemned. There was, as Mr. Edison said, surprising inattention to the lesson of the deaths by contact with live wires in New York. In all cases the strokes of death were received through the hands. The scientists, however, concluded that the current must pass through the spinal column and brain, and so they made very remarkable arrangements for that, and they would have been ludicrous if the mat- ter had not been in itself so grave that no incident, however farcical; could provoke a smile. The electrical machinery used was singularly shabby. There was a constant struggle to keep belts from slip- ping off and stopping the dynamo ; there was a long string of lights in the circuit and they were not shut off; there was no reliable measurement of the intensity or volume of the current that was depended upon ; there was no certain method of signalling between the death chamber and the machine room ; and there was no in- telligent study of the demands to be made upon the dynamo as to quantity of elec- tricity or the time of contact. All the confusion and uncertainty might easily have been avoided. If there are to be other executions with electricity there must be provided a death hall for the state, with all the appliances in perfect order, and an executioner who knows his busi- ness. Then, there is no room for doubt, life can be taken in a flash, not only with- out the infliction of unusual cruelty, but with less distressing incident than by any of the familiar methods.

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HE students of social problems in America have a new storehouse of resources in Mr. Weeden’s Economic His- tory of New England, which will be in the hands of its readers almost as soon as this article is published. I certainly do not expect to review a book so comprehen- sive, which shows the results of years of investigation, in the pages in the reader’s hands. But there are several principles of our American life such as my readers and I are forced to consider in these pa- pers, which are remarkably illustrated in this well-digested history. Indeed, from this time forward it will be one of the standards to be referred to in all studies of our industries or of our social affairs. The remarkable thing about it all may be stated in a few words. The history of 270 years is virtually the history of repub- lican, not to say democratic, life. Thatis to say, neither king, priest nor aristocracy succeeded at any time in modifying to any considerable extent the movement of the people. Now, in such a state of things, from the beginning, there has been an almost absolute deference to law, where the law chose to assert itself, though the law or the community has asserted it- self in some ways which the world else- where has scarcely tried. But, with this deference to law and order, there has exist- ed a personal independence, an ingenuity and perseverance in independence, which seems in theory wholly inconsistent with the supremacy of the state. You havea nation of Natty Bumpos—if I may recall an eccentric pioneer from Cooper’s early THE NEW ENGLAND PRECEDENTS. novels—each determined to assert himself, and at the same time they are all deter- mined that the town or the church or the province or the law shall be respected, and their mandates obeyed. The planet obeys the attraction of the central sun, and rushes through space with untold eagerness in doing so. But with an equal eagerness the. same planet turns on its axis and attends to its own affairs. Such a planet is the typical New Englander. Say it isa paradox. But it is a paradox in practice. For instance, there hardly is a New England—the old colony at Plymouth does not number 200 people—before the community arranges for a registry of all deeds of land, and compels universal reg- istry. Why? Why, because this is a pub- lic concern. It is every man’s affair. Not the individual alone who buys or sells land, but the community, needs and in- tends to have all titles preserved. The New England communities all accept this system as if it had been a thousand years old, and no individual protests. Here is a simple and curious instance of the complete, absolute sway of the public in what is a public affair. Of such illustra- tions, which affect our present discussions of social order, Mr. Weeden’s book is full. * * % At the same time, it is full all along of the curious and audacious experiments of the individual. This man makes scythes, that man mines iron. They try to make the state take an interest in their private venture. Perhaps she will; perhaps she

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766 will not ; you cannot always tell. But the general drift sets thus: if this enterprise be one in which every citizen, male or fe- male, is organically and vitally interested, then the state takes hold. ‘If, on the other hand, it be one in which the interest of only a part is direct, and of the rest indi- rect, the state is coy and shy. Let the new affair show first that everybody is in organic relations with the improvement proposed. The American state will not grind the axes for a lot of barons. The state has done too much of that in Eu- rope. This is a rough rule, rather vaguely stated. But see how it applies. Thus schools : what will you do about schools ? Clearly it is a matter of vital and organic necessity that every child shall go to school. It is not a favor to this individual or that. Therefore, from the beginning, and without a word of hitch or protest, the community takes the charge of the schools. What do you say to roads? Yes, roads are a universal necessity. The road is or- ganic and vital if we are going to have any community at all. Itis not a road from one baron to another baron, from one castle to another castle. It is a roadthat anybody and everybody may need, may use ; and he shall have it, be he prince or beggar. So the state takes the charge of the roads, builds them, keeps them in re- pair. Nay, if she does not keep them in repair and one of the travellers breaks his leg, or his horse breaks his leg, the state must pay the penalty. Yes, well—now here are iron works. ‘« We have found some bog-iron ore. We can make good iron from it, but it will need capital. It will need a forge, and be- fore we have done it will need rolling-mills. Surely iron, good state, is a matter of universal necessity. You have been so good about the schools and the roads and the title-deeds, will you not help us about the iron ?”’ It is all very persuasive and it seems very simple. But instantly—that is the curious thing in the history—the state draws into its shell. It was so ready be- fore, why is itso chary now? «‘ Well, yes, universal necessity? Um—yes—I sup- pose so. Still, some people need a great deal more of it than others. It was not so with the schools, for there, practically, SOCIAL PROBLEMS. everybody needed as much as everybody else, or might do so. And with the roads —everybody needed the roads. But for iron, I seem to observe that some people need a great deal and some people need a little.’’ Then your iron adventurer says: «‘ Ah, yes, but everyone will have to pay for what he uses.”’ And then the state replies, more severely than before: «‘Oh, people pay for what they use, do they? Nobody pays for what he uses in the schools ; nobody pays for what he uses in the roads.’’ And then the state, with the coyness which has been spoken of, says : ‘‘ If the people are to pay for what they use, I think they had better pay you, and I will make my investments in something outside.”’ * * By such stages, sometimes with an im- mediate assent to a proposition of bold communism and sometimes by a refusal as sharp, the American states have gone forward and have adopted the positions which they now take.. Sometimes there has been a step backward; but, on the whole, the policy may be said to be quite well determined. When it came to the matter of water supply, for instance, there was a necessity which everybody shared. The poorest man and the richest man needed water and needed it in very much the same proportion. Almost without a question, therefore, the municipalities un- dertook the provision of what was so nec- essary for all. So of the lighting of streets. Less than two hundred years ago light in the street was the privilege of a nobleman only, in England. His lackeys carried the lights for him, and when he and they had gone by the street was dark again. Your mid- dile-class man carried his lantern and your tramp was in outer darkness. But light is as necessary for one person as for an- other, and so the lighting of the streets-for everyone has come in perfectly naturally. It is brighter and brighter, and nobody thinks of objecting to the communism which provides it. It would seem as if we were approaching the law which has been indicated above, in the illustrations, taken at hazard almost, from the history of two centuries. It may be thus stated: if the demand is one which, from the nature of things, is the same for everybody, it will

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SOCIAL PROBLEMS. be more convenient for the community to provide for that demand. If, on the other hand, the demand is one where individual taste, separate business, or the ‘ personal equation’’ comes in as a considerable ele- ment, it will be better to leave the indi- vidual to himself, to foster his activity and to quicken its results. This statement is not the vague and negative statement which at first it seems. It may be com- pared to the American balance between the federal and the state constitutions. The central government shall take care of national matters ; the state governments shall be quickened and compelled to take care of local matters. No European critic can understand this distinction, but an American knows that it is well drawn and practical in its results. I should say that the distinction between communistic ac- tion and individual endeavor might be drawn with as great distinctness. My own epigram to describe it is that I like to drink the water which is provided by the public, and that, on the other hand, I like to use my own tooth-brush. * * * I PUBLISHED, some months ago, an ac- count of the work in London of the Ladies’ Guide Association. New Yorkers will not understand what we outside barbarians understand very well, that there was room for a similar undertaking in the city where the Cosmopolitan was published. Our readers will be glad to know that such an enterprise has been undertaken here, with that tact which ought to insure success. As you come in at the Forty-second street station, now, you are within a block of the Ladies’ Guide and Chaperon Bureau, which is at the corner of Fourth avenue. Now, if you are a lone woman, the person 767 whom I have elsewhere called Miss Read- er, there are endless questions which you want to ask in the great city, which you will not be apt to ask of the first cabman who comes to you. If you will go across to the Chaperon Bureau, you will find someone to the manner bred, who will take care of you. I should find it hard to tell how many things this bureau has already undertaken with success; it would be easier to enumerate the things it will not do than what it will. It seems as if there were nothing which perplexes or worries a woman in matters of business, comfort or pleasure which it does not attend to. It furnishes guides, interpreters, chaperons, escorts for children toand from school. It hunts up boarding-houses, it buys tickets to theatres and concerts, it recommends to you the right physician and lawyer, it takes care of-your shopping orders if you are in Tacoma or San Francisco. It has rooms for ladies to meet their dressmakers or arrange for their walks. It receives and sends parcels, provides your railway or steamship tickets and tells you all about your routes oftravel. Such an institution, conscientiously carried on, is of the first value in such a city as this. I suppose that its success here will lead to its suc- cess in other cities of the country. ‘‘Madam,”’ said a fine old lady the other day, who had seen the best of life, « I can- not give dinner-parties any longer, but two things I can do, which I always did well : I can walk and I can talk.’’ Now, the Chaperon Bureau brings such a person as that intorelations with my excellent little Sefiorita Inez, who has just arrived with her handbag from California, and is afraid to trust herself outside the ladies’ room at the Central station.

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JOHN BOYLE O’REILLY. By JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE. N the morning of Sunday, August Io, 1890, there ended, at the village of Hull, Massachusetts, a life full of romantic adventure and vicissitudes, such as would be deemed extravagant if put into a work of fiction. It was a short life, counted by years, but a very long one, measured by experience and achievement. Less than a quarter of a century ago, just after our civil war had ended, and as the gates of his nominal prison were open- ing outward for the arch-leader of that rebellion, the jails of her Britannic majesty began to be filled with the participants in another insurrection, the suppression of which had hardly cost a drop of blood or a charge of powder. A certain measure of comparative leniency was shown to the civilian conspirators ; but for the military offenders, of whom there were many, no mercy was decreed. John Boyle O'Reilly belonged to the latter class. He was born at Dowth Castle, County Meath, Ireland, on June 28, 1844. His father was an eminent educator and his mother a woman of fine culture and strong individuality of character. The youth had received a good education, but the spirit of unrest impelled him to seek his fortune in England, where he found employment, first, as a printer, then as a reporter on various papers, and finally as a trooper in the Tenth Hussars, the «‘ Prince of Wales’s Own,’’ then commanded by the well— or ill—known Colonel Valentine Baker. O'Reilly was a typical soldier, brave, dashing, handsome, quick to think and act in emergency. An admiring non-com- missioned officer once gravely predicted of him that if he continued as he had be- gun he might ultimately reach the daz- zling height of a sergeant major in her majesty’s service, provided he lived long enough, of course. He was not destined to achieve eminence in that direction. The Fenian movement, splendidly hopeless, appealed to his ardent feelings as an Irishman, and he joined it, as the generous ones of earth do such things, without counting or caring for the cost. As he expressed it afterwards, ‘‘ They said to us, ‘Come on, boys, it’s for Ireland,’ and we came.’’ He went into the movement heart and soul, organizing a Fenian circle in the regiment and mak- ing hundreds of converts ; for even then he possessed the winning charm that in after years made all who met him his de- voted friends. His magnetism was appre- ciated by the colonel of the Tenth, whose comment on hearing of O’Reilly’s arrest was, ‘‘ Blank the fellow! He has ruined the finest regiment in the service.”’ It is not necessary to rehearse here the story of the trial and conviction which followed; but there was an incident in connection therewith which illustrates this quality of exciting admiration and affec- tion owned by the young offender. The treason, though flagrant, was not easily provable to the satisfaction even of a not- too-scrupulous court-martial. The testi- mony of informers was needed, and the authorities undertook to procure it by well- known methods. The prisoners were con- fined in separate cells and pressure was brought to bear on them, one after another, to induce each to confess, by representing to him that one or others had already done so. The warden of the jail in which O’Reilly lay awaiting trial was a retired army officer, an Englishman, who as a loyal subject hated treason, but as a sol- dier bore no love for a traitor to his fellows. As in duty bound he officially counte- nanced the efforts of the authorities to se- cure evidence by any and allmeans. One day, just before that fixed for the trial, an official labored for the last time long and earnestly to extort a confession from O’Reilly, assuring him that others had owned up and that it would be suicidal folly in him to remain silent when he could secure immunity by telling all he knew. The warden, who was present, threw in an occasional perfunctory remark to the same effect. As the prisoner con- tinued obdurate the official took his leave, with a parting warning of the dread con- sequences. The warden accompanied him to the door, adding his word of advice. ‘« Yes, you'd better do as he says, O’ Reilly. It will be better for you to save your own neck, my boy.’’ Then closing the door on

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the visitor and wheeling sharply round, « And, damme ! I'd like to choke you with my own hands if you do!”’ His honest outburst was wholly super- fluous. O'Reilly had no thought of such baseness. Others were less heroically con- stituted. One of them testified on the stand to a pretty tale of conspiracy, which was not true, but answered the purpose as JOHN BOYLE OREILLY. 769 for over a year in various British prisons. The work was unremitting and laborious ; the company that of the vilest criminals. He never spoke of it with bitterness, but he saw that the intent of the system was to break the spirits, if not the lives, of its vic- tims. The political offenders were forced to work in the chain-gang beside the low- est felons. They were purposely paraded JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. well as if it were, or better. O’Reilly was guilty, anyhow, and it made little dif- ference how he might be proven so. He was condemned, first, to death, the sen- tence being afterwards commuted to life imprisonment; and again, to twenty years’ penal servitude. O’Reilly, at the age of twenty-two, be- gan his long term of imprisonment on June 27, 1866. It was a hard, cruel course of punishment to which he was subjected through the streets of English towns, as an object lesson to the people. Some of them died under their hardships, where. upon the government, to avoid odium, pardoned such others as were reasonably certain to die, or at least to be of no fur- ther danger to the empire. It is a hideous story and its recital would only serve to distract attention from the horrors of Siberia, which have justly mo- nopolized the indignation of Great Britain.

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77° O’ Reilly survived the penal discipline of Mountjoy, Pentonville, Millbank—where he spent eight months ‘in solitary ’’— Chatham, Portsmouth and Dartmoor, and in November 1867 he was transported to western Australia along with several other political and some hundreds of criminal offenders. The story of his adventures in the penal colony and his romantic escape would fill a volume. But it is known in its general features to everybody. A good priest, Father Patrick McCabe, whose mis- sion was among those outcasts of civiliza- tion, was the agent to plan the details, an American whaling captain promising his assistance in the felonious deed: for it always happens that bad laws, however rigidly enforced, will still find good men to break them. O'Reilly escaped from the settlement and made his way to the sea- coast. The first captain cruelly disap- pointed the fugitive by refusing to see his signal waved from an open boat in the In- dian ocean. O’ Reilly went back to the coast and sub- sisted as best he could until another ship was engaged, the whaling bark Gazelle, in command of Captain David R. Gifford. He saw the signal, took the runaway on board and befriended him well. To the second officer of the Gazelle, Henry C. Hathaway, O’ Reilly owed his escape from recapture at the British port of Rodrique, when a clever stratagem led the police officers and even the crew of the Gazelle to believe that O’ Reilly had drowned him- self over the ship’s side. A few months later Hathaway saved the life of his friend when his boat was destroyed by an in- furiated whale. Off the Cape of Good Hope the fugitive was transferred to another American ship, the Sapphire, bound for Liverpool, whence he took -passage for Philadelphia, reaching American soil for the first time in November 1869. He had come to stay, making application for his first naturalization papers on the same day. From Philadelphia he went to New York and thence to Boston, the city which was to be thenceforth his home. His first newspaper work was done for the Boston Pilot, as ‘‘war correspond- ent’’ from the scene of the second Fenian invasion of Canada in 1870. On his return to Boston from that brief campaign he be- came an editorial writer on the same paper, JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. and very shortly afterwards began publish. ing the first of the many poems which during twenty years have flowed from his prolific pen. He had written a few in his youth, and many of the fresh, strong lyr- ics which first made his name known to American readers had been composed in the dreary days of his prison life. The world will always listen to one who has something to say ; and this stranger youth had brought a message from two strange antipodes. It goes without say- ing that his first love of native land was always the dominant passion with him, but it never stifled or dwarfed his love of all humanity. A Christian gentleman, he had no respect for the shams and wrongs which polite society sanctions and pre- tends to call Christian civilization. His verse burns with the indignation of a just man against social wrong : ‘* Your statutes may crush, but they cannot kill, the patient sense of a natural right ; It may slowly move, but the people’s will, like the ocean o’er Holland, is always in sight.” He kept his mind sound by housing it in a sound body. He was a splendid «all- round’’ athlete—boatman, swimmer, fen- cer, boxer, the prime favorite ofthe gymna- sium as of the drawing room. For, to come last to that in which he was first, he was throughout all and above all a gentleman. There are a great many defi- nitions of that word, most of them formu- lated by tailors or by footmen, and some by those who estimate a man’s worth by the social standing of his grandfather. He would have stood the tests of all those three critical classes, and if we happen to prefer a higher standard he would not have failed before that. For he was courteous to all men, of whatever estate ; he was chivalrous to women and tender to children and all weak and helpless ones; he was magnani- mous to his enemies, loyal to his friends, and merciful to all mankind. He believed in humanity and in his age; and his faith was rewarded, for he was appreciated in his life and mourned in his death as no private citizen ever has been mourned. What he did to lift his fellow men to that appreciation will be known in long years tocome. If he was not a saint, he worked at least one miracle—he made men grate- ful.

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NI \\\\ A ies Man. (FRONTISPIRCE.)............+scere The Executive Departments of the Government. Tiustrated. GEORGE GRANTHAM BAIN Change. (Poem.) A Brabantian antian Happen ¥_ LOWE DICKINSON | ‘ ustrated, GEORGE WHARTON EDWARDS 657 OW {0 S A Prop 66s |] 4° (PorM.) HELEN T. CLARK A Flying Trip —_ the World. IZABETH BISLAND Norsemen in the Ur ted States. TUustrated. ited States. JANSON .:.---:-- nn wenden A Glimpse of Guate Tliustrated. RANCIS J, A. DARR Solitude. (Porm.) FREDERICK PETERSON - Horses and Riders. HENRY CABOT LODGE -. A Successful Man. (story-) : Iltiustrated. JULIEN GORDON .. «+++++) chtecld Bes ae 702 A Sea Charge. (rorm-) ESTHER SINGLETON A Piscatorial Dinner. Tliustrated. CHARLES PELHAM-CLINTON Francisque eareey. TQustrated. Miss Devilet. (story. Itustrated. MACDOUGALL BUEL A Vision of Eld. (rorm.) james 8. KENYON The Twin Cities of the Northwest. Iliustrated. CHARLES KING Rose and Edelweiss. (P0EM.) x. T. sSUDDUTH ’ Review of Current Events. mMURAT HALSTEAD- Social Problems. EDWARD EVERETT HALE John I Boyle O'Reilly. ait. JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE FS NDER MATTHEWS CPSIGEE ~ 12eeOS > = = rT

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2 THE COSMOPOLITAN. Did it fail you? Then try The “Old Reliable” Waterman Ideal Fountain Pen That never fails. ‘I still find it the most reliable instrument of its kind.”—Chauncey M. Depew Money refunded if it does not suit you. If your stationer will not supply you don’t take any other, but send for circular with price list and testimonials, Every fountain pen user will want either the Travelers’ or the Desk size of our new Filler and Ink Bottle. The Filler corks the Bottle and the Bottle keeps the Filler ready for use next time. See advertisements in previous numbers. L. E. Waterman Co. 10-'90.) 166 ‘Broadway, New Tork. CAUTIO N raaved, cones rS.3 his rice stamped on bottom W. L. DOUGLAS $3. SHOE cexfXiwen 8 5° Genuine Hand-sewed, an elegant and styl- ish dress Shoe which eee itself. 8A .00 Hand-sewed Welt. A = calf Shoe un- equalled for style and durabilit Sg 5°06 Goodyear Rg is the standard dress Shoe, $350 Potleeman’s Shoe is especially adapted for railroad men, farm: ‘il made 5 in Congress, “Button and Lace. 33 & $2 SHOES caviks, been most received since introd a your on mand It he cannot pene 7es send * t to factory_e ee, oraee bam ks. Tg Mrockton, Macs, Have you tried a fountain pen? | Agents Wanted. Mention THE Cosmororrran. | *UNRIVALLEO" “WORLD RENOWNED* DELiC FO oD THE GREAT AMERICAN DIETETIC PREPARATION FOR NURSING MOTHERS, INFANTS AND CHILDREN INVALIDS CONVALESCENTS AND THE AGED. ‘THOUSANDS OF UNSOLICITED TESTIMONIALS AND CONSTANTLY INCREASING SALES.PROVE MERITED SUCCESS. Got sy Dauseists) JOHN CARLE & SONS-NEWYORK Zavy ONS «2 > PIANOS ES TABLISHED aby ISI. THEY COMBINE SYMPATHETIC, PURE AND RICH TONE. GREATEST POWER, ELE- GANCE AND DURABILITY. THEY ARE SOLD ON THE MOST ACCOMMODATING TERMS, DELIV- ERED IN YOUR HOUSE FREE OF EXPENSE, ANYWHERE IN THE UNITED STATES, AND SATISFAC- TION GUARANTEED. Catalogues and full information mailed free on application. VOSEXSONS PIANO GO.

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. ACADEMIES é¢ (OLLECES oN PouGcukeepsig, N. Y. New York, N, Y. Eastman Business College. | The New York Collegiate Institute. Open all the year. A Jive school for the training of /fve busi- | _ A Rucsy ror Girts. Primary, Academic and Collegiate messmen. Persons of both sexes taught to earn a living and | Departments. Special attention paid to Physical training. carefully prepared for honorable positions. Thorough instruc- i he moral influ- tion in Bookkeeping, Banking, Commercial Law, Penmanship, Correspondence, Arithmetic, etc. ; Telegraphing, Stenography, | Typewriting, etc. Business men supplied with competent | assistants on short notice. No charge for situations furnished. | Cincinnati, Ohio. Terms reasonable. Time short. For information address | Carrincton Gaines, President, Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Eden Park Schoo! For Cirls. i roth year begins Sept. 24th, 1890; beautiful location, high ae : a patronage, home life, and unsurpassed advantages for the New York Cry, 21 East 14th Street. practice of modern Janguages. For information apply to Metropolitan Conservatory of Music. Madame Frepu. The most select musical school in the United States. Ex- a me a ai te, wrt . — advantages: Voice, Piano-forte, Organ, Violin, ANLIUS, N. ¥. armony, and the Languages, Successful musicians and | §t. John’s Military School. eminent teachers arqgag od the faculty—all age aed Civil Engineering. Classics. Dicsinees. at the Conservatory. Prominegt among them are; Dudley Address Wa. VER & Subevint Buck, Albert R. Parsons, Director Piano-forte Department : ee rh SOREN, Reema. Harry Rowe Shelley, Paolo se G, Pratt, = —— Hartrorp, Conn. Utassi. Applicants without musical talent not accepted, Sen } or OE aaa " - Woodside.—Home and College-—preparatory H. W. Greens, Gen'l Man’r. C. B. Hawrey, Musical Dir. School for Girls, Sixteenth year opens Sept. 17. 1890. — ancam ee —_ omen | Principal, Miss Sara J. SMivH. Emato P. O., near Baltimore, Md. Asst. Prin., M:s, R. M. Laturop. Much care taken in selecting Pupils and in t ences of the School. Rev, ALFrep C. Rog, Prin., 233 Lenox Ave. Notre Dame of Maryland. | New York Ciry, 224 West 58th Street (Central Park), Co.veciaTe Institute for Younc Lapigs, and Preparatory School for Little girls. St. Louis College. Conducted by the School Sisters of Notre Dame. Strictly select private Catholic School for Boys. The Gosmopolitan Magazine, Published Monthly by The Cosmopolitan Publishing Company. MADISON SQUARE BANK BUILDING, Fifth Avenue, Broadway, and 25th Street, New York. SUBSCRIPTION price, $2.40 a year. Single copies, ADVERTISING rates: $125 per page; $62.50 per half 25 cents. Subscribers failing to receive THE COSMOPOLITAN | page; $31.25 per quarter page ; goc per line (nonpareil): 25 per by the first of each month will confer a favor by sending a | cent. discount on yearly contracts. Preferred positions extra postal card to the New York office. The omission will be | vacant positions and rates furnished on application. The Post- supplied, and investigation made through the Post-office | office receipts and circulation books of ‘Itz CosMOPOLITAN Department. are open at all times for the inspection of advertisers, Abso ea - , " lutely no deviation from prices except the special discount to , DISCONTINUANCES. — Subscribers wishing THe sie and pet cag Copy ie pt we ccaneall vm should CosMOPOLITAN stopped at the expiration of their subscription | je sent in by the 20th of the 2d month prior to publication. must notify us to that effect, otherwise we shall consider it is their wish to have it continued, COPYRIGHT.—The entire contents of this magazine are CHANGES OF ADDRESS.—When a change of ad- covered by general copyrivht. 2nd special permission is neces- dress is ordered, both the new and old address must be given, | 54°y for reprinting long extracts, but editors are welcome to and notice sent two weeks before the change is desired. use not more than one-h«lf of any article, provided credit is given at the beginning “‘ From ‘The Cosmopolitan Magazine.” HOW TO REMIT.—Remittances should be sent by Check, Draft, Express Order, Money Order, payable to order RECEIPTS.—We do not send receipts for subscription of Tue Cosmopouitan PustisHinc Co. Cash and Postal unless the request is accompanied with stamp. The date on Notes should be sent in Registered Letter. Contracts must your label will indicate within two weeks that the remittance be signed by the President of the Company. was reccived, W* CERTIFY that we have in hand and will print and bind 75,000 copies THE CosMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE for October, 1890, and that we have contracted with The Cosmopolitan Publishing Company to print editions as follows : FOR NOVEMBER, 1890, 80,000. DECEMBER, 1890, 85,000. “JANUARY, 1891, 90,000. J. j. LITTEE & CO.

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. Te all who subscribe for next year Offer below) to MY sg go HOME PR dournat Edited by EDWARD W. BOK Some of the special features for these Autumn numbers are: Another New Story by i> MRS.A.D.T.WHITNEY, ENTITLED “A Golden Gossip.’’ SARAH ORNE JEWETT’S New Story, [7 ‘Mrs. Parkins’s Christmas Eve.’ Also, New Stories by SUSAN COOLIDGE, HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, ANNE SHELDON COOMBS. With Illustrations by such Eminent Artists as ;W.L. Taylor, C. D. Weldon, Frank T. Merrill, C. T. Hill, E. W. Kemble, E. H Garrett, and others. ILLUSTRATED POEMS BY Will Carleton, Margaret Deland, Rose Hartwick Thorpe,Laura E.Richards. NAA SoSH Sy! HE special articles include, “How to Train the Voice,” by the Celebrated Operatic Tenor, Italo Campanini. ‘‘How I Have Grown Old,” by P.T.Barnum. ‘‘The Story of a Society Girl,”’as told by a well-known New York fashionable belle. “Liberties of Our Daughters,”’by Mrs. Admiral Dahlgren.‘‘Why Flirting is Wrong,” by Felicia Holt. ‘‘How to Celebrate Wedding Anniversaries,”’ by Florence Howe Hall. ‘‘The Courtship of General Grant,’’ as a Z| by Mrs. Grant. A Series of Humorous Sketches by Robert J. 7 Burdette. With regular departments, complete in every detail, nA each under the charge of editors well known as high-salaried writers. I SSS 4 a6 i 7 4 NV \ For I. We will mail the Journal from now to January rst, 1892— 00 that is, the balance of this year, FREE, anda FULL YEAR from January 1st, 1891, to January 1st, 1892, Also our handsome 40-page Prem- ium Catalogue, illustrating a thousand articles, and including ‘Art Needlework Instructions,” by Mrs. A. R. Ramsey; also Kensington Art Designs, by Jane S. Clark, of London oan N. B.— This offer must POSITIVELY be mentioned when sending your Subscription, | or one year only will be given, ‘ CURTIS PUBLISHING CO., Philadelphia, Pa. SSS SSS SSS SSS SSS SSS

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. International A TT Cyclopedia Is THE Latest and Best FOR READY REFERENCE IN THE LIBRARY, SCHOOL, STUDY, I would sooner buy it for actual use than any other now in the market, JAMES P. BRYCE, Librarian Public Library, Springfield, IIL It is used continually in our school, where we have all other English Cyclopedias. Col, PARKER, Principal Cook County Normal School, II. It is by far the best Cyclopedia for the money I have ever examined. Rev. D. A. LONG, D.D., President Antioch College, Ohio. oO F Fl ie E : It is full enough, and does not contain so much that it takes all night to find what you are looking for. JOHNS McCLEAVE, Attorney B, & O. R.R., Pittsburgh, Pa. H O M E. It is to-day the one best suited to the most readers. Dr. BANCROFT, Principal Phillips Academy, Andover, Mass. SOLD FOR CASH OR ON EASY PAYMENTS. SALESMEN WANTED. Write for Descriptive Circulars if you are interested. I have it. DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, Subscription Department, 753 and 755 Broadway, N.Y. Published by BERLITZ | & CO., Madison Square, New York. FRENCH. Méthode, Premier livre = Deuxiéme livre rhe latter book consists of copious exer- cises in conversation and composition, gram- maticaily graded, and contains highly inter- esting reading matter. It can be used to advantage with any method, Littérature Francaise, with extracts and exercises. (This book is also admirably adapted for an advanced course in conversa- tion and composition.) One volume, bound, Observations pratiques, a — des étran- gers 25 Le Francais, (Monthly Maga zine in French. ) Per number, 20c, per year 2 00 % 75 oo GERMAN. Methode, Erstes Buch , ‘ . $o 75 Zweites Buch : I 00 (This second book offers the same advan- tages as the French Reader.) ENGLISH. Method, First book vet Second book . SPANISH. Método ITALIAN. Metodo ' . , 50 EDITION BERLE TZ. First Series . Le Retour du Japon.—z. La Gifle.—3. Les Réves de Marguerite. La Dame de Niort.—7. La Cigale chez les Fourmis.—8. Le . L’Eté de la St. Martin. —6. Le Voyageur. Comedies. En Wagon.—4. Les Deux Timides.— Serment d’Horace. —g. La Demoiselle 4 Marier.—10. Embrassons-nous, Folleville.—11. L’CEillet Blanc. A la Porte. Second Series - Le Secret de Polichinelle.—12. Le Voyage 4 Trois Etoiles. Nouvelles. 1. Courtes et Bonnes.—2. Des Renseignements. —3. De-Ci De-La.—4. Un Bouquet.—5. Le Prix de Pigeons. —6. Treize 4 Table.—7. L’Inventeur.—8. Feuilles d’Automne.—g. La Chasse au Chien,—La Laide.—ro, Le Savant et le Crocodile. —11. Au Coin du Feu.—12. En Hamac. The ‘ Edition Berlitz” is a collection of the most interesting modern French ‘* Nouvelles, Comédies,” etc., which have been carefully selected and expurgated for the use of Schools and for choice home reading. The Comédies can easily be played by amateurs. One Series, $2.00. One Number, $0.25. La Duchesse Martin, with English notes by J. Levy $o 30 For Sale also by CARL SCHOENHOFF, 144 Tremont Street, Boston, and BRENTANO’S, New York, Chicago, Washington.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. OR the benefit of readers of the “Cosmopolitan” who buy uncut copies of the magazine, an order has been placed with manufacturers for 5,000 paper cutters, closely resembling wvory and of such kind as well ornament any book table. The marginal photographs give exact size of paper cutter, front and perspective views. One of these celluloid paper cutters will be mailed packed in a box, and sent, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States upon receipt of eight two-cent stamps. As this supply is Lmited to 5,000 wt will be well to send your order immed- ately. The imprint “Cosmopolitan Magazine’ is stamped upon each paper cutter. A ddress THE COSMOPOLITAN, Madison Square Bank Building, NEW YORK.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. 9 There is no Nourishment in Tea or Coffee, but plenty in COCOA ESPECIALLY IN VAN HOUTEN’S which is rapidly supplanting tea and coffee as a national beverage. VAN HoUTEN’s COCOA is uni- versally declared to be perfectly pure, free from fat, easily digested, delicious to the taste, nutritious, and a stimulant without any depressing after-effects. It was introduced into the household of the late Emperor of Germany upon high recommendation. The senior physician of the London Court Hospital has used this brand of Cocoa for many years. It is strongly recommended to Students and all whose duties involve much wear and tear, whether mental or physical, For these reasons it has earned the highest encomiums of the leading analysts of the day. VAN HOUTEN’S COCOA—BEST AND GOES FARTHEST, It only needs a single trial to convince any one of the superiority of Van Houten’s Cocoa, Please insist upon your grocer or storekeeper ordering it for you, and take no substi- tute, It is put up in one-quarter, one-half, and one pound cans, If not obtainable, enclose 25 cents in stamps or postal note to either Van Hovren & Zoon, 106 Reade Street, New York, or 45 Wabash Avenue, Chicago, and a Can of this most delightful Cocoa will be sent by mail. Prepared only by Van Houten & Zoon, Weesp-Holland. VAN HOUTEN’S COCOA—ONCE TRIED ALWAYS USED, DECANTER. /DORFLINGER’S AMERICAN CUT GLASS. Every piece of pay our Glass has My our Trade Mark Label in it. Be sure and see it if you want the genuine. TABLE CHINA. The endeavor is to make this department, including more than 300 distinct sets, and which occupies the entire Fourth Floor of our Brooklyn House, especially advantageous to Housekeepers, alike as regards well chosen forms and decorations as a large range of prices, thus offering a good selection to those having in view the purchasing of a set from $25 to $100, as well as $200, $300 and upward. = The simple though artistic pattern here illustrated, Fleur-de-lis design, is from the well known works of the Messrs. Copeland, of England—a guarantee for quality in every regard. A Dinner Set of 97 pieces is valued at $25, and 100 pieces $35, while the same with rich, heavy, gold edge, handles and feet, is $65 and $go. (This design, as well as more than twenty others, is kept in ‘‘ open stock,” and offered in any number of pieces where detached seis or matchings are required. The display of French China Sets—well chosen selec- tions from ten or more of the leading manufacturers of France—is, we believe, unparalleled. Worthy of notice is one prettily decorated and gilded for$28 Catalogues supplied containing some indications of Rich Table Glass, Solid Silver, Clocks, Bronzes, etc. 330 Fifth Avenue, New York. OVINGTON BROTHERS, Brooklyn House, Fulton and Clark Sts.

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. SILKS AND DRESS GOODS. | A full assortment of the latest Novelties, in Plain and Fancy Dress Goods, and Silks, is now ready. The Designs are exclusive. The fabrics are in the qualities best suited for the highest class of trade. Woolen Goods, of rough surface, in Scotch Clan, and French Plaids, or with small spot figures, are most popular styles. In Silks and Velvets, plain fabrics will take the lead. In writing for samples, state, as clearly as possible, what style is desired, The variety is so great this season that we cannot undertake to send general lines of samples. James MeCreery & Co., Broadway & Ith St., N.Y, They're all on the same level when you wash with Pearline. The woman who is strong can keep her strength for something else ; the woman who is weak will feel that she is strong. It isn’t the woman that does the work—it’s PEARLINE. So it is with the clothes. They needn’t be strong. The finest things fare as well as the coarsest. They all last longer, for they’re saved the rubbing that wears them out. Work was never so easy— never so well done. And safe, too. Nothing that is washable was ever hurt by Pearline. Jf ct were otherwise—do you think we would continue to sell enough Pearline yearly to supply every family in the land with several packages. Peddlers and some unscrupulous grocers will tell you, ‘‘ this is as good as” eware or “‘the same as Pearline.” IT’S FALSE—Pearline is never peddled. 182 JAMES PYLE, New York. HAVILAND CHINA AT FIRST HANDS Can be bad in Soup, Fish, Ovster, Game, Roast, Cream, or Fruit Sets, Plates, Teas,and After-dinner Coffees. SALAD BOWL AND PLATE. Shaded colors, with rich gold and color design, made FRANK HAVILAN D, in old rose, olive gray, turquoise green, English red, : and a beautiful shade of brown maroon, 14 Barclay St., New York City.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. Cooked, seasoned eee and put up ready, | Soups except warm- are not ex- 5 ‘ tracts, con- Ns, fo the centrations nor any table. such thing. They need no diluting. They are absolutely ready for the table, | warming alone exc/Z>epted. To claim ‘that our soups areAf#finer in quality than Nyx i) prepared at home can ordinarily be gf} AG is to claim a goodsy gdeal, but not more | than we feel jus \3t ified in doing. And why not, indeed? * Is it not a business with us? The fact™ that we work on a gigantic scale is rather helpful to the qual- ity of the product than otherwise. The postage on a sample can costs 14 cents for which price we will send one of your choice. Green Turtle, Terrapin, Chicken, Consommé, Purée of Game, Mulli- gatawny, Mock Turtle, Ox-Tail, Tomato, Chicken Gumbo, French Bouillon, Julienne, Pea, Printanier, Mutton Broth, Vegetable, Beef, Pearl Tapioca. | These goods are for sale by Fancy Grocers, They are the best and | you want no others. The Franco- American Food Co., 42 West Broadway, New York. —————— = - —— SD MENTION “THE COSMOPOLITAN.”

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t2 THE COSMOPOLITAN. Mothers Do You Realize Flow Your Little Ones Suffer When their tender Skins are literally On Fire with IrcHING AND BurNING Eczemas and other ain, Scaly, and Blotchy Skin and Scalp Diseases. = To know that a single application of the Guticura Remedies will, in the great majority of cases, afford instant and complete relief, permit rest and sleep, and point to a permanent and economical (because so speedy) cure, and not to use them without a moment’s delay, is to be guilty of positive inhumanity. No greater legacy can be bestowed upon a child than a skin without a blemish and a body nourished with pure blood. Guticura Remedies are the greatest skin cures, blood purifiers, and humor remedies, are absolutely pure, and may be used from infancy to age, from pimples to scrofula, with unfailing success.

“ ALL AsouT THE SKIN” mailed free to any address, 64 pages, 300 Diseases, 50 Illustrations, 100 Testimonials. A book of priceless value to mothers, affording information not obtainable elsewhere. Curicura Remepigs are sold everywhere. Price, Curicura, the Great Skin Cure, 5o0c.; Cuticura Soap, an Exquisite Skin Purifier and Beautifier, 25c,; Curicura Reso.vent, the greatest of Blood Purifiers and Humor Remedies, $1.00. Pre- pared by the Porrer DruGc anp Cuemicat Corporation, Boston, Mass, U.S.A. Pi ] Bl kh d red, rough, and oily skin and hands, and simple humors and skin blemishes of infancy Imples ac e€ads, and childhood prevented and cured by that most effective of all Skin Purifiers and P' y Beautifiers, the celebrated Cyuticura Soap. Sale greater than the combined sale of all other skin soaps, @CALIGRAPH. | “HAMMOND” GREATEST SPEED! | | TYPEWRITER Best for Manifolding. 100,000 Daily Users. Ideal and Universal Keyboards. | HIGHEST SPEED RECORD.

The Hammond won all the prizes

| . in the late typewriter contest by unani- | = mous decision of five printers, repre- | w ) senting the largest establishments in | 3 America. 2772 contestants, rep- == re resenting all leading machines. : be A check for $7,267.50 just received THE MOST DURABLE. | 3] from the U. S. Treasury for 75 Single Coss, He-t, - - - - o7ece | <\ Hammonds. New Special, “ 3, - - - - 100.00 For account of speed contests and circulars, address | WE DO NOT GIVE THEM AWAY. THE AMERICAN WRITING MACHINE CO. | HARTFORD, CONN. THE HAMMOND TYPEWRITER CO., Branch Offices: 237 Broadway, New-York. 14 West 4th Street, Cincinnati, 0. 447-449 East 52d Street, 77 Nassau Street, NEW YORK. 1003 Arch Street, Philadelphia. ENGLISH FACTORY, COVENTRY, ENGLAND.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT.

13 R. T. FELIX GOURAUD’S ORIENTAL CREAM, OR MAGICAL BEAUTIFIER, 2 Removes Tan, Pimples, Freckles, 2. oa e Moth Patches’ Rash, and Skin dis- m<c Gs —, and every blemish on beauty, = = 85 and defies detection. It has st & 2 og the test of 40 years, and is so harm- —IN— sos less we taste it to be sure = Ei me itis properly made, Ac- » <s 8 , - — ie bed name, Dr. L. A. a a % Sayre said to a lady will be offered to Purchasers through HI, ©, F. 7 thenantton (a patient | KOCH & CO’S Illustrated hem, 1 count) FASHION CATALOGUE. *Gouraud’s Cream’ as the least harmful of all the Skin preparations.” For sale by and Fancy Goods Deal- ersin theU.S., Canadas, and Europe. Great Jones St., N. Y.

FERD. T. HOPKINS, Proprietor, 37 PARQUET + FLOORING, NATIONAL WOOD M’F’C CO., 129 Fifth Ave., New York,

Inlaid Flooring of every description, % and % inch thick. Wainscotings, Ceilings, and Wood Carpeting. New designs. Finest work, Send for ** book of illustrations.” TYPEWRITERS. Largest like establishment in the world. First-class Second-hand Instruments at half new poise. a4 diced advice given on all makes. sold on monthly payments. Condition and title

guaranteed. Any instrument ‘manufactured shi privilege to examine. EXCHANGING A SPECI . Instruction book and pong box free. Wholesale prices to dealers. Two (20 $i and 3 .) illustrated catalogues Free. TYPEWRITER 70 Broadway, New York. HEADQUARTERS, { 144 La Salle St., Chicago.

We are offering our fine and

elegant \ BUCK-BOARDS —s = and SURREYS. ALC TY hung on our patent Half WAN, Eiips Sprinel. Park Phaetons, Bug- gies, Saastena Read Wyss: Fine Portiand utters, ‘Two-seated fussian Sleighs. At very low prices. Write for Catalogue. WateRtoo Wacon Co., L’1’p, Waterloo, N. Y.

A GUIDE OF HOW TO BUY DRY GOODS FROM NEW YORK and have them delivered free of charge—when the order amounts to a specified sum—at prices guaranteed lower than from any other house in the U. S. Published Sept. 10, ’90, and mailed free upon application, to anyone residing out of town; listing and illustrating, with over 2,000 lithographs and wood-cuts, everything needed for Ladies’, Gent's and Children’s wear and adornment ; Housekeeping Goods, etc. ae IMPORTERS AND RETAILERS, GTH AVE. AND 20TH ST., NEW YORK, In writing pleasé mention this paper. y a The face is a wonderful structure. If the true skin were removed, an ugly scar would be the result. Freckles and Moth Patches are simply a pigmentary layer, or coloring mat- ter in the cuticle. This feature of the face gives character to complexion, and when entirely free from blemishes, such as freckles, moth patches, pimples, blackheads, etc., should show

4&3 Mention this ad. Are your ‘ tender Do your FE ET perspire? Are you troubled with cold Do your shoes hurt your i Ee a dime. ‘ ~ THE PEDINE CO., BROADWAY, NEW YORK. ——

CARMEL SOAP is made only from sweet Olive Oil by a Mission Society in Palestine. Being absolutely pure and possessing the emollient properties of Olive Oil, itis unsur- passed for the Toilet and Bath, and superior to all other soaps for the Teeth and Hair. It is the only perfectly safe soap for the NURSERY and Invalids. If your druggist or grocer does not keep it, send ro cents for sample cake to the importer. A. KLIPSTEIN, 52 Cedar St., New York.

a plexion as clear and lovely asthat of a6 months old baby. This peculiar layer, containing these facial blemishes, can be easily restored to its original lovely color by the use of Mrs. Marion Walker’s Face Bleach, Freckle, Pimple and Moth Destroyer. Who can resist the temptation of having a beautiful com- plexion This preparation beautifies the skin, removes all oiliness and swarthiness and roughness, making it extremely soft and giving the complexion that delicate pink and white, which is the same in the morning, on the street, and in the evening ; always alike. This wonderful + pee has been a great comfort to many ladies. Mrs, Walker has friends in every city and village in the United States, who are the envy of their friends, who do not understand how they have gained the lovely, clean, fresh faces. This preparation is not a cos- metic, but a skin tonic, It is not a smear for the face, but can be used on the skin of the smallest child without fear. Have you freckles, pimples, ugly blotches, swarthiness, or any other face disfigurement? Write to Mrs, Marion Walker. Her preparation is wonderful ; these blemishes will disappear. It will cleanse the face and give it that delicate pink and white so much coveted, and so difficult to obtain. It is sold under positive guarantee. The only preparation rescribed by regular physicians. Correspondence solicited Gon ladies or gentlemen, who are troubled with facial blemishes, and also from all those using the Bleach; that even the most stubborn cases, and those which have defied all other remedies, be alike successfully treated. References in every city and village in the United States and Canada. PRICE, One Treatment (sufficient for one face) $2.00. Mrs, Marion WALKER, 216 4th Ave., Louisville, Ky.

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14 THE COSMOPOLITAN. jae 1849. INCORPORATED 1884. “Boynton” Hot Water Heater (12) Twelve Sizes. No Brick-work required. These Heaters are operated in a most successful manner in many Resi- dences, Schools, Apartment Houses and Greenhouses, and are pronounced “by scientific experts the most effective, economical, and of the Kost mechanical con- struction, of any on the market. Also Manufacturers of the Celebrated BOYNTON FURNACES, RANGES, Etc, MARUFACPURED ONLY BY THE BOYNTON FURNACE Co., 47 and 49 Dearborn St., CHICAGO, ILL. 207 and 209 Water St., NEW YORK. SZ SEND FOR CIRCULAR. ~ ~~ ARM Air Furnaces have been in disfavor with some by reason of the many imperfect constructions used. The Magee “Boston ” Heaters” will give better satisfaction at a less cost than any hot water or steam apparatus ever used. We guarantee them in every respect when properly put in; and when desirable to apply hot water it can be used in combination. Send for descriptive circulars with references. Magee Ranges and Heating Stoves also have a world-wide reputation. MAGEE FURNACE CoO., 82 to 38 Union Street, Boston. 86 Lake Street, Chicago. 4c, ADAY Wie c HEAT YOUR HOUSE Either with STEAM or HOT —— ~ | pap ten ago batting a New Hom Yt want to Ity one Comfort- ne a FURMAN BOILER 3 hes = : Masvat om House Heating and Ventilation sent HERENDEEN MFG. CO., 32 PARK ST. onunva. N. WV. All Ages Enjoy this Parlor Game. THE a Intensely Amusin and perfectly Harmisns. The only projectile made wi a point that will stick to an wa surface, even to glass. mar furniture or harm any one, Truly a scientific invention Pat. in France, England, Is the only line ever ipvented that holds the clothes ¢ Germany, without pins; a perfect success; patent recently U.S. issued; sold only by Canada, % AGENTS Postpaid. sd Nickel, $1. to whom the exclusive right is given; on receipt of Bronze, 75c. so cents we will send a sample line by mail; also, circulars, price list and terms to agents | secure Add PINLESS TOTHES LINE COMPANY, 17 Hermon St., RUBBER TIPPED ARROW CO., Worcester, Mass. Patentees and Mauufacturers, Boston, Mass., U.S. A.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. 15 SARE INVESTMENTS. We believe that most people prefer safety in an investment, rather than a high rate of interest without safety. Our Company has had an experience of twenty years, and has loaned nearly TWENTY MILLIONS OF DOLLARS without loss to any customer. We can do the same for you, and at the same time pay you a good rate of interest, and shall be glad to tell you how it is done. Our Assets, Dec. 34, 1889, $2,986,592. AMERICAN INVESTMENT COMPANY, 150 Nassau St., N. Y. City. E, S. Ormssy, President, A. L, Ormssy, H. E. Simmons, Vice-Presidents The Winner [avestnent FULL PAID CAPITAL, $1,000.000. This company does strictly an investment business and shares with investors the results of conservative and profitable investments. It offers a fixed income, large profits, and abso- lute security. Nearly $2,000,000 net profits paid to investors since 1883, from Kansas City (Mo) real-estate investments. At the present time opportunity is offered to invest in bonds, coonsall by first mortgage on one of the best office buildings in the West, yielding 6 per cemt, guaranteed interest. A bonus of stock in the building company accompanies each bond. Also in bonds secured by first mortgage on residence property in and adjacent to Kansas City, in the line of imme- diate development, yielding 8 per cent. guaranteed interest. These bonds participate in one-half the net profits and run five years. Send for pamphlet and monthly circulars, Kansas City Bridge and Terminal Railway Six per cent. Gold Bonds, due 1919, with bonus of stock in the company that will yield an income in 1891. Central Trust Company of New York, Trustees, aa Other choice investments not obtainable elsewhere. WILLIAM H. PARMENTER, GENERAL AGENT, 50 STATE STREET, BOSTON. Nos. 50 & 51 Times Building, New York City. No. 1 Custom House Street, Providence, R. I. FLORIDA STEAM AND HOT WATER HEATERS es Aad a FULLY GUARANTEED. G3HSINSVLS3 NOILVLNdSY Z bin : t 4p : 19 Sizes for Steam. 14 Sizes for Hot Water. 15 Sizes for Soft Coal. POSITIVELY NON-EXPLOSIVE — ECONOMICAL — WILL NOT RUST OUT—WILL LAST A LIFE-TIME— IS SELF-FEEDING — WILL RUN FROM 10 TO 24 HOURS WITHOUT ATTENTION. THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS IN USE RELIABLE AGENTS IN ALL THE LEADING CITIES AND TOWNS IN THE UNITED STATES. SEND FOR NEW CATALOGUE. PIERCE, BUTLER & PIERCE MANUFAC’G CO. SOLE MANUFACTURERS, SYRACUSE, N. Y. Emevie Tracy Y. Parkuursrt. Pacific Coast Literary Bureau. The Pacific Coast Literary Bureau is prepared to fulfill the following services : 1. The reading and criticism of all kinds of manuscript. 2. The revision for the press of short stories, noyels;poems, histories, family records, text-books, monographs, etc., with especial reference to their style and arrangement. . The translation of stories, scientific articles and referen- ces, from the French, German, Spanish, Italian, Danish, Russian, Sanskrit, Greek, and Latin, . The giving of advice regarding the suitable disposition of manuscript. . The composition of original articles by a corps of experi- enced writers. This embraces the writing of poems for special occasions, addresses, memorials, monographs, and short stories. 6, The writing of book reviews. . The furnishing of original illustrations, for magazine arti- cles, in black and white as well as in aquarelle, Pro- cess work, comparing favorably with any done in Boston or New York, can be supplied by the bureau. The making of type-writing copies of manuscript at rea- sonable rates. 9. The careful preparation of legal documents. 10, The reading of proof. 11. The preparation of announcements for real estate firms, mercantile houses, and summer resorts, we i uw s ad All manuscript to be forwarded prepaid, and return postage at letter rates must be enclosed. Terms furnished on application. All communications regarded as strictly confiden- tial. Address PACIFIC COAST LITERARY BUREAU, 1419 Taylor Street, San Francisco, Cal.

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16

THE COSMOPOLITAN.

“The Knack” Is our latest camera. Its name is fortunate. There’s knack in making a first rate camera that can be sold for $15. There’s knack in taking a picture with any kind of a camera, so that, in supplying the camera and the knack at the same time, you ought to make a good picture. To be sure you get the Knack send to the Scovill & Adams Co., 423 Broome Street, N. Y., for descriptive circular.

~ LADY AGENTS—Serd for terms. VAN ORDEN CORSET CO,, 22 Clinton Place, N.Y.

Celebrated Peruin System; no Shading; no Position. Trial Lesson and circulars free. gre PERNIN SHORTHAND INSTITUTE, Detroit, Mich.

a4 a peautital Silk and Satin VRAZT WO ole ‘o cover 500 sq. inches sale ea Mill, Little Ferry, N.J. WORK SHOPS Of Wood and Metal Workers without Steam Power, Equipped with Outfits of BARNES’ PATENT

and greater means for do- to trialin your

GARMENTS GUARANTEED TO FIT AY PERFECT wiTHOUT TRYINGON. jOF REE D> by return mail fait Gone! tive “ circulars of MOODY AIL-

r DRESS C CUSTIne } Any lady of ordinary intelli- = can easily and quickly earn to cut and make any gar-

ment, in any style to any meas- ure for lady or child. ddress o. CINCINNATI, oO. Se MOODY &

PLE! WEIGHT REDUC § I 0 DLS aig STARVATION Dir. Treatise & instruction for 6 stam STOUT: LYNTON,19 Park Place, New Y ork POKANE FALLS <:. Ite eet aly rowing youn cnt paralleled mineral, agricultural frimbe at hy Finest

_water power in the world. Send fo icul ding book “Spokane Falls Illustrated,” toCLOUGH & oa atoae Pinancial Agents, Spokane Falls, Washington. "Bank references given

SAVE MONEY. Before you buy BICYCLE or Jwrith Send to A. W. GUMP & mee Dayton, Ohio, for prices. New Bicycles at reduced -band ones. Difficuli repairing. Bicycles, Gun Yand Type Writers taken in exchange

BEST MADE

| Painlessly and Permanently Cured at home.

‘PERFECTION CUTTER RSON 2:5 ja TREMONT § sper 5 0.830 p Cs ME ss Lone » ab aoe ie teed + % er LAE ~ ll SIAN is ALOGUF- ae l, N [= YOST WRITING MACHINE. The New and Ty Standard. Price, $100. MUIR, HAWLEY & MAYO CO., 343 B’way, N.Y. City. CHANCE FOR ALL be aan ay a Cup of Perfect Tea. ER of 3 unds ot Fie Te either pitty J ht ky Gunpowder, Young Hyson, Mixed, Eng- lish Breakfast, or Sun Sun Chop, sent by mail on receipt of Be particular and state what kind of Tea you want, Greatest inducement ever offered to get orders for —~ < —— Teas, Coffees, and Baking

Powder. For fall partionlare THE GREAT AMERICAN TEA CO P. 0. Box 289. i and 88 Vesey St., New York. "BRADLEY Wa

“Handy * Wagons, Buckboards, Con- The B on = gies Surreys, Spindles. Wheelers, Road » Phuctons, Cabriolets, Two Carta‘e catalogue an nd circular ** How to pote ok d Jrom the manufacturers,”’ FREE BRADLEY & GO, sass CRIPPLES yA, and invalidsfind FAIRY 7ricycles the most ee Best for ladves and girls. B ‘action YCLE: Athletic BICYCLES. : tail, at lowest prices, Address FAY MFG. CO,, Elyria, O. oa a EX. PAID. 1: lb. $.90; 2 lbs.$1.50; 3 Ibs. $2.25; bs. $3.00; § Ibs. $3.75. 1429 F Street, WasuincTon, D. C. OPIUM OR MORPHINE HABIT ; The only hope for the Opium Eater, Discovered and tested in 1868, Book sent free. Address Dr. S. B. COLLINS, Discoverer and Sole Manufacturer, P.O. Drawer 691, Chicago, lll, Formerly La Porte, Ind.

Esrautisneco Cricaco 18670

te R&A RE CURE CO., 380 Race St., (incinnati, 0.

For. cutting all -_ - meat. latest, bestand me bestand mostimproved for family use, simple to i to clean and cannot get out oforder. Brice: within your means, Amer, Mcu. Co., Lehigh Ave., American St., Phila., Pa.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. 17 RELIEVES INSTANTLY. ELY BROTHERS, 56 Warren St., New York. Price 50 cts. ARFIELD TEA’ SICK CONSTIPATION AND HEADACHE or largest and most complete stock in the J.8. —— and Ornamental 7,ees, Shrubs, Tastee s, Roses, Hardy Plants, Grape Vines, Smali Fruits, &c. Tilustrated and descriptive priced Catalogue; also wholesale price list for the trade re: ELLWANGER & BARRY 59th Year. ST 00 A MONTH can be made $15.22 0% “="working for us. Persons pre- rred who A 0 d2: a horse and give their whole time = othe business. Spare moments may be profitably employed also. A few vacancies in towns and cities. B, F. JOHNSON & CO., 100y Main St., Richmond, Va, (Mention “°F as Improve your home with our aereicrive WALL PAPER” a to hundreds of well-pieased cu: in every the U.S. Our pricesrange from excellent sustre papers sete: a roll to elegunt iridescent Es Embosse oldest sac. 80. borders t mato, AL. DIAMENT & C0. 1208 easter oontert Pa. FACIAL BLEMISHES aBACGIC LANTERNSID STEREOPTICONS. KEROSENE Ort OR Lime LIGHT. For Entertainment or eee at home or in large hal DO YOU PHOTOGRAPH? We can make Lantern Slides from your Negatives. Special facilities on the premises for the production cf the very finest Colored Slides, Apparatus, &c. CaraLocurs Free. ConrrespONDENcE SOLICITED. J. B. COLT & CO., 16 Beekman Street, New York. OUTFITS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. TOKOLOG A complete Ladies’ Guide. 150,000 sold. This most pop- ular medical work ?can only be bought of Agents or direct from us. Agents wanted in every part of the country. Prepaid for $2.75. Sample pages free. ALICE B. STOCKHAM & CO, 6! La Salle Street, CHICAGO, The E ish the Wor a A, thet tr — of Hair and Scalp, Eczema, Moles, ‘uous Bair, Birth- ch Frock les, Wrin- pee soine me Skin, ‘acne, 2 Pimples, heads, Barber's Itch, Ron rit. tings, Power Marks, Bleach- ing, recta ken Cheeks Hol- heeka, etc. Ly scalp affections and their yore me sent sealed to an dress on receipt of 10cts. JOHN H. WOODB Y, Dermatologist, 125 W. 42d St., New York City. WOODBURY’S FACIAL SOAP for the Skia_and Scalp, at Druggiste-or-by mail, &O cents, 50° PRINTING AUTEM 33: AT RACK, oe se ian, indelible ink, \weesers, in peat @ase with Directions, full Catalogue and terms. YOU yr Rag, ST EE Te Agents ‘atalogue Free. Address LIGERSOLL & BRO., 45 Fulton St, N. ¥.City LLRICH’S FOUNTAIN PENS are the best made. Hold ink for a week’s use, Price $i.50 and opener: AGENTS WANTED. — free. J.R. OLLRICH & CO 108 Liberty Street, New York. AT®FOLKS® ag ry 7 wing “ Anti-Corpulene le” lose 15 Ibs. @ a ralantanieddtndalienSecdiatn Bh ae, nate iy nila We lte gb diddy Le De. free Catalogue of Books of Amusements, Speake ers, Dialogues, Gymnastics, Calisthenics, Fortune ,» Dream Books, Debates, Letter Writers. DICK & FITZGERALD, 18 Ann St., N. Y- GiM: PATENTS FRANKLIN H. HOUGH, Washington, D. C. No attorney's fee until Patent is obtained. Write for Inventor’s Guide

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oC RE cate eta nereRe eve mse no 18 THE COSMOPOLITAN. _ NED FOR TONE & DURABILITY MODERATE PRICES ZASY TERMS, BICHAMGED. DELIVERED FREE WITHIN 20 MILES OF NEW YORK CITY Catalogue Mailed on Application, 110 Fifth Ave., cor. 16th Street, NEW YORE CITY. BEAUTY. a Wrinkles, Blackheads, Pim- Pittings, Moles and 5) air pompenenty re- moved. Flesh increased or reduced. Complexions beautified. The Form develo ; Hair, Brows and Lashes colo and restored. Interesting oo pealed), Go., withsam le Cre- i owder10c. Mme. Velaro, 414 cw. 47th St., N.Y. City. + STEWART’ 4 -CERAMIC C9: 312 PEARL St CR: PECK SLIP ‘NEW = YORK*+ Ko LABoR To KEEP CLEAN THOUSANDS IN USE OVER 15 YEARS" #° MARKET- vce or Tae LIBRARY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE has been carefully selected by E. C. Stepman and E. M. Hurcutson from the 400,000 volumes copy- righted. Only $3.00 per month, Jess than one cent per volume per day. Send for sample portraits, GL. WEBSTER & CO., 3 East 14th St., N. ¥, | OOK: in the ame "ager od of Tue Co the = a aaa a. POLITAN for the advertisement of the ustrated Catalogue Sent Free, MODENE MFG, CO., Cincinnati, O, SCOT?’ § FLOWERS ROBERT SCOTT & SON, Phil’a, Pa. MASSANETTA WATER FROM ROCKINCHAM COUNTY, VA. Has no equal for the positive cure of all forms of Malarial troubles, and as an adjunct in the treatment of Nervous Prostration and Insomnia ; being a decided nervine. For /nflammation of the Bladder, Scalding Urine, Leucorrhea and Diabetes its action is soothing, prompt and permanent. powerful diuretic and depurent. we handle. EXTRACTS FROM TESTIMONIALS. “*My father, who knewit for two generations, believed in it explicitely ; and the same opinion of it, so far as I know, is entertained by every one who has had an opportunity of know- ing its effect upon the human system.” . L. Lewts, Chief-Justice of Va. “] say that the marvelous proper- ties of the Massanetta Water are well known to me. I am convinced this water is a most remarkable agent in the cure of this and perhaps other forms of disease.”"—F. U. Dup.ey, Bishop of Kentucky. os During my stay on the west coast é of Africa, in perhaps the most malari- 4 ous belt in the world, I had —— of this water shipped to me. Such is my faith in it that | would unhesitat- ingly recommend it to any one suffer. —— malaria in any of its stages.” Curron Penick, formerly Bishop to Cape Palmas, etc. W. Africa, ** My restoration to health has been so remarkable since the summer of 3683, as to elicit many inquiries among friends. I owe it ae the use of Tccmpaten Water.” —Bisnor Lay, of Maryland. It is the most **32 Union Park, Boston, Mass, “Before I received the first case or Massanetta Water I had been suffer- ing from nervous depression and functional derangement of the liver and alimentary canal generally, owing to exposure in a badly drained house. I obtained relief by the use of it ; but this fall I have tested it again by using it during the period within which, for years, I have suffered from Chronic Coryza, or fall cold, which you know is not much different from the Ha Fever. By taking a quart each da have escaped the annual attack this year. I shall not dare to pass another autumn without having it at hand. This entirely unsolicited testimonial is at the service of any of my fellow- sufferers from a very depressing and annoying malady. Yours res; ect fully, Jos. T. Durvea, D. “TI cannot but think the reputation of the Massanetta Water, so widely believed to have the power of elimi- nating the poison of malaria from ~ blood and system, is a truth.” G,. Case.t, M.D., of Health, Richmond. Pres’t Board Main Office, 103 Pennsylvania Ave., Washington, D. C. 44 Park Place, New York. 221 N. Charles Street, Baltimore. 112 N. Ninth Street, Philadelphia. Cor. Clark:and Madison, Chicago. S

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. 19

A Perfect Liquid Dentifrice. DELICIOUSLY FLAVORED. Through its use spongy bleeding gums gfow hard and firm, teeth white and the breath sweet. Deiightfal and conventnry to use. SOLD BY DRUGGISTS. pRRICE 25 CENTS. PREPARED AND GUARANTEED BY E. W. HOYT & GO., LOWELL, MASS. Manufacturers of the celebrated Hoyt’s Cerman Cologne.

BANK & OFFICE FITTINCS Fine Brass Work. Special designs on application. ANDREWS MFG. COMPANY 76 Fifth Ave., N. Y. City. ° A. H. ANDREWS & C0, 195 Wabash Ave., Chicago. DREER’S S22 the favre,” Our liberal ae pf t of a he pa in the = is a room. This has = been well built, * Pea‘rom the plans we furnish, fer time MESicss than $1100. + ‘ Our price for a hit plans, details RADE )

ee and specitications for this design 13 $18.00. We give everything Female Troubles of all kinds yield so quickly that necessary for you to make a clear and satisfactory contract with it is really a pleasure to treat a woman who is so yous builder. Our Atlas of “Sensible Low-Cost Houses,” is | broken up as to be a bugbear to the Medical Pro- a portfolio 11 x 14 inches, containing fine illustrations and full des- | fession. By a moderate use of the Poise, Dyspeptics criptions of this house and 54 others, ranging in price from §800 to | find some pleasure in life, and a permanent cure $7200, Initare given prices for plans, a me and details | soon follows. Constipation in its worst forms is from which they can be built. We guarantee all of our houses | quickly cured. Insomnia vanishes. Rheumatism, -< be buts at enn ae pen oy” or we amo the money | acute and chronic, is one of our strongest points. us e plans e give complete as to changes either in yt THE y ~etaghaiate es D price of this Atlas is $1.00 by mail. Address RATS ToonG L 1425 New York Ave., ashington, D. C. ARCHITECT®S’ UNION, 927 Chestnut St. Phila, Agencies in the sitet cities. VV Vay

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20 THE COSMOPOLITAN. Fore > and Four. To be fore-handed is almost as good as to be four-handed. To-own a Reming- ton Standard Type- ® writer is to be prac- = 4 tically both. This = - first and foremost writing machine is indeed chief among busi- ness facilities, and may be made helpful, not only to do correspondence but as a salesman, and, it fact, as a general utility man. 5640 MINUTES GOING TO California VIA THE es 6.00 P.M|Sun |Mon |Tues|Wed |Thur|Fri_ |Sat_ Ar. Kansas City..| 9.00 A.M|Mon |Tues|Wed|Thur|Fri |Sat [Sun Ar. Hutchinson .| 7.30 P.M|Mon |Tues|Wed/Thur|Fri [Sat [Sun Ar, Trinidad... ./11.18 A.M/Tues/Wed |Thur|Fri |Sat [Sun |Mon Ar. Las Vegas...| 6.05 P.M|Tues|Wed |Thar|Fri [Sat |Sun |Mon Ar. Albuquerque|12.30 A.M|Wed|Thur|Fri |Sat {Sun |Mon {Tues Ar. Barstow.....|10.465A.M/|Thur|Fri |Sat /Sun |Mon Tues|Wed Ar. Los Angeles. 4.00 P.M/'Thur|Fri [Sat |Sun |Mon |Tues|Wed Ar. San Diego...| 8.00 P.M)Thur/Fri_'Sat_!Sun_|Mon |TuesiWed You get the only dine of through cars without change, Chicago to Los Angeles, —AND— You save 27 Hours Time. Office, 212 Clark Street, CHICAGO. GEO. T. NICHOLSON, Gen’! Pass’r and Ticket Agent. JNO. J. BYRNE, Ass’t Gen’! Passenger Agent.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. A MODEL RAILWAY. The Burlington Route, C., B. & Q. R. R., oper- ates 7000 miles of road with termini in Chicago, St. Paul, Omaha, Kansas City, and For speed, safety, comfort, equipment, The St. Louis, Denver. track, and efficient service it has no equal. Burlington gains new patrons, but loses none. MAP OF THE UNITED STATES A large, handsome Map of the United States, mounted and varnished, suitable for office or home use, and issued by the BURLINGTON ROUTE, will be furnished responsible parties free on appli- | cation to the undersigned. P. S. EUSTIS, Gen’! Pass. & Ticket Agent C. B. & Q. R. R., CHICAGO, ILL. When you write mention **Cosmopolitan Magazine.” For nearly half a century, Lowell Carpets have been acknowledged by all to be trade-mark. The The word **LOWELL” AP- stick is in two solid pieces, w'th the name of the LOWELL PEARS IN CAPI- COMPANY The LOWELL INGRAINS are wound upon a hol- low stick, which the United States Court decided to be a valid TAL LETTERS in the back of Lowell, Wilton, and Body Brussels at every repeat of the pattern. LOOK CAREFULLY to the trade-marks, and be sure you get the genuine stamped within. LOWELL BEWARE OF CARPETS. IMITATIONS. These goods are invariably full width, and may be had in a large variety of designs, which for technique and coloring are unequaled, renflering them especially appropriate for artistic homes, For Sale by all First-class Dealers. CARPETS OUTE CHICAGO, LAFAYETTE, LOUISVILLE, {[NDIANAPOLIS, CINCINNATI, AND All points South. CHOICE OF Four Elegant Trains EACH WAY DAILY. ———————————— Pullman’s Perfected Safety Ves- tibule Coaches and Sleepers. [=> The celebrated French Lick and West Baden Springs are situated on this line, reached by through day trains from INDIANAPOLIS, LOUISVILLE, and CHICAGO. W. F. BLACK, General Manager. JAMES BARKER, Gen’l Pass. Agent. W. H. McDOEL, Traffic Manager. GENERAL OFFICES, CHICAGO.

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. re GES? ies SF UNSURPASSED uaz uni ANO lanadses.” FACTORY AND Xo 35,37 and 39 WAREROOMS DIVISION ST. ADJACENT TO BROAD STI STATION, D.L&WRAILROAD, 30 MINUTES FROM NEW YORK CITY. E manufacture Carriages of the highest grade, and sell them from the warerooms, connected with our works, direct to the user, at moderate prices. These prices are not increased by inter- mediate profits and expenses, but are based only upon a single minimum profit on the cost of the best skill, materials and finish. Accurate drawings, with description and prices, will be sent on inquiry, Orders are solicited for the best class of Vehicles, suitable for City and Country, Park or Road. Special requirements will receive prompt attention.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT.

Agencies at which the Equipoise Waist may be found at Retail. The Agents named in the following list are supposed to carry a stock of the different | styles and sizes, and purchasers who patronize them will be as well served as if they ordered direct from the ‘factory. Should they not have what you want insist upon their send- ing for it. Massachusetts. a F. Hovey & Co. R. H. Stearns & Co. Jordan, Marsh & Co. ° Joh hn G. Ford. Isaac D. Allen & Co. Ryn & Co. Edgar Reynolds. R. A. McWhirr & Nichols & Frost, ° . Fred Allen. _ LY a . Ferguson an. ° - DoraF. le Mrs, ¥ C. Gould. . N. L. Wheeler. Mt _ Belle Niles. W. Chace, : Mrs. x °?. Johnson | Boston “ Brockton . | Fall River . | Fitchburg . Gloucester . | Haverhill . | Holyoke Lawrence Lynn . Lowell . Monson New Bedford : Mrs ‘tee port Northampton —_ = pringfield . ° Springfield. ° Westboro Worcester . Michigan, Battle Creek B. Salisbury & Co. Detroit Newcomb, Endicott & Co.) Jackson . W.M. Bennett & Son, New Hampshire. Concord . J. Hazleton & Son. Dover . A. E. Pollock & Murphy. Rockford D. J. Stewart. Springfield 'R. F. Herndon Co. Pennsylvania. ° s & Buhl. Allegheny . P Allentown . H. W. Hunsicker. Altoona. Wm. F. Gable & Co. Beaver - ag - « + John Paff. Braddock . « J. H. McCune. Ghicags | Decat Jacksonviti j=

represe © ction which can be returned if not satisfactory. 2 | Greenville .

Hotchkiss. | , Bradford Butler . ° Connellsville | Co! os: Rt. F. Livermore. | ' | | ! Mrs. R. T. L. 8 5," A. Forman. J. T. Campbell. 'N E. gine Johen. Erie Franklin Harrisburg . | Johnstowh Lock Haven | McKeesport Meadville . G. D. Trawin. Caroline E. Smith, M. D: | Parkesbu | Philadelph Mrs. A. A. Smith, 1029 Walnut St. | Pittsburg. . oles . Horne & Co. | Scranton . . C.F, ‘Walter & $e] | rs. J.F. = Washington Wm. Smith & Son. Wilkes Barre .. Jonas Long. | Missouri. G. Y. fay & Co. rs. J. DLN 1103 1 ain St. | Sedalia Hye & Guenther. Springfeld . Chas. H. Heer, D. G. Co. St. Joseph St. Louis Kansas or. sownaeea. Wy att % Tongs. . . Co, uaa Donald bros. Emporia Strauss & Getiestager. Leavenworth uns Bros. Topeka . Stevenson & "Peckham. Wichita . Chapman & Walker. Miscellaneous. Atlanta, Ga. Mrs. H. A. pictailen. ow. Elis’ St. Baltimore, Md. . . % Pohl & Co. Biack River Falls, Wis. Jones Lumber & Mercantile Co. Burlington, Vt. . Lyman & Allen. Chattanooga, Tenn. a D. oF Loveman & Co. ‘olorado Springs, Col rs. A. B. Belding. Denver, Col. Mrs. W. Lazell, Eau Claire, Wis. Theo. Hoffman. Helena, Mont. F. H. Fowles. snceenepees. Ind. LS. Ayres & Co. Jackson, “Lusk, Buckley & Boyd. Lincoln, Neb. Ashby &M om. Los Angeles, _ - _B. F. Cou Louisville, Ky. Madison, Wis. . Memphis, Tenn Bella Lev Milwaukee, Wis. 4 A. Chapman & Co. Minneapolis, Min Minneapolis dw Goods Co. Maynard. Mont Clair, N. J. L. ¥ Gleason & Co. 1, Rosenheim, Bre. & Co. Heath & Drake. He Ober & Co. . P. Morse & Co. Mrs. A. K. Knox. Passaic, N. J. Wm. Abbott. | Pawtucket, R. I. David Harley & Co. Portland, Oregon P. E. Brigham. | Prov idence, I. B. H. Giaating ¢ Co. | | Rutland, Vt. ©. E. Ros San Francisco, Cal. Mrs. M. H, Obe } %32 Sutter St. | St. Jolunsbury, Vt. J. Sanborn. | St. Paul, Minn. Field. Mahler & Co. Leeman D.C. Annie K. Homphrey. lth Bt.) Wheeling, W. Va. nook & Co. Woonsocket, R. I. Vastets & MeCarthy. | Yankton, 8. D. . Martha C Atchison

k, N. % Oakland, Cal. Mrs. M. Omaha, Neb. ° Pasadena, Cal. nted in the above list get your dealer to send for a 607 16th St. |

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24 THE COSMOPOLITAN. Mme, ROWLEY'S TOILET MASK FACE GiLOV E.. The following are the claims made for Madame Rowley’s Toilet Mask, and the grounds on which it is recommended to ladies for Beautifying, Bleaching, and Preserving the Complexion. Ast, The Mask is soft and pliable, and can be Easily Applied and and Worn without Discomfort or Inconvenience, 2d. It is durable, and does not dissolve or come asunder, but holds its original shape. 3d, \t has been analyzed by emi- nent scientists and chemical ex- perts and pronounced Perfectly Pure and Harmless. 4th. With ordinary care the Mask will last for Years, and its valu- able a Never Become Impaired. Sth. The Mask is protected by letters-patent, has been intro- duced ten years, and is the only Genuine article of the kind. Gth. It is recommended by Emi- nent Physicians and Scientific Men as a substitute for injurious cosmetics. 7th, The Mask is as unlike the Fraudulent appliances used for conveying cosmetics, etc., to the face, as day is to might, and it bears no analogy to them. Sth. The Mask may be worn with perfect privacy if desired. The closest scrutiny cannot de- tect that it has been used, The- Toilet Mask or Face Giove in position to the face. To be worn three times in the week. 9th. It isa Natural Beautifier for Bleaching and Preserving the Skin rm | Removing Complex- ional Imperfections. 10th. The Mask is sold at a mod- erate price, and one purchase ends the expense. 11th. Hundreds of dollars use- lessly expended for cosmetics, lo- tions and like preparations, may be saved by those who possess it, 12th. Ladies in every section of the country are using the Mask with gratifying results, 13th, It is safe, simple, cleanly and effective for beautifying pur- poses, and never injures the most delicate skin. 14th. While it is intended that the Mask should be Worn During Sleep, it may be applied with equally good results at Any Time to suit the convenience of the wearer. 15th, The Mask has received the testimony of well-known society and professional ladies, who pro- claim it to be the greatest discov- ery for beaut fying purposes ever offered to womankind. A FEW SPECIMEN EXTRACTS FROM TESTIMONIAL LETTERS. **T am so rejoiced at having found at last an article that will indeed improve the complexion,” **Every lady who desires a faultless complexion should be provided with the Mask.” ** My face is as soft and smooth as an infant's.” ‘*I am perfectly delighted with it.” “As a medium for removing discolorations, softening and beautifying the skin, I consider it unequalled.” “I find that it removes freckles, tan, sunburn, and gives the complexion a soft, smooth surface.” ‘I have worn the mask but two weeks, and am amazed at the change it has made in my appearance.” ““The Mask certainly acts upon the skin with a mild and beneficial result, making it smoother and clearer, and seeming to remove pimples, irritation, etc., with each application,” “For softening and beautifying the skin, there is nothing to compare with it.” “Your invention cannot fail to supersede everything that is “It is, indeed, a perfect success—an inestimable treasure.” | used for beautifying purposes.” COMPLEXION BLEMISHES may be hidden imperfectly by cosmetics and powders, but can only be removed permanently by the Toilet Mask. By its use every kind of spots, impurities, roughness, etc., vanish from the skin, leaving it soft clear, brilliant and beautiful. It is harmless, costs little and saves its user money. It prevents an’ REMOVES . WRINKLES, and is both a complexion preserver and_beautifier. Famous society ladies, actresses, belles, etc, use it. VALUABLE ILLUSTRATED PAMPHLET, with proofs and full particulars, mailed free by THE TOILET MASK COMPANY, 1164 Broadway, New York. ay Apply now, naming ‘The Cosmopolitan,’’? as you may not see this advertisement again.

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. The Penne | in Gray TRADE MARK PS y ~ ove of er ance tong the potent changing of er Gray Hair (if false) to a dirty, disagreeable, yellow color. 7X RS. A. F L. BTC H E R, If she is wise, she will accept of the offer of Mme. THompson, 19 W. Forty-second Strect, New York. and buy where it can be ——— ed without charge, if it should UNION SUITS (V change color. Only one house has so far made the offer, and U (Vests and Drawers i ~ sre). in in am. Silk that one, the “a ’ and Wool, Jaeger Wool, Balk Equipoise Waists and Hea we ists Mall kinds Skirt M M Supporters, Stocking Supporters. gy nds, Skirt rs. G THO PSON, sent free, Catalogue Free. 224 FIFTH AVENUE, ESTERBROOK’S PENS. Sie ESTERBROOK STEEL PEN 00. 26 John Street, New Yak MIMBHOGHRHAPH. Patented by Tuos, A, Epison. A simple, practical, and economical manifolding device for every- day use. It makes 3000 copies of one original Writing, Drawing, Music etc. 1500 copies of one original Typewriter Letter. Recommended by over 40,000 users. Send for circular and sample of work. A. B. DICK COMPANY, 152-154 Lake St., CHICAGO. 82 Liberty St.. NEW YORK, DREER’S se:.aats BULBS & BS & REQUISITES. Gur liberal treatment of all fe pat past is ‘Slee vyhan ty ol for } —~ RK. We — tional an bl. Te ae ino S the ple a ape | as — = DREER'S ERS GARDEN N CALENDAR Ae Sasi HeApy., Fabia taee and should be a garden, Mailed on receipt of py HENRY f ‘A DREER, 74 "Chestnut St., Philadelphia,

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THE COSMOPOLITAN.

J. J. Little & Co. sacsie? erat Stonegate wigs 1%, We corlify Tok we) hard hy tinanil aud wll mr st tind 75.000 Com op oblam ! Mo OrFe4ter 1890 work he Cr Fly PTR pea Com $y £ hited. | <Finy Tew) 18§Go - So O00 ws ees (89 ob Bl ao r fon IEG | Jo 000

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ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT. 27 YOUR CEILING IS CRACKED AND BROKEN, Look at something neat, durable and practical. Marmaors arlap Stare eet leon Hoorn ld WA RIA IRON S101. dy - W SHEETS LS, CORRUGATED & CRIMPED (RO, SIDING 3 | ANO BUILDING MATERIALS. “44 Paneled Iron Ceilings for Churches, Halls and Stores. Embossed Steel Ceilings for Offices and Residences. Either can be put on over old broken Plaster Ceilingr SEND FOR OUR NEW ILLUSTRATED CIRCULAR. CORPULENCY, Moa Hl Dei aed ee eee eek OVER TEN MILLION PAIRS SOLD. li y & use of one of car cone i q | THE WARREN FASTENER has a = TA. mbiical Trusese by w aie ROUNDED RIB around the t which holds proving the form and affordi ing i a ‘and safety. the stocking, and WILL NOT TEAR the finest Our Abdominal Belts, made to lace at the back or to hose, buckioat the sides— are rapidly ccming into eral use by both uit hab Sappen of full ha - 1 ~ Ay - Ld pe- culiar to the XK; WARREN HOSE SUPPORTERS ARE FOR SALE EVERYWHERE. Askforthem at the stores and BE SURE YOU GET THE WAR- . ‘or — oe be seontibed AY the FAST- THIRTY, | hich has a ROUNDED RIB on the we have made the Mechanical Treatment of an ~ f wedges, ont is peta is with the word RUPTUR ceeoriahters Sales mt bo appear to have rounded hold- ing edges, as the process by which they are a Specialty. During thet time time we have, in person and SEELEY’S HARD RUBBER TRUSSES GF over 100,000 cases, without a bee m= Our extensive experience gives us a knowledge of w! is best suited to each case, and enables us ay he + to furnish and rT an appliance ae will cure if cur. able or permit the person suffering from Rupture of Yootever kind — | — to perform his or her du. ties in comfort and safet; 25 Vears’ Retereness! Profs. D, Hayes Agnew, 8, D, Gross, John H. Brinton, W.W. Keene, Dr, Thomas @. Morton, “and Surgeon-Gen- tied States Army and Navy. rnia a see i | Saptare, yas lency an te all jar styles of porters, Elaat fae o Stockings, — er rR etc., ti ‘2 self ment, mailed on sc. with re I. B. SEELEY & CO, 2° Seyi Stoventn.ae made leaves almost a knife edge on the inner or we surface, and they will cut the stocki The Warren is made in a oe variety of styles for Ladies, Misses and Children, in SILK and COTTON WEBS. Illustrated Catalogue of HOSE SUPPORT- ERS and CORSET SUBSTITUTES mailed free to any address by the manufacturers, GEO. FROST & CO.,31 Bedford St., Boston, Mass. SMITH & ANGELL’S ~ Sh mm BLACK HOSIERY. mins E POSITIVE CURE. ¥ BROTHERS, 66 Warren 8t.. New York. Price 50 ct

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. Dr. SCOTT’S ELECTRIC CORSETS#°WAISTS HEALTH! ELEGANCE! DURABILITY! Little need be said regarding the merits and theraupeutic qualities of these goods. They have established for themselves world-wide reputation and remain unexcelled for their elegance of fit, health giving and supporting qualities, and durability of material. If once tried they are always used. Each Corset and Waist is fitted with Dr. Scott’s New Supporting Back, which is a comfort to the robust as wellastheinvalid. Patent Lock Clasps and neatly trimmed. DRESS FORM COR- SET, $1.50. CORSET WAISTS, HIGH HIP CORSET, $1.25. ~~ SOP RC st POST-PAID ON TRIAL, This High Hip Corset is made or fine Alexandria Cloth, in Dove and White, from 18 to 30 inches, It is very shapely and durable, and has Dr. Scott’s Patent Supporting Back. $1.50. iB This Corset Waist excels all other waists in fit and material. They are made of extra fine Sateen, in White and Dove, 18 to 30 inches, and have the Dr. Scott Patent Back and Adjust- able Buttons at front and sides. POST-PAID ON TRIAL. Of all Dress Form Corsets this is the most popular. It is made of extra fine Alexandria Cloth, in Dove and White, 18 to 30 inches, and has detachable Shoulder Straps and Dr. Scott’s Patent Supporting Back. We also have Dr. Scott’s Summer Corsets, at $1.50; Nursing Corsets, at $1.50; a Beautiful Fast Black (stitched with old gold) Corset, at $2.00; and an elegant imported French Coutil P. D, Shape Corset, at $3.00. Also Dr. Scott's Belts and Abdominal Supporters for Ladies, and Corset Waists and Braces for Children. A Copy of our Book, ‘‘ The Doctor's Story," free to any address. Either Corset or Waist will be mailed post-paid to any address on receipt of price, with 15c. added for postage. All remittances to be made payable to GEO. A. SCOTT, 842 Broadway, New York. The Dry Goods Trade Supplied by the Rheubottom & Teall Mfg. Co., Weedsport, N. Y. Mention Tue Cosmopo.iran,

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magnets erecmilimanee- . p ‘ ” : ’ i j s \ ’ ORE: 2 ie * be ow ° re 2 , * x . ‘ i e 5 . P , ‘ ‘ . - acc. . " ry i ; : 3 oat aes se ot = decker " a ’ 4 west E “ ng 4 . - ef : ’ . . é ’ - - ; . 2 : . id \ . , ef : : x \ cw 1 s ~ ‘ . ’ \ ; . , ’ : & . ¢ ’ : ‘ “ o- . :

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140 to 146 BROADWAY, N. Y. CITY. over $1,231,752.50 INSURANCE. FIDELITY.—Bonds of Suretyship for persons in Positions of trust. CASUALTY.—Personal Accident, Plate Glass, |} Boiler, Employer’s and Landlord’s Liability. OFFICERS. WM. M. RICHARDS, GEO. F. SEWARD, ROB’T J. HILLAS, EDW'D L. SHAW,» President, Vice-President, tary: Ase’t Secretary, DIRECTORS. Gro. S. Coz, Pres’t American Exch, National Bank, Joun L, Rixgr, - - of J, L, & D. S. Riker J. S. T. Srrananaw, - ~~ Pres’t Atlantic Dock Co, Wu. H. Matz, - - - Pres’t Atlantic Trust Co, Avex, E..Orr, - . - = of David Dows & Co, J. G. McCu..oucn, - N. Y., L. E. & W. Ry. Co. G. G. Witsams, - - _ Pres’t Chemical Nat'l Bank. Wm. G: Low, eo *s- e Counsellor at Law. . A. B. Hur, “ : . - - Retired Merchant. J. Rocers Maxwei, - ‘ Pres’t ©. RR. of N, J. H. A. Hurtevt, - - *- - Comm, of Emigration. Wm. M. Ricnarps, - o> =e eae President, J. D. Vermicyz, - Pres't Merchants’ National Bank. Geo, F. Szwarp, - - . - -» Vice-President, Stains and streaky paint remind us Summer’s past, and comes the time When house-cleaning cares should bind us We above them rise sublime ! For Safolio can banish In a twinkling, stains from sight ; And our neighbor sees them vanish, Feels her again grow light. What one woman does, another With Sapolio can do! Saving strength, then, wife and mother Keep its magic aid in vi cwWe APOLIO has no equal for all clean- ' ing purposes (except in the laun- dry): It will clean paint, make oilcloths bright and give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. You can scour the knives with it and make the tins shine brightly,. The wash basin, the bath tub, even the greasy kitchen sink will be as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. ante, > ea ees Gane Beware of [mitations. ‘! ee Brie. > We oe ar: i tame

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ee lta ne ieee 827 and 829 Broadway, New York. wnt the } ite Rub. TF e ee pl ingers sent at Wholesale Hard- Dr. Warner’s Camel’s Hair and Natu- ral Wool Health Underwear is supe-| rior to silk or any other material. It is soft and comfortable, free from dyes or other impurities, and @ protec- tion against Colds, Rheumatism and Neuralgia. * het Gr ice, from factory. ware Dealers sell it. AGENTS WANTED, Does Clothes, Solid ber Roles, Warranted. Sam: Wri Pri Note ous Trade Mark closely ! BEW.: OF IMITATIONS! Cail and examime the DR. JAEGER SANATORY ee a, ant - it is war- W vik «et, UNDERWEAR: These positively wool goods are sold by the Pee ery Leds tem their authorized agent- only. Catalogue Garments made to oan, a pap ei AS Send for Spr noes Pg Pie te wc and illustrated) It is made in thirty-seven different styles for Men, Women and Children, Catalogue with samples of material sent by mail on application. Mail orders promptly attended to. Dr. Janger’s Sanitary Woolen System Co., $27 and 829 Broadway, New York. GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878. my W,Baxun & Co.'s 7 etn | Is Absolutely Pure and it is Soluble. No Chemicals A are used in its prepar- ation. It has more S strength of Cocoa mixed with Starch, agar, and is therefore far coon Un aiiek tiior Ane than tee dul at Se cup. It is delicious, nourishing, strengthen- ing, EASILY DIGESTED, and admirably adapted for — as sy colin desopameee. in health. es eal aise, Oe a eT ae ae Prom of J. Fi a Pa WARNER BROTHERS, 359 Broapway, N, ¥

eel) Alse Daisy and Volunteer Wringers, Sons, Cheese Dryers, Etc. ¥ 4 > bs : . ae Sa a3 $ a 1 5 s 5 = 3 ranted against defects, requires fo oil, and ™ wever rusts. It is the only PURCHASE GEAR WRINGER made. \ Lt is constructed in this way te save labor, az 3 re z 6 A = fl = Z i > = a ios Bai ¥ Py Mtg < eran sat a CLOSED, Large profits made. i OF rue COD LIVER OIL AND PHOSPHITES os Soda, © Capacity and folds up out of is readily. Space @ccupie by the erecta BAR, temas ee which has

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