Godey's Magazine 1895-07: Vol 131 Iss 781

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LEN ew 2 A winnie ie wenn A YEAR ~-— AZEN Ey idl BARN eel Vy re = re, fet ee 4 x ~~ THE GODEY COMPANY, 52 LAFAYETTE PLACE, NEW YORK

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| b | . oo “The Old Shaver.” 12 montHs | LJ XU RY ror 12 PENCE {a shilling shaving stick lasts a year.) me ars’ Shaving Stick wasinvented over one hundred years ago, and isso much superior to all othershaving soaps incomparable Prior Soaps as substitutes for this great English Shaving Stick, and caution is necessary to ob- Ask for PE ARS’ and take no other. Price, 25 certs.

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GODEYS MAGAZINE CONTENTS JULY, 1805 Edited by Harry Wakefield Bates Frontispiece—Bacchante P : ‘ d ‘ The statue by F. MacMonnies. Artists in their Studios—/V. . ‘ W. A. Cooper The fifth paper in this series, treating of ‘Thosas Waterman Wood, President of the National Academy. Ii\lustrations from photographs by the author. Parting—A Poem . P ; ‘ . Frank Chaffee . An American Drama ‘ , . Beaumont Fletcher Frank Mayo’s adaptation of Mark Twain’ s * Pudd’n- head Wilson.” Illustrated. One Morn—A Poem C. F. Lester Drawing by the author. The Battle of Gettysburg , ‘ ; The story of a July engagement thirty-two years ago. Illustrated. July—A Poem G. W. Hood . . Illustrated by the author. Smith College . ; ‘ Winifred Ayres Some particulars about this women’s college which are not to be found in the catalogue. Illustrated. A Rajput of Rajputana—/., //. ‘ . Henry Willard French A story founded on writings of Rajputanic bards. Pictures by M. de Lipman. Greatness—A Poem 4 ‘ William Francis Barnard Jorkyns. . °. Fames Clarence Harvey About a pack of cards that were all seni. Pictures by H. M. Walcott. Early Morning in Summer—A Poem William Hf. Worrall . With head-piece by the author. Desire : , ; . May Kelsey Champion A story of Puritan Snes in Cuduenticat. Pictures by H. M. Walcott. A Pair of Boots . Walter Beverley Crane 58 A Farce in three scenes. The Stars and Stripes. , ‘ . Francis Churchill Williams 62 The history of Old Glory, with pictures of Betsy Ross and her house and Weisgerber’s painting, ‘“‘ The Birth of our Nation’s Flag.”’ A Eulogy of Dancing and Dancers Rupert Hughes . ; 67 With pictures of two famous English dancers. The National Sculpture Society , : : 71 The recent exhibition in New York. With pictures of some of the statues. Music in America: III.—E. A. MacDowell Rupert Hughes . , 80 An American who is considered the greatest living com- poser. With portrait of Mr. MacDowell and two pages of his music. The Legend of the Jasmine Flower Fohn Henry Dick 88 A Children’s Story. Illustrated. Book Reviews ‘ Matbelle Fustice ; 96 Godey’s Fashions. : . ; ‘ 98 Copyright, 1895, by The Godey Company. (A// rights reserved.) Entered at New York Post Office as second-class matter. TERMS: $1.00 a year in advance; roc.a number. For sale by all newsdealers in the United States and Canada on the 23d of the month preceding date of publication. Subscribers may remit to us in P.O. or express money orders, or in bank checks, drafts, or registered letters. Money by mail is at the sender’s risk. THE GopEy ComMPANY, 52 Lafayette Place, New York City. See special premium offers on front advertising pages of this issue.

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Premium Offers. MRS. JOHN G. CARLISLE’S KENTUCKY COOK BOOK. Being a collection of recipes never before published. Collected by The work is dedicated to the women of Kentucky. It con- . JOHN G. CARLISLE, tains about 500 valuable cooking recipes. Printed on _ WALTER Q. GRESHAM, the finest enamel paper, bound in white vellum stamped in gold, with beautiful chrysanthemum design, edition . RAL CROOK, a GENERAL CROOK de luxe, sold only by subscription at $2.50. . W. A. DUDLEY, ; Having contracted with the publisher for a large edi- - GROVER CLEVELAND, tion, The Godey Company offers the complete and others. work, including a six months’ trial subscription to GODEY’S MAGAZINE, for $1.00. The book and the magazine will be mailed, post-paid, to any address in the United States. Canada, or Mexico, without extra charge. FATHER STAFFORD. By ANTHONY HOPE, author of “The Prisoner of Zenda.” A Novel. Published in uniform edition with “The Prisoner of Zenda.” Contains 221 pages, bound in buckram, gilt top. This work is duly copyrighted, and is destined to have a very large sale. One of the most important novels of the year was written by this author, and it may truly be said that he has achieved a greater success within the past year than any author of the day. The Godey Company offers this book, together with GODEY’S MAGAZINE for six months, mailed, post-paid, to any address for $1.00. THE KING IN YELLOW. By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS, author of “In the Quarter.” This work is uniform in size and style of binding with “Father Stafford.” Critics who have seen the advance proofs of this work pronounce it intensely interesting. It contains over 300 pages. The author’s recent work, “In the Quarter,” brought forth reviews from five hundred American newspapers. His sketches and drawings of the past year have attracted the attention of the best artists of America, London, and Paris. The Godey Company offers this book, together with GoDEY’S MAGAZINE for six months, mailed, post-paid, to any address for $1,00. We guarantee safe delivery and perfect satisfaction of each of the above works. Present subscribers desiring the three books may secure them by mail, post-paid, by sending $2.25 for the three books and GopEy’s MAGAZINE for six months. The books and magazine may be sent to various addresses on request. Money should be sent by post-office money order, express order, draft, or registered letter, made ayable to mwe’* HE GODEY COMPANY, 52 Lafayette Place, New York. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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The Index to Volume CXXX OF GODEYS MAGAZINE. January to June, 1895, will be issued soon, and will be furnished to subscribers upon application. THE GODEY COMPANY, 52 Lafayette Place, New York. WE GUESSED AT IT. Didn’t know that you wanted any of the latest and best songs published, but we will give you the names of a few, just the same. If you do want any of them they will be mailed on receipt of price, or you can ask your music dealer for them. If he is Up-To-DATE he will have them. DAY AFTER DAY P ; } ; ‘ P ; St. George 50 Sung in ‘‘ The Old Homestead” by the great.tenor, R. J. Jose. Written for Tenor or Baritone. THEY’RE FAITHFUL AND TRUE IN KILLARNEY ; F ‘ Mills 40 A beautiful Irish Ballad. THE DEAR OLD FRIENDS AT HOPE : " ; ‘ ; White A fine home song, with chorus. PLEDGE OF THE ROSE : : ; Fox Dedicated to and sung by DELLA Fox. JUS’ A-LISTEN ; Davison The best and most melodious plantation song of the season. GOOD-NIGHT, PAPA . ; ; Fitegibbon Sung by Raymon Moore, Julie Mackey, and Dora Wiley; also many other singers. Descriptive circulars, catalogues, etc., sent free. WHITE-SMITH MUSIC PUBLISHING CO., BOSTON : NEW YORK: CHICAGO: 62 & 64 Stanhope Street. 6 East 17th Street. 5 & 6 Washington Street. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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$4Es4G26 he } Cee ee eee Mena | ji\\' See opposite page. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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| Special Premium Offer N 0.2 HE cut on the opposite page represents one of the best parlor organs made by the Mason & Hamlin Company. Price, $145. One of these organs is offered as a premium to any one sending to THE GODEY COMPANY, 52 Lafayette Place, New York City, before July 1, 1895, two hundred subscriptions to GODEY’S MAGAZINE, at one dollar each. DESCRIPTION. This organ is finished in walnut or oak (walnut will be sent unless oak is expressly ordered). It has paneled front and ends, lamp stands, book rack, two French plate mirrors, etc. Its length is 4 feet 6 inches; depth, 2 feet; height, with top, 6 feet; and weighs 205 pounds (boxed, ready for shipment, 263 pounds). The organ has five octaves, F scale, nine stops (including full organ knee stop), four sets of reeds of two and a half octaves each. For any further particulars regarding this offer, address THE GODEY COMPANY, 52 Lafayette Place, NEW YORK. ANNOUNCEMENT. — The successful competitor for Premium Offer No. 1, a Victor bicycle, 1895 model, which was Offered for the greatest number of subscriptions to Gopey’s Macazine sent in before June 1st, was Mr. Roy Taylor, 317 East 72d Street, New York City. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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New York ana New England Railroad. 4 THE 1895 EDITION OF OUR SUMMER EXCURSION BOOK Mountains, Lakes, and Sea=Shore, With handsomely designed cover, containing one hundred pages of interesting reading matter, fine half-tone cuts, attractive summer tours, list of summer hotels, and boarding places in the States of Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New York, with other valuable information, will be ready for distribution May 15th. Don't fail to send four cents in stamps for copy of this book to__—-————_///lli,. W. R. BABCOCK, Gen. Pass. Agent, 180 SUMMER STREET, BOSTON. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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Summer Homes and Tours. — illustrated book— list of over 3,000 summer hotels and boarding houses in Catskill Mountains and central New York. Send six cents in stamps to General Eastern Passenger Agent, West Shore R.R., H. B. JAGOE, 363 Broadway, New York, or free upon application. For Your Information. TROY BOATS. POPULAR HupsoN RIVER ROUTE TO SARATOGA, LAKE GEORGE, ADIRONDACKS, And all resorts North and East on Delaware & Hudson, or Fitchburg Railways. Steamers CITY OF TROY or SARATOGA leave foot West 1oth Street, daily except Saturday, 6 P.M., connecting with morning express trains for North and East. These STEAMERS are first-class in every particular, and have unsurpassed accommodation for passengers. SUNDAY STEAMERS TOUCH AT ALBANY. Excursion eke SARATOGA, $4.50. Excursion Tickets LAKE GEORGE ' $7.30. Also to many other points at LOW RATES, and are good during the season issued. State-rooms may be Secured in Advance, Providence Line (Sammer Season, 1895, opens June 3d.) The Route between New York, Boston, Providence, Worcester, °"7 New England. First-class Music. *m1001-8 unig “yooqd urey Shortest rail ride to Boston. Steamers CONNECTICUT and MASSACHUSETTS leave New Pier 36, North River, near foot of Canal Street, daily, except Sunday, at 5.30 P.M. The Providence Line is the only Sound Line out of New York which, in addition to regular Dining Service, possesses a main deck Café, where passengers may, while listening toa fine orchestra, enjoy the delicacies of a first-class club or restaurant. Send 2 cent stamp to W. De W. Dimock, A.G.P.A., New Pier 36, North River, for ‘‘ SUMMER TOURS,”’ a complete book, giving routes and rates to all points in above territory. J. W. MILLER, W. DE W. DIMOCK, 0. H. BRIGGS, PRESIDENT. Asst. G. P. A. G: P: A, FITCHBURG RAILROAD. SUPERB EQUIPMENT, EXCELLENT TRAIN SERVICE, FAST TIME, and’ COURTEOUS EMPLOYEES MAKE THE HOOSAC TUNNEL ROUTE THE FAVORITE LINE from Boston to Troy, Albany, Saratoga, Lake George, Adirondack and Catskill Mountains, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, Niagara Falls, Hamilton, Toronto, Cleveland, Detroit, Cincinnati, Chicago, St. Louis, and all points West, South-west, and North-west. FAST EXPRESS TRAINS With elegant PALACE PARLOR and SLEEPING CARS to and from BOSTON and CHICAGO, anp BOSTON and ST. LOUIS, via NIAGARA FALLS, without change. THF. POPULAR ROUTE for all points in Northern New York, Vermont, and Canada. THE ONLY LINE running through cars, without change, from Boston to Rutland, Brandon, Middlebury, Vergennes, and Burlington, Vt. THE PICTURESQUE ROUTE from Boston to St. Albans, St. Johns, Ogdensburg, Ottawa, Montreal, and Quebec. ELEGANT PALACE SLEEPING CARS to and from BOSTON and MONTREAL, without change. For Time-Tables, Parlor and Sleeping Car accommodations, or further information, apply to any Agent of the Fitchburg Railroad and at 250 WASHINGTON STREET, OR UNION PASSENGER STATION, BOSTON. J. R. WATSON, General Pass. Agent. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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x & &K KKK KK KKK KKK KKK KK KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKXKKKXKXXK XK Spend the Summer at < SESSCSECCSSSSS SSE SSSSESSES ii ree KKKXKKKK KX

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Deer Park oR ——— Oakland. a Gn the Crest of the Alleghanies, 3,000 Feet Above Tide-Water.

Season Opens June 22, 1895.

HUTTE essere UTIL These famous mountain resorts, situated at the summit of the Alleghanies, and directly upon the main line of the Baltimore and Obio Railroad, have the advantage of its splendid vestibuled express train service both east and west, and are therefore readily accessible from all parts of the country. All Baltimore and Ohio trains stop at Deer Park and Oakland during the season. The houses and grounds are lighted by electricity. Turkish and Russian baths and large swimming pools are provided for ladies and gentleman, and suitable grounds for lawn tennis; there are bowling alleys and billiard rooms; fine riding and driving horses, carriages, mountain wagons, tally-ho coaches, etc., are kept for bire; in short, all the necessary adjuncts for the comfort, health, or pleasure of patrons.

Rates, $60, $75 and $90 a month, according to location.

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D. DESHIELDS, Manager Baltimore and Ohio Hotels, Cumberland, Md., up to June 1oth; after that date, Deer Park, Garrett County, Md. A communications should be addressed to GEORGE

x KK KK KK KKK KK OK KKK OK KK OK OK OM KK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OX OK OK OK Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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THE HIGHLAND DELL, Near Delaware Water Gap, Pa. House Open for Guests the Middle of May. Sanitary Arrangements Perfect. Circulars and full information furnished by addressing J. F. FOULKE, Stroudsburg, Pa. Mention GopEy’s when you write. On the brow of the hill, Broadway, overlook- ing Congress Spring Park, with an entrance to the park from the grounds, is one of the most delightfully located hotels in SARATOGA, THE WINDSOR. Appointments, cuisine, and service best of best. Rates, $4.00 a day and upward. Open for guests June 1st. Send for illustrated booklet. R.C. SMYTH, Manager, Saratoga Springs, N. Y. THE GRANT HOUSE, Jefferson Heights, Catskill, N. Y. NOW OPEN. RATES FROM $10.00 WEEK UPWARD. Send for Illustrated ‘Pamphlet. GRANT & CORNELL, Proprietors. White Mountains, N. H. TWIN MOUNTAIN HOUSE. Most Central Location in the Mountain Region. ‘ Tor years the Hay Fever resort of the late Henry Warp BEECHER. Special inducements for early and late in season. For descriptive circular and rates, address the manager, W. A. BARRON, Manacer. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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tf To Everybody in the United States: GREETING AND WELCOME: Where are you going to spend the summer of 1895? You hesitate, and say “I have not decided.” Hesitate no longer! Come to the Lake House, Lake George, N. Y. The only Horicon Improvement Co. on earth is waiting to welcome you. They own the Lake House, Prospect Mountain (adjacent), and a club-house on its summit. In addition, they own, and will place in operation on the morning of June rst, the longest inclined railway in the universe. Eminent scientists have of late been claiming that there is a longer one in Mars, but until the fact is demonstrated we stick to our assertion. We want everybody in the United States. We make particular rates and inducements to everybody. We are going to have trap shooting, rifle ranges, balloon ascensions, two Adirondack bears, steam launches, girls galore, coaching parties, teams, tennis, baseball, and so forth. Our season tickets are now on sale. We are also modest and truthful, and we are not making assertions without their “being builded on the bulwark of truth.” We make special rates for young men. Circulars will be sent and any information desired given by addressing HORICON IMPROVEMENT CO., LAKE GEORGE, N. Y. W. M. PECK, General Manager. or, W. W. BROWN, Iigr. Lake House. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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HOTEL WAWBEEK AND COTTAGES, Upper Saranac Lake, Adirondacks. SEASON OPENS JULY 1, 1895. Circulars may be secured from HARLOW H. CHANDLER, THE “ ALPINE," Mention Gopey’s. 33d St. and B’way, New York. New Marlboro Inn Berkshire Hills. 1500 feet above the sea. No Mosquitoes. No Malaria. Pure Spring Water. For illustrated pamphlet, address A. F. CAMPBELL & CO., New Marlboro, Mass. THE LARKIN HOUSE, WATCH HILL, R.!. Situated on high ground overlooking varied land and water views. Write for circulars to FRANK ALDRICH, Treas. Keith’s Theatre, Meution Gopey’s. PROVIDENCE, R.I. HUESTIS HOUSE, © Saratoga Springs, New York. — OPEN FROM MAY 11TH TO NOVEMBER Send for illustrated pamphlet. W. B. HUESTIS, Proprietor. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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QUAINT OLD DIGBY. “In peaceful slumber here I lye, Remote from noise and vanity ; Till the blest morning of the just Reanimates my sleeping dust.” low fence of the old English church-yard in Digby and look around from stone to stone, he will soon come across one mellow with age that bears this epitaph. It is so accurately descriptive of Digby itself, that it may with propriety be used at the head of this chapter. ‘‘ In peaceful slumber here I lye, remote from noise and vanity,” describes Digby to a dot. It is the most peaceful, serene, and slumberous place imaginable ; and its remote- ness from noise and vanity cannot even be guessed at till one finds himself there. Digby was first settled by the French, probably two hundred years ago. Afterwards, fugitive loyalists from the victorious thirteen States found it a good place to locate in, and located there. But for some years Digby has been owned by the sum- mer boarder; it capitulated over a decade ago; and now, through July and August, it is his own. There are, all told, some dozen pretentious and unpretentious hotels, large and small, which are filled to overflowing with American vacationists ; and a more delightful place in which to pass a vacation, a more picturesque, quaint, breezy, and restful little spot, could not well be imagined. In the first place, there are the views, to be had from any point, but especially attractive from the hilltop above the village, where the reach of vision up the beautiful Basin is simply magnificent. .The view from the end of the long pier is also charming in its variety. Before you lies the deep blue Basin which every one who has been there says looks like another Bay of Naples. Off to the north, cut clean and sheer, through the eternal rock of old North Mountain, is Digby Gap, between whose high, bold walls the great Fundy tides come rushing in and out. Just back of the gap Beaman’s Mountain rises up like the top of a sugar loaf ; and if any one wants good muscular exercise, he can be com- mended to attémpt its summit. It is not very high, as mountains go with us in this country, being only seven hundred feet, but it is steep and rugged. Under the base of the mountain is the Racquette, the big mouth of a small river. Here the Indians are camped all through the summer in their scant little wigwams. Then back of the pier rests the delightful little village, clinging to ie any one will sacrilegiously clamber over the the hillside, and seeming on the point of slipping _ off, with head on the hilltop and feet in the water ; while over to the right are ‘‘the Joggins,” the wide, red shoals where the tide, as it rushes in, gets so heated racing along over the hot sand, that one may bathe in the water with as comfortable a sensation as if it were in the Gulf of Mexico. And over beyond ‘‘ the Joggins” is the entrance to Acacia Valley; and still further to the right, Bear River and Bear Island. It is a view as varied as it is beautiful. There is excellent boating, also, at Digby. One can venture out upon the broad Basin in a frail canoe, if he choose, so quiet is the water; and yet it is deep enough for the largest ocean steamers that float. There is good fishing, too; and one may drop a line almost anywhere with the assurance of receiving a quick reply. : One sees here, as he saw at Yarmouth, and will see everywhere else in this part of Nova Scotia-— or smell, if he does not see—the redolent codfish spread out on the flakes in infinite number, basking in the sun. Digby is a great fishing center; they send out from here every year vast quantities of cod and haddock, and halibut, and lobsters, and that exceedingly delicate kind of fish, with which most New Englanders are entirely unacquainted, the finnan haddie. There is also shooting in this vicinity, of a character to please the most ardent sportsman. One can in the season—that is, in the fall, and in the winter, if he chooses to take a winter trip—get all the partridges in a day that he can carry ; and snipe, and teal, and woodcock, and rabbits, and foxes, to say nothing of an occasional moose, and now and then a wildcat. Digby Neck is full of these things. Not to take a drive while in Digby is distinctly to neglect one of its greatest attractions. The six- mile drive down to Point Prim Lighthouse, at the west of Digby Gap, is one full of delight from beginning to end; for one is ever catching a glimpse of the waters through the trees. And the lighthouse itself, the breeziest place along the shore, is well worth a visit. Then there is the drive into Acacia Valley, the daintiest little dream of a place, a valley in miniature; and the still longer drive down Digby Neck, or to Weymouth, or up along the Basin to Annapolis. But one cannot stay at Digby forever—at least, not in this flying trip that we are taking. The railroad ride from Digby to Annapolis is one to bring out all the latent enthusiasm in one’s being. You get into Digby over one curved bridge, you get out of it over four. Long after one has left the little village, he continues to skirt around capes and promontories, from which, across the waters of the Basin, he still sees Digby beckoning him back. The views along this ride are exceedingly distract- ing, and can really be thoroughly enjoyed only by a man who is supremely cross-eyed; because there are places where you don’t know whether to look to the right or to the left, and finally conclude that you must do both; as, for instance, when you pass

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through the foot of Acacia Valley, having that at your right, and a magnificent view of Digby Gap at your left. This experience is repeated at Bear River, where one is simply compelled to look all ways at once. This piece of road from Digby to Annapolis, though only twenty miles jong, was talked about for twenty years before it was built, and then it was left for the Government to do; for it passes over so many bridges and through so many cuts that it is a particularly expensive piece of railway, costing, in fact, considerably over half a million dollars. The shore is simply a series of indenta- tions. As a wag, sitting at my side, remarked, ““This road has more wind than a Waterbury watch.” You begin now to notice the apple orchards, for of course everybody knows that the finest apples in the world come from Nova Scotia ; and even if you weary of watching the ever- extending rows of trees, the scarlet and crimson fruit flaming like fire amid the dark green leaves, there is always the beautiful Basin, which you will perceive, as you journey up the shore, changing its color from a dark blue to a somber red; and over beyond that, always pushing on ahead as far as one can see, rises great North Mountain. Here, also, one first begins to notice the dykes, which are built along the shore of the Basin and by the banks of the contributory streams, shutting out the tide from the meadow lands, and giving the farmer a soil of such richness that he has little to do but sit around while Nature does the work, and then in the autumn gooutand gather the harvest. But soon, having crossed bridges enough to have gone from Boston to Chicago, you descry a little town ahead of you, and a moment later you are in Annapolis. Se ANCIENT ANNAPOLIS. approaches the second oldest town upon the American continent—for such is Annapolis. This feeling of awe, however, is mellowed consid- erably by the resonant clangor of the dinner bell that greets our approach to this ancient and most interesting municipality. It is a welcome sound, however, for one cannot live entirely on scenery and sentiment. The vigor with which the bells are rung indicates that the good people in the vicinity of the station, manifesting a hospitality which one will find everywhere in the province, do not intend that the itinerant stranger from ‘‘ the States” shall go unfed. After dinner, one starts forth to see the town. The first spot which everyone visits is the old fort, which is still in a sufficient state of preservation to convey a fair idea of its departed glory. One still has to walk across a bridge over the old moat to get within the earthworks. There he will find the old officers’ quarters, now inhabited by the dusky care-takers whose ancestors doubtless came many years ago from Barbadoes. There, too, is the old French magazine, built in 1741 ; and there is the subterranean passage through which a garrison too hard pressed might have escaped. And oldest and most interesting of all, just at the edge of the fort, is the old pier, built in 1640, the oldest pier in America. From the embankments of the fort one can see the hill-tops, where the French, when driven out by the English, took their last stand and made % is with no slight feeling of awe that one their last fight. The old grave-yard, which is also in the fort, is a very interesting spot to visit; and one will see some quaint old head-stones there, with dates now nearly two hundred years in the past. By keeping along the main street past the fort, one comes to the court house, with an enormous willow in front which, I have excellent authority for saying, is over eighteen feet in circumference, having myself measured it. Further down the street are many exceedingly handsome residences, for there was a time when the people of Annapolis, like the people of Yarmouth, built many ships and made much money. There is, in fact, a very con- spicuous savor of aristocracy about the place; it is decidely English. There are many delightful drives in this vicin- ity, one that they call the ‘‘ Three Bridges Road” leading by the Indian village, and another to Young’s Mountain, seven miles away, from which the most extensive view may be obtained; and another to the Le Quille River, where the original French located their fort, and where traces may still be seen of the first saw-mill ever built on Amer- ican soil, erected two hundred years ago. Annapolis, however, does not live entirely in the past. It exports large quantities of fish and fruit. Infact, in Annapolis will be found the first plant for the artificial drying of fish by evaporation ever established. There is now another plant of this sort.in Halifax.

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| INNHih | (| netting) | NM WIN Nis) i) TEMPLE GROVE, . AM delight- fully located family hotel. Cuisine and service first-class in every respect. Extensive grounds with tennis and croquet. + FRONT VIEW. NEW GRAND HOTEL, Western Catskill Mountains. Elevation, 2,500 feet. Four hours from New York. Transient Rates, $4.50 per day. Only hotel on mountain top, with direct railroad access. _ Parlor cars to lawn of hotel. Opens June 27th. J. & S. J. CORNELL, Proprietors. Correspondents with advertisers will coufer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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LAKE PLACID—The Gem of the Adirondacks. 7 — LAKE PLACID AND WHITE FACE MOUNTAIN. From the piazza of one of the cottages or hotels on the borders of Lake Placid, or of Mirror Lake, there is spread before the vision a picture of mountain and lake scenery which is unhesitat- ingly pronounced by travellers to be unrivalled by any similar view in the world. To the south, the great procession of peaks forming the main range are seen throughout their entire extent. At the observer’s feet lies Lake Placid, so lovely in its outlines and so resplendent in its beauty that it gives life tothe landscape. It is a liquid poem. It is the eye of the Adirondacks. It is heaven’s own mirror; metaphor cannot exaggerate, nor figure addtoit. Tosee it once is to see it forever. So beautiful, and apparently so near, you are surprised to learn that Lake Placid is so large. It sleeps like an infant beauty at the foot of White Face Mountain, and yet itis noinfant. In shape it is a parabola or horse-shoe, with as gracefula curve as is imaginable. Buck, Moose and Hawk Isles divide it longitudinally, contributing to its comely proportions, and mirroring themselves in its crystal waters. You can scarcely credit the statement that it is five miles long and over one mile wide, such a miniature does it appear in this great picture. Paradox Pond isa twin sister of Lake Placid, to which it is not only related by the ties of water (or shall we say tides of water), but also by participation in a phenomenon which is inexplicable. A swift current flows from the lake into the pond for the space of three or four minutes, when, after an interval of about seven minutes, the current is reversed, and the water is discharged into the lake again. This mysterious action is of pernetyal occurrence. Lifting its scarred and pointed summit 5,000 feet in the air, White Face stands guard over the eastern end of Lake Placid in solitary majesty. Isolated from its followers, its noble form is seen from base to apex clothed in virgin forests to within a half mile of the top, where fifty years ago a tremendous avalanche swept down its western face, since which time it has been crowned and robed with new grandeur. Its cone isso white that it appears to be snow-capped, and this whiteness extends down its side as far as the monster slide sped. It LAKE PLACID SCENES. might have been called Avalanche Mountain, but itis known by the simple name of White Face, which it honestly earned and modestly wears, The ascent of the mountain is easily made frum Lake Placid. Upon its bare, storm-beaten summit some enthusiastic lover of the grand in nature has cut with reverent chisel, deep and clear into its everlasting rock, these words: ‘* Thanks be to God for the Mountains.” The scene presented to the eye of the beh lder from this point is one of the most striking and sublime in the whole domain of nature. There is nothing to obscure the view in any direction. Eastward, the bosom of Lake Champlain is be- held heaving in the sunlight and flashing back its brilliancy. Tahawas, the Giant of the Valley, Hurricane Mountain, Dix’s Peak, Nipple Top, | | | | | Saddle Back, Seward, McIntyre, and the Gothics are before us to the south, vast and wild. Tothe north and west the distant Ontario, with its rapid outlet, the St. Lawrence, and even the dazzling spires and turrets of Montreal itself, are said to be visible under favorable atmospheric conditions, The greatest of all wonders, however, scen from the summit of White Face Mountain is the multitude of lakes which gem the prospect in every direction Sixty-five of them may plainly be seen with the naked eye. Embosomed among the ‘mountains, they are like diamonds set with i e aS ‘1HE STEVENS HOUSE AND ANNEX.

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emeralds. They glitter and flash in the sunlight with a resplendence all their own; and the con- trast is so great between the limitless expanse of forest and rugged mountains, compared with the delicate lakes which everywhere mirror their wildness, that one scarcely knows which to ad- mire the most. Lake Placid and its surroundings present not only the culmination of everything that is grand and beautiful in the Adirondack Mountains, but it is the centre from which the greatest numberof other interesting points can be most easily visited. The grave of John Brown, whose tragic death at Harper’s Ferry fired a continent, is close by. A drive of ten miles over a good road, the last four of which leads through the primitive forest, brings one to Clear Lake, a triangular body of water of only half a mile in width, in whose mirrored depths reflections of four of the great Adirondack peaks are cast, and on whose forest environed shores an enthusiastic admirer has constructed a large hotel, Adirondack Lodge, so unique in its architecture and accessories (everything external being in rustic work), that one cannot help being impressed with the success attained in the efforts to harmonize the work of man with that of nature. anced in space, with their white tops towering over their black and dense bases, as if they were the margin of Jehovah’s mantle folded back to let the earth beyond be seen. That far-away storm against a background of mountains, and with nothing but the most savage scenery between— how mysterious, how awful it seemed! Mount Colden, with its terrific precipices; Mount McIntyre, with its bold, black, monster-like head; White Face, with its white spot on its forehead, and countless other summits, pierced the heavens in every direction. ‘* And then, such a stretch of forest, for more than three hundred miles in circumference— ridges and slopes of green, broken only by lakes, that dared just to peep in view from their deep hiding places—one vast wilderness, seamed here and there by ariver whose surface you could not see, but whose course you could follow by the black winding gap through the tops of the trees. Still there was beauty as well as grandeur in the scene. Lake Champlain, with its islands, spread away as far as the eye could follow toward the Canadas, while the distant Green Mountains rolled their granite summits along the eastern horizon, with Burlington curtained in smoke at their feet. LAKE PLACID SCENES. From this point easy trails lead to the summits of Mounts Marcy and McIntyre, seven and five miles distant respectively. Mr. Headley thus describes the view from the summit of Tahawas, or Mount Marcy : ‘*At length we reached the top; and oh, what a view spread out before, or rather, below us! Here we were, more than a mile high in the heavens, on the highest point of land in the Em- pire State, and, with one exception, the highest in the Union, and inthe centre of a chaos of mountains the like of which I never saw before. It was wholly different from the Alps. There were no snow peaks and shining glaciers; but all was gray, or green, or black, as far as the vision could extend. It lookedas if the Almighty had once set this vast earth rolling like the sea ; and then, in the midst of its maddest flow, bid all the gigantic billows stop and congeal in their places. And there they stood just as he froze them, grand and gloomy. There was the long swell, and there the cresting, bursting billow, and there the deep, black, cavernous gulf. Far away —more than fifty miles to the southeast—a storm was raging, and the massive clouds over the dis- tant mountains of Vermont, or rather detween us and them, and below their summits, stood bal- To the northwest gleamed out here and there the lakes of the Saranac River, and farther to the west those of the Raquette ; nearer by, Lake San- ford, Lake Placid, Lake Henderson, Lake Colden, shine in quiet beauty amid the solitude. Nearly thirty lakes in all were visible—some dark as polished jet, beneath the shadow of girdling mountains ; others flashing out upon the limitless landscape, like smiles to relieve the gloom of the great solitude. Throughout the wide extent but three clearings were visible—all was as nature made it. My head swam in the wondrous vision, and I seemed lifted up above the earth and shown allits mountains and forests and lakes at once. But the impression of the whole it is impossible to convey—nay, I am myself hardly conscious what itis. It seems as if I had seen vagueness, terror, sublimity, strength, and beauty all em- bodied, so that I had a new and more definite knowledge of them. God appears to have wrought in these old mountains with His highest power, and designed to leave a symbol of His omnipo- tence. Man is nothing here; his very shouts die on his lips. One of our company tried to sing, but his voice fled from him into the empty space. We fired a gun, but it gave only half a report, and no echo came back, for there was nothing to

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THE RUISSEAUMONT. check the sound in its flight. ‘God is great,’ is the language of the heart, as it swells over such a scene.” Good trails also lead to Avalanche and Indian Passes, the latter a stupendous gorge between Mounts McIntyre and Wallface, described by the eminent historian quoted above. “At length we came where the fallen rocks had made an open space around, and spread a fearful ruin in their place. On many of these, trees were growing fifty feet high, while a hundred men could find shelter in their sides. As the eye sweeps over these fragments of a former earth- quake, the imagination is busy with the past —the period when an interlocking range of mountains was riven, and the encircling peaks, bowing in terror, reeled like ships upon a tossing ocean, and the roar of a thousand storms* rolled away from the yawning gulf, into which precipices and forests went down w.th the deafening crash of a falling world. A huge mass that had been loosened from its high bed and hurled below, making a cliff of itself, to fall from which would have been certain death, our guide called the ‘Church’; and it did lift itself there like a huge altar, right in front of the main precipice, that rose in a naked wall more than I,ooo feet perpendicular. It is 2,000 feet from the summit to the base; but part of the chasm has been filled with its own ruins, so that the spot on which you stand is 1,000 feet above the valley below, and nearly 3,000 feet above tide-water. Thus it stretches for three-quarters of a mile, in no place less than 500 feet perpendicular.” HOW TO REACH LAKE PLACID. From New York.—By Day or Night boats to Albany or Troy. Thence by Delaware and Hud- son Canal Company’s Railroad to Plattsburgh. From Plattsburgh by the Chateaugay and Saranac and Lake Placid Railroad. Or travellers may take the morning or evening trains of New York Central Railroad, which run straight through to Placid in twelve hours. From Philadelphia, Baltimore or Washing- ton.—To New York by ‘‘ Royal Blue Line” and thence as above. From Boston.—To Albany or Troy by Boston and Albany or Fitchburg Railroad. Thence to Placid by New York Central or D. and H. Rail- roads. From Montreal.-By Adirondack and St. Lawrence Railroad, or by Grand Trunk, Delaware and Hudson and Chateaugay Railroads direct to Saranac Lake. Thence by Saranac and Lake Placid Railroad to Placid. From Chicago.—By Michigan Central or Lake Shore and Michigan Southern to Buffalo. Thence direct to Placid by New York Central Railroad. From Cincinnati and Louisville.—By ‘‘ Fast Flying Virginian” to Washington. Thence as above. From Detroit and Cleveland.—Sameas from Chicago. For further information apply to local agents of lines mentioned in various cities. THE PRINCIPAL HOTELS. STEVENS HOUSE. RUISSEAUMONT. GRAND VIEW. LAKE PLACID. WHITEFACE INN. LAKESIDE INN, MAPLEWOOD COTTAGE. Further particulars may be obtained by ad- dressing the proprietors.

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wramg The Delaware c Hh. fl. ke iy ~~ Hudson a Has more Summer Resorts on its line than any other Railroad. Saratoga, Lake Champlain, Sharon Springs, Lake George, The Adirondacks,: Ausable Chasm, Etc., Etc. The Shortest, Quickest, and Best Line between NEw YorkK AND MONTREAL. Send six cents in stamps for Illustrated Guide to the Northern Resorts. H. G. YOUNG, J. W. BURDICK, Gen. Passenger Agent, 2d Vice-Pres. ALBANY, N. Y. Setpecees ese. CHATEAU FRONTENAC, Dufferin Terrace, Quebec. The Most Charming Hotel in the World. Rates from $3.50 to $5 00 per Day. Special Arrangements with Large Parties and those Souee Prolonged Visits. For further information address, Manager, Chateau Frontenac, uebec.

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BACCHANTE. By F. MacMonnies. By perinission of T. B. Starr. See ‘‘ The National Sculpture Society,” p. 71.

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Vor. CXXXI ARTISTS Vv JULY, 1895 IN THEIR S THOMAS WATERMAN WOOD, By W. A. Cooper HE most prominent figure in the art world of America to-day, not only as an example of American manhood, with his splendidly preserved physique, showing a useful and well- spent life, but as President of the Na- tional Academy of Design, and as the strongest figure or genre painter of purely American subjects, is Thomas Waterman Wood, N.A. Although without artistic surround- ings in his boyhood he early showed a love of art, and, as soon as his means would permit, began the study of paint- ing as a pupil of Mr. Chester Harding, of Boston, with whom he remained only a short time. Harding was Mr. Wood’s first and only teacher, as he has pre- ferred to follow the dictates of his judg- ment and goes directly to nature for in- spiration. Like many young and struggling ar- tists he soon turned his attention to portrait work, and painted many prom- inent people in Canada, Washington, and Baltimore. This enabled him to visit Europe in 1858, where he received great benefit by earnest study of ancient and modern art in the galleries of Lon- don, Paris, Rome, and Florence. The splendid copies he made of the old mas- ters, especially Rembrandt and Rubens, and the later genius, Turner, as well as some modern masterpieces in the Lux- embourg, that now adorn his studio, show how indefatigable the young stud- ent was. He stayed longest in Paris, Mr, Wood. whence he made many visits to Hol- land, Switzerland, Italy, and other places of interest to the student. In 1860, Mr. Wood returned to his home at Montpelier, Vt., where, in 1823, he had first seen the light of day. Af- ter spending a well-earned holiday among the hills of the Green Mountain State, he began life in real earnest and turned his attention entirely to portrait

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“OIPNIS S,POOAA UW | i, | WE ; | eeu et ee | | | 4 LEKI IL EEK EIE KIS KS SSSI ISS IID a a Eh et De;

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ARTISTS IN THEIR STUDIOS 5 painting, chiefly in the larger cities of the South. He settled permanently in New York in 1866. Here he soon became a tower of strength by his conscientious work as an artist and his honorable dealings in business matters. He was always as- sisting the young artist by his advice and encouragements to paint American subjects. His earlier pictures in New York, called forth by the war and purely rolled among the defenders of his coun- try. This is the genuine ‘ contraband.’ He has evidently come a long distance on foot. His only baggage is contained in an old bandanna handkerchief. He is not past middle age, yet privation and suffering have made him look pre- maturely old. In the next we see him accepted, accoutred, uniformed and drilled, standing on guard at the very door where he entered to enlist. “This is the ‘ Volunteer.’ His cares The Afternoon Tea.—By Mr, Wood. American in character, as are all of Mr. Wood’s works, were the “Sharp-shoot- er,” “ The Contraband,” “'The Recruit,” and the “Veteran,” all bought by Mr. Charles S. Smith of this city, and pre- sented by him to the Metropolitan Museum, where they now hang. The last three were called by Mr. Wood “A Bit of War History,” and the story they tell is as follows : “Tn the first the newly emancipated slave approaches a provost-marshal’s office with timid step, seeking to be en- have now vanished and he looks young- er; and it is needless to say, happy and proud. In the third picture he is the ‘one-legged veteran, though two years since we first saw him can scarcely be said to have passed. He approaches the same office to draw his additional bounty. and pension, or perhaps his back pay.” Mr. Wood first exhibited in the Na- tional Academy of Design in 1858, just prior to his first visit abroad. On his picture, “The Country Doctor,” exhib-

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6 ARTISTS IN THEIR STUDIOS ited in 1869, he was elected an Associate of the Academy, and it brought him into special prominence. In 1871 he sent to the Academy a strong character- study called “A Cogitation,” on which he was made an Academician. It was purchased by Mr. Fletcher Harper, Jr. “The Country Doctor,” which won him his first honors, was owned and greatly prized by the lamented James R. Osgood, of Boston, a great patron of American art and one who always encouraged the young artist to choose subjects here at home, rather than in Holland or France. In this connection Mr. Wood has gained the admiration and respect of all lovers of purely Amer- ican art, for although he studied abroad and felt the strong influence of the great painters of the Old World, he White Rats.—By Mr. Wood. has been satisfied to choose simple everyday subjects, chiefly from his na- tive State, Vermont. His delineation of village and rural scenes in our coun- try, stamp him as the most pronounced and typical American genre painter we have. , Two of his best pictures in this par- ticular vein are “The Village Post- Office,” owned by Mr. Charles 8S. Smith, another great patron of American art, and the “Yankee Pedlar,” owned by Mr. George L. Kent, of Brooklyn. They are the strongest chavacter illustrations of American country life we have seen, and should be in the Metropolitan Mu- seum. They are not only strong exam- ples of a great American painter, but they depict primitive scenes in the early life of our country. The march of civ- ilization is rapidly chang- ing the habits, customs, and idiosyncracies of our people, and these paint- ings will soon be all that remains of our early and sturdy settlers. While Mr. Wood’s repu- tation rests mainly on his character - painting, much of his time is occupied in portraiture. Some time since, he painted a three- quarter life-size portrait of Andrew Carnegie, bought by Mr. Charles S. Smith, President of the Chamber of Commerce in New York, and presented by him to the Edinburgh Free Li- brary, founded by Mr. Car- negie. Mr. Wood has also painted a portrait of Sen- ator Justin S. Morrill, the oldest living senator, for the Vermont Historical So- ciety, of Montpelier, and an unfinished portrait cf Parke Godwin is now on the artist’s easel. Mr. Wood is a prominent member of the American Society of Painters in Wa- ter Colors. He was its President from 1878 to 1887. His first picture ex- hibited before this society

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PARTING The City Home.—By Mr. Wood. was called ‘‘ American Citizens,” a char- acter-study of the four nationalities, the Negro, the Dutchman, the Irishman, and the Yankee. It attracted great atten- tion. He is held in high esteem by the Na- tional Academy, and has taken an active part in its history, having been its Vice- President from 1879 to 1891, and its President from that date to the present time. His summer home and studio is at the beautiful city of Montpelier. Here he spends his vacations, finds his quaint subjects, and makes sketches that are finished during the winter in his city studio, situated in the old building at 51 West Tenth Street, where Mr. Wood has been for many years one of the old- est and most respected in that large col- ony of artists. His seventy-two years sit lightly up- on him, and he is still an earnest, hard- working painter. He has a charming presence, is very unassuming in man- ner, and gentle as a child, with a kind, sympathetic nature that endears him to all. PARTING To say “God keep you till we meet,” ‘Auf wiedersehen,” or other envoi sweet, No parting that; heart lives in heart, And naught can tear the spirits’ hold apart. Nay, parting is to walk with one Who holds your faithful heart till life be done, And watch his love fade day by day Till hope’s high noon goes down in twilight gray. Frank CHAFFEE.

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AN AMERICAN DRAMA ‘*PUDD’NHEAD WILSON” By Beaumont Fletcher HE American dramatist is at last beginning to realize his varied field and wunhackneyed oppor- tunities. The Civil War has given us at leasbone superb play—‘“‘ Shenandoah.” The legends of the Catskills have been richly utilized in “Rip Van Winkle ;” Wall Street life has been proved pict- uresque in“ The Henrietta.” The fond- ness of titled folk for our heiresses is strongly used in “Aristocracy.” We have been moved by “ Alabama” and “In Mizzoura;” and a genuinely noble drama of frontier life and Indian fight- ing, “The Girl I Left Behind,” which has recently scored an immense success in London. We have had a fine New England pastoral, “Shore Acres,” and now we have the career puts bright ideas in the heads of genius, has proffered him something new in plots, and a magnificent chance for deep study in soul-development ; but he has not done his share. He has rudely sketched it out and cast it at the world with the indifference of a man pampered and spoiled with popularity. The sketch- iness of the treatment, furthermore, is not of the impatient strength and sug- gestive roughness of an unfinished work of Michelangelo’s, but is trivial and slouchy in its general aspect. Fortunately a skilful and more ten- der dramatist has rescued the excel- lences of the book from suffocation, and has added brawn enough of his own to round it out into a work of im- of a Yankee —not in King Arthur’s Court— . but in the South be- fore the war, before even the rumors of war. This play, “ Pudd’n- head Wilson,” as dram- atized by Frank Mayo, I should place among the very best American works, and in the last decade the real value of the native drama has been quite as high in its best phases as the foreign importations. While Mark Twain must always be cher- ished with gratitude for the much laughter he has blessed human- ity with, and for the cosmopolitan fame he has given American letters, possibly more than any other writer, I cannot believe that he labored long enough and lovingly enough over this latest work. The good fairy that The Wise Men of Dawson.

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AN AMERICAN DRAMA Pudd'nhead Takes the Thumb-marks of the Babies. posing dimensions. To see the play and then read the book, is to be vitally impressed (as I was by the dramatiza- tion of “Trilby”) with the superior- ity of the dramatist’s genius over that of the novelist. Of course it is a trite axiom of literature, that dramatic success is the greatest of all literary achievements, but it is not easy to com- prehend the truth fully until some such test is applied as the careful comparison of the dramatization of a work with its original. Of course, many a master- piece of fiction is utterly unfit for a stage-setting; but, given a story of dramatic possibilities, the vividness and truth, the quickness of action and characterization, and the limited elbow- room that test the dramatist certainly prove his success to be harder of achievement than that of the easy-going gossipy novelist with abundant room for descriptions and psychologies and countless ways of inthralling his leis- urely reader. Herein is the great mis- take of the Christian Church, which has set its ban upon the noblest of all literary activities and the most irre- pressible of all artistic ambitions. The dramatic season just finished has been something appalling. In the South and West the question with the travel- ling companies was not so much, How much do we make ? but How little shall we lose? and How long shall we be able to keep going? In the large Eastern cities, where the theatre is looked upon asa sine qua non of life, matters were only a little better. In New York there have been no record-breaking receipts, and the ratio of positive failures to par- tial successes was three to two. It is gratifying to note that the American play has been on the whole the safest investment of all. The opera “Rob Roy,” a native product though Scotch

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10 AN AMERICAN DRAMA in setting; the howling farce “Too Much Johnson,” with slight acknowledg- ments to a French source ; and finally the comedy-drama ‘“ Pudd’nhead Wil- son,” written by a thorough American on a thoroughly American subject, and dramatized by an American actor—all these have been undeniable successes. Briefly sketched, the following is the story of the novel- ette, which Mark Twain claims to have been an excrescent growth that threat- ened to absorb his original plot, and ne- cessitated a separa- tion into two stories, the residue being called “ Those Extra- ordinary Twins.” The Extraordinary Twins deserve their name no more than the extraordinary pair he put in the tale of “‘ Pudd’rhead Wilson” to supply the large gap they left when the two stories were torn apart. The original couple were a freak of nature with two bodies and two souls and one pair of legs. Somewhat similar comedies have been woven about the fa- mous Siamese twins, and one can imagine how Mark Twain would revel in the possible complica- tions. But he makes the second pair ordinary twins, except that they are of a noble Florentine family. The extraor- dinary thing about them is that they should settle down for life in a little Missouri village. However, so they do, and furnish a rather incongruous and unblended contrast. But to the story: In the little town of Dawson, just be- low St. Louis, two children, both boys, were born on the same day. One of them was the legitimate offspring of a prosperous slave-holder and his wife, who died within a week. The other was the child of a slave girl, Roxy, and Judge Driscoll, brother of the other boy’s father. The first child was born to honor and a large inheritance ; the second was forever condemned to slav- ery, though his father was a white man of wealth and position, and his mother was only one-sixteenth a negro, and of fair complexion. When one considers how prevalent a cus- tom it was for fathers to keep their own children in bondage or sell them to other masters, because the mother of them was the descendant of an African race instead of an Asiatic or a European, one feels that the croak of our eagle over the land of the free and the home of the brave, was at least a little premature, if not hypocritical. The mother of the white child being dead, and the busi- ness-absorbed father being unable on his infrequent visits to distinguish his son from the fair-skinned boy of Roxy, who was nursing both children, she dresses her ill-fortuned brat in the other child’s Rowena. fine clothes and palms him off as the true scion of the Driscolls. In the book this is a deliberate deed on Roxy’s part ; in the play it is the mistake of Pudd’nhead Wilson’s sister, who picks up the wrong child and carries it off to be christened. Roxy’s horror at the mistake changes to a grim resolve to leave matters in their new state. She expresses a pity for the fate of the un- fortunate white baby, but rejoices that now they can never sell her boy “ down the river” —the Hades of the more northern slaves. This makes a very

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AN AMERICAN DRAMA effective curtain for the pro- logue to the play. Mark Twain goes on to tell how the two children grew up, the real heir serv- ing as the body-guard of the false Tom Driscoll, and being called ‘‘ Chambers,” a nick- name derived from a sug- gestion of Wilson’s that he be called Valet de Chambre. Chambers is strong from toil, and though gentle by nature, fights all the battles of his master, who is spoiled, peevish, a cowardly bully, and, finally, a gambler and a thief. To pay certain gam- bling debts, he has been com- mitting so many thefts about the village that the towns- people are alarmed. He has disguised himself as a wom- an, and is seen by Wilson in that garb, but not recognized for a man. Among other things, Tom had stolen a valuable jewelled dagger belonging to a pair of Italian twins. They had come to live in the village, and boarded with Mrs. Patsy Cooper, whose daughter, Ro- wena, Tom fancied. In the play Patsy becomes Wilson’s sister, so as to compress their two homes to one stage. Her daughter despises Tom and prefers Chambers, who has been her playmate all her life. In the hook Rowena is barely mentioned ; in the play she be- comes a most important character. One of the twins, Angelo, is describ- ing how his brother had saved his life with the dagger, burying it in the heart of a treacherous slave who was about to murder him. He tells this to Tom, who has expressed incredulity of Wil- son’s skill in palmistry ; for Wilson had read Luigi’s palm and told him that he had killed a man, and Angelo explains. I hope Mark Twain doesn’t believe so implicitly in the oracular power of palm- wrinkles as to commend this event se- riously. Artistically it hurts the value of the thumb-marks theory, which is more reasonable and authenticated. Pudd'rhead Secures a Thumb-mark from Tom. Mr. Mayo in his dramatization has skil- fully evaded taxing the beholder’s cre- dulity with any hand-reading, and puts the responsibility of the superstition on Luigi, who claims the manslaughter was foretold by an Oriental sorcerer. Fur- thermore, he takes the recital out of Angelo’s mouth and lets Luigi tell his own story in the first person, which is more effective for the stage. Wilson offers to read Tom’s hand, but he snatches it away in guilty confusion, and when Luigi accuses him of blush- ing, taunts him with being a murderer. In the book Wilson has difficulty in smoothing over a fight. Later, at a political meeting, Tom calls the twins ‘a human philopena,” and gets himself kicked off the platform for his joke, whereupon, as Tom is too cowardly to fight, his uncle, who had adopted him

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12 on his father’s death, challenges Luigi to give satisfaction on the field of honor for the insult to the Driscoll pride. In the play, when Tom calls Luigi a murderer, the Italian kicks the howling coward out of the room and down the street. When Tom’s uncle challenges the Italian and upbraids him with coward- ice, Tom says he would not stain his honor by fighting an assassin, and tells his uncle a garbled account of Luigi's story, whereupon the elder Driscoll re- fuses to fight Luigi, but decides to work against him at the polls, for the twins are running for office! In the play politics are unmentioned, even Wilson’s own election to the may- A Gentleman of the Old School. AN AMERICAN DRAMA oralty. Tom notifies his uncle by let- ter of his assumed reason for refusing to meet Luigi ; the old man is delight- ed with his fine sense of honor, and goes home to rewrite his will, which, according to Wilson, had been “his favorite pastime for thirty years.” To return to the book. Judge Dris- coll succeeds in defeating the twins by an allusion to assassination in a speech the night before election. Tom goes to St. Louis happy. He steals back later and, entering the house unobserved, blacks his face, and, with the Italian dagger in hand, steals down to rob his uncle’s safe. His uncle is awakened, and after a struggle Tom kills him, flies to his room, and, putting on his woman’s garb, gets out of the house and back to St. Louis unnoticed. The twins, who have been out walking, hear old Driscoll’s cry for help, and hurry- ing in, are discovered there by the next arrival on the scene. They are accused of the murder, and as there was bad blood between them and the dead man, their chances look slim, especially as they have engaged Wilson to defend them. Who is this Wilson? He is a native of New York, and came to the village the same month Tom Driscoll was born. Owing to a remark of his, whose wit was too delicate for the hard-headed villagers, he had been put down as a numskull. Disturbed at the barking of a cur, he had expressed a desire to own half the dog. When the bystand- ers asked why, he explained that he would kill his half. To the sober- minded peasants, however, the only view of the question was that Wilson would clearly be responsible if the oth- er half died, as it naturally would. So, as he didn’t wish for the whole dog while he was wishing, they dubbed him a pudding-head. And Pudd’nhead Wil- son he was till the day of his death. Another eccentricity of his did not approve him to the villagers. He was forever going about and getting im- pressions of the thumbs of people. These he named and dated and pre- served on strips of glass. But he was well liked, if not respected. He had taken the thumb-marks of the two babies, before Roxy changed them, and

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AN AMERICAN DRAMA a number of times after that. | He is convinced that the | murder of Driscoll had been committed by the mysteri- ous woman he had seen one night from his window. While he is vainly ransack- ing his collection of girls’ and women’s thumb-marks, Tom drops in, picks up one of the strips of glass, and his thumb makes its mark there. Noticing this, the whole thing is clear to Wilson, and he shudders in the presence of the murderer thus re- vealed. He recognizes the identity of Tom’s thumb- mark with the impression preserved in stains of old Driscoll’s blood on the Ital- ian dagger. When the unsuspecting Tom has gone, he falls to work on his case with en- lightened zeal. He knows that no two thumb - marks on earth are alike, and that they remain unchanged from birth to death. But he no- tices that Tom’s baby auto- graph is not that of his man- hood, but that of the slave Chambers. He has never mislabelled his records be- fore, and in his baffled vex- ation he falls asleep. The mystery is solved in his dream, and at the trial he convinces the jury not only that thumb- marks are authentic, but that the blood-stained fingers on the knife were Tom’s, and that Tom is, after all, a changeling negro. Roxy confesses. Tom is first imprisoned, then sold down the river to pay his own debts. Cham- bers, restored to his right estate, has been so warped by his long slavery that he remains humble and embarrassed all his life, miserable in his prosperity. All this while Roxy, the minister of such dread calamity, has been by no means missing from the book. She had been freed when Tom grew to boy- hood ; and broken-hearted at his treat- ment of her, had disappeared. She comes back years after, and being re- The Thumb-marks of the Baby and the Man do not Agree. fused money by Tom, declares his true parentage, and bullies him bravely, con- spiring with him the while to keep him on the lee side of the Judge’s will Seizing his chance, he sells her down the river to pay a gambling debt; but she escapes and returns in men’s clothes to torment him. In Mark Twain’s ‘book Roxy is a most trivial, small - souled character. Mr. Mayo has dignified her into proportions better fitting the evil she inspires. I wish I had space to tell all the changes and improvements, strengths and displays of jinesse in Mr. Mayo’s sure dramatic touch. Half the play is all his own, and aside from the lucky thought of thumb-marks, he has all the

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AN AMERICAN DRAMA Mr. Mayo has a theory that audi- ences should play an important part, and it is striking to feel the powerful work‘he makes them do, especially in such scenes as Wilson’s agony when he cannot understand the mixture of Tom’s thumb-marks, and acknowl- edges in humility that he is a “ pud- d’nhead.” The audience knows the truth and feels overwrought and ma- terially interested. There is a note of high power, too, in the scene where Judge Driscoll, overcome at Rowena’s description of a time when Chambers saved her life, seizes the boy’s hands and starts to embrace him, but re- members the boy’s supposed slavery and only wrings his hands again. The pity of the boy’s humiliation, which the audience knows to be unmerited, and the pity, the horror, of human slavery, which seems all but incredible nowadays, stir the beholder with the deepest and noblest emotions. Most of Mark Twain’s witty “ calendar ” say- ings reappear, neatly turned into the dialogue. Mr. Mayo has not only added a play of value and most decided in- terest to dramatic literature, but he has acted the title-rdle himself with such unctuous realism, and such a delicate reproduction of some of Mark Twain’s own racy mannerisms, that he om must make the character also histori- Sheriff Blake. eal. Not least of all, he has surrounded himself with a most happily chosen best of it in a comparison. He has company. Mr. E. J. Henley’s imperson- taken the neglected Chambers and made ation of Tom is so full of subtile sugges- him a character of great importance and tion of the negro-taint in carriage, voice, much charm, in spite of his slouchy hu- look, and manner, and is so powerful mility. He has woven in avery curious and sinister in the climaxes, that he love-story for Chambers and Rowena, must be accredited with superlative art. who likes the boy as a sort of great dog, Miss Shaw made Rory a very Lady but is horrified at Tom’s sneer that she Macbeth of omen and import. I have loves the “nigger.” Here isa genuine- never seen fresher, more ingenuous ly thrilling scene, too, for the submis- girlhood on the stage than the vigorous sive Chambers rises in wrath and com- Rowena of Miss Frances Grahame ; while pels Tom to crave pardon on his knees. Mr. Edgar Davenport gave a strong, This it is that humiliates and enrages well-studied rendition of Chambers, and Roxy (who has seen her proud son Mr. Odell Williams made the small part humbled by the enslaved white) into de- of Sheriff Blake avery masterpiece of claring Tom's origin with tragic impres- comic rural portraiture. The play will siveness. doubtless live to be a classic.

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ToT Lee Way a” See cee pine by Temes All en a a rey 's Kosa As Vgazyng ac I tre Piss HiC\p a Firlt en y* Fartly ony. Sky" Hy's Mien was fad 7 4. Mi. “We | tear en m Yadiy’ | 1 Q dy ° | fat wld fall eri ht ret ’ Db Dey's spall bys; j agains ane ern, I fevnd: i ng* ¢ Po ern, en y* ame eke wf ie hee gentle yee ow came t thev | eer Jaw ye a 5 oa He {1 bv an, wares net ” “Hew. - one d 1 "What aileth thee! “Heighe, | am 1h Leve," qvet thhe .

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Field Hospitali—Headquarters. THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG ‘““The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.”—PRESIDENT LINCOLN, at Gettysburg, November, 1863. HE general belief in the South at the time of the invasion by General Lee’s army was that the North was becoming weary of the war, that parties which discouraged its prosecu- tion had grown strong, that a taste of some of its evils might induce the Federal Government to make favorable terms of peace. Add to this the victories gained by the Confederates: General Hooker foiled at Chancellorsville, with the boast fresh on his lips that he commanded “the finest army on this planet ;” Burn- side defeated at Fredericksburg ; Vicks- burg and Charleston still held against great odds; the Alabama and Florida devastating Northern commerce on the high seas, and the calling of a new draft in the North, which many declared to be unconstitutional and which they bitterly opposed. So the time seemed oppor- tune to the Confederate Government for Lee’s valiant army to invade the North, capture Baltimore, Philadelphia, and possibly Washington, and bring the United States to terms. So the invasion was determined on, and the magnificent Army of Northern Virginia, strengthened by all available troops from adjoining States, one hun- dred thousand strong, commanded in person by General Robert E. Lee, di- vided into three corps, under the able generalship of such tried fighters as Longstreet, Hill, and Ewell, and thirty regiments of cavalry under General Stuart —the cream of the Southern Nore.—The illustrations are inserted here by courtesy of the National Panorama Company, of Chicago, owners of the copyrights.

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18 THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG et ce | a Sa . ae tet ie - = Near the Stone Wail. Burning House in the Distance. Army—was made ready for the under- taking. On June 2, 1863, quietly and secretly the movement down the Shenandoah Valley began, along the west side of the Blue Ridge Mountains; and at one time Lee’s army stretched from Culpepper to the Potomac, over one hundred miles. The President wrote to Hooker, “The head of Lee’s army is at Mar- tinsburg, and the tail of it on the plank road between Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville. The animal must be very slim somewhere ; could you not break him?” But Hooker preferred to be on the defensive, and to be governed entirely by the actions of Lee’s forces, marching toward the Potomac in lines parallel with the Confederates, the Blue Ridge Mountains between them. Longstreet’s and Hill’s corps crossed the Potomac on June 24th and 25th at Williamsport and Shepherdstown, near the battle-field of Antietam; and on June 26th Hooker’s army crossed the Potomac at Edwards’ Ferry, and made Frederick City, Md., its base. In the meantime, after crossing the Potomac, Lee’s army had marched rapidly through Hagerstown on to Chambersburg, leaving his base of com- munication exposed, a point General Hooker was quick to perceive. He therefore urged that every available man be added to his command, know- ing full well that Lee’s veteran army outnumbered his. Hooker called upon General Halleck, the Commander-in-Chief, for ten thou- sand men under the command of Gen- eral French at Harper’s Ferry, a place of no special value to either side. These General Halleck refused to furnish, al- though the troops were practically un- der Hooker’s command; and finding that he was not permitted to man- ceuvre the men in his army as he chose in this great emergency, Hooker asked to be relieved. The two despatches to General Halleck bearing date June 27th, 1 p.m., the day following his crossing the Potomac, bear directly upon this resignation and the reason for it : I have received your telegram in regard to Harper’s Ferry. I found ten thousand men here in a condition to take the field. Here they are of no earthly account. They cannot

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defend a ford of the river, and as far as Har- per’s Ferry is concerned, there is nothing of it. As for the fortifications, the work of the troops remains when the troops are withdrawn. No enemy will ever take possessionof them. This is my opinion. All the public property could have been secured to-night, and the troops marched to where they could have been of some service. Now they are but a bait for the rebels, should they return. I beg that this may be presented to the Sec- retary of War and his Excellency the Presi- dent. No. 2. My original instruction required me to cover Harper’s Ferry and Washington. I have now imposed upon me, in addition, an enemy inmy front of more than my numbers. I beg to be understood that Iam unable to comply with this condition with the means at my disposal, and earnestly request that I may at once be relieved from the position I occupy. Short work was made of these de- spatches at Washington, for the same day General Hooker was relieved and General George Gordon Meade was ap- pointed to the command. Within five days he won the greatest victory of the war, but, as General Sickles said recent- ly, “ A large share of the credit of this triumph should be awarded to Hooker, THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG 19 for it was his skill as a reorganizer that made the army an invincible fighting machine, and the campaign was finished on the lines which he had laid down ; and but for the lightning assault of the sainted Jackson just before his death at Chancellorsville (who spoiled more than one military reputation), the laurels of Gettysburg would have rested on the head of fighting Joe Hooker.” General Meade was an educated Chris- tian gentleman, of exemplary habits, with considerable experience, but not so generally known as many other corps commanders. But he had won his spurs at Cold Harbor, South Mountain, Antietam, and Fredericksburg, and was ready when the great emergency came, and his country called upon him to face the invaders. It was better, possibly, that General Hooker should have been sacrificed than that any misunderstanding between him and the Commander-in-Chief of the army should interfere with the success of the impending battle. The invasion had aroused the most intense feeling and some apprehension

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~ =. THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG 21 throughout the North, although the President’s proclamation calling for one hundred thousand men from Pennsy]l- vania and adjoining States was responded toat once. Gettysburg had been fought and won and the crisis passed before any of the militia made their appearance. Gettysburg, two days before the event, was unknown to either leader, and General Meade before the Congression- nl Committee on the Conduct of the War said, “It was a place which I had occupied by the invaders, while General Meade’s army held the fourth at Fred- erick, with Gettysburg directly in the centre. On the very day General Meade took command he began to carry out the plans conceived by General Hooker, to harass Lee in the rear and cut off his base of supplies. This came to the ear of Lee, who saw at once that the inva- sion could not be carried farther until he had destroyed the army that hung Explosion of Caisson. Cadora House and Lee Headquarters in the Distance. never seen in my life, and had no more knowledge of than you have now.” To show how purely accidental its selection was as a battle-ground, it will be necessary to glance at the position of the two armies on the day that Gen- eral Meade took command of the army, two days before the battle was deter- mined on. General Lee, with Longstreet’s and Iiill’s corps, were at Chambersburg ; Ewell was at Carlisle ; General Stuart at Westminster; Early at York, and Gordon’s brigade at Wrightville on the Susquehanna. Thus it will be seen that the three points of the compass were so tenaciously to his heels; and the whole invading army was accordingly ordered to concentrate toward the en- emy. The result was Gettysburg. There is no doubt that General Lee was the first to select that point asa possible battle-ground, while General Meade selected Pipe Creek, fifteen miles distant. Brigadier - General John Buford, U.S.A., was the first to occupy Gettys- burg, and was ordered by General Pleasonton, Chief of Cavalry, to hold it to the last extremity; and General A. P. Hill, the advance guard of the Confederates, who arrived early on the

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a ta \ fl 22 THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG morning of June Ist, was surprised to find it occupied by the Federals. General Buford marched out over Seminary Ridge to meet Hill, and the great battle was on, baptized by the blood of Major-General John F. Rey- nolds—commanding the first, third, and eleventh corps—-the first to offer up his life on this memorable field. Through the 1st and 2d of July the battle raged with but slight advan- tage to either side. Lee held the line from which General Sickles had been driven, and Ewell had advanced his line on the left, but Cemetery Ridge and Little Round Top remained to the Union side when charitable night threw her mantle over the field at the close of the second day. The morning of Friday, the 3d, found General Meade at daybreak on the of- fensive against Ewell, from whom he succeeded in regaining the ground which he had lost. General Lee spent all the morning in preparation for a strong demonstration on the Union centre, and at one o’clock opened a terrific cannonade with one hundred and fifty guns, the Federal forces replying with a similar number. It was the greatest artillery battle the world had ever known. After two hours of incessant firing Brigadier-General Hunt, Chief of Artil- lery, ordered a general cessation, to make sure that there should be sufficient ammunition to meet the attack he felt sure was to follow, and to cool off the guns. General Lee, thinking his adversaries had been silenced, slackened his fire and instantly ordered the famous ad- vance in which so many lives were lost and great valor displayed — Pickett’s charge, which lost the South its cause and saved the Union. Pickett’s Virginian veterans, the pride of Longstreet’s corps, were fresh upon the field that morning. They were supported by Wilcox on the right, and Heth’s division on the left—in all about eighteen thousand men. Swiftly and compactly they marched down the slope and over the plain a distance of three-quarters of a mile, exposed to a terrific fire from the Northern guns ss The Stone Walli—General O. O. Howard's Position Near Cemetery Hill.

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THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG 23 - »> oy Group of Confederate Prisoners being Marched to the Rear Under Guard. on Round Top. But they never fal- tered. A mistake by Pickett was fatal to the charge. When within five hundred yards of the Union line he made an oblique movement to the left, while Wilcox, who supported him on the right, marched straight ahead, leaving an opening between his troops and Pick- ett’s. General Stannard, with his Ver- mont brigade, was quick to take advan- tage of the gap thus left and he forced Wilcox and Perry to retire, leaving many prisoners. The impetuous charge of Pickett’s men carried them through the opposing lines, over the barricades and rifle-pits, and for a brief space their flag waved triumphantly over the captured guns of the Union battery. But Webb’s bri- gade soon recovered, and, assisted by Generals Hancock and Gibbons, who pushed forward all their reserves, al- most annihilated that gallant band. Two brigadier-generals, Garnett and Armistead, fell within the Northern lines ; and of the fifteen field officers and four generals, Pickett and one lieutenant - colonel alone remained to tell the story. Of Pickett’s division of four thousand men, less than one thou- sand returned. The entire Confederate loss covering the three days’ fighting was thirty-six thousand men, and the Federal about twenty-four thousand. So the gloom and uncertainty that prevailed all over the Union on July 3d, gave way on the morning of the 4th to one universal shout of thank- fulness and praise. And the inspired Lincoln, “ who had become grave, hum- ble, and reverential under the influence of those awful circumstances amid which he lived,” proclaimed a solemn day of thanksgiving for the deliverance granted to the Nation, and of prayer that God would lead them all through the paths of repentance and submission to the Divine will, to unity, and fra- ternal peace.

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b ft 5 ' : ae ee See Se ee RAT SY ws Tecra ee GIS é Py/ £)' iq 4) WA CF @.. @ 4, \ - “eZ GS » July. ( Ythou gentle month of sunshine j \ uw elcome thee “ ith ruULre delight ; \ hile sweet nature seems to slumber Clothed mall thy beauteous light . While the fields are rich with splendor hncompassed by a golden oirth ; While thedaisies and sweet clover, Bespeak m rippled rhyme them nurth, \nd the birds so sweetly singing, With the rills together vie, Who will sin j the loudest praises i perfect month July. To thou. - Ihesw eet scented honey suckle Dy \ leently shades the darden seat; Where when evening steals upon us VETS YOUND il haste to meet. Whenthe firefhes flash ‘round us, And the bright stars fleck the blue, Thenitrs that sly Dan Cupid, Knows his wiles are sure andtrue. For the sturdy swain who started, With heart as light as azure sky, Surely will have lost 1b somewhere Ere the close of sweet July. J oss L. Washington Hood.-=*

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SMITH COLLEGE By Winifred Ayres EW ENGLAND was the birth- N place not only of freedom and piety, but of learning as well ; and it still excels in the cultivated atmos- phere and intellectual strength of its colleges. To Harvard and Yale come the sons of this great country ; and its daughters, waking to the spirit of the age, which demands that women shall equal men in broadness of culture, are turning to Smith and Wellesley. Northampton is a characteristic New England town with stately elms and dignified mansions. But picturesque- ness is not its only charm. It shelters Smith College. It is only twenty years since the col- lege was started, to fulfil the generous plans of Miss Sophia Smith, of Hatfield. There is something pathetic in the story of this New England woman, subservi- ent through long years to her younger brother’s masculine authority, and forced to will all her property to him ; but delicious is the irony of fate which carried off the brother, and left her free at last. Her noble use of this freedom in helping woman to reach a plane of equality where subservience such as hers would be transcended, has a living testimony in Smith College. When the pathos and romance which cluster about its founder are known, one can forgive her for bearing the un- distinguished name of Smith. Many other things serve to counterbalance the name, and to raise Smith to an enviable position in the college world. Of wom- en’s colleges, it is second only to Wel- lesley in size, numbering this last year seven hundred and eighty-seven stu- dents. Then, too, it is “ beautiful for sit- uation.” From Elm Street’s arch of trees one turns and enters the college grounds and finds a wealth of foliage framing substantial buildings. College Hall contains the class-rooms and chapel. Music has a building dedicated to its use, with practice-rooms, and a concert- hall. Science has a home of its own, Lilly Hall, where, at almost any hour, one may see maidens in long checkered aprons, busy with test-tubes and acids, Ps if? Se cae - hike igs Em College Hall.

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26 or perhaps refining silver in fiery little blast furnaces. Astronomy dwells apart ina little observatory ; atits feet stretches Paradise, and the distant hills are clear for inquiring students to map the sunset point. Paradise is a bewitching spot, dear to the heart of every Smith girl ; it is a wooded dell, at the heart of which lies a tranquil lake. The Gymnasium is a fine building, the gift of the Alumnae, and very similar to the Hemenway at Harvard. Other buildings of interest are the Art Gallery, with its magnificent collection of casts —one of the best in the country—and the eight college houses. Each house has a reputation of its own, one for scholarship, another for dramatic ability, another for general good times. The four classes are here thrown in contact, and this doubtless has much to do with the particularly kindly feeling between the classes at Smith. There is a matron in charge of each house, who, in addition to house- keeping, has to call the students’ atten- tion to the little fact mentioned in the following refrain : ‘* For remember it’s Smith College, And the lights are out at ten.” The college government is in a some- what transitional stage from monarchy to democracy. A senate of students at- tends to most points of law, and con- sults the faculty when there is difference of opinion, but the ten o’clock rule is still rigidly enforced, with a special dis- pensation for the “ Junior Prom.” But what of the tide of glad activity which ebbs and flows through all these buildings, and seems to fill the very at- mosphere? This life is three-fold, men- tal, physical, and emotional, or social. To develop the first is, of course, the peculiar province of the college, and yet, to every account of “life at Smith,” whether it reaches the public through some printed article, or solicitous par- ents through home-letters, this objec- tion is made: “ Life at Smith seems to consist principally in having a good time.” This impression is given simply because the writer dwells upon the in- teresting elements of college life. The course of study is given in the catalogues—“ which may be had on ap- SMITH COLLEGE plication ”—and is much the same in all colleges. The local color can be given only by a picture of social life. It should be taken for granted that to ev- ery well-balanced college girl, her work comes first. A few girls there are, even at Smith, who go for “fun,” and by shirking skilfully, or cheating systemati- cally, they manage to get through. But be it understood, they are not the typi- cal girls, nor the popular girls. If the high seriousness which pervades the work of the college is thoroughly under- stood, there is no danger in emphasiz- ing the attractive side, the diversions that fill the leisure hours, and help to make the four years altogether the hap- piest four of one’s life. At Smith, the solid foundation of scholarship is laid down along the lines of the “group system.” During the first and second years, the work is largely prescribed, but in junior and senior years it is almost wholly elective. Specialization is not encouraged, and electives are so arranged that a student in any course may acquire a working knowledge of the languages, sciences, history, and literature, thus illustrat- ing the old definition, that “at college one learns something about everything ; at a university everything about some- thing.” The interest in science is so general that Lilly Hall simply overflows, and economics and sociology also arouse especial interest. There is great excite- ment over the mid-year “ Exams ;” the girls are seized with fierce attacks of “ orinding ” and with gloomy forebod- ings. But that much of this is put on for the sake of excitement, is proved by the infrequency of “ break-downs.” Athletics are arousing each year a greater interest at Smith. A Gymna- sium and Field Association has been formed which provides tennis-courts, row-boats on Paradise Pond, and hare and hound races in the fall. The latest development is a walking-club of one hundred and twenty members. Skat- ing in Paradise is always popular in winter, but snow-shoeing was a rival sport last year. There is more or less cycling, and a few of the girls ride. One of the most delightful sports is taking geology tramps. Parties of girls

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SMITH COLLEGE with knapsacks and hammers may be seen almost any spring day, exploring the famous Connecticut red sandstone, or hunting up extinct volcanoes. The wide-awake college-girl under- stands that it is “the thing” to be healthy, and she spends as much of her spare time as possible in exercise. There is already a demand for an ath- letic field, with dirt-courts, basket-ball fields, and golf-links. With all this devotion to athletics, the Smith girl finds time for a vast amount of social enjoyment. In one sense, col- lege life itself is intensely social ; it is 27 more!). Then comes Mountain Day. Buck-boards and “ barges,” surreys and carts, drive merrily out of Hamp., la- den with girls and lunch-baskets, and speed away to Sugar Loaf or Lincoln Mount, or some other of the lovely places which tempt exploring parties. The clear October air rings with cheers and college songs overflowing with lo- cal hits. Decoration Day brings simi- lar trips. October holds still another festival— Halloween. The girls lavish all their originality and ingenuity upon the par- ties each house gives on that night. At Elm Street. so informal, so full of impromptu amusements, spreads, “ parties,” plays got up in one day with costumes ingen- iously fashioned from the most unprom- ising data. Some of the amusements devised are so fascinatingly bizarre that we dare not recount them here. Various festivals come at stated times through the year. The first is the freshman frolic, an informal dance in the “Gym” to introduce the freshmen. The next attention to the new-comers is the sophomore reception. Each freshman is taken by a sophomore, who fills her dance-card, gets her a ‘‘mem- orabil grind” and attends her with all a man’s gallantry (perchance with one you will see nothing but supernat- ural characters—ghosts, and demons, and sprites; then you will be ushered into the dignified court of King Ar- thur; and a few steps will take you into the Midway Plaisance. Fun and frolic run riot on this one night of all the year. The next excitement is “The Game” at Springfield ; gorgeous with Harvard crimson and Yale blue the college goes down en masse to see the football con- test. Hearts beat high and eyes flash through the long game ; and whichever side wins, hilarious jollification ensues when the girls are safe within the col- lege houses.

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‘mei, ef0-8 psig y¥ oe sw Nee awe mean annem oeennene . een TE =F. aa mpueaprebaetrray eens SSS NS SSS SS ES A SS ETE EE GE SRT AR ET SS SEs SL SI IN a RES. SE

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SMITH COLLEGE On St. Valentine’s Day each house gives a Valentine party ; the Valen- tines are all dropped in one box, and then distributed when the house has as- sembled. Many a clever rondeau and ingenious grind has brought down rounds of applause on these occasions. Sometimes fancy- dress adds to the charm of the cele- bration. Washington’s Birthday is still cel- ebrated in a unique way, although the “ Walk-around” which used to make Smith so famous, is a thing of the past. In the morning there is a rally in the “Gym,” which one year took the form of a debate on this subject: “Does higher education unfit man for domes- tic life?” Later in the day, there is an address by some well-known man, last year, Chauncey Depew. Toward the close of the second term comes the annual basket-ball game, in which freshmen contend with sopho- mores, while juniors and seniors lead the cheering ; this is always a most ex- citing event. Scarcely less is the en- thusiasm aroused by the spring tennis tournament. The Junior Reception is the greatest social feature of the year. Men are in- vited, and it is quite a brilliant affair. In addition to these regularly recur- ring festivities, every term is enlivened with one or more “House Dances,” which the girls seem to enjoy none the less for the absence of men. Then there are the “House Dramatics,” several plays being given each term. Dramatics are a great feature at Smith, and however ambitious the plays attempted (for example, ‘She Stoops to Conquer,” and “ Much Ado”) they are generally exceedingly well given, and the men’s parts quite as well taken as the women’s. The general training in elocution and self-possession is of great benefit ; while the plays them- Wallace House. selves are voted as much “fun” as any- thing in the college year. Concerts and lectures by well-known men are also ju- diciously scattered through the year ; even Paderewski was persuaded to play for the Smith girls. The meetings of the different societies furnish further entertainment. The three principal societies at Smith are Alpha and Phi Kappa Psi (liter- ary), and Colloquium (scientific). The literary societies give each term an “Open Meeting,” inviting guests and offering some especial entertainment. One very amusing thing was an orig- inal play in which famous heroes and heroines contended for the apple of fame—among them Marcella, the Hea- venly Twins, and the Disagreeable Man. Colloquium meets to discuss scientific news, but each year it gives some enter- tainment. This sometimes takes the form of a ‘Chemico-Physico Tea,” at which beakers and retorts serve for tea- things, and the experiments of physics amuse the guests. There is also a Cur- rent Events Club, which aims to keep its members in touch with the topics of the day. Then there is a Biological Club, a Voice Club, the Glee and Banjo Clubs and the Smith College Associa- tion for Christian Work. This last unifies all the religious and philanthrop- ic work of the college; one interesting department is the Home Culture Clubs, through which the girls seek to help the working-classes.

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30 SMITH COLLEGE Observatory and Back Campus. The religious atmosphere of college is supplied by daily chapel, which, al- though not compulsory, is well at- tended ; by Sunday vespers, and by class prayer-meetings. These various societies need club-rooms ; and there is talk of a Students’ Hall, where society meetings, college-rallies, and class meet- ings may also be held. The college has offered to give the ground, and the girls are meditating many sacrifices to raise money for the erection of such a build- ing. The spring term at Smith is, perhaps, the most delightful of all. Nature con- stantly tempts one out of doors. Es- pecially if one is a senior, does one wan- der at twilight through the long grass with the friends from whom Commence- ment will part one—perhaps forever. It is hard to say good-by to it all. Where else shall one find that same spirit of hearty good-will, that demo- cratic atmosphere? Smith is noted for its strong feeling of equality and its love of fairness. This is fostered by the College Monthly, a very creditable jour- nal of two years of age, which, in ad- dition to its good literary department, aims to bring to an open hearing all class differences, and to inspire a spirit of noble purpose and Christian charity. In scholarship, there is absolutely no competition; one never knows one’s standing, unless it is dangerously low. The spirit of “liberté, égalité, frater- nité ” pervades the whole college. The Smith girl isn’t ashamed to say “I can’t afford it”—and the poor girl is often the most popular. Then there is such an enthusiasm about the college girl, a little exaggerated sometimes, a little too girlish; but she is such a hearty, happy girl, so full of loyalty, so frank in declaring her ideals! Is it any won- der that the last days are hard for the seniors? Yet the way is made as easy for them as possible. Sophomores and juniors each give them a delightful party ; and the President gives them a farewell reception, while Commencement time itself is one round of gayety. It begins on the Saturday before Baccalaureate, with Senior Dramatics. This is the pe- culiar feature of the Smith Commence- ment, and always a charming one. ’88 was the last class to write its own play ; *89 gave “ Electra” in Greek ; 90 a musi- cal dramatization of “Job”; 91, George Eliot’s “Spanish Gipsy”; 92, Brown- ing’s, “ Colombe’s Birthday ” ; 93, Ra- cine’s “Athalie” in tableaux; ’94, Hardy’s “Passe Rose,” and ’95, “ Mid- summer Night’s Dream.” These plays are elaborately produced. Preparations

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are begun months beforehand, and a trainer comes up weekly from New York. They are given in the Opera House, to which evening-dress and girl ushers give an air of privacy and elegance. The general verdict is that no professional play could be more attractive, for the smallest parts are here well taken and the culture and refinement of the actors gives a charm much professional acting lacks. Planting the ivy is one of the pret- tiest features of class-day at Smith. In the daintiest of white gowns the girls wind in long procession across the cam- pus and mass themselves on the college steps. The ivy orator (elected by the class) gives an oration on some well- chosen theme, and then the wee ivy is planted to struggle up the walls and whisper with its rustling leaves a mem- ory of the vanished class. The “Ivy Song” (written by two members of the class) is always sung during the planting of the ivy. One ivy song began thus: The ivy isa winsome thing, So glad to grow, so sure to cling. The wintry blow and sullen rain, Shall stir its dying leaves in vain ; For still its slender fingers press The sheltering wall in firm caress The evening of class-day transforms the campus into fairyland; hundreds of twinkling lanterns sparkle among the SMITH COLLEGE 31 trees, and disclose the girls in lovely evening gowns promenading with their friends, or listening to the open-air con- cert of the Glee Club. Commencement and the giving of degrees come the next day—as simple a service as possible. The class-supper in the evening is the final farewell for the seniors. There are toasts and poems, histories and prophecies, and jokes and “grinds” innumerable. The fun of four years is concentrated into four hours ; yet with it all, there is an undercurrent of se- riousness. A time-honored custom com- pels all engaged girls to announce their engagements by rising at a certain point in the dinner. Last of all, come the class and college songs, which tremble a little as they rise. From without comes the echo of wandering “alums,” who are back at reunions and are ser- enading the college and the newly- fledged “grads.” Their voices are steadied, for they have grown used to the “‘ wide, wide world,” and yet sweet chords vibrate in their hearts too as they sing the dear old song. Fair Smith, our praise to thee we render, O dearest college halls! Bright hours that live in mem’ry tender Are winged within thy walls. O’er thy walks the elms are bowing Alma Mater. Winds’ mid branches softly blowing. Ivy round thy towers growing, Alma Mater. Dewey House.

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| LAI PUT aia 4 oF ~ RS! \ ae , CPLR AM De) By Henry Willard French CHAPTER I UDEYPORE THE BEAUTI- FUL, the City of the Sun, was writhing in agony. She was the glory of Rajputana, the pride of the iron-hearted Rajput war- riors, the joy of the beautiful pale-faced women ; but she heard only their moan- ing and wailing. From the surrounding mountains the peasants of Meywar looked down upon their capital with hearts full of pride, for it was one of the fairest sights of earth. Like the reputations of the war- riors who defended them were the walls and forts in the foreground. Beyond them lay the city, magnificent with pal- aces and temples. It was a gorgeous display of towers and domes and gar- dens, climbing a pyramidal hill that rose in the centre. At the foot of the hill, on one side, was a lake dotted with islands and float- ing gardens. The water supply was in- exhaustible. Upon the summit of the hill, in the very centre of the city and the walls and forts, stood the royal palace. It was of spotless marble ; colossal, beautiful. From the hills it appeared again, inverted, in the lake below. It stood out with almost dazzling distinct- ness against the dark mountains which completely surrounded the city. It was the home of the Maharana of Oudey- pore ; the famous Ghelote who was rec- ognized by all the Rajput clans as the supreme ruler of the Children of the Sun. The peasants were proud and happy because they thought of their capital as they saw it on the last market day. They had not heard the news. The citi- zens had heard it only the night before, and the peasants were kept at a distance by a desolate ravine which completely surrounded the city. They would hardly have believed it, even if they had seen and heard, it was so unlike the Pride of Rajputana; yet from the palace to the gates the city was dumb with consternation and ter- ror. There was not a Rajput within the walls but knew that the City of the Sun was doomed. There was not a hero there—and they were a race of heroes— who did not acknowledge that Oudey- pore was about to fall into the hands of the hated Moslems. Excepting the tradespeople and work- ing-classes no one thought for a mo- ment of retreat. Not a soul among them them thought of surrender. For a Rajput city, the capital of Meywar, to fall into the hands of the enemy; meant something very different. It meant that every Rajput warrior pledged to her de- fence would first lie dead at her open gates, and that the last struggle would be waged while the flames of a great fu- neral pyre were devouring their wives and their children in the Sacrifice of Johur. This had happened time and time before, and there was not a

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warrior now in Oudeypore who was not readier to die than to leave those gates, or a wife or maiden who would not fly to the Sacrifice of Johur rather than fall into the defiling hands of the Moslem invaders. It was horrible ; but it was sublime in its patriotism. The whole history of Rajputana glows with just such horrible sublimity and they were Rajputs. It was the strength of this sentiment that had kept the Rajput clans almost invio- late when the rest of India was long ago lost in utter uncertainty. The few exceptions met with such a re- buke as made the rule only the more em- phatic. Bhagwandas, chief of the clan of Kachwa, under fabulous offers and fearful threats gave his daughter to the Prince Selim, who was afterward the Mogul Emperor Jehangir ; but he found himself disgraced instead of honored among his people, though his daughter had wed the Emperor of the World. And even to this day the clan of Kachwa is counted the lowest of the Rajputs, and the Kachwa nobles occupy inferior positions at the great durbars, as the re- sult. It was not through any lack of temp- tation, for Rajput women are as fair of skin as the women of southern Europe, and the most beautiful women of the Orient. Even among themselves rich provinces have been given for the daugh- ters of the Ranas, while wars without end have been waged in vain attempts to secure what treasure could not pur- chase for alien zenanas. Who would not be proud of his blood who could trace his lineage to the al- most prehistoric Persian monarch, Nou- shrivana, and the earliest Roman em- perors of Constantinople? What people would not be patriotic who had held the land of their conquest longer than any other nation recorded in history ? Two thousand years before the Chris- tian era the Children of the Sun were where they are to-day. Not Alexander nor either Mohammed had been able to dislodge or subdue them, nor could all the wealth of the Orient tempt their blood to mingle with the blood of other nations. Their strongholds had often fallen and the bodies of Rajput warriors had A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA 33 filled many a trench, and had been trampled under foot at many a con- quered gate, but no invader was able to remain long upon their soil, and no sooner was he gone than other Rajputs came from every hill and valley and more proud Children of the Sun rebuilt the temples and the palaces. Three times Chittore, the former cap- ital, was taken after the last of the gar- rison fell, fighting, at the seven-gated entrance : and three times the ashes of a gigantic funeral pyre, in the subterra- nean vaults of the great Rani-Bindar, was all that the conquerors found of the beautiful women—the prize for which they had battered down the gates. After that the Rajputs pronounced a curse upon Chittore, and no hand was ever lifted for its restoration. They se- lected a new location and the result was Oudeypore. For many years the City of the Sun, practically unmolested, had grown con- stantly more beautiful. There had been fighting on the borders—as when was there not? No serious calamity, how- ever, had befallen the city. Oudeypore alone had become a tempt- ing prize to the great Moguls, but they could not carry it away with them, and the invariable experience of their ances- tors proved the folly of an invasion for conquest. Now, however, a richer prize than the city itself appeared within her walls. It was the Princess Zieta, the only daughter of the Maharana, the most beautiful woman of Rajputana. Her fame already reached far beyond the boundaries of India. The Mogul then sitting on the throne of Delhi had rarely disturbed the fiery Rajputs. The courts of Delhi and Oud- evpore bore the most friendly rela- tions. A month ago the Maharana had ac- cepted an invitation to visit Delhi. He went accompanied by his only son, four- teen out of the sixteen omras of Meywar who represented the highest civil and military authority of Rajputana, and the Maharana’s Guard, composed of a thousand picked men, the stars of Raj- putana’s warriors. It was a trick so often played before, in the history of the treacherous Orient, that one wonders how the Maharana was a ie een Es oe tine ange

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34 A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA entrapped. He would have faced the whole of India with those thousand men and fourteen omras; but the game of treachery is not an open battle-field. Some of the omras saw farther than the master and endeavored to dissuade him from the visit, but even they lost their fears in the royal hospitality shown them in Delhi. As the visit drew to an end the Em- peror announced his purpose of moving a large army to the distant coast, to re- duce an insurrection there and subdue several new districts. The way lay but a little to the north of Oudeypore and he offered to accompany the Maharana as far as their paths could be brought together, requesting, in return, that his army be allowed to pass unmolested along the borders of Rajputana and so save just so many days of marching over the desert north of the river. It was an offer and request which could not be easily declined, under the circum- stances. At length the mighty host reached what was called the Persian Trail, the great caravan highway from Persia and the north through the heart of Rajpu- tana; and there it halted. To reach his distant provinces the Emperor’s army must here turn to the right, crossing the desert. The Maha- rana would turn to the left. His path would lie through a broad and phenom- enally fertile valley, rising higher and higher and growing gradually narrower, till it entered the deep detiles of the mountains and became a wild and rocky pass. Beyond the pass lay Oudeypore. They were only two days’ journey from their home. The Moslems had come much nearer to the City of the Sun than was at all agreeable to the Rajputs. To speed the parting guests the Em- peror gave such a grand farewell ban- quet as had not been prepared for them even in the heart of his empire. It did not signify that they had been many days upon the march. The resources of a Mogul were unlimited. The two rulers and the prince feasted in a royal pavilion, the omras and Mos- lem generals were in a tent by them- selves ; and far and wide over the plain two hundred thousand soldiers and camp followers made merry with the thousand Rajputs of the Maharana’s Guard. The feasting was interspersed with grand reviews before the royal tent. Five hundred war elephants paraded and fought mock battles, while a greater number of burden - bearing elephants, under their loaded howdahs, stood in a wall about them. Then a body of fight- ing camels, more thanathousand strong, displayed their proficiency in war, while an unnumbered host of their fellows, each burdened to his utmost capacity, with stately but graceless swing passed before the Emperor and his guests. As the soft-footed host departed, ten thousand horsemen dashed past the tent in such a furious charge that the ground trembled beneath them. A sig- nal was given as the centre came abreast the Emperor, and every horse sank on his haunches, so suddenly they halt- ed. Each rider saluted, and before the horses had recovered their feet the sig- nal was repeated and they dashed off again. It was a glorious sight. Then singly and in pairs the horsemen exhibited their skill in contests with the sword, After them the foot soldiers contested, and each victor as he received his prize was cheered till the broad plain rang with the shouts of the army. The last contest was one of strength, and the highest prize was offered for success in it. It was the victor’s weight in gold. Ten foot-soldiers presented themselves for the trial. A heavy weight was to be lifted. It was attached to a post in such a way as to leave a mark indicating the height to which it had been raised. Nine of the contestants were Moslem giants. One of them was a Rajput— Barak, the Maharana’s sword-bearer. He was the smallest of them all and it was not of his own will that he appeared. Those about him had derided the bulg- ing muscles of his back and shoulders, and dared him to show what they could accomplish. In reality they longed to see a Rajput defeated by a Moslem, were it only in a game. The Moslems took the lead, Barak standing last in the line, with a frown contracting his forehead. The pride of the Moslem army stood ninth. When his turn came he drew a

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A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA long breath, strained every muscle and lifted the weight upon the post more than a foot higher than the highest mark, bringing it nearly to a level with his elbows. A great shout arose from those who saw it. The prize was clearly won ahd no one sup- posed that the Rajput would even make an effort. But the frown deepened on the forehead of the sword- bearer. He stepped slowly. forward, regardless of the comments which were shout- ed after him. He bent over the weight and examined it for an instant. His fingers tightened over the handles. There was no warning prep- aration to fix the attention of those who were deriding him. They simply saw the massive weight rise as though it were made of cork. It shot up, clear of the top of the post. It rested upon the Rajput’s shoulder. Ten feet or more he carried it, then slipping from under it let it fall with a heavy thud at the feet of the Maharana. There was no shout. Those who were not dumb with as- tonishment saw the peculiar significance of the act and were enraged. Only the Mo- gul Emperor realized that he could better afford to bide his time. He praised the vic- tor and pointed to the great scales where he was to stand in one tray till gold in the other lifted him from the ground. Barak obeyed the Emper- or, but he stood with his back toward the glittering pile as it grew till it out- weighed him. Then he stepped from the scales, and with haughty strides walked back to his people, disdain- ing even to look at the treas- ure behind him. The games were followed Let it fall at the feet of the Maharana. 35 by feasting again, and the great game, to which all else was but leading, began when the night had well gathered. The sides of the pavilion were drawn close as the evening grew cool. The Em- peror waved bis hand. The dancing girls and the musi- cians, the servants, the guards, and even the officers in charge, withdrew, leaving the Mogul alone with his guests. In a low voice the Emperor confessed that there was no in- surrection in his dis- tant provinces ; that he knew of no dis- tricts on the sea that were worth the cost of conquering. He informed the Maha- rana that he had brought that mighty host from Delhi for the sole purpose of acting as a royal es- cort to the Princess Zieta, to convey her, as became her sta- tion and beauty, to be the queen of the great Mogul’s ze- nana. He declared that with the com- ing morning he should enter the val- ley, instead of the desert, and with the second sun-set en- camp about the City of the Sun. “The Maharana has seen, to-day,” he said, “such fabulous wealth as never yet was offered for the beauty of a woman. All of it, with the camels and the ele- ee —, . ee -

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36 A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA phants that bear it, I will give him in exchange for his daughter. He has also seen such preparations for war as never before indorsed the demands even of the Emperor of the world. In three days from this the Princess Zieta must be mine, and whether Oudeypore shall lie in ruins or totter under a burden of treasure to accomplish it, rests with the Maharana to decide to-night. May his power and his glory increase.” The -words were hardly spoken when the Maharana answered. “ Did the Em- peror note the man Barak, in the test of strength, how he left the scales and the Emperor’s treasure behind him? In the servant, then, he saw the master.” “Dost thou dare refuse?” the Em- peror ejaculated, glaring in fury at his guest. “ By the beard of the Prophet, if thy people think not better than to follow such advice, there shall not one stone rest on another, or one Rajput, except the Princess Zieta, draw the breath of life, when I go hence to Delhi.” The Rajput ruler, lying calmly on his couch, replied, ‘ Even as the roar of the lion returneth to him from the cliff, re- ceive thy words again from me. The peacock goeth hence at dawn, plucked of the glory which he vaunted when the sun went down.” The Emperor shouted in rage. Sol- diers, who had been well instructed in advance, quickly entered and bound the Maharana and the prince where they lay, offering no resistance. Then the Emperor laughed and said, “It was rash, O mighty Maharana, to come to thought so quickly. Let us reason to- gether with other arguments, and when thou art ready to repent thee of the words which thou hast spoken, speak again and it shall be as they had not been said.” The curtains were drawn again and . the open space before the pavilion, where the games had been played, was a glare of light, from torches, fires, and lanterns. Through this open space of light a procession was passing. It was the Maharana’s Guard. Each man was stripped of his armor and weapons. His feet were bound so that he could step but half the natural distance. His arms were behind him, firmly bound at wrists and elbows, and leather mittens were over his hands, to prevent the use of his fingers. Neck and neck, by a series of nooses, they were bound in compa- nies of ten, each rope-end being fastened to the girdle of a Moslem. The Rajputs saw their Maharana and the prince, bound like themselves, and the Maharana saw his guard. His face was stern and pale, but when tine pro- cession had passed and the Emperor looked for some change of sentiment, the royal prisoner had nothing to say. “Let the game go on,” the Emperor exclaimed, impatiently, and on it went, precisely as though it were but a con- tinuance of the festivities of the gala day. One by one the fourteen omras were brought into the circle of light, each stripped to the waist and bound like the rest. They were men who had stood about him in council and drawn the sword for him in war, ever since the Maharana first sat upon the musnud. They were his tried and loyal friends. They were as loyal as he to the inter- ests of Rajputana, and among them were those who had earnestly besought him not to accept tne Mogul’s invitation, warning him that only treachery would be the result. Each one, as he entered the circle, found himself face to face with a stal- wart Moslem, the muscles. of his bare arms swelling as he clutched a broad- sword. They knew what it meant. To each friend, as he came, the mas- ter spoke. His words were the same to all. He called each one by name and said, ‘The Emperor of Delhi hath de- manded of me the Princess Zieta. I have refused him. The vengeance which he threatens is unlimited. This is but the first. If thou shouldst counsel me to yield to him I think that it would save thy life.” Each one listened to his words, and each as his silent answer bent forward to receive the sword. Verily they were Rajputs. Each body, as it fell, was dragged away to make room for the next, till the ae

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A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA 37 fourteen had fallen. Then the Empe- ror asked, “ Hast thou repented thee of thy folly, O most mighty Maharana ? ” The Rajput simply replied, “In the counsellors thou hast seen the king.” “ Bring out the boy,” shouted the Mo- gul. The father shuddered as his only son was dragged into the circle of light, but gaining his feet the boy called aloud, “ My father, shall I not be a Rajput and Ghelote as well as thou, and these upon whose life-blood I am standing ?” Then turning to the Emperor he added, “Do with me as thou wilt. Were I a father I would see a hundyved sons cut into pieces, starved, burned, slaughtered at thy will, before I'd give the humblest maid of Rajputana to the harem of a Mo- gul. Let the game goon. My father will not disgrace me by yielding one jot to thee, to save my paltry life.” “Tn the son I see the father,” the Em- peror muttered, savagely. ‘Take the “Shall | not be a Rajput?" two into the royal sleeping tent and guard them well. The wise heads of Oudeypore may think better of my ar- od guments. It is folly to waste them on this desert.” The Emperor caused a letter to be written and despatched that night, re- counting his demand, his offer, and his threat, and adding that when he reached the gates of Oudeypore, if Zieta were not at once produced he would first slaughter the Maharana’s Guard and then crucify the Maharana and the prince before the walls. The letter was sent by horsemen bearing also the heads of the fourteen omras. They were ordered to leave their burden and message at the gate an hour after the next sunset. Meanwhile the army would have made a day’s march up the valley and, by the sun- set following, it would have crossed the pass and come about the walls of Ou- deypore. It was the finding of this letter and the heads of the omras at the gate which caused the consternation, reigning at sunrise throughout the City of the Sun. CHAPTER II No wonder that the strongest hearts in Oudeypore were quaking and that the women wailed and moaned. The Maharana’s Guard was supplied by promotions for valor from among all the warriors of Meywar, and the officers of the whole army were chosen, in turn, from the Maharana’s Guard. Now they were all prisoners and at the moment of her greatest need Oudeypore was robbed of her veteran garrison. The omras who were slain comprised the entire list of generals in active ser- vice in the clan. The two who remained behind in charge of the city were bent, white-haired old men, whose fighting days were long since over. One was in command of the walls and forts, the. other of the city and palace. They were left behind partly because they were too old for the long journey and partly that the city might be safe in the hands of conservative counsellors, who would keep the peace and hold the young in check. Least of all were they fitted or intended for the present emergency. The inevitable was at hand, however,

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38 and it must be met according to the precedents of the past. Their sacred poetry and history told each what to do and how to do it. Their Chronicles of Chittore were plain. The merchants and lower classes spent the night in gathering together such of their possessions as they could trans- port, and the following day in flying from the city. It was too late to send among the other clans for aid, even if all of Rajputana would not obviously have been insufficient and if the other clans had not been in great danger of requiring their own in self-defence. If the Maharana and the generals and the Guard had been there all would have been different. They would have marched out and met the Moslems in the mountains. They would have de- fended the City of the Sun against the world. As it was, the only public work which devolved upon them in prepara- tion for the coming of the Moslems was the building of a gigantic funeral yre, for the Sacrifice of Johur. This duty fell to the civil omra—the one in command of the city and palace ; for in the founding of Oudeypore, when every possible contingency was provided for, the great court in front of the palace had been selected as the proper spot, in case such a pyre should ever be required in the City of the Sun. The military omra detailed relief de- tachments of five hundred soldiers each to gather the fagots and carry on the work under his brother general’s com- mand; and from midnight on, even well into the morning, the old man, trembling and sighing, stood manfully at his post of duty, pacing up and down the terrace before the palace, just above the court. He was a warrior because he was a Rajput ; but he was not a man of war. He had always been too mild-mannered and gentle for a Child of the Sun. Even in his boyhood he had shuddered at the stories of Chittore and the three great sacrifices there. And now, in his old age, he was building another pyre upon which must be sacrificed the beau- tiful mothers and maidens of Oudey- " pore. It was the best way, the only way. They could not fly, with no one to protect them, while their husbands A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA died at the gates, and surely they could not fall into the defiling hands of the Moslems. He did his work faithfully, but he shuddered and sighed, the while, that ever it should have fallen to him of all men to do it, and with all his heart he wished that he had never lived to see the day. Silently, solemnly, swiftly, the Chil- dren of the Sun moved about the city. Their hurrying feet, shod in soft san- dals, made nosound. Their two-pointed beards made them look more like sages than warriors ; but their hard-twisted turbans, close fitting tunics, and well girdled waistcloths more than counter- acted the impression. The turbans and girdles of the wealthy shone with gold and jewels. Every man was armed with daggers and swords. The soldiers were distinguished by long-barrelled guns hanging behind their shoulders, and over the gun there often hung a shield of rhinoceros hide, almost transparent, frequently glisten- ing with gold nubs. The women walked the streets with the men and worked with them, shoul- der to shoulder, in perfect freedom. Their plaited skirts, bright colored bodices, and soft silk sarais knotted on the tops of their heads and falling grace- fully over their shoulders, made the streets of Oudeypore seem like one per- petual gala day. Through the night the bad news had been carefully kept from the Princess Zieta and all who surrounded her. Her mother was dead, and nominally, at least, she was at present the ruler of Meywar. Her father had even confided to her keeping the royal seal, which, when it was placed upon an order writ- ten in the Book of Decrees, made obedi- ence a matter of life or death. The civil omra had ordered that she be kept in ignorance because he loved her—as they all loved her—and counted it his first duty to save her every hour of anxiety that was possible. For the first hour of the morning the princess always walked upon the bal- cony which completely surrounded the palace, commanding a perfect view of the city below, the lake, the inner wall, the broad Ranabunda or market-place beyond, then the outer wall and forts,

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A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA 39 the gloomy ravine and the grand moun- tains in the distance. She was too far away to hear the wail- ing and see the anx- ious faces, but it was evident, at a glance, that unusual excite- ment was everywhere. The lake was de- serted. It was not the excitement of a holiday. Soldiers were everywhere about the walls and forts and gates. Wherever she looked, beyond, the desolate ravine was dotted with moving atoms— moving away from the city. Zieta stood watch- ing and wondering, when she saw the civil omra appear for an instant upon the _ terrace, beyond the angle of the palace, then turn about and quickly disappear. The poor old man was dragging his stiff- ened joints about in quaint mimicry of his braver days, half a century before. It would have been absurd had it not been so serious. Slowly, with that Oriental grace and languor so charming in the pale women of Rajputana, Zieta walked toward the angle to obtain a view from the front of the palace and discover, if she could, what it was that had roused not only the city but the ancient omra, too, to such unwonted energy. Slowly she turned the corner, and be- low her lay the great pile of fagots, the soldiers silently building it broader and higher. She stood for 2 moment with her eyes strained open, staring blankly at the pyre, then she staggered back a step or two and leaned against the carved mar- ble wall. Her face was like death. Her Zieta stood watching. hands shook as her fingers moved me- chanically, following the lines of the carving upon which they rested. Her eyes turned aimlessly toward the ravine, and even then her attention was again attracted by the moving atoms. Now she knew, instantly, that they were people flying from the city. Helplessly the eyes turned toward the walls again. Yes, the soldiers were there to defend them. Then again toward the funeral pyre. Rajputs would not build that if one faint hope remained. The suddenness of the horror over- came her. Her hands were icy cold. Presently she gathered herself to- gether and stood erect. “Am I a daughter of Rana,” she mut- tered, “‘a Rajput and Ghelote, to stand here quaking before the same that other women have faced without flinching at Brahamanabad and Chittore ?” Calmly she folded her arms, walked to the front of the balcony, and stood looking down upon the pile of fagots as - it silently grew larger. She examined with especial interest a small square in the centre raised higher than the rest. “Tt is for mre,” she whispered. She stood there till she was satisfied that she had mastered herself ; then she drew a silver whistle from her girdle and blew three shrill notes. The ancient omra started. His nerves were sadly strained, and the sound of that signal, which was a summons for him, portended a task which he felt was farthest of all from his ability to per- form. It was hard enough for him to build the pyre. What would it not be to tell the Princess Zieta that he was building it for her ? He looked about him anxiously, then up and down the terrace, where he knew that she was not, and last of all up to the balcony where he knew from the first that he should find her. When his reluctant eyes rested at last upon the beautiful girl, old as he was and-worn from his night’s work, he scrupulously made the obeisance and left the terrace to obey her summons. Zieta waited patiently, standing by the rail, till the lagging feet of age brought the old man out upon the balcony. It was a hard struggle for him. His shrivelled hands shook as he lifted them

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40 A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA . to his forehead. His thin lips quivered. His old eyes were wet with tears and soft with pity. Even more than he loved Rajputana he loved the beautiful, help- less girl before him. He had given to the Maharana his most solemn oath to hold her in his keeping more precious than the apple of his eye. He would rot have been less devoted had he made no vow. He would gladly have given both his eyes to save her from that pyre —even to escape the duty of telling her that he was building it for her. From simple habit he began, mechan- ically, the long obeisance. Zieta stepped quickly to his side. She laid her hand gently on hisarm. Not even excitement was evident in her voice. “Good omra,” she said, “ for this hour forget that we are anything but friends. Friends are not men and women, princes and subjects. They are one. Only an- swer my questions, good omra, as thou art my friend. Hold nothing back. Give nothing a favored light. Is not the Great Mogul with a Moslem host approaching Oudeypore ?” The omra shuddered as he replied, “With a host like the leaves of the for- est or the desert sands.” * And will be here—— “ With the setting sun.” Zieta’s arms were folded. Her eyes were upon the floor. When she spoke again it was with evident deliberation, as though she measured every word in advance, “My father, my brother, fourteen omras and the Guard were with the Em- peror when he left Delhi. Are they all with him now?” “Most of them, O my Princess, most pe “Ts my father or my brother slain ?” If the old man had been younger or less benumbed he must have recognized the fierce conflict between the blood of Rana and the timid heart of a girl; but his blinded eyes saw nothing but cruel calmness, and his deafened ears heard ” ‘Is not the great Mogul with a Moslem host approaching Oudeypore ?”’

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A RAJPUT OF RAJPUTANA 41 only the clear, cold voice and the words so deliberately spoken that he recoiled even as he had from the ghastly heads of the omras at the gate. Could it be Zieta? He shook his head, and was muttering to himself, “Not unless she has gone mad.” * Are they slain?” The old man was startled into his common sense again. The voice was piercing. It was almost a shriek. It was the woman’s heart, triumphing for an instant over the blood of Rana. “No, no, O my Princess!” the old man gasped. “They are still alive— they and the Guard. Only the omras have yet been slain.” In his excitement the ancient omra told everything. when his earnest inten- tion was to tell nothing. Zieta’s eyes were still upon the floor, and calm and cold and deliberate as before, she con- tinued, “Good omra, hear me well and answer truly. The Rajputs were beguiled to Delhi for treachery. When the best and bravest of Meywar were in his power the Mogul devil demanded of the Maha- rana the Princess Zieta. Good omra, is it not true?” The omra bowed his head and Zieta continued, ‘“‘Maharana refused, and to frighten him the Mogul slew the om- ras.” The old man shuddered, and wondered if it could be Zieta who was speaking so calmly. She even laughed, a clear, cold, ringing laugh. The horrified omra heard it, but was too bewildered to realize that there was no mirth in it or to recognize the blood of Rana. “Frighten a Rana!” Zieta exclaimed. ‘ Frighten a Child of the Sun! Must every generation learn anew the quality of a Rajput Ghelote? ‘Tis well that he refused. Else would I and everyone despise him.” ' The omra was dumb. Had she not seen the funeral pyre? Did she not know that Oudeypore was doomed ? “And now the Mogul devil with his host approaches,” she continued. ‘ To- morrow morning, at the gates, he will demand me of you, my omra, and if I be not given up he will slay the rest of the Rajputs, Mabarana and the prince, and if my omra still refuse he will sack the city and kill and kill and kill till all are dead and the temples and palaces in ruins. Good omra, have I said it right ?” “Q Princess, thou hast said it even as thou hadst read it from the letter of the Emperor,” the old man muttered, writhing in agony. “A letter?” The words came in a hissing whisper from between Zieta’s teeth. ‘Has he even written it and sent it in advance of him? The hyena yelps before he dares approach his prey. If it is living, if it moves, he turns and runs. Now answer me, good omra; not in love, or hope, or pity, but in very truth: When the last demand is made, to save the Maharana, to save the prince, to save the city, to save themselves, is there a possibility that the people will give me up?” Could that be Zieta? Their Princess Zieta? Cold and calculating only for herself insuch anhour? Verily the be- wildered and disappointed omra had it upon his tongue to tell her that it would teach her a lesson that evidently she had never learned, if they did give her up. In the boldness of his anger he even lifted his eyes to her to make reply, when upon her cheeks he saw the glistening track of tears. It was the woman’s heart. It sent the blood of Rana throbbing through her veins but it sent the protest too. Before the old man’s lips could move, those tears had disarmed him. They seemed to tell him everything. In real- ity they told him nothing. For who so wise and learned and old that he can un- derstand a woman’s tears ? With a voice that quavered and trem- bled in the eagerness of renewed devo- tion, the lips that were parted to re- buke replied, ‘““O my Princess, look about you. The ravine is filled with families flying with what they may. The forts are manned with warriors who have said the last farewells.” His voice almost failed him as he turned and glanced down upon the terrace. “The fagots are gathering. The women in the streets are wailing the funeral diyge. Do these not answer thee ?” “They have answered me, my omra, but I am only a girl, and it gave me

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42 GREATNESS strength to hear it in words from thy lips.” the omra’s heart was crushed and melted. He cursed himself that ever such a thought of doubt had entered his head. Tenderly as a mother could have spoken he replied, “Of course thou wouldst rather die upon the pyre—I know that thou wouldst rather die upon the pyre than live a thou- sand years in the harem of an accursed Mogul.” “Good omra, I would rather die a thousand deaths than live one hour in the harem of anaccursed Mogul. If the Emperor had said to me, ‘ Wilt thou Delhi or the pyre ?’ my feet would have flown to the fagots. My hands would have lighted them before my lips could answer him. But seest.thou no differ- ence here, good omra? There is a dif- ference and I fain would understand it and know the way it leads me. “Tis well the people would not give me up. I should rebel to be turned by force to such a sacrifice. But they are true Chil- dren ofthe Sun. They are readier to be, themselves, the sacrifice. Oh, my good omra, should I do less for them than they for me?” The ancient omra was slowly shaking his head while he watched her lips in a bewildered, questioning way. “Try, my good omra,” she exclaimed. “Try and thou shalt understand me. If it were only between the funeral pyreand Delhi that I stood and stood alone, it were a simple question. I could easily answer it. But now it is not for myself that I must answer. My father, my brother, my people, my Oudeypore the Beautiful! Think of them, good omra, and tellme. Iam but a girl, unlearned, unwise, vet not afraid to do my duty, whatever it may be. If there is nothing else that can be done is it not better that I, alone, unasked, undriven—that I, of my free will go to-——” Zieta ceased speaking, the sentence unfinished ; for, witha cry of horror the ancient omra staggered as though he had been struck, and his thin hands clutched the two deep points of his white, flowing beard. (To be continued.) GREATNESS Give me the life that animates the Oak, Its calm, its depth of spirit and its power; These, and its constancy would I invoke, Rare things that pass not with the passing hour. Whether it be in time of leaf and flower, Or when all life endures the winter’s stroke, Nobly it rears its head; a deathless dower Of grandeur aye invests it like a cloak. Give me these gifts, and I shall ever fare Untiring, far up toward the longed-for height ; No more strong, dauntless, in the morning air, When all the way is clear with lucid light, Than when with folded pinions I must bear Along the dreadful glooméd gulf of night. Wituram Franots Barnarp. a Ky,

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by, JORKYNS By James Clarence Harvey ORKYNS had been footman for the 3 Grammercys nearly three years, and the Grammercys had grown fond of Jorkyns ; he was so spick and span, so punctilious, so stiff and straight on the box, and his chamois leather trousers revealed such a marvellously trim pair of sturdy little legs. The Grammercys never troubled themselves about ordering cards from their plates at Tiffany’s, for they knew Jorkyns would attend to it. They never hunted in the escritoire for a supply when they started out calling, for they knew Jorkyns’s breast-pocket contained the requisite number. * One,” Mrs. Grammercy was in the habit of saying, or “ Two,” as the case might be; and Jorkyns would mount the steps, like a bijou edition de luxe of Beau Brummel, and, hat in hand, stand and deliver when the ring was an- swered. On the day when the Grammercys had called to leave cards at the Livingstones’, Jorkyns had stepped inside the outer door after ringing the bell, and the de- lay had seemed unusual; for Living- stone pére had walked up the street and paid his -respects at the curb-stone while Jorkyns was still invisible to the naked eye. Livingstone pére was rotund and red- faced—the kind of man that seemed to explode under excitement—and when he opened the outer door and revealed Jorkyns fondly embracing and as fondly embraced by the second house-maid, Mary, Livingstone pére exploded. “ Outrageous!” he puffed, and his cheeks extended on either,side, like those of the monkey at the Zoo with his stored- away nuts. Jorkyns was too startled to relax his hold, and the second house-maid, Mary, seemed to melt like wax and disappear, leaving behind only the echo of a scream, and a bewildered footman with rigid arms folded about nothing. Livingstone pére stared at him an in- stant, then, as though Jorkyns were a marionette, one arm was pulled down to his side, then the other ; Jorkyns was then turned as though on a pivot, a gentle push put him under way, and he reached the carriage, mounted the box, and folded his arms with automatic pre- cision, his eyes fixed at an angle of forty- five degrees, and as expressionless as those of a somnambulist. Mrs. Grammercy’s height had percep- tibly increased. She said nothing, but Jorkyns was sure that two hot irons were burning holes in the back of his coat. He could feel Mrs. Grammercy’s eyes burning deeper and deeper, until a wild plunge from the box to the street, un- derneath the wheels of some passing carriage seemed the only possible relief. * Jock, I'm done for,” said Jorkyns to i | yf AMT | . mah With rigid arms folded about nothing.

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44 JORKYNS the coachman, as they drove to the sta- bles. . “ W’at’s hup?” said Jock. “ Didn’t you see *@qteried Jorkyns. “See wat?” answered Jock. “ What happened in Livingstone’s ves- tibule ?” faltered Jorkyns. “Look a ’ere, Jorkyns,” said Jock, in- dignantly, ‘“Hi’m a first-clawss coach- man, an’ ’ow would Hi see the Living- stones’ vestibule, hunless Hi turned me ‘ead? Hi asks you, Jorkyns, ‘ave you hever known me to forget meself so far? ” “Never!” said Jorkyns. ‘“ Never! You never forget yourself ; I did.” “H’as ow ?” questioned Jock. “It’s like this, Jock. Mary and me was married two months ago, and the Livingstones only keep single girls, and the Grammercys only keep single men ; so a bit of a walk in the park, or a ride to Harlem on the L, or a half-an-hour at the corner, is about all Mary and me has seen of each other ; and when she came to the door to-day she looked that sweet that—hang me if I could help hugging her! And Mary didn’t seem disin- clined, so I suppose it lasted longer than I thought, for, the first I knew, old Liv- ingstone towered up above us there, ten feet tall, with a face on him that would put out the electric lights.” The telephone bell rang, and answer- ing it, Jock called over his shoulder : “Mrs. Grammercy wishes a few words with Jorkyns, at once, in the library.” “ Ain’t it tough, Jock? I say, ain’t it tough?” said Jorkyns. “Tough hit his,” answered Jock, “hif you gets fired for kissin’ uv your hown wedded wife! Tough hit most certainly his!” * You will find your wages to the end of the month in this envelope,” said Mrs. Grammercy. “I regret that so trusted a servant should so far forget his du- ties.” “Tf I might explain,” stammered Jor- kyns. “Explanation is impossible,” inter- rupted Mrs. Grammercy. Jorkyns bowed. ‘ Mary is my —— “T have no doubt you are on most friendly terms with Mrs. Livingstone’s house-maid,” again interrupted Mrs. Grammercy, and again Jorkyns bowed, ” while his chamois-covered knees shook beneath him. “But, Mrs. Grammercy, I am mar- ried!” Jorkyns was getting desperate. “Shame!” fumed Mrs. Grammercy. ** Decency alone should prevent such a confession under the circumstances. While I am sorry for your wife, I can- not believe it is my duty to tolerate such behavior as yours, through sym- pathy for her.” But she is—— “Silence! Leave the room! Give your livery to Jock, and leave your quarters vacant for a new footman be- fore six to-night.” Jorkyns opened his mouth for one final appeal, but a significant uplifting of Mrs. Grammercy’s hand checked him. As he removed his livery a handful of the Grammercy cards fell to the floor from his breast-pocket. Jorkyns was naturally a kindly dis- posed and genial fellow, but now he was smarting under a sense of injustice. He felt that he had a right to explain, and he had been shut off at the most critical point in every statement he had endeavored to make. He stuffed the cards into his pocket, with a half-formed idea of retaliation, and turned away over the carriage-drive with flushed cheeks and angry eyes. His dismissal had been supercilious and overbeuring ; and his attempts at explanation had been nipped in the bud with what seemed to him unnecessary severity. Even the purse-proud Grammercys could not have blamed him, he thought, if they knew that Mary, the second house-maid of the Livingstones, was his lawful wife, and he had stolen but a few half-hours of his honeymoon thus far. He made his way toward the Living- stone mansion with the idea of com- municating in some way with Mary, but before reaching the street he saw her coming toward him with eyes red from weeping. She had fared even worse than Jorkyns. Her dismissal had been in writing, and opportunity had not been given her even to attempt the ex- planation of affairs which Jorkyns had managed to touch upon slightly, though with disastrous results. ” | |

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JORKYNS 45 “ And they wouldn’t even listen to you? They wouldn’t even see you?” asked Jorkyns, his natty little figure trembling with rage. **Not a word could I say, Jorkyns,” quavered Mary. “And them’s what they call nobs,” said Jorkyns. “Nobs, or no nobs, I'll be even with them yet.” Jorkyns’s face lit up with a sudden gleam as he exclaimed, “Tll doit! By Crackey, Ill do it!” “Do what?” asked Mary. Jorkyns drew from his pocket the handful of cards which had fallen from the pocket of his livery coat, and whis- pered confidentially, “Tl humiliate *em—that’s what Tl do. They've humiliated me and rid roughshod over me, not giving me even the chance to explain that you’re my married wife, and that I've got a right to kiss you, Mary. Ill humiliate ’em!” “But how, Jorkyns?” queried the bewildered second house-maid. “Tll- send these cards to people what'll break their hearts when they show up at their Friday night affair. That's just what I'll do.” “Oh, but Jorkyns, that wouldn’t be just right, would it?” suggested the little woman. “ Right, or no right, it goes, and them cards goes too, Mary. Now you watch me if they don’t.” Jorkyns lost no time in drawing on their little store of savings for the ne- cessary funds for envelopes to enclose the Grammercys’ cards, and wisely avoided Tiffany’s, in the belief that those to whom they were to be sent would be so delighted at receiving them that the envelopes which enclosed them would excite little, if any, remark. To the butcher and the baker, the grocer and the milkman, Jorkyns addressed the first envelopes, and then cudgelled his brain to recall the names of those to whom the Grammercys had given the most vigorous of the slatings which he had overheard from his seat on the box of the victoria. He had some- times smiled at the bitterness which would exist in high life against those whose sole sin was the fact that they had not been born with golden spoons in their mouths. Even Jock, the coach- man, had once broken forth, after an unusually vigorous onslanght, and upon their return to the stable had said : “‘ Jorkyns, Hi wovldn’t feel toward the rest of the world as they does for all their ’osses an’ rollin’ stock—not Hi. Give me peace of mind and the right to mind my hown business, says Hi— an’ that hain’t w’at they've got, a back- biting of their hinferiors.” Jorkyns had not taken time to con- sider the expense which the butcher and baker and grocer would incur in prop- erly equipping their families to do honor to the patronage of the Gram- mercys. “Tt certain is kind of ’em,” said the butcher to his wife. And ‘I never should a dreamed o’ their looking upon us as equals,” said the baker ; while the grocer remarked, in private conclave with his wife and daughters : “ Fifty-seven dollars is a big price for one evening’s entertainment, but if they feel this way toward us, we shall get it all back, no doubt, and the Grammercys always did pay prompt.” Mrs. Grammercy stared stupidly at the butcher’s wife and two daughters when they entered her drawing-room on the Friday of her “At Home.” She started back in amazement when the baker and his awkward son appeared in hired evening dress; and when the gro- cer quietly stepped inside the door and remained there, wondering what to do and where to put his hands, her dis- tress knew no bounds, and she hurried- ly excused herself to seek her own apartments, sending at once for Eliza- beth, the eldest and brightest daughter. “Who are they? How dare they come here? What does it mean?” Mrs. Grammercy wailed, on the verge of hysterics. ‘‘ What must the Living- stones think, and the Vanderveers, and the Schuylers ! ” Doubtless, at the present moment, they were discussing in dramatic whispers, the probability that the Gram- mercys had a larger supply of provin- cial relatives than they had imagined, even though it was well known that but three generations before a push - cart might have figured consistently on the family crest.

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46 | JORKYNS Elizabeth pondered deeply for a mo- ment, then advised her mother to re- turn to the drawing-room. Meanwhile she would enlist the services of young Archie Loomis, her fidus Achates, and he should suggest to the intruders that upon entering a drawing-room it was fitting and according to custom, that they should pay their respects to the hostess. “Then when they come to pay their respects, freeze them, mother,” said Elizabeth. ‘Let everybody see that they are uninvited guests.” Young Loomis approached the butcher with extended hand and said to him: “Charmed to see you here to-night, Mr. —Ah—Mr. 2” “ Bissel is my name, sir, Bissel!” said the butcher. “Yes, to be sure, certainly, Mr. Bis- sel,” echoed Loomis. ‘“ Have you paid your respects to ot hostess as yet? No? Youshould, You most certainly should.” ape “Well, I don’t just know which one is the hostess.” confessed the butcher. “T've seen Mrs. Grammercy drive up to my store in her carriage, but you know fine feathers make fine birds, and I don’t just place her.” “Mrs. Grammercy is at the end of the room,” suggested Loomis. “The lady in the velvet dress.” * Hannah, follow me with the girls, and do just as I do,” said Mr. Bissel, after a question or two addressed to Mr. Loomis. Elbowing his way across the room, with an occasional glance over his shoul- Pleased to meet you at close quarters," said he, > er ee

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ea oT JORKYNS 47 der to see that the family procession had not be- come entangled, the butcher stopped before Mrs. Grammercy and ex- tended his brawny palm. “Pleased to meet you at close quarters, Mrs. Grammercy,” said he. Mrs. Grammercy looked at the extended hand through her lorgnette as though it might be some rare specimen of primeval troglodyte, then followed along the arm and over the shoulder with her stony gaze, until it rested and seemed to freeze, as her eyes met those of the nonplussed butcher. * Mr. Bissel, Mr. Horace Bissel of Third Avenue,” he explained ; “I got your invite, and I-——” “You received cards from us, for to- night?” questioned Mrs. Grammercy, in bewilderment. “ Well, madam, I ain’t in the habit o’ going where I ain’t asked to go. Han- nah, fetch the girls and we'll get out. This may be the way to entertain in so- ciety, but nobody comes to my house to be squelched. Come on!” Mr. Bissel made his way out of the drawing-room in high dudgeon, followed by his wife and two daughters, who had read in their weekly story paper of the manner adopted by proud dames when indignant, and gave as graphic a repro- duction as possible. In fact, they were complimented by the butcher in the family conclave which followed their ar- rival at home in Third Avenue. * You did proud,” he exclaimed ; ‘‘ you did proud—and it served her right.” - The baker and the grocer and the other plebeians had much the same ex- perience, and long before the usual hour the Grammercy drawing-room was de- serted. The customary harmony was not prevailing and the aftermath was correspondingly discordant. Livingstone pére was in transports of delight over the humiliation of the Grammercys. Long ago, when he was In transports of delight. a rising young merchant and Mrs. Grammercy was pretty Kitty Van Cort- land, she had jilted him for the man who had to die to obtain the place he craved, so Livingstone pere had said; and Liv- ingstone péere kept a sore place in his heart and a vengeful fire in his eye for Mrs. Grammercy, in spite of the fact that he thanked kind Providence daily for the intervention which had shifted his matrimo- nial responsibilities to their present abiding- place. And so when young Loomis had shown him the cards of invita- tion which the grocer had brought with him, sup- posing they would be needed at the door, and the hint had been dropped that the discarded footman might be at the bot- tom of it, Livingstone pcre formed a resolve. He sought out Jorkyns and learned from him all the particulars which had led up to the little social tragedy. It resulted in the reinstatement of Mary as second house-maid at the Liv- ingstones, and Jorkyns was installed on the box of the Livingstone victorig ; while the former incumbent, by strange coincidence, replaced Jorkyns at the Grammercys. And this was the reason why Kitty Van Cortland, erstwhile the sweetheart of Livingstone pére, but now the relict of Mr. Grammercy, lifted her lorgnette and stared blankly at him, as their car- riages passed each other in the Park, though the Livingstone tile was lifted with its usual ceremony, to be replaced with a jerk, as its owner shook like a jelly-fish with suppressed laughter. Jorkyns, hearing the chuckle behind him, so far forgot the manners of the box that he nudged the coachman with his elbow and whispered : “Tt was the old tartar, Bill. Did you see her perform? She’s revenged her- self on the Governor.” ‘

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Tue signal-fires of coming Day Glow faintly through the eastern trees. Dark-visaged Night the blush perceives— Lo! Westward trail her garments gray. Hanging on each emerald blade The gems she left in myriads gleam ; Suspended o’er each lake and stream Is vapor by her chill breath made. Transmuted by the smiling Morn, The magic essence they exhale Is felt by birds in yonder vale, And flowers on its bosom borne. A greater fragrance now ascends ; The birds in gladsome chorus sing ; New life inspires every thing When day begins and darkness ends. Wrturam H. Worratt. DESIRE By May Kelsey Champion twisting, brier-edged path, Good- man Boyce had given the reins to his wife and got down from his horse to tighten the girth of the saddle. His broad-brimmed hat lay on the grass beside him, and in the dusk of its high black crown a pair of crickets were tak- ing up anew their interrupted duet. Half-hidden as he was beneath the horse, he could only guess whose were the three shadows coming up on the . other side. But on the chance of the A‘ one of the turns in the little, longest of them being the minister’s. he strangled an impatient utterance as Deborah turned suddenly on her pillion, wrenching the strap from his fingers. “Wilt ride and tie with us, neigh- bor?” she asked, cheerfully righting herself to the slip. “Good thanks to you, Deborah Boyce.” It was only John Tracy’s speech. “Tis much kindness on your part, but we shall walk easily enough.” “Nay, ‘tis much too warm to make O *

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* DESIRE 49 the whole way afoot,” persuaded Debo- rah. And at this her husband straight- ened himself and came round to their side. “Good morrow, John Tracy,” he said, giving his animal a light slap on the near buttock, where the Norwich N was clearly branded, ‘ Twill pleasure us much to spell you, and Ill warrant your small John will not say nay to a ride The little road ran on among the sweet-fern and sumac bushes in a daz- zling zigzag of shimmering white sand and flaming blackberry brier, hid itself for a brief contrite instant in a grove of pines beyond, and came out at the other side, straight and unswerving and se- vere as a creed, till it reached the ledge of the meeting-house. “Verily an intemperate season! ” re- He strangled an impatient utterance, either before or after a fast-day sermon. "Tis the hottest we've had yet, think you not?” and he wiped his forehead with a kerchief, not over fine, but one that Deborah Boyce had spun and woven with her own hands. “Yea, an intemperate season, truly,’ John Tracy agreed, as he pushed the turnstile for his young wife and stopped to look at the parched fields all about. peated John Tracy. “There will be but thin harvest for inning if the drouth holds on. I noted last week the apple- trees were withering and the fruit and leaves falling as in autumn. Yet we know not the Achan that troubles us.” Goodman Boyce had climbed to the saddle again, but was walking the horse by the side of the footpath, stirring up a slow cloud of dust which reached the

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50 DESIRE knees of his loose, striped linsey-woolsey trousers, and powdered his wife’s blue dress to an indefinite gray. “Truly the sword of the Almighty is over the land,” he said. ‘“ But when He hath humbled us He will appear as in days of old.” “Ay, an’ ‘tis fitting we come to- gether to pray for its withdrawal, for tis fine-tempered and sharp, and hangs close above our heads.” John lifted his child in his arms as he spoke, and touched its soft face with his brown cheek. “Did not Mr. Fitch say it was the Indians had begged him to pray for the rain?” asked Deborah, over her hus- band’s shoulder. “Yes. The uncircumcised heathen could get none by their pow-wows, though they worked them till the Devil must have helped if he were able. Then they turned to the Englishmen.” Good- man Boyce angrily beat the reins over his knees. “For my part, I distrust their foul looks altogether, and believe they move wherever victual is easiest got, though they make as if ‘twere the gospel they sought. Whoa! I say, whoa!” he shouted, as the horse, irri- tated by the continuous jerking of the lines, was working itself into a show of ill-temper. “Verily they be vicious and mischievous engines—Indians and beasts alike.” “Still there might be some hungry for the true bread, an’ ’twould be a pity to let them fall away to evil—poor, lost, naked sons of Adam,” ventured gentle Mary Tracy, quoting her minis- ter’s words in a low voice, for she was not without fear of this stern neighbor on the horse. Goodman Boyce did not reply. They spent too much tolerance upon those unmannerly out-livers—Mr. Fitch and the women. And Deborah was as bad as auy, though in most things she had an even head for a woman. Striking his square, double-soled shoes against his animal's sides, and drawing in the lines, he started on. “T will leave the horse tied at the twin oak for you and your dame, John Tracy,” he turned to say through the cloud of dust that at once grew large and half-concealed him. “You must not mind his way, wife,” said John, feeling for her the reproof of the abrupt leave-taking. ‘His heart is not so soft as some, but he means well enough.” Mary Tracy brushed the dust from the sleeve of his canvas coat with her kerchief. “Oh, yes, I doubt it not,” she said. “And ’tis not to be looked for that every woman in the plantation should have so good a husband as I. But I know Deborah Boyce is sore tried some- times.” The grass was brown and slippery un- der their feet, and the air full of the hot, scorched smell of that and the bayber- ries and sassafras and mint. The leaves hung breathless on the trees, only now and then one, dry and dead, sank slowly to the ground of its own weight. Every- thing was waiting and expectant, but there had been no clouds in the sky for many days—nothing but an unbroken stretch of blue, pitiless and metallic, till even the birds had hidden themselves in the forests, and came out for only a mournful chirp or two just before day- break. Never before since the settle- ment, had the spring by Goodman EI- derkin’s mill been dry, or the river run so low. But strong and unwavering, on this appointed day of humiliation, was the faith of the men and women who were climbing the steep ledges to the little meeting-house where they were to pray together for the rain—a faith so firm that it touched knowledge; for twice before, when they had sought by fasting and prayer, the rain had been given. High among the rough rocks and stunted cedars the meeting-house stood, with its pyramid tower and diamond- paned windows, its modestly pretentious wings and porch and sun-dial. Leaving their muskets resting against the steps, they soberly took their places —the men on one side of the long benches, and the women on the other, the children, as they followed, keeping the left, left, left of the drum outside, and wishing with hungry might that it were a training-day instead of a fast- day. Now and then, during Mr. Fitch's first prayer, a crown of coarse black hair -

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DESIRE 51 or an eagle’s feather appeared above the window ledge ; and before the sermon a dozen or more dark faces had gathered in the corner by the militia-men. All the afternoon they stayed—this lit- tle company of praying souls—till the sun had gone down, and the style no longer cast a shadow on the dial-plate outside. The light grew dim, and Mr. Fitch bent his head to read the last of the psalm. Then, when the prayer had been said, the day was over. The colo- nists went slowly down to their homes, the watch to their places for the night ; and peace fell upon the strong men and women of Norwich. Many times the next day did the men leave their work to watch the sky from a clearing. Early in the morning the women moved their wheels to the win- dows that looked west, and the thread spun that day was uneven in places and broken. But no rain came ; and on the morrow it was the same. Toward noon of that second day a strange procession turned into the pent- way through the min- ister’s land. He who led was gay in an English coat of scarlet made fine with lace. A great chain of white bone beads was twisted about his shoulders, and from that, at the back of his neck, hung a small bag of tobacco. As they passed, a slight, girlish fig- ure in a blue stuff petticoat, stole deeper into the shade of the wood at the side; sometimes stooping behind a dwarfed cedar, or again peering through the low-hanging branches of a black oak. She knew them well, from Uncus, whose proud head was held well up, to him who came last, stout for an Indian, with his two locks tied with strips of red Then, when the prayer had been said. woollen and a rattlesnake’s skin. They had come up from the twist of the river. Cautiously she watched them past the bars and through the stile at the other end ; then turning, went slowly down the slope toward a tall tree whose heavy branches fell about its trunk like the covering of a tent. Through an open- ing in the side she vanished for an in- stant and then returned, gently and with a lingering touch smoothing the folds from a Puritan cap and apron which she held before her. Gathering up in both hands her heavy dark hair, which fell below her knees, she coiled it about her head and hid it with the starched cap. Then when she had fastened the apron about her waist, she stood for a moment hesitating, disap- peared among the green boughs again, and came back with a crisp white kerchief. It gave her more trou- ble — this last — and several times, with anxious, girlish van- ity, she took it off, or changed the folds, be- fore she was pleased. When at last it was arranged, with the corners primly tucked in at the apron-band as Hannah Fitch fastened hers, she bent to look at herself in the spring. But there was no reflection to smile back at her—only the dry clay, parched and cracked. She sighed as she remem- bered. “°'Tis a strange fashion. But if it seemeth good to his people—” she said half aloud, as, drawing the spotless apron close about her, she made her way through a thick growth of sassafras and persistent briers. From a clearing not far beyond came the sound of an ax. With footsteps light as her breath, she sped along the

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DESIRE " ay ¢g \\ | | SY “Desire !"" he cried, bounding over the trunk. narrow path till she came to an opening between two trees, where, almost within reach of the flying chips, she paused for an instant. It was a strong arm that was laying bare the heart of that great chestnut. The muscles were hard and every stroke told. The man had thrown off his holland coat and high hat, with its narrow, taper- ing crown ; and his long hair, combed back from his forehead and fastened at the neck with a black ribbon, did not disguise a well-shaped head. At last, with a moaning and tearing of the wood, the huge trunk crashed to the ground, pitilessly breaking down the yo ‘ng trees in its path. a2en there was a soft clapping of hands, and the white cap and apron showed themselves. “°Twas not in that far-away country beyond the water of sunrise—the great morning ocean—you learned to do that!” the new land hath more.” Kenneth Gager turned quickly. “Desire!” he cried, bounding over the trunk and coming to meet her. He was one of those whom Mr. Fitch had taken into his own family to train for the ministry, as he himself had been trained by Mr. Hooker. Young yet, scarcely over twenty, life was to him all a future to be wrestled with if he would obtain a blessing; and he be- lieved he could meet it without fear or recoil. As he stood before her the girl raised her soft, dark eyes and studied his face for that revealing moment. “You do like them?” she said, anx- iously. It might be, after all, that he would think she had done ill in adopt- ing the simple finery of the Puritan maiden. ‘Mistress Birchard gave me girl exclaimed. ‘Tis the taught you it all and

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DESIRE 53 the cap, and Deborah Boyce the ker- chief and apron for the baskets I wove for them.” She laid her hand on his arm with ashy, pleading touch. ‘“ Only these have I now;” and from the shadow of her blue skirt she put out a small foot dressed in a not ill-fitting Indian moccasin —a delicate buff moc- casin, with an elaborate embroidery of purple and white peage. “But the Englishman’s shoes are so heavy.” Kenneth took the hand in both his own. It was ashade or two darker than Hannah Fitch’s, but far dearer. He knew what it had cost her to give up her carefully wrought chains and her cap made of the scarlet breasts of birds. The girl raised her fine, earnest face. “For you am I now become all Eng- lish. I will forget the language of my fathers, the songs my mother sang as I lay on her breast. Since the Great River carried the snow down to the sea —yes, the ice and the dead branches— it has been all for you.” With only a slight hesitancy and gen- tle concession to a difficult consonant now and then, she spoke ; for Mr. Fitch had taught this daughter of the forests with his own child, and with as great care. “You are not displeased with this ? You think not I did wrong ?” she asked, raising her hand to the frilled cap. Wrong! Drawing her to him, Ken- neth looked down into the dark eyes which had not yet lost their troubled questioning, and told her. “Then call me once inore by my In- dian name—the name [have taught you to speak. After that it shall be the other always—that other which Mr. Fitch has given me, and which you sa is good too.” ' “Nay, my Waukaumauw, my Bright- ness-of-Day ; we will keep them both, and I shall often call you that.” Ken- neth led her to a seat on the trunk of the chestnut. ‘ You will need the In- dian tongue, too, when we go together to teach among those who have not seen the light.” The girl pointed to the sky and shook her head sadly. “You who read my heart as it were strings of wampum, know that it is not mine but yours,” she said. “It is all yours. But my people have said—the chief men have spoken it—that I shall not be given in marriage to the English- man unless his God sends rain. For the Thunder-bird has folded its wings, and sorrow is come to their wigwams because of the drouth. But you have prayed ; and still is the rain bound up in the clouds. You have prayed; and the Mishi-yon-tuck, the Loud-Voiced- Stream, creeps silent along its bed.” She gathered some of the long grasses that were growing at her side and matched them into even lengths across her white apron. “Saw you Uncus and his men? They are gone to ask why the rain came not. All the long night. have I also prayed, and— was it wrong ?— though *twas the Englishman’s God I sought, I begged also of the Great Spirit of the Southwest that the waters might come. But one as the other, they have forgotten their children.” Kenneth gently drew her back to the tree. “Nay, my Desire ; now at least you know that you are wrong,” he said. “The hand of the Lord is heavy upon us, I own; but He does not forget.” The face of Waukaumauw was still pale and hard. “Wait,” she said, fiercely, standing before him. Her eyes blazed and the words came ina storm. ‘Do you know what more they say? No, that you know not! They say that this light moon will they give me to the strong Wequesh—the mighty Born-After-His- Mother’s-Death—who follows me as the wind the cloud, and who whispers a charm upon his arrows that they miss not. His tomahawk has been drunk with blood in the war with Philip, and there be some believe that he can cause water to burn and a green leaf to grow in winter. Do you know that they say that ?” “They never will,” cried Kenneth, sternly, rising too, and laying his hand upon her shoulder. “No, they never will,” she repeated, quietly enough now. “I will give myself to the Great River before that.” “Hush, Desire!” And Kenneth’s hand grew heavier. ‘You must not talk thus, child. There be places

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54 DESIRE enough, if the worst befell, where the mighty Wequesh, broad though he is between the eyes, could never find us. We should be safe in plenty in the Bay of Del’way country, or among the fight- ing Dutchmen of the New Jerseys.” Still Waukaumauw shook her head hopelessly. ‘°T Would but bring down the anger of Uncus sore upon your people,” she said. “Tis a little thing—the here or there of a poor Indian girl,” and she smiled faintly ; ‘“‘ but they of bianket and beads have oft whetted their arrows and made war for less cause.” “Uncus would not dare. He has no hope but in peace with the English.” “There is no fear in the heart of the Indian when the fire of revenge is burn- ing,” she said, lifting her head proudly. “The word of Uncus is given. He has bound it by gifts of wampum to We- quesh. No; ‘tis all in the hands of your God. And if He is good, as you ” sav “He is your God no less,” Kenneth corrected, gently. ‘‘And He must be cood—He must be good,” he repeated in a low voice to himself. ‘See, I have brought the book for the morning ies- son. Shall we read a little and believe that the rain will come?” “Truly ‘tis as my people have said,” the girl flashed, angrily. “You do not———” But she paused, held by the look of anguish which she had never be- fore seen in his face. She misunder- stood it, and her eyes fell. ‘I am all evil,” she said, in a low, sobbing voice, and held out her hands pitifully. “No.” Kenneth smoothed her dark hair. ‘ No.” He did not tell her—how would it help?—of the night before—of the strange questionings and confusing doubts which were seething in his own brain as he walked the narrow wood- paths, or lay upon the dewless ground till the east grew light. He who was so soon to be ordained—who was to go to teach faith to a lost people—he to harbor distrust of the Almighty ! Instead he brought the book, which was lying in the forking branch of a tree near, and they sat down again. Desire’s white cap bent low as she slowly turned the pages. She was al- Midway in the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel she found the mark—a piece of fragrant savin, left there yesterday-—and began, pausing and quietly considering a word now and then as she went on. Kenneth followed the well-shaped ways shy over her lessons. forefinger in its journey down the page, but his thoughts were not with the reading. «Twas only last lecture-day that I met Wequesh in the sheep-walk up on the plain,” he said, after a time in which he had let several mistakes go uncor- rected. The finger paused as Desire looked up from the rich inventory of Tyrus. “He said aught to you?” she asked, quickly. “No. He keeps his distempered speeches for others than I. But I'm thinking I have knowledge of somewhat that would drive him from the planta- tion if ’twere put before him.” There was stern purpose in Kenneth’s face as he left her side and walked with rapid strides toward the clearing. De- sire let the book fall to the ground and followed him. ““ Nay, promise me that you will have no parley with him,” she entreated. “You know him not as I, and I tell you there is no treachery he fears to do. His arrows are sure, and his moccasins leave no tracks.” “T want nothing of him, so that he bear himself not ill toward you,” Ken- neth said. “But I fear not the man ; and for his arrows, one stronger than he leadeth every one of them to its place of settling.” “Wait yet a sun or two. You have said, ‘Let us read and believe,’ and we have read. "Tis but a little to promise that you will let the sun set twice.” “T will wait,” said Kenneth. “ But if next Sabbath sermon be not one of thanksgiving—” And he shut his hands hard. * And if it be!” A rich color covered Waukaumauw’s face, and a shy, glad smile was on her lips, “If it be, Ken- neth, dost know I cannot spin like Mary Cogswell, nor am I a housewife such as Hannah Fitch?” But the happy light was gone when she reached the little house where she

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DESIRE 55 Waukaumauw felt the dull, loving sympathy in the touch. lived alone with her old Indian ser- vant. Maona was waiting for her in the doorway; and as Waukaumauw sank upon the step, resting her head against the house like a tired child, the old Mohegan woman tenderly removed the strange white cap, and stroked the fore- head of. her young mistress without a word. Waukaumauw felt the dull, lov- ing sympathy in the touch, and once laid her own soft hand over the hard one of her nurse. But she did not speak, and only shook her head when Maona brought her food afterward. Till night she sat there motionless, her hands clasped about her knees, and her head resting against the door- frame. After a time Maona withdrew to the back of the room by the chimney. Summer and win- ter it was her place. But her eyes never left her mistress ; and several times, in her dumb, stupid trouble, she crossed the room and touched _ Waukaumauw’s arm or shoulder — unobtrusively, as some poor brute creature— and then shrank back into the shadow again. The girl did not turn her face—did not notice even the fluttering and the excited cries among the birds as the day went out Neither could she see, shut in as she was by trees, the dark cloud that was. stretching itself in a huge rag- ged a@ppe across the west. But Kenneth, wandering about the sheep-walk up on Little Faith Plain, saw it and turned down toward the river. At first there was only a tremulous murmur, caught by the pines on the ridges, and whispered down and on, till even the low growths in the valleys had the secret, and throbbed and rustled their leaves, stirred by the new mystery. Then the full, heaving silence, until it came again. The highway, with its narrow, waver- ing path-lines, hung across the planta- tion, strange to itself in the wonderful light which it took from under the black clouds that were sinking to the south— a faint, coppery glow, as of a fire that the sun had forgotten and left burning. Then when there was no longer any form to the clouds—when the forest had faded into the sky, as the clearings into the forest, and the highway into the clearings—then came the writhing and beating of the branches and the swaying of the great trunks from their roots up. Kenneth did not cross the pent-way

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56 DESIRE into the minister’s land, but kept on down toward the river. He could hear the call of the watch as he passed, and saw a faint light in the window of the house. There was a moment of calm, an in- stant in which some great strength seized the winds and held them. The air grew suddenly damp and sweet, and then the rain had come. Kenneth held out his hand, caught some of the heavy drops in the hollow of the palm and drank them joyfully. Then facing about, he went back over a part of the way and took a path leading deeper inte the woods. Again and again he nearly lost it in the thick night, and half fell over a dead = A dark figure rose suddenly before him, SSS SS ~ —— ———s SS SS branch or struggled through a tangle of briers. Once, as the rain lightened a little and he groped about a broad tree- trunk for the blaze-mark, he heard a soft rustle in the grass at his feet, and was inwardly conscious of something gliding and sinuous and unpleasant near him, though he could not see. He stopped to listen for the warning rattle which should tell him better than the ax-mark which side of the tree to take, when a dark figure rose suddenly before him—so near that even in the black gloom he recognized the coarse, vicious features of Wequesh. The Indian stood over him without a word ; and Kenneth felt the fiery breath of the savage upon his cheek before he could draw back from the threatening form and put his hand on his hunting- knife. “Ts it because he fears his pale-faced friends more than the Indians that the white man seeks the forest by night instead of by day?” We- quesh asked, still standing: motionless in the path, and with a low hissing hatred in his words, like water upon hot metal. “But let him not think in his pride that the door of Waukaumauw opens only to him. Let him go on. He shall find her ready. But Wequesh knows. He swears by the Great Spirit of the Southwest. The door is no more than just closed.” With an evil laugh he slunk back into the dark- ness. As he turned, Ken- neth threw himself around to the other side.of the tree, and with his foot braced against its firm root, met the Indian suddenly in the face with all the strength of his arm and the body back of it. The Mohegan went down on the slippery pine - needles, sliding and cursing and try- ing to save himself. ““T waste no sacred oaths upon savages,” said Kenneth, SS Le Se SSS —— EES, = =

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DESIRE 57 as he kicked the fellow’s knife into the bushes. “But I declare it to you that if aught is seen or heard of your foul face after to-morrow’s sun-setting, Uncus shall be making search concerning that Indian who fell in Philip’s war, but not by Philip’s men, and whose wampum belt is in the tent of Wequesh.” The Mohegan gathered himself up sullenly, felt about him for his knife, and not finding it, disappeared in the darkness. Kenneth heard the rain coming down in heavy sheets again outside the tree. But he did not wait. With two or three downward sweeps of his hand on the trunk, he found the ax-mark; then fastening his coat closely about him, went on. The path was more open now. They had been cutting the trees ; and he re- membered how choked and ill-formed and bent were the poor things that the thinning had left. Just before the clearing about the little house where Desire lived, he stopped under a close mat of branches and looked back, as if he could see into the woods. The air was filled with the fresh smell of the rain on the trees and grass, and the heavy, intoxicating fragrance of some summer flower which he did not know. As he stood, a slender figure came gliding toward him, and a pair of soft hands were clasped over his shoulder. So slight was the form and so light the touch, that it seemed to Kenneth almost as a spirit of the place which would vanish as quickly as it had appeared. “You knew I needs must come,” he said, simply, as he drew her to him. Waukaumauw laid her head against her two hands. « All the long way have I heard your footsteps,” she said. “Maona heard them not, though she listened too—only I. And once, when they ceased, I feared . you had turned back. But you have come.” She still wore the kerchief and apron of the morning, but her hair fell in a mass over her shoulders, nearly to her feet. Fine and soft it was, unlike that of most of her race. A slender figure came gliding toward him, Kenneth touched it and exclaimed, as he found it wet through with the rain, “ Why, Desire, child, dost know ?” he said. ‘‘Maona is far from careful to let you stand out like this.” Waukaumauw shook her head. “T listened not to Maona. ‘Tis a baptism holier far than that which Mr. Fitch gave me; for the Englishman’s God has Himself laid His hand on the head of the Indian girl. He has prom- ised her much. And all that He has promised will she give.” As she raised her face to the dark sky, with that subdued holy ecstasy in her voice, Kenneth believed it had been as she said. « And as we journey together toward the red sunset—toward the far-away country of souls—you shall speak, and Waukaumauw will answer. Yes; when you speak not, still will she also an- swer.”

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A PAIR OF BOOTS A FARCE IN THREE SCENES By Walter Beverley Crane Characters Mr. Cutaway Cross, . Mr. Ricuarp Hartiey, JENKINS, “ Boors,” . “ Boots,” . ; ‘ , Mr. Georce Douvat, M. Miss Besste VENTNOR, { Scene I.— Cutaway Cross is discovered in his room at the Grandview Hotel at 6 am. He opens the door into the corridor and the light wllumines the gloomy hall-way, disclosing bools and shoes outside the different rooms— boots of high and low degree, all brightly polished, awaiting their re- spective owners. He picks up the pair before his door. Cross. [Angrily.| These are not mine! What the devil’s the matter with Boots this morning! Confound that stupid man of mine, why isn’t he up to rectify mistakes ? [In examining the boots he re- verses one, and a half sheet of note-paper flutters to the floor. | Hello! What’s this ?—a billet doux ! Well, well; let’s see what’s init. [He picks it up and reads aloud.| “ My dar- ling George.” (Ha, ha! not bad for a starter!) “Papa is still obdurate. He says I must never see you again.” (Hard lines, little girl—jolly hard lines.) * We leave here this afternoon —to part, perhaps forever.” (Terrible, terrible, “to part forever ”—fancy ! ) “T write these few lines in great haste, hoping to be able to drop this note in one of your riding-boots before they are carried to your room. “T am now waiting for you on the piazza. Rufus is saddled, and I have given orders that your horse be brought up. A Cross-country Rider and Polo Crack His Friend Cross’s Valet At Grandview Hotel At Tavistock Inn Elopers “ Let us fly together. Over the State line some good, kind, obliging clergy- man will unite us forever and eternity. * Your own, ** BEssIE.” Well, Ill be hanged! He’s got my boots and I've his. Oh, my mascots ! my lucky polos! I hope he doesn’t “fly” with them on. Whoare the two, I wonder? Let me think a moment. I arrived here late last night; enter- ing the hotel, noticed a very spoony pair over in a corner of the piazza. One must have been “ darling George ;” the other, “your own Bessie.” So they’re about eloping, eh? Well, let ’em, for all I care—but I want my boots, hang it all! I want my boots, and I'm going to have them ! [He jabs the electric push-button viciously. A moment later Boots appears at the door.]| Boots, I’ve a very good mind to wring your neck! What did I tip you for last night ? to bring me the wrong boots in the morning? Get out of here, and send me my man—here wait! bring me a brandy and soda—and, here—come here! Take this note and drop it in one of those patent leather boots I threw at your head. Leave them where they belong, and bring me back my own, a pair of light tan polos. Hurry! [Exit Bools onarun. Mr. Cross moves gingerly about in his stocking feet, his hands thrust deep in the Laid

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A PAIR OF BOOTS pockets of his baggy riding-breeches. His face wears a half-serious, half- amused look. | Cross. [Meditatively.| I don’t know about this. I wonder if it’s right in me, aiding and abetting this thing? They’re both very young, it seems to me. Per- haps the old man is right; the fellow may be a good-for-nothing scamp, for allI know. She wasn’t a bad looking girl—hanged if she was! I didn’t have much of a look at her, to tell the truth, but I’m sure she’s a high-stepper, a well-bred ’un. In contour, reminded me a littleof old John Ventnor’s daugh- ter, Bessie. I wonder where the Ventnors are this summer? Bessie Ventnor! I shall never forget her ; nice girl, nice hair, nice eyes. [Sighing.| What could a girl like Bessie see in a man like me? Bah! What the deuce am I thinking about! Hang sentiment! But she was an aw- fully nice girl. I only met her two or three times ; she didn’t seem to take to me, I fancied. Let me see—last time I saw her was down at the Farm, two years ago, when she was visiting Floss. Bessie must be about twenty now. Heigho !—Well, I don’t want to inter- fere with these young lovers, but I'm going to have my boots. Then they can start off. As long as all’s fair at the post, I don’t care for the finish. I drop the flag in exchange for my boots ; “Darling George” must leave me my [Boots stands in the doorway. | Boots. Beg pardon, sir, but them boots of yours is gone. MHere’s your note, sir. Cross. [Wildly.| My boots gone? How dare you tell me that? Do you mean to say that he can wear my boots ? Gad, he must be a gentleman, if his feet are as small as all that! Here, give me his boots; I'm going after those boots of mine. [Exit Boots.] [Mr. Cross sits down on an unpacked trunk, fuming and fret- ting, puffing and panting, as he madly pulls at the boot straps. A timid knock is heard on the half- open door. | dross. [Vociferously.| Come in!!!!! —Jenkins ! You lazy, good -for- nothing hound! What do you mean by 59 oversleeping? The next time it hap- pens, I'll discharge you, do you hear? Where are my polos, my mascots, my lucky boots? Gone !—yes, gone! You know how much I prize those boots. What are you staring that way for, you idiot? Run down to the stable and order Bess under a racing saddle. I’ve got to ride after those boots. Move! | Exit Jenkins like a flash, followed by a gate stick that narrowly misses his head.| I wish I had never come to this hotel ; but it was too late to get my traps over to the club-house. Most dis- gustingly democratic, this hotel life ; beastly! Ill wager the guests have used my mare and the ponies during the night. Nice kind of people here! Nice kind of a chap to take a man’s boots! Phew! I wish my others were unpacked—ouch !—these hurt my corns. He has an awfully small foot—the im- pudent puppy! I’ve a good mind to pull him, boots and body, off his horse, the beggar ; but as there’s a lady in the case, I'll have to be polite and use diplo- macy. They'll think me crazy, riding after a pair of boots. But they don’t know what mascots they are; I never lost a game in them. Will that lazy dog ever have Bess ready ? [Mr. Cross limps painfully over to the window that opens on the driveway and commands a view of the mounting block. A young man, wearing a pair of yellow boots, is assisting a@ young woman to mount with one hand, while he holds the bridle-reins of the two horses with the other. The girl’s profile only is seen, but, as she springs into the saddle, her full face is revealed to Mr. Cross. | Cross. [Staggering back from the win- dow.| My good Heavens! Bessie Ventnor !! [He sinks in a heap on the bed. There is utter silence in the room for several minutes. He comes to himself with a start as a sharp rap is heard on the door. | Jenkins. The mare has been ready for the last ten minutes, sir. Cross. [In a subdued voice, very gently and kindly.| Never mind, Jenkins ; ’'m sorry to have troubled you. Take her back to the stable—I’ve found my boots.

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60 A PAIR OF BOOTS Scene IL—The Tavistock Inn. Time, midnight. The only light about the place is in the hands of Boots, who, lantern in hand, sits in the office awaiting the arrival of the 12.15 train. He yawns and helps him- self out of @ pocket-flask. Boots. Them two in 8 must be bri- dals! Gee, wot a muddy lot they wos when they got here! Lor’, but didn’t they shop after dinner, a buyin’ trunks an’ clo’es an’ portmanters. Them was dandy boots he give-me to polish. Says he, “Be mighty pertickler of them boots. I want’et ‘cleaned well, ” says he; “for I'm agoim’ to have ’em boxed up and expressed.” Them swelis 1 is peculiar ; the idear of expressin’ yer boots! W ho ever heard of it? That job will be wuth a dollar. He worried me so about them boots that_I did em’ this evenin’. But yer didn’t ketch me knockin’ when I left ‘em at the door—not on yer life! Bri- dals don’t tip yer for knockin’. [A whir of wheels is heard on the gravel driveway; the snort and stamp of a suddenly arrested horse ; the sound of falling luggage. | A Voice. Hi, Jimmie! [Boots shuffles out with his lan- tern, to be confronted by a tall gen- tleman clad in a travelling ulster. | A Voice. The gentleman wauts to ketch the 6.30 in the morning. Yer better put it down. | Boots grabs the portmanteau, and leads the way up-stairs. He opens the door of a room and lights the can- dles. | Hartley. [Shivering.| Is there any hot water at this hour of the night ? Boots. No, sir, but I can boil yer some. Hartley. All right, my boy ; a small pitcher will do—and some sugar and lemons, please. I’ve an awful chill, br-r-r-r-r-r-rrh ! !! [Boots disappears down the stair- way. Mr. Hartley paces up and down the dimly-lighted corridor, slapping his chest, coachman fashion. | Hartley. B-r-r-r-v-r-r-r-h !!!_ [He spies a pair of boots.| Whose boots, I wonder ? I had no idea they played polo here— b-r-r-r-r-r-h!!_ Nice pair of boots— room 8—just opposite mine. Who's in room 8 ?—b-r-r-r-h! Cut. Cross wears such a pair——b-r-r-r-r-h!—I wish that boy would hurry with the hot water and lemons—Cut. calls his boots mascots ; never lost a game in them, I believe. He may have ridden—b-r-r-r-r-h! it’s cold to-night !—he may have ridden over here from Halcyon. [Mr. Hartley picks up one of the yellow “polos” and inspects the straps. | Tm right. These are his famous cam- paign boots, made out of the hide of the famous bull, Triumph. He’s played in these boots at Pau, Cairo, Hurling- ham, Calcutta and Newport, and he claims never to have lost a game with them on. Famous boots, guard your sleeping master faithfully! I wouldn't dare awaken him for worlds. That temper of his is terrible, and he hates to have his rest broken. [Boots appears with the hot walter and lemons. | Oh, there you are, Boots! Tell me, when did the occupant of number 8 ar- rive ? Boots. [Grinning.| There ain’t no oc- cupant in there, it’s occupants ; there’s bridals in there. Hartley. [Puzzled.| What do you mean ? Boots. Why, bridals, don’t yer know? That’s the bridal suite, an’ they act that way, too. Hartley. [Sternly.| Boy, do you mean to say there is a married couple in there? That there is a woman in there with the man—the, er, owner of these boots ? Boots. [Impudently.| Cert. Why shouldn’t there be ? Hartley. [Sadly.] Go. Be sure to oa me in time for the early train—the 6.30. [ Boots thumps down-stairs. Left alone, Mr. Hartley sadly eyes the boots. | Oh, Cutaway, you are a sly ‘un! I never thought you'd go off like this. It will be a great surprise to all of your friends. I have a happy thought; Ill write him a few congratulatory lines. Who can the bride be? Oh, I know— the Ventnor girl ; the one he was rav- ing about the last time I saw him. [Mr. Hartley enters his room. He

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tears a sheet from his betting-book and commences to write by the dim light of the candle on the table.| * My pear Cort, “ You sly old fox, why didn’t you let me know? Iam just off the steamer ; landed Tuesday morning. Took the first train for Halcyon, hearing of the old gentleman’s serious illness. Am staying here over-night, as I could not make connection at “the junction, and, by accident, have just found out your secret. Felicitate you herewith, old man, aS I shall not be able to see you in the morning —I leave on the 6.30. Of course it is Bessie, sweet little Bes- sie Ventnor ; your first, last, 2nd, gnly love, as you once confided to geet 2 2 3 “T wish you no end of happiness; ‘and : hope to see you both before many. honeymoons have passed. * Yours in Transit, ‘Dick Hartiey.” Hartley. [Folding his note.] There, that’s finished ! Now, Ill stick it in this old envelope, and drop it in one of his lucky-boots—he'll be sure to get it then. [ Mr. Hartley steps out in the cor- ridor, posts his note, and then locks himself in for the n ight.] Scene IIl.—Room opening on corridor of The Tavistock Inn. Time, 11 a.m. The bright October sun floods the corridor, and beams lovingly upon a pair of yellow riding- boots that stand sentinel-like before the door of the room numbered 8. The door opens and a man stumbles over them. Duval. [Petulantly.| I told Boots to box them up. He kicks the boots into a corner | of the bridal chamber. An envelope falls out of one.| Mrs. Duval. [Excitedly.| Oh, George, there’s a letter in one—it’s fallen out! How curious! What is it? Do tell me! What a coincidence! Isn’t it funny ? [Mr. Duval is reading the note, a heavy frown darkening his face. | ae A PAIR OF BOOTS 61 Duval. [Savagely.] Who’s Cut? Mrs. Duval. [Amazed.] Who’s cut? What do you mean, dear? Duval. [Furiously.| Read that! read that ! [He strikes the paper with his clenched fist. | Read that—and then ask me who Cut is. He’s the owner of these cursed boots, that’s who he is! and I was standing in his boots when I married you yes- terday ! — the boots of your lover, madam ! ; rou have kept me in ignorgh an that stole my boof/ 4 5 ee And he has fol- loweA his revenge in ( fies 0 her. I don’t ut is, or what know this ; he ingult me any ‘fin this Cut ; anid INF longer's ‘wring dis’ “euitthire at-neck, r1—_ {Exit Mr. Duval ina paroxysm of paesyon: The bride picks up the scrdp of paper with trembling fin- gers and her tears fall on the penciled words. Mrs. Duval. [Reading.| “ Of course it is Bessie, sweet little Bessie Ventnor, your first, last, and only love, as you once told me.” [She gives a gasp of amazement, her face assumes a pained expression of bewilderment. She drops the note and runs over to where the boots lie. She picks up one and sees the initials “C. C.” stamped on the straps. | Cut! “C.C.!!” Cutaway Cross!!! I once knew a Cutaway Cross—Floss Cross’s brother ; I met him at the Farm, an awfully bashful man. Did he oh, no, impossible! Why didn’t he tell me so then, instead of this horrid old Dick Hartley? He loved me—and I never knew it! Oh, you dear precious boots, I'll keep you forever ! [Her over-wrought feelings find vent ina flood of tears. Sobbing she clasps the yellow boots close to her heart and throws herself face down- ward on the bed.| CurTaAIn.

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THE STARS AND STRIPES By Francis Churchill Williams N Arch Street, below Third, in Philadelphia, there nestles be- tween the towering walls of two big buildings a quaint two-and-a-half story brick house. Its steep, shingled roof and dormer windows, together with its diminutive size, mark it as belonging to a period long gone by ; and a glancé at its interior confirms the impression. This house is over two hundred years old. The bricks, of which it is largely built, came over in the ship Welcome ; and tradition has it that William’ Penn himself laid part of the walls.‘ This wae the second house of-its kind to be put up in Philadelphia, the first’ béing Penn’s own cottage, not marty years siace fe- moved from a nearby site to a more conspicuous one in Fairmoint ‘Park. But besides its age the Arch Street house has claims to distinction which make it historic in the truest sense of the term. Few buildings are as deserv- ing of the patriotic interest of every loyal American as this ; for within its walls was made the first flag of the United States. The passer-by would, in most cases, remain in ignorance of the history of the place were it not for a gayly-painted board beside the broad, low doorway, which informs all that this was the birthplace of the Stars and Stripes. More than half of the front of the build- ing is occupied with a show-window in which are displayed smokers’ articles. In fact, the house is used as a tobacco- nist’s shop by its present occupant, yet it is to her credit that, for over half a century, she and her family have kept the building intact, and, with a patriotic instinct worthy of emulation, have scru- pulously preserved every fixture and bit of interior furnishing. When I went there recently and told Mrs. Mund that I wished to look over the house, she seemed to take the re- quest as a personal compliment to her- self and immediately led the way into the back room, in which the flag was cut and sewed together. The doorway through which we passed, in its con- struction gave the key-note to the whole interior. Dark with age, with worn panels of broad boards and with its iron latch still in place, it swung on its right- angled hinges as easily as though it had been put up a year ago instead of two centuries and more past. The sunken heads of the old-fashioned, hand-wrought nails by which the hinges were made fast to door and frame attested to the fact that ne-change had been made here since: that time when the Continental generals passed in to see Betsy Ross, the owner of the house, probably stoop- ing their heads to do so. In the tiny parlor itself, not more than twelve by fourteen feet, on every hand were evidences of age. Opposite the door by which we entered was another of much the same look, except that the upper half of this second one was made up of square, deeply set panes of glass. In the windows on one side of the room were similar panes, bright from much rubbing. At the end of the room was a great fireplace of ample depth, with a row of blue and white tiles, depicting rural scenes and baronial castles, running along the top. Once these tiles extend- ed down on either side, but many of them have been picked out and appropriated by unscrupulous visitors. The floor, made up of boards four or five times the breadth of those now used for the purpose, was sunken in places ; yet the stout oaken beams beneath have, by careful watching, been kept unbroken, though worms have honeycombed them in many places. Of the solidity of these old beams and of the framing of the whole house, in fact, only a glance at the outside walls is needed to convince one. There, thrusting their rough ends through the stone and mortar of which the rear of the building is made, are tim- bers ten inches through. The ceiling of the parlor also sags gently in places from age, though it is otherwise apparently firm. In one corner of the room isa cupboard

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THE STARS AND STRIPES 63 7 Hj "y - anil WY nags ‘auge tly, SA DRMD UEC 1D Wh fi i j Wy, ape y hin, i) ! 17 The Arch Street. House. with brass knobs and iron hinges, mini-_ ature imitations of those on the doors. The balustrade which leads in short lengths to the right-angled stairway that gives entrance to the upper stories is brown with age, but bravely strong and quaintly pretty. Such is the appearance of a house which has seen a city grow from its birth to be one of the largest in the world ; which has seen the greatest nation of the day founded and developed into its pres- ent splendid brilliancy and strength ; which was visited by the most famous men of that nation’s early days, and which gave that nation its flag—a flag now greeted by seventy millions of peo- ple with pride and joy. It was to the Arch Street house that, in the early part of 1777, the committee appointed by Congress and “ authorized to design a suitable flag for the nation ” came. Previous to that year the stand- ard of the United States was an afiair of uncertain individuality and mongrel type. A Congressional committee had

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64 THE STARS AND STRIPES made a banner of the king’s colors to- gether with thirteen alternate red and white stripes, all of which was supposed to signify that the colonies were united, yet acknowledged the rule of the mother- country ; and this arrangement received a martial salute when flown, in 1776, at Cambridge, Mass. But the union with the cross of St. George was not pleasing to the patriots’ eyes and is scarcely more worthy of the name American flag than the colonial flags bearing pine-tree em- blems and the like which succeeded it and which were also used during the early part of the struggle for independ- ence. Independence, the inspiration of the patriots, needed an emblem from which should be stricken all that re- minded them of King George and his rule. . And so it came about that the sketch, drawn roughly with pencil, which Gen- eral Washington presented to Betsy Ross as a pattern for the new flag on that day in May, 1777, showed no trace of the English cross. The thirteen stripes remained, but in the union were thirteen stars of white on a blue field. We can imagine that Betsy was de- lighted when she heard that to her had been delegated the duty of making the flag. And yet it was quite proper that she should have been chosen for the work. She was accounted the most skilful needlewoman in the country. She was a dressmaker and, it is said, had made many of the fine ruffled shirts which Washington wore. It was a little inconsistent, however, that, being one of the Society of Friends, it should have been her lot to make the banner under which thousands of men should fight and die in defence of their country’s integ- rity. But Betsy showed herself more than a good worker with the needle. For, it is related on excellent evidence, she was the only one who noticed an oversight made in drawing the design for the flag, and proposed a change which was carried out. The pattern for the flag presented by the committee bore six- pointed stars, and these were the stars employed in British heraldry. Betsy suggested that, instead of six points, the stars on the new flag should have five, and she showed how reaclily these latter could be fashioned by folding a square of paper and making a single cut with the scissors. The proposition met with instant favor, and the flag she made was adopted by Congress June 14, 1777. The act authorizing its adoption read as follows : “ Resolved, That the flag of the thir- teen United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white ; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation.” In September following, the adoption of the flag was officially promulgated. Previous to the latter act Congress is- sued an order on the Treasury to pay £14 12s. 2d. to Betsy Ross for the making of the flags for the fleet in the Delaware. The contract which she ob- tained thus was held in the family by the next generation for a time, but, on ac- count of the prejudices of the Society of Friends against warfare, her daughter, who took up with the work soon after, relinquished the task in so far as flags for war-vessels were concerned. As an additional bit of interesting history it is noted that it was a number of women with patriotic instincts who, in 1777, made the first American flag displayed on a vessel, the banner they made in the summer of that year being floated from a small boat sailed up and down the Schuylkill River by the famous Captain Paul Jones, The reason for choosing stars and stripes as the distinctive marks of the American flag is somewhat doubtful. The weight of opinion seems in favor of the idea, however, that, in so far as the stars are concerned, they were suggested by the Washington coat of arms, which bore on the upper part of its shield three stars. But as the stars thus shown have but five points an acceptance of that theory would render it very im- probable that Washington or anyone Note.—The illustration on the opposite page is from a print of the painting by Charles H. Weisgerber, exhibited in the Pennsylvania State building at the World’s Fair. he figure of Betsy Ross was painted from a composite portrait of her daughters, under the direct supervision of her grandson, Mr. George Canby. The interior of the room and the furniture are shown as they were at the time the Congressiona! Committee visited Mrs. Ross, the furniture being that a used then and still preserved by her descendants. No authentic portrait of Betsy Ross is known to exist.—F. C. W.

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09 ASNNXNSLND ‘4 BHI AG SOB) ‘AHDINAGOO sequedsien 'H seZByD Ag —3e)4 8,UORBN ANE 40 UHIG e4L ‘Basu 94°q0N, ‘seuy eSaveg) “UOHL uopSuygee mm ‘Uep

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66 THE STARS AND STRIPES Betsy Ross. else should have made the mistake of drawing six-pointed stars in the pattern presented to Betsy Ross. The Rev. A. N. Whitmarsh, writing of the origin of the flag, says: “ The idea was taken from the constellation Lyra, a northern group of stars, harp- like in shape, suggesting harmony. This group contains the colony number thirteen, and on the flag represents as a constellation unity and similarity. Animals were not considered appropri- ate, crosses suggestive of popish idola- try, white suns and moons were indica- tive of Mohammedanism. These were ruled out by the committee [of Con- gress], and the stars unanimously adopt- ed.” The explanation is, at least, en- tirely reasonable. In regard to the stripes, it is not im- probable that they were suggested by the banner of the Dutch Republic, which in part was the flag under which the Continental soldiers of New York were marching. Washington’s coat of arms, with its bars, also may have given the idea to the designer. The colors were happily selected for their sharp con- trast with each other. Their meaning has been variously explained, but upon this point I cannot see that there is any certainty. The admission into the Union of Ver- mont in 1791 and of Kentucky in 1792 led to the passage of an act in 1794 pro- viding for an increase of two stars and two stripes in the original flag; and on May 1, 1795, this act took effect. Under this flag were won the glorious naval victories of the war of 1812. April 4, 1818, another act relating to the flag was passed, and the admission of Tennessee, Ohio, Indiana, and Louis- jana was indicated by the addition of a star for each of the new States, the stripes reverting to the first number, thirteen. This act included the further provision “that on the admission of every new State into the Union one star be added to the union of the flag, and that such addition shall take effect on the fourth of July next succeeding such admission.” The act was approved April 4, 1818. Since that time the changes in the pattern of the flag have been only minor ones, such as the modification of the shape of the union, it now being rect- angular instead of, as formerly, square. Stars have dotted the field more thickly as new States have been created, but Betsy Ross’s flag remains to all intents and purposes. Whether waving aloft in the sea breezes over one of our speedy cruisers or floating from the flag-staff of a frontier post, it is yet the banner of a nation whose heart throbs at the sight of it and whose life-blood would run in its defence. For one hundred and eighteen years it has been the banner of liberty and of the most enlightened na- tion of the world.

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naan ata aia — a, ANCING is the music of the body. It is also the dra- ma, the com- edy, of the physical be- ing. When people cease to express their emo- tions in song, they will my cease to im) 6dance. Of course, it is rarely that a mute cracks his voice After photograph of Miss Fraser, by Gilbert & Bacon, SINGING ; Nel- ther will a legless man dance overmuch; but it is hard to imagine anyone else so staid that his joy will not go occasionally to his feet, instead of to the other extreme. The Scriptures are not without both precedent and authority for rhythmic physical expression of the soul. Solo- mon was wise enough to admit that “there is a time to dance,” and that too in his character of the preacher—Eccle- siastes. Of course it is true that this art can be used unlawfully as well as any other, and Herodias’s daughter maliciously danced John the Baptist’s head off; but protesting against the dance was equally dangerous, for when that exceedingly unpleasant person, Michal, Saul’s daughter, grew sarcastic over the joyous dancing of the greatest of poets, David, she was punished for it all the rest of her life. The dance is the natural and vivid expression and outlet of certain emotions, like exuberant gladness ; and one might as well pass laws cutting out the tongues of all singers, as attempt to restrict the use of our heaven-endowed members to mere locomotion. One can excuse the ossified man and the A EULOGY OF DANCING AND DANCERS By Rupert Hughes adipose giant from tripping the light fantastic toe, but it is only the fact that they are freaks of nature that justi- fies their phlegm. Assuming, then, that herein is a le- gitimate and inevitable, yea, a much needed, safety-valve for human emotion, the quality of the expression must be considered. As in music, also a prime- val mode of expression, the natural abil- ity and finish of the artist must perfect and dignify the native crudeness of the strain, so a certain complexity grows up about the dance, and the need of study and finish becomes evident. No longer does it express merely raw emotions, but it recites whole stories, enacts little dramas of life, love, hate, and fear. Here, too, as in the other arts, one finds national characteristics sharply distinguished. The Oriental muscle- dance is as unlike the Irish clog, and the Highland fling is as remote from the plantation shuffle, as a German folk- song is differentiated from an Arabian dirge. The various nationalities of dancing have all been carefully studied, analyzed, classified, and formulated into laws, just as the histories of other arts are studied. The dance has ceased to be an irregular, lawless outburst of un- controllable feelings; it is an art, a science, with a dictionary of technical terms all its own and its own literature. It has its great conservatories, its past- masters, its hordes of eager students, its display- galleries and its crowd of commercial middlemen between the public and the artist. It requires ini- tiation to be understood, and possesses, like other arts, countless points of Jinesse the layman knows nothing about and is unable competently to judge. It has its jealousies, too, like the other arts, and also its schools and its fads. When Carmencita swayed and writhed her gorgeous way through this benight- ed land, we could endure nothing but. Spanish dances, castanets, and meaning glances flashed from black eyes. Then

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68 A EULOGY OF DANCING AND DANCERS Loie Fuller repelled the Castilian in- vader with a ghostly revel and a bil- lowy swirl of fleecy drapery known as the serpentine dance, and nothing but the ophidian would sate the fickle pub- lic eves. Now “la Loie,” as the fond Parisians call her, is grown still more ambitious and dances out a tragic drama, Salome, as Carmencita used to write enthralling novelettes with her nodding head and dash off thrilling little romances with her feet. And be- fore both of these our fathers could en- dure nothing but the formal pirou- ettings and tiptoe athletics -of the premicres danseuses of the iron-instep’d ballet, and Fanny Ellsler stabbed her pointed feet into the back of our eagle with as much ease and proprietorship as Cissy Fitzgerald, with her “nods and becks and wanton smiles,’ chariots thereon to fame and fortune. The dance is a fine art, furthermore, because it requires two things: inborn ability and arduous training. It re- quires genius and technic. Dancers, that is, superb dancers, are born, not made. Of course, training will improve native stiffness and make one negatively graceful instead of positively gawkish. Tudeed, at the circuses you can see ele- phants taught to aim at the poetry of motion, though the result is rather ludi- crous and astounding than inspiring. There are women of Juno-like symmetry and majesty, who can barely walk ac- ceptably, to say nothing of dancing well even to slow measures. There are ugly little misshapen things so rapturously eraceful and expressive that they be- come very will-o’-the-wisps in the dance. Then there are also large women to whom rhythmic movement is infinitely becoming, and little would-be fairies whose excessive vivacity only makes them resemble those wee bugs attracted in summer evenings by a light, and so amazingly tireless in kicking themselves madly about. So you see it is all a matter of being struck by the lightning of genius. A tine art, I take it, is one that con- cerns itself with the beautiful and the true. Now it is certainly true that the dance is beautiful. Its most puritanic enemies will admit that much. Nay more, there is their principal objection : it is too beautiful. But such Philistin- ism would rob the world of all that is not barren and cold and funereal, and is not worthy of consideration. The Greeks recognizel Terpsichore as one of the divine Muses, ar.d they ought to know. But another may oppose: “That is all very fine, but dancing can’t be called an art at all, or at most it is a poor one, because it is fleeting, ephemeral, inca- pable of being perpetuated.” Yet, for that matter, so is the dramatic art. How many excellent paintings and tolerable poems would not one give, if Burbadge’s Shakesperean impersonations, under the very hand of the Avonian himself, could ring immortally? How many statues would it take to pay for the preservation of Mrs. Siddons’s majestic presence and tragic tones? How much correct archi- tecture am I bid for Peg Woffington’s long-hushed laugh ? Yet is any art strictly, completely, immortal? Is sculpture? Look at Praxiteles’s broken “ Hermes”! Where is his world-worshipped “Venus”? Where Pheidias’s “Zeus”? How are Homer’s rhapsodies garbled for being handed down so long by word of mouth ? Where is the music to the grand operas of Aschylos and Sophokles? We haven’t even the librettos intact. Be- wail Da Vinci's cracked and faded “ Last Supper.” Turner’s fieriest sunsets are blackening into night, and to a later generation will be only empty tradition, like Miriam’s dance with the timbrels on the brink of the Red Sea when the waters returned on Pharaoh. But is it altogether impossible to per- petuate the actor’s art, and the dancer’s? Booth’s voice and Patti’s are forever im- mortalized now in the phonograph, and the wizard of Menlo has come to the rescue of the dancer, too, in the kineto- scope. There one can see a little elf that images Carmencita, and repeats her motions perfectly. Or it can be en- larged to life-size. Is not this immor- tality for the dancer? Of course the image lacks the flesh and blood, and the tinkling jewels and swishing skirts of the real dancer, but one must fill out with his imagination the broken statues of antiquity, the marred canvases and the musicless poems printed in dead

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A EULOGY OF DANCING AND DANCERS 69 black ink on cold white paper. So the fancy of future generations will enliven these kinetoscopic images into a rein- carnation of the witches that dance our hearts away to-day. They will be espe- by observation and practice, and danced her way, slowly, into the favor of her stolid countrymen, and was sent over here on a low salary to introduce a merely incidental, unimportant pas seul Cissy Fitzgerald. From a photograph by Schloss, New York. cially glad that the magic instrument gives immortality to Cissy Fitzgerald. The history of this girl is final proof that personal magnetism and inborn genius are essentials in the high art of dancing, as well as anywhere else. Born in England, and driven by unhappy home-life to the stage, she taught herself in that excessively English burlesque “A Gaiety Girl.” Now came the op- portunity of the young artist in a new world. The burlesque was generally damned, and that not with anything so gentle as faint praise. But when this refreshing, reckless tomboy came beam- ing in, and played like a sun-ray about

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A EULOGY OF Margaret Fraser. From a photograph by Gilbert & Bacon, Philadelphia. the stage, then the town was pleased, then it applauded, it cheered, it de- manded encore after encore, till the weary girl was almost butchered to make a metropolitan holinight. She was so unredolent of staginess. She was as fresh and naively mischiev- ous as a romping milkmaid “a-babble of green fields.” When she lifted that fetching toe in air and flickered it be- fore the eye of the multitude, it was like the taunting finger of a merry flirt, or, better, like the tongue of a charming serpent playing with enticing hypnotism. Then when you looked past the toe into the arch coquetry of that face and caught the sly wink, you confessed that there were new and refreshing possibil- ities in the dance after all. So the neg- lected, under-paid danseuse became the salvation of the play and the mint of DANCING AND DANCERS countless dollars at the box-office. Now the managers, al- ways the last to see things in their true relation, sent her salary sky-high, as the heat of a June day chases the mercury roof- ward. They even went to law about her, and fought for her possession as for a diamond; and the lucky winner makes her the North Star, the lode-stone of “The Foundling,” a comedy in which she plays a small part, but whose financial success she has assured and enlarged to brilliant dimensions. It is only natural that this bewitch- ing enchantress, whose very wink has passed into proverb and song, should declare her intention of making her home among the people she has en- slaved. Long may her toe wave in air, long may it write its joyous lyrics, its gladsome poems, with florid fiour- ishes and gay punctua- tions! She is a pastor- ale incarnate. When Cissy Fitzgerald left “A Gaiety Girl,” there was a wild scurry for suitable successors. The best of these is undoubtedly Margaret Fraser, a Scotch girl, one of high birth, related to titles and descended from Nicholas Rowe, the poet-laureate. When her father died and financial embarrassment set in a year and a half ago, her mother put Miss Fraser and her sister on the stage; and they have danced together with increasing success. Margaret has a very beautiful stage presence, and though tall, is remarkably nimble, lithe, and sinuous. Her dance is the artistic, finished expression of the innate hilarity and reckless pleasure in life, that drive a girl to climbing trees and racing the wind, pure love of exercise, whence danc- ing took its rise and draws its eternal inspiration. #

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Pee eer Sketch for Spandril, T was a happy inspiration that led the promoters of this Society's sec- ond exhibition to choose a repro- duction of the old Italian garden asa setting for their statuary. The lucky folk rich enough to invest in sculpture and cultured enough to desire it, are too apt to believe that its only mission in a private family is portraiture. The sculptor is accordingly compelled to quench his artistic soul in realistic reproductions of heavy - featured capitalists, or to wait starvingly till the slow-moving government shall vote a commission that will give him at least half a chance to revel in the Ideal and display his individuality. But there is no reason un- der heaven why the numer- ous men of wealth devoted to collecting valuable paint- ings into a proud private gallery, should not spend part of art’s allowance on the sculptor. The decora- tive effect of statuary, while not always so conveniently secured, is quite as fine as that of painting and is in- dispensable for a wholly sat- isfactory room. For a per- fect library, besides a few books, one should have a portrait bust or two, well pedestaled ; as many bronzes or smaller marbles as one’s space and one’s purse allow, THE NATIONAL SCULPTURE SOCIETY and at least one cabinet filled with miniatures in bronze and ivory, medal- lions and the like. ; In the reception-room, something be- sides a horde of chairs and bric-d-brac could be wished for. A moderately large marble figure or two, and a life- sized one if the room is fittingly spa- cious, will give an effect of opulence hard to gain by the more common pictures. American Girl.—By Bessie Potter.

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| | =] bo No weil-regulated conservatory is with- out a nymph peering out of its palms, and when one reaches the garden, stat- uary is not merely a luxury, it is a ne- cessity. Here an heroic figure will not look out of place even in a small enclos- ure, and a well-designed fountain will be a vast help. When one considers the numberless sweeping lawns bedecked with hideous eyesores in the shape of iron animals and shabby allegorical figures, all so characteristic of our well-meaning, but not always tasteful, descendants of Croesus, one can only sigh and hope for a better time—a time when all this money will be devoted to displaying genuine art and will go toward feeding the starved flames of native art inspi- ration. The tendency is right. The man of the broad acres feels the need of statuary here and there about his estates ; but why should he be content with poor imitations of shoddy articles, and not enrich his grounds with the original works of men of ability and as- piration ? Were he wiser, he would be THE NATIONAL SCULPTURE SOCIETY the better for it ; so would all that pass his way, and struggling Art would be given a good lift along the hard road she finds in this country. Furthermore, the cost is not so great as might be thought. Exquisite small bronzes from valuable originals can be bought for two or three hundred dollars—less than the price of a decent painting. The larger works in marble run up only into the wee sma’ thou- sands. In short, there is a crying need for completer recognition of the sculptor by the private citizen, to say nothing of the government. And this exhibition will doubtless have a strong educational value in setting forth the practical uses of statuary. The National Sculpture Society is only in its infancy, but it begins in a city where all other craftsmen are united into bodies with a certain def- initeness of purpose and a large effect in reducing the jealousies to which ar- tists are so foolishly prone. One of the foundation principles of the Sculpture Italian Garden.

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THE NATIONAL SCULPTURE SOCIETY 73 Angel with the Book of Life.—By G. Moretti. Society is the fostering of a better knowledge of the principles of the art and the cultivation of higher, severer ideals among the people. They are none too early in coming to the rescue. Already the choicest sites in our cities are occupied by statues which, in nine cases out of ten, are ridiculously bad—not merely bad in a negative way, but aggressively inexcusable in concep- tion and technic. Every day, almost, some hard-headed municipal board ac- cepts with pride some statue that will dis- gustall men of artistic training and warp the minds of the less cultured. The Sculpture Society stands pre-

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-_ a ——————— en orr ‘ ited ate Rios - a ~ - ~ “Maes piquepuea ey} Ul MaIA IER 2 ea Ga ae EY eR Cnn ee a ARE Fee na SOAR

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~~ ~ ee senescent pared to furnish an advisory committee of trained artists for any decision in which the public esthetics is concerned. As the Society contains practically ev- ery sculptor of ability in the country, this offer is in no sense a scheme to drum up trade, but is entirely dictated by an interest in the artistic welfare and comeliness of the country. The reproduction of Italian gardens was skilfullv planned and lavishly per- formed. The rarest orchids and the hugest tree-ferns and palms were fur- nished by the florists, Pitcher and Manda; and one could hardly recog- nize the plain bare rooms of the Fine Arts Building in their tropical guise. There were arbors, flower-beds, and- hedges. And every lane led to some imposing statue, every nook harbored some marble divinity. There was large variety in the collection, too, and every class of sculpture, classic, realistic, ar- chitectural, or grotesque, seemed to be represented, from Greekish myths to portrait-busts of men and other ani- mals. What should have been an interesting feature, was the exhibition of models submitted in a contest for the improve- ment of our present dollar. So many say its financial value is only sixty cents or so, that its artistic value at least ought to be high. But while none would claim that the present coin is a work of art worthy of the labor required in earning it, it is certainly better than any of the would-be supplanters sub- mitted. Indeed, the committee made the award solely because it was not con- ditional upon merit; and choosing the least of the many evils, wisely refused to recommend its adoption by the Gov- ernment, as was their original intention. One disappointment in the exhibition was the fact that it was hardly a fair test of the best ability of the native sculpt- ors. Some of the men of largest fame, like Daniel C. French, were hardly rep- resented, and that not by their best works, while so great an artist as Augustus St. Gaudens was not repre- sented at all except by his design for the World’s Fair Award Medal. He exhibited the innocent naked youth with the torch, which created such an ado and was rejected with superb Philistin- THE NATIONAL SCULPTURE SOCIETY Boy with a Heron.— By F. MacMornies. By permiss on of Theodore B. Starr. ism by that high board of art censors, the Senate. Mr. St. Gaudens, with very proper pride, madeno bones of labelling it ‘‘rejected.” One also noticed with regret the absence of any statue by that sterling artist, John Donoughue. Among the iarger works was Karl Bitter’s colossal study of “Transporta- tion,” for the Broad Street railroad sta- tion in Philadelphia. It presents the various modes of transportation in a highly artistic way. The centre is held by a chariot in low relief. The direc- tion of its movement is at an angle that throws the horses into high relief and makes practical statues of the women attending them. At either end of the immense group are figures bearing a ship, a locomotive, and the like emblems of transportation. The composition and rhythm are excellent, and the individual figures are treated with much grace and sweep of movement.

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pom ie 2 . > me Fiera (ill | eel 6 ai J Oran é By F. W. Ruckstuh Mercury Teasing the Eagle of Jove. on NEI A stesso eta ells ania, naaninaanana ee A A aE tee ene an Tae eo TT

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> eps am Ou Sema canes THE NATIONAL SCULPTURE SOCIETY 77 F. W. Ruckstuhl exhibited one of the most striking pieces shown, “ Mercury Teasing the Eagle of Jove.” The sub- ject, at first sight merely whimsical, proves on closer study to be one of most artistic selection and of unusual breadth. The tantalizing messenger of the gods is not merely a bit of humor, but he is a remarkably symmetrical figure of heroic proportions, and his un- obtrusive brawn is a learned study in surprising imagination, action and de- tail, and a rare display of versatility. That charmingly tender and graceful realization of what, in most hands, would be a subject impracticable for worthy sculpture—Daniel C. French’s ** Gallaudet Teaching a Dumb Child”— graced one recess in the garden; and in another one found J. Q. A. Ward’s stern “Puritan.” A third lane harbored Ernst Fuchs’s huge “ Thetis,” a nude Bust.—By Herbert Adams. anatomy. The eagle is full of fiery an- ger, and his extended wings justify the detail with which they are so beautifully and forcefully wrought. The dead lamb, in distinction from the man and the bird, is the study of an animal, and that, too, of one not in vigorous movement but limp and dead ; while the exquisite- ly modelled and highly finished altar is, finally, a study—in furniture, one might say. Thus what seems at first glance to be only a silly story unworthy of its huge dimensions, proves to be a work of figure riding a great dolphin, and marked with more gentleness of symmetry than is patent in its rather gross propor- tions. It is a design for a fountain. The most vigorous of the figures in violent motion, was doubtless J. Scott Hartley’s famous “‘ Whirlwind,” a naked woman caught up in a great swirl of water and drapery. She is the witch of storm and her eyes are wild. This statue set the staid critics agape when it was first exhibited many years ago, but its daring vigor and startlingly clever

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Oe A eNOS ONS EN ERE ty en 78 THE NATIONAL SCULPTURE SOCIETY poise have won it a permanent place in American sculpture. In the most not- able contrast were the two statues placed near it, two competitive figures forthe American Surety Company's new building. They are by J. Massey Rhind and Philip Martiny, and each is so se- renely beautiful, so graceful, and so per- fect of its kind that a decision either way would be injustice. Between these two stood an heroic nude athlete, ‘The Scraper” (the cen- tral figure in the view of the Vanderbilt Gallery). It is by C. H. Niehaus, and though compelling odious comparison with the Greek sculpture, is a work of great strength and maturity of technic. His Hahnemann monument is also worthy of highest admiration. Olin L. Warner contributed two classic carya- tides for a fountain in Portland, Ore. It is encouraging to think of such good work so far West, and one wishes for more of it in the East. Among other ideal works of particular charm were G. Moretti’s “Sketch for a Spandril,” with: its figures graceful both architectural- ly and in themselves; his bust of Nydia and his beau- tiful suggestion for a tomb, the “Angel with the Book of Life.” Fernando Miranda sent a very skilfully posed triangular group, ‘ Colum- bus and the Brothers Pin- zon,” meant for a Columbus fountain. The attitude and expression of Columbus in his devout gratitude for di- vine assistance are especial- ly fine. Henry Linder is a poet in marble, and his dreamy * Music,” with its spiritual absorption and technical vigor in sweeping drapery, his quaintly bewitching fig- ure for a fountain, and his “ Study,” all breathe an idyl- lic fragrance. T.S. Clarke’s striking ‘‘ Cider-Press ” has already been reproduced here, in the May number. Great things are, of course, expected of F. MacMonnies, and his irresistibly happy * Bacchante” is so novel a conception, with its imma- ture, half -tipsy, rollicking girl and the wondering in- fant, that the French Gov- ernment gave it no more than its due in purchasing it for the Luxembourg. The “ Boy with a Heron” re- Columbus and the Brothers Pinzon.—By Fernando Miranda. minds one of the famous antique, the “ Boy with the 5

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THE NATIONAL SCULPTURE SOCIETY 79 Goose,” by its dissim- ilarity in treatment of a similar subject (these two are repro- duced here by special permission of Theo- dore B. Starr). Mr. MacMonnies’s “ Boy Pan” is still more droll, and is as catchy with mirth, as the austere “Nathan Hale” is contagious with patriotism. The “Diana,” however, though well studied and deftly poised, shows overmuch Gal- lic influence. It has neither the depth nor the value of Olin L. Warner's unobtrusive seated “ Diana.” Possibly the most completely original works exhibited were the infinitely graceful figurines Miss Bessie Potter has made of the fin-de-siécle young American woman, whom she treats with a rare combination of sketchy realism and genuine art. She may be said to be the discoverer of a field as promis- ing as it is new. As the visitor entered the exhibition the first greeting he received was a win- some smile from a wondrously beauti- ful young woman. She was only a bust by Herbert Adams, but so winning was she that she blessed the whole collec- tion. The marble has been tinted slightly, which enhances its warmth, TT re 7 . iil M i The Poet Bryant.—By J. S. Hartley. and is defence enough for this ancient Greek custom many would fain see revived. A number of por- trait busts were ex- hibited, some of them utterly meaningless, others fraught with character. Hartley’s well-known “ John Gilbert as Sir Peter Teazle” was as irre- sistibly humorous as his Bryant was Ho- merically noble and poetic. Charles Gra- tly sent an ideal head of Deedalus, a hag- gard old man of ghastly intensity of expression. Its gen- eral treatment sug- gested a discipleship of that dominating a rench master, Au- guste Rodin, whose bust of St. John was exhibited. The com- parison was not un- favorable to Mr. Gra: fly in any sense. The usual Indians were there, of course, and a number of other works deserve warmest commendation, par- ticularly Oliver Herford’s sketch, “Una and the Lion,” as original in idea and as large in conception as it was small in size; Harriet R. Hyatt’s study of a gaunt young boy, “Shouting above the Tide,” excellent in anatomical de- tail; W. A. Davis’s poetical “Genius Sculptural,” and the anima! studies of E. C. Potter and A. P. Proctor. cut rm re y Wi “J = mn MMi Ai pA AAA j wn LO hg i

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: | SON snc pr onasbaenee MUSIC IN AMERICA IIl.—EDWARD ALEXANDER MACDOWELL By Rupert Hughes UR eyes have lived to see the time when it is possible to designate the greatest of American com- posers as the greatest of living compos- ers. It is all too rare a treat to be able thus to lift our barbaric Yankee yawp over something besides our scientific in- ventions, the size of our country, the height of our buildings, and our general, historic fondness for nasally guessing that we’ve just naturally got the biggest show on earth. The rather subduing fact is that it is only a slender corporal’s guard of native ert-creators that have any cosmopolitan recognition. A many we so extravagant- ly praise have never stirred a ripple be- yond Sandy Hook. And never will. Furthermore, the precious few of our world-known artists have rather ac- quired their place by a happy chance of inborn genius developed by hard study under the masters of European art than by any absorption of artistic ozone here at home. This, however, has been the history of the development of all na- tions, and we need not despair. In the ninth century people sent to Iceland for their best music and the best musicians ! And the time is not far off, I believe,

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MUSIC IN when the effete civilizations will send their students here to drink refreshment and inspiration. In the meanwhile, it is a vast pleas- ure to find a native composer crowned with the highest honors of the Temple. Enough of the severest and most hon- ored critics and scholars (note the dis- tinction !) have awarded this place to Mr. MacDowell to remove the ban of is- olated fanaticism from my own opinion. New York is rather the Mecca than the birthplace of artists, but it can boast the nativity of Mr. MacDowell, who in- provised his first songs here December 18, 1861. There is a tradition that his nurse had much difficulty in composing him, but she doubtless lacked the gifts of her charge. He began the study of the piano at an early age. One of his teachers was Mme. Teresa Carrefio, to whom he has dedicated his second con- certo for the piano. In 1876 he went to Paris and entered the Conservatoire, where he studied theory under Savard and piano under Marmontel. He went to Wiesbaden to study with Ehlert in 1879, and then to Frankfort, where Carl Heyman taught him piano and Joachim Raff composi- tion. The influence of Raff is of the ut- most importance in Mr. MacDowell’s music, and I have been told that the great romancist made a prot:gé of him, and would lock him in a room for hours till he had worked out the most appall- ing musical problems. Through Raff's influence he became first piano teacher at the Darmstadt Conservatorium in 1881. The next year Raff introduced him to Liszt, who became so enthusias- tic over his compositions that he got him the honor of playing his first piano suite before the formidable Allgemeiner Deut- scher Musik Verein, which accorded him a warm reception. The following years were spent in successful concert-work, till 1884, when Mr. MacDowell settled down to teaching and composing in Wies- baden. Four years later he came to America, and has since lived in Boston, writing, teaching, and giving occasional concerts. He will spend this summer in Europe. That Mr. MacDowell is able to hold so high a place and count up such an im- posing number of compositions, large AMERICA 81 and small, at the age of thirty-four, is due partly to his unusual luck in escap- ing the neglect or vituperation that com- monly greets any genius daring to be original and unacademic. At thirty-one Schubert had died, overworked, ill-fed, and hardly known. Beethoven, Schu- mann, and Wagner worked their way through the most unrestrained attacks. Can it be possible that the genus critic is beginning to realize the ridiculousness of his position, in always being a cent- ury late with his praise? Can it be that his hard head has been fractured at last with the truth that the classic of one century is the revolution of the century before? So mot it be! It is one thing to acquire a success of esteem ; quite another thing to work up a success of commerce. It is hardly probable that any of Mr. MacDowell’s works has had quite the sale of “ After the Ball,” and it is certain that Mr. Mac- Dowell indulges in teaching and con- cert performances, neither of which he enjoys hugely, but both of which keep the inharmonious wolf from serenading at the musician’s door. But the ulti- mate value of good art is high, and Mr. MacDowell’s heirs and publishers will doubtless rise up and call him blessed. There would probably be no comparison between the gross sales of Offenbach’s compositions and those of his contemporary, Schumann. There is no reason, however, why much of the best music should not be altogether as popular as the trash the people swallow. There are no catchier melodies than many of Schubert’s, Schu- mann’s, or Franz’, and none simpler and sweeter. There are no better par- lor-pieces than various easy bits of the Beethoven and Mozart sonatas, and the less difficult morceausx of Chopin, Schu- mann, Jensen, Grieg, and the like mas- ters, who treated the piano as something besides a clatter-box of hammers and wire. If one-half the virtuosity achieved in the tawdry variations on ‘“‘ The Maid- en’s Prayer” and “The Old Oaken Bucket ” were devoted to the heavier works of the real music-makers, some- thing approaching a musical millennium would glorify the horizon. The fault, however, is largely with the critics, who devote so much of their en-

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‘The Robin sings in the Apple-tree” ’ : E.A. Mae Dowell, Op. 47. Moderately, with feeling. SS — rob.in singsinthe ap-pletree,The blackbird swings on the _—__— p retard slightly thorn, day grows old and _ si-lence falls, Leaving my heart for - retard slightl © ae B . —— en t — ™ | = -\—— Sa. SS —— } ——- te @- 4 ee al lorn.._ Nightbrings rest to man-y a soul, ° a a: SS ~~ From Book of Eight Songs, published and copyrighted, 1893, by Breitkopf & Hartel, New York.

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dark with woe; Pom ee mf days gone by Whenmy love whis-pered low?____ + = O- rob~in, and_thou i a, SS P blackbird brave, My songs of love have died, How couldyou sing as in pp retard slightly PP byegone days, When she was at a (E. A.M.) pp retard slightly >| Reprinted by permission of the publisners,

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84 MUSIC IN thusiasm to the over-difficult works of the great writers, that they scare away many who would otherwise enjoy their simpler works. So they have accorded Mr. MacDowell recognition primarily for his skill in writing music of the most tremendous difficulty, and this has hid- den from the wide public the fact that he has written works whose complete simplicity yet expresses the most fertile fancies and the most human emotions. Their consummate art and their poten- tial popularity ought not to be at ail antagonistic. The trouble is, that so many able composers write, not with the aim of stirring the great human soul, but with the hope of compelling the admiration and envy of rival com- posers ; just as the chief ambition and care of a woman’s elaborate toilet is in confounding and surpassing other women. Mr. MacDowell’s genius is of too high an order, however, to drive him to any such jealous self-destruction, and a large part of his work can be played by the veriest tyro, and understood by the most popular audience. This is espe- cially true of his songs, in which sinceri- ty is the first endeavor, art the second. The wider the sale of these, and the more they are known, the better it will be for music in America. Mr. MacDowell’s Scotch ancestry tells in his songs, and some of his best suc- cesses have been in the settiny of the poems of Burns, such as “ Menie,” “‘ My Jean,” and “ Deserted” (“Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon”). These are strongly marked by that ineffably fine melodic flavor characteristic of Scottish music, while in the accompaniments they admit a touch of the composer's own individuality. Two collections are even better. The volume, “Six Love Songs” (opus 40), containing half a dozen flawless gems, it is a pity the public should not know more widely. The “ Rose-song” is as rich and fragrant as the flower itself; the “Knot of Blue” breathes tender- ness and entreaty in a melody as catchy as it is perfect ; the song “‘ Thy beaming eyes” is, to me, his finest lyric and rings with superb passion and force. A later book, “ Eight Songs” (op. 47), is also a cluster of worthies. The lilt and AMERICA the sympathy of the one reproduced here, and its unobtrusive new harmonies and novel effects, in strange accord with truth of expression, mark all the other songs. Especially noble is “The Sea,” which has all the boom and roll of the deep-brooding ocean. His collection of flower-songs I con- fess not liking. Though they are not without a certain exquisiteness, they seem. over-dainty and wastefully frail, excepting, possibly, the “Clover” and the “ Blue-bell.” It is not at all their brevity, but their triviality, that vexes an admirer of the large ability that labored over them. Mr. MacDowell sets some of his own verses to mu- sic. These seem also, to me, lacking in the broadness and depth of his music. But I am told Mr. MacDowell has a very genuine talent for painting, and has been urged by great European masters to give up his music and de- vote himself to the brush. Studying as he did with Raff, it is but natural that Mr. MacDowell should have been influenced strongly toward the poetic and fantastic and “ prograin- matic” elements that mark the “ Forest Symphony” and the ‘Lenore Over- ture” of his master. There is no room here for an exposition of the much- abused, yet now triumphant, school of “ programme-music ;” but the authority of such works as Beethoven’s “ Pastor- al Symphony,” Schubert’s “ Erl-King,” and Wagner’s countless musical scenes are justification enough for the belief that music can suggest Nature as well as the emotions. Of course it cannot successfully imitate natural sounds and deceive anybody, nor is it to be wished that it could. e highest art does not strive to photograph or phonograph, but to suggest ; to transport the fancy and feed the memory, rather than to trick the eye or fool the ear. It is hard to say just how far this de- scriptive music can go. The skill of each composer must dictate his own limits. As an example of successful pieces of this kind, consider Mr. Mac- Dowell’s “The Eagle.” It is the musi- cal realization of ‘Tennyson’s well-known poem : ‘* He clasps the crag with crooked hands ; Close to the sun in lonely lands,

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MUSIC IN Ring’d with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls ; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.” Of course the crag and the crooked hands and the azure world must be granted the composer, but general ex- £ uf “ - AMERICA 85 catches most happily the whimsicality of the poet’s reminiscences of childhood, but hardly, I think, the contrasting depth and wildness of his complaint that, along with childhood’s games, have vanished Faith and Love and Truth. In the last, however, the cheery majesty “ & * F Ni altation and loneliness are expressed in the severe melody of the opening. The wrinkling and crawling of the sea far below are splendidly achieved in the soft, shimmering liquidity of the music. Then there are two abrupt, but soft, short chords that will represent, to the imaginative, the quick fixing of the ea- gle’s heart on some prey beneath ; and there follows a sudden precipitation down the keyboard, fortissimissime, that represents the thunderous swoop of the eagle with startling effect. On the other hand, the “ Moonshine ” seems to be attempting too much. It is quite as whimsical as Rossetti’s poem, but what further representation it gives of the moon that dogged his steps I can’t make out. ‘ Winter ” does better, for it has a freezing stream, a mill- wheel, and a ‘“ widow bird,” whose mourning to me is, within its limits, quite as forest-like and quaint as the famous bird scene in Siegfried. The six short “Poems” based on poems of Heine’s are particularly suc- cessful, especially in the excellent op- portunity of the lyric describing the wail of the Scottish woman who plays her harp on the cliff, and sings above the raging of sea and wind.. The third that realizes Heine’s likening of Death to a cool night after the sultry day of Life, is superb. There are also six fine ‘‘ Idylls ” based on lyrics of Goethe’s. The first, a for- est scene, has a distinct flavor of the woods, the second is all laziness and drowsiness, and the third thrills with the tremulous rapture of moonlight. The fourth breathes immortality in every phrase, and is as intense in its sup- pressed spring ecstasy as the radiant poem itself singing how *¢ Soft the ripples spill and hurry To the opulent embankment.” Then there are some four-hand pieces, two collections, that leave no excuse for clinging to the hackneyed classics or modern trash. They are not at all dif- ficult, and the second player has some- thing to employ his mind besides ac- companying chords. They are meaty, and effective almost to the point of catchiness. The “ Tale of the Knights” is full of chivalric fire and martial swing, while the “Ballad” is as exquisitely dainty as a peach-blossom. The “ Hin- doo Maiden” has a great deal of the thoroughly Oriental color and feeling

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86 MUSIC IN that distinguish the three solos called ‘Les Orientales.” The duet “In Tyrol” has a wonderful, crystal bell-effect, and a quaint shepherd piping a faint remin- iscence of the “ Tannhiiuser” and “ Tris- tan ” shepherds. The word “ Studies ” is used as a thin disguise for twenty-four delightful poe- sies. The “Novelette” is especially sturdy and not unworthy of Schumann himself, whom Mr. MacDowell ought to thank for gathering into his breast the spears of hostility that greeted his emancipation of composers from stiff academic regularity in choice and de- velopment of themes. Thanks to Schu- mann, who courageously followed out the complex and whimsical ideas which, he said, were as natural to him as regularity was to others, the path now lies open, and one may indulge one’s idiosyncrasies and fancies with some pretence of lib- erty. Among these “Studies” are several pieces that display a peculiar element of Mr. MacDowell’s genius—the fondness and aptitude for the elfin and the eerie. Since Mendelssohn wrote his overture to the ‘‘ Midsummer Nigbt’s Dream,” the realm of fairyland and myth has been a favorite and a fertile field for composers. Probably none of them has wrought with such thorough initiation into the lore of the mysterious as Mr. MacDowell ; and he has brought back from midnight groves any number of dances of witches, elves, gnomes, dryads, and nymphs. His concert-piece, ‘ Witches’ Dance,” however, has got misnamed, I am sure, for no such benediction of silvery har- mony and gladsome tumult could min- ister to the unholy glee of such hags as circled the cauldron in “ Macbeth” or revelled in the Brocken of “Faust.” But the ‘Wild Chase,” doubtless in- spired by Biirger’s ballad, ‘“ Der Wilde Jiiger,” has madness and horror enough and to spare ; while the “ March Wind” fairly shrieks its ghostly self out in a gust of rage. There are a number of pieces by Mr. MacDowell which are quite free from the “programme” element, notably his “Polonaise,” which is as Polish and as fiery as anything of Chopin’s. The “Valse Triste,” however, being a some- what conventional form, has either ham- AMERICA pered Mr. MacDowell’s inspiration or made us impatient of any return to well- worn paths. In a great many ways Mr. MacDowell seems to me to come very near writing what Beethoven would write if he had all our modern advantages of a rich musical literature and advanced re- sources of expression. The attempt to make Beethoven out to be a formal classicist, instead of the exalted roman- cist he was, has given him a more icy character than he merits. In one way, however, Mr. MacDowell shows a vital difference. He can be humorous in the - highest degree, but thus far he has given no manifestation of that hilarious wit that Beethoven owned more than any other composer. There is no comic opera ex- travagance, no joke in all literature from Rabelais to Artemus Ward, that is more uproariously funny in conception and more sustainedly mirthful in develop- ment than a good rollicking scherzo by this man whose life was one long bitter mockery of happiness. Like Schumann, Mr. MacDowell is diverted from the di- rect forthright of a good, witty subject by an irresistible desire for novelty of movement. Like Chopin, he smothers his bauble in luscious harmonies. So his burlesques and humoresques, though not without moments of wit, are rather whimsical than laughter provoking. I wish Mr. MacDowell would quit wasting his precious talents on concer- tos. He can make them about as hard to play as anything yet written, but when all’s said, what’s said? Their end and aim is the display of gymnastic ability, and they place the pianist on the plane of the juggler and the crack marksman. If they develop any large themes in a large way, that is merely incidental. Why doesn’t someone write a concerto that will primarily extract some poetry and soul from the piano and enrich it with a fitting orchestral background ? It is a thousand pities that no room is left for a discussion of Mr. MacDow- ell’s masterly achievements with the orchestra, but this, possibly the greater, work of his genius must be left to more technical journals. Along with his noble Symphonic Poems, “Hamlet,” “ Elaine,” “Lamia,” and “The Song of

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MUSIC IN Roland,” we must neglect his important suites for orchestra. Of the two piano suites, I prefer the second, though I think neither in his best vein ; and the Funeral March, with its Chopinesque organ-point, is hardly equal to its le- gend, the grim words above the gate to Dante’s Inferno: “All hope leave ye behind who enter here!” The “Sonata Tragica,” however, is more than equal to its high title. It is not a bombastic bit of presumption, but the large expression of a large soul —they will say, the great expression of a great genius, when Mr. MacDowell lives only in his music. Its largo is like the tread of an Aschylean choros, its alle- gro movements are wild with anguish, and the occasional uplifting into the major only emphasizes the sombre whole, like the little rifts of clearer har- mony in Beethoven’s “Funeral March on the Death of a Hero.” The last movement begins with a ring- ing pomposo, and I cannot explain its meaning better than by quoting Mrs. MacDowell’s words, when I appealed to her. ‘“ Mr. MacDowell’s idea was, so to speak, as follows: He wished to height- en the darkness of tragedy by mak- ing it follow closely on the heels of triumph. Therefore, he attempted to make the last movement a steadily pro- gressive triumph which, at its climax, is utterly broken and shattered. In doing this he has tried to epitomize the whole work. While in the other move- ments he aimed at expressing tragic AMERICA 87 details, in the Jast he has tried to gen- eralize ; thinking that the most poig- nant tragedy is that of catastrophe in the hour of triumph.” It is a thrilling pride to belong to the nation that can inspire heroism like that at Valley Forge and the bigness of soul that was Lincoln. It ought to inspire the same pride to be of the soil whence sprung the creator of this noble music, this Titanic exaltation. Here is no longer the tinkle and swirl of the elf dances ; here is no more of the tireless search for novelty in move- ment and color. This is “a flash of the soul that can.” Here is Beethoven redi- vivus. For half a century we have had so much pioneering and scientific ex- ploration after piano color and tender- ness and fire that men have neglected its might and its tragic powers. Where is the piano-piece since Beethoven that has the depth, the breadth, the height of this huge solemnity ? Chopin’s sen- suous wailing does not afford it. Schu- mann’s complex eccentricities have not given it out. Brahms is too intellectual. Wagner neglected the piano. It re- mained for a Yankee to find the austere peak again ! and that, too, when the so- nata was supposed to be a form as ex- hausted as the epic poem. But all this is the praise that one is laughed at for bestowing except on the graves of genius. Anyway, it is not too much to say—is it ?—that the forthcoming pub- lication of a Sonata Eroica by Mr. Mac- Dowell is an event of musical importance.

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a wy O ZZ, a 0 /ff ew hy <t = of! the i NCE upon a time there lived a great prince, who was not only the wisest, richest, most beau- tiful prince, but the best prince, in all the world, if everything could be relied upon that his courtiers said of him. Of course this was all very fine, but it often hvppens in kingdoms, I am told, partic- ularly when the prince is as young as this one was, that even the most learned men in the kingdom do not consider it beneath their wisdom to tell the king pleasant little falsehoods about his good- ness, cleverness, and so on, and so flatter him up that the sweet melody of his praises as sung by their lips may be- come too dear to him, for him ever to be either happy or contented without it or the singers. And since this is true, we cannot tell just what to believe of this prince’s

To tell the king pleasant little falsehoods,

blower ~ PASmire character from the report his courtiers gave of him. Of one thing, however, I am certain ; in all the kingdom there was no one, from the very noblest down to the little slave who scrubbed the pots and pans, who said one-half or one-quarter of the wouderful things about this young prince, that deep, deep down in his in- nermost heart of hearts was believed of him by his little page, Jasmine. Since there is never anything to be gained by flattering an insignificant lit- tle page, we may place some reliance upon the reports of him that were given at that time. There may have been handsomer and better princes in the world, but never was there a boy more lovely than poor Jasmine. Indeed it was to this exceeding and wonderful beauty that he owed his present posi- tion. The Prince’s uncle had picked him out from a large number of captives as a present for his royal nephew, and, to prevent his telling anything that he might overhear, in case he ever escaped —which was next to impossible—he caused Jasmine’s tongue to be cut out. Poor little boy, he found it very hard to be dumb. When some fawning old courtier would tell the Prince that “he only lived in hopes that some day he might give his wretched life to protect his royal highness,” or some other such nonsense, little Jasmine could only lift his beautiful sad eyes to his master’s face with a look that said more plainly ~ than words, “No one could possibly love youmore than I do, though I cannot say 80.”

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Be THE LEGEND OF THE JASMINE FLOWER 89 On days when the Prince was in a good humor, and—must I say it ?—that was by no means always, Jasmine was perfectly happy. But on days when the affairs of state, for that is the name given to the Business of Ruling, went wrong, as, for example, when the Lord High Treasurer reported that there was absolutely nothing to be Treasurer over, Jasmine was indeed miserable. There was no use in trying ; nothing he did could please. Blows and cuifs are hard enough to bear from any one; but when the hand that strikes you is the dearest hand in the world, ah, then how much harder it is! and the Prince’s hand was heavy and free. He struck all the cour- tiers when they displeased him, but Jasmine always was the worse sufferer. The rest could leave after a time, and he never could ; and the rest could excuse and explain, and he never could. His life was by no means one of unmixed joy, though, in the main, he was happier than the world thought. But there came a dark and terrible day when the Prince was suddenly taken very, very ill. As the day went on, he grew worse and worse. Jasmine, worn out with anxiety and ter- ror, fell asleep on a rug just outside the door, for they had ban- ished him from the room early in the morning. He must have slept both very long and very sound, for when he awoke he found himself in a part of the castle new and strange. They had carried him, as he lay, on the rug, and he now found himself in a small room, utterly destitute of furnit- ure, and lighted by a single window. Obeying his first impulse, he rushed to the door, only to find, as he had feared, that it was strongly barred. He was beside himself with fear. Some of the stories he remembered to have heard of the sudden disappear- ances of different favorites of the late King, the Prince’s father, came to his mind, and he tremblingly remembered that the Prince’s well-known favor for him had more than once been the cause of muttered threats on the part of some of the courtiers. Now his fears told him that the fate of the former favorites was to be his. He ran to the window, and pulling himself up with great difficulty, by the They had carried him, as he lay, on the rug. sill, looked out. Escape in that direction was hopeless, for it was at such a height, quite at the top of the loftiest tower of the castle, that poor Jasmine grew giddy as he looked down. He turned sadly away and threw him- self once more upon his rug, giving himself up to the hopelessness that filled his heart. He tearfully thought of his dear Prince who was so ill, and had no little boy to watch and obey his every look. ‘Suppose he should want me? and I here! He would perhaps think I had run away in the confusion, as that wretched little slave did a year ago. As if I ever would leave him !”

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7 f } ' 90 THE LEGEND OF THE JASMINE FLOWER As these dreadful ideas followed each other in rapid succession through his mind, he ran once more to the door and pounded it with his fists, kicking it now and then between times, and now pounding and kicking it together. But, alas! no one heard, or, at least, no one attended. At length Jasmine, exhausted by his tears and his unusual exertions, crawled, rather than walked, to his rug again ; and there, thoroughly tired out both in body and mind, fell asleep. And in his sleep he had such a won- derful dream! But to make you see how wonderful it really was, I must tell you what had happened while Jasmine was asleep and in captivity. The Prince’s illness had been sud- den and of an alarming nature, and he had grown worse, instead of better, in spite of the wisest physicians in the kingdom. Soon it became clear that his disease had some very peculiar feat- ures ; and a whisper arose, scarcely more than a breath, that tie Prince had been poisoned. And this whisper grew with each report from the sick-room, until the breath of suspicion had grown to full-toned certainty. But at whose door could so horrible a crime be laid? Who could find it in his heart to take the life of a prince so good? That was the great question ! No one dared say much, for in the palaces of kings, sometimes even walls seem to have ears. But as yet there has been no machine so cun- ningly contrived as to read men’s thoughts, and Iam sure there was a great deal of think- ing done during that long, long day. And perhaps—who knows? — some may have remem- bered that the Prince’s uncle, the Commander -in- chief of all his Ar- mies, had a son who would be next A whisper arose, scarcely more than a breath. heir tothe throne. Night came, and with it no better news, and with the first light of morning there was heard not only throughout the courts of the castle, but for miles around, the awful sound of the Great Bell of the Castle, which was called the “Bell of Death,” as it was only rung upon the death of the ruler. Now, in the country over which the Prince had reigned, there was a beauti- ful custom which was observed by high and low, rich and poor, alike. When any one died, everyone who loved him brought and placed at his dead feet a flower ; for they believed that when the Angel of Death came to show the Soul the way to Paradise, he would count each flower as a good deed. For no one could love any one, unless he saw some good in him. It was hardly broad day, therefore, when there was a stream of people go- ing to and from the Grand Hall of the Castle, where, in all the splendor of his royalty, the dead king lay. The early morning sun saw already a heap of flowers on the foot of the royal bier. There were roses, carna- tions, lilies, hyacinths, tulips, liacs, gladioli, fuchsias, daffodils, narcissuses, pansies, heliotrope, mignonette, violets, daisies, camelias, hydrangeas, forget- me-nots, dahlias, and, in short, every flower you can imagine. And on top of all was the most beau- tiful and largest rose that ever was seen! It was of a blood-red _ color, and it was said to be a blossom of a wonderful plant that the Com- mander-in-chief of the Royal Armies (who was the late will remember) had brought from distant lands, and which bloomed only once, and then died. No one had ever dreamed of a flow- er so beautiful; and yet there were Prince’s uncle, you

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ce wes te ok ssn wel THE LEGEND OF THE JASMINE FLOWER 91 There was a stream of people going to and from the Grand Hall. some who imagined that there was some- thing deadly about the perfume or ap- pearance of this marvellous rose. It was perhaps but a strange fancy. While all these things were going on, Jasmine had been dreaming, as I told you, and this was his dream. He found himself in a garden that seemed to have no beginning and no end, and was, oh, so beautiful! There seemed to be flowers of every color and variety, fruits that looked like gems and gold, and yet everything seemed white, by reason of a beautiful white light that shone everywhere. It was not like moonlight, although Jasmine thought of that. It ‘was so much softer and more beautiful and more clear than moonlight. Everything in the garden was so beautiful that it was almost impossible to choose which spot to walk in. No sooner did Jasmine begin to walk down one enchanting path than he saw an- other that appeared more bewitching still. “T must take time to decide,” said he to himself, and, throwing himself on a bank so studded with flowers that it seemed a pity to crush one of them— until you discovered that they bloomed again all the better—he gave himself up to pondering this great question : Which path should he take ? His wandering attention was at length attracted to a tree that grew near the bank on which he was lying. A tree that he at once decided was the most beautiful in the garden. It was so filled with bloom that it was like one charming nosegay, and how fragrant! Little bits of white star-shaped flowers, ever so small, but each one sweeter than any flower ever imagined ; full of an odor at once delicate and penetrating. So powerful was this fragrance that the air of the garden seemed to be full of its delicious sweetness. Jasmine gathered cluster after clus- ter, branch after branch, until his little arms could hold no more. He laughed with delight to think how happy he was, and how he should make nosegays of these white wonders for his dear Prince.

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92 THE LEGEND OF THE JASMINE FLOWER While he was busily occupied with their arrangement, looking up suddenly he saw in the midst of the garden a fountain of water, white and clear as erystal, which had apparently sprung up at that moment, and while he was marvelling at this new wonder even in this Land of Wonders, he saw two fig- ures coming up one of the avenues to- ward the fountain. As they came on, hand in hand, Jas- mine recognized with delight the Prince, but ah, how changed ! A certain look of pride and confidence which he had always worn, as became the Great Ruler he had been taught to think himself, had disappeared, and in its stead was a new beauty of humility and a kind of gentleness and hesitation that made Jasmine’s heart glad, although he found the tears in his eyes, he knew not why. This was his Prince as he had known him in his heart, with all his faults gone and his better nature shining through his changed, kind eyes. Ny * ~ iy, { ol =, Ont” — S- g ~~ ~~ — He was dressed in royal splendor, but all in white ; and in his robe, which he held up with his hand, was a great tangle of all the flowers that grew on earth. But whether it was that they had long been gathered, and were be- ginning to fade, or that it was the freshness of the flowers in the Beautiful Garden that made them appear so, they were but poor things whose very gor- geousness made them appear gaudy, and one wondered to have ever thought them beautiful. Jasmine seemed to take in at a glance all this it has taken me so long to de- scribe, and, turning his head, looked earnestly at the Prince’s companion. He saw a tall being, clothed in a cloud- like robe that had no beginning and no end, and which both concealed and re- vealed a figure of wonderful beauty. In its hand it held a long veil, thin and misty, but not transparent ; and the beauty and majesty of the face no one could ever forget. He saw two figures coming up one of the avenues.

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THE LEGEND OF THE JASMINE FLOWER 93 And as Jasmine looked the figure spoke : “O Prince, whom I have led hith- er so swiftly and surely, can your eyes not see, with the clearer vision I have given them, how poor and faded are the earthly flowers you cherish in compari- son with these I offer you ?” “ But,” said the Prince, sadly, ‘“sure- ly, Death, you would not have me forget these, faded as they are, since each is a token of an earthly love. See,” he went on, lifting as he spoke a handful and holding them out pityingly, “ each little flower was laid at my feet by a heart that truly and purely loved me; for after I was dead, what was my poor favor or displeasure to any one? Why would one breathe false vows into dead ears, or lay false offerings at dead feet? The dead give little heed. I bring these as offerings to a king who will not despise them. Is not love his law?” “My poor Prince!” said Death in re- ply, “come ;” and he led the Prince to the fountain of pure water. “Into this fountain of purity dip the flowers one by one; and if, as you think, each one is the gift from a disinterested and pure heart, these waters can but freshen them ; but if they be tainted, be it ever so little, by any impurity or insincerity, they wiil wither before your eyes.” “T would not be worthy of such love if I feared your tests,” replied the Prince ; “ know then, O Death, that your power is limited to mortal things.” And with an air of confidence touch- ing to behold, he kneeled down by the fountain, and having gently laid the flowers beside him, took in his hand a little spray of the lily of the valley, and was about to dip it in the fountain of clear water, when Death silently pointed to one flower which was caught in the fold of the Prince’s robe. ‘ Do not for- get that,” he said. It was the rose of the Commander-in- chief. The Prince paused to untangle it, but it seemed as if each thorn—and it had a great number—were separately caught in the thick fringes that bordered his garment ; and, moreover, as fast as it was untangled on one side, it was caught, somehow, on the other. In spite of all the Prince’s efforts, he did not seem to make any progress un- til Death lent a helping hand. He had to touch it but once, and it fell to the ground beside the others. But it was far from the beau- tiful flower it had been. It seemed as if some worm or de- stroying insect were gnawing at its heart, so blighted and withered did it ap- pear. The Prince said nothing, but for the first time Jasmine noticed that he seemed to shudder, and his breath came hurriedly and unevenly. However, he bravely took up again the spray of lilies, and boldly dipped it in the fountain ; but alas for his trust! At the first touch of the clear water, it withered and died. The Prince gave a kind of sob, and snatched a little bunch of forget-me-nots, and laid them on the water. And they, too, withered. For a moment he did not move, and then, with feverish haste, he gathered up an armful, and began hastily to throw them one by one in the fountain, just pausing long enough at first to witness the dreadful effect that in every case the touch of the clear water had upon each flower. But finally it seemed to Jasmine’s pitying eye that he hardly paused at all, as if knowing what the result must be. After he had exhausted several arm- fuls, and had not found a single flower that could bear the touch of the clear water, the Prince broke down utterly, and burying his face in his hands sobbed bitterly. The sight of his beloved Prince in tears and sorrow was more than Jasmine could bear. He sprang to his feet, for- getting his white garlands, which fell unheeded to the ground ; but still hold- ing fast in his hand one beautiful clus- ter, he rushed forward, and threw him- self at his weeping master’s feet. “Oh! my Prince, take this flower from the hand of your faithful little page. I do not fear the water of purity. I do not even fear Death’s touch. I know, I know that nothing can change my love for you, nor wither its flower.” The Prince's Uncle.

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eee “ay cone ’ THE LEGEND OF THE JASMINE FLOWER Y WAN WZ ) A Vs ve \i He took in his hand a little spray of the Lily of the Valley. But all in vain. The Prince heeded him not. Then Jasmine, sorrowful, turned to the Angel of Death. ‘I implore you, Death,” he said, “give to the Prince my gift. You are all-powerful, and you know that I speak truly. You know that my love is real and true.” And Jasmine thought that Death’s face grew even kinder as he said to him: *“ Wait, little Jasmine, I believe you ; but do you not see that you are in a dream? In time you shall give the Prince your flower. Wait until I call you.” And as he spoke, he dropped the veil of forgetfulness that he held, between the little boy and the weeping Prince. And Jasmine awoke in his bare room, and all the beautiful vision of the gar- den had vanished. Did I say all? No, for in his hand he still held a branch of starry white flow- ers, more sweet and beautiful than any that ever bloomed before on earth. He rose from the rug on which he had been lying, and walking slowly to the door touched it with his flower, and it opened. Out through the long, dark passages he made his way without dif- ficulty, guided always by his flower. At length he came to the Hall of Death, where the Prince lay, and saw, without heeding them, the throngs of citizens, soldiers, courtiers, who for their part paid no attention to him. “Dear heart,” he whispered—for the flower seemed to give him the same power of speech he had had in the Beau- tiful Garden—as he kneeled down be- side the dead, ‘‘ do not despair ; I bring you this heavenly flower of love, which will endure all things.” And all at once he found himself again in the beautiful garden, which he

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ee THE LEGEND OF THE JASMINE FLOWER 95 did not seem to have left. The Prince was just drying his eyes, and preparing sadly to resume his discouraging task. “My uncle surely loved me,” he was saying ; “I loaded him with honors and wealth.” And he took the red rose from the pile still left at his side. But before the water of purity could more than sprinkle it, the change was so horrible that the Prince gave a great cry. Before his eyes it rotted. And all manner of loathsome insects and worms seemed to crawl from it. “The other flowers were only tainted with insincerity,” said Death, “ but this had, added to its falsehood, treachery ! ” And then he told to the horrified ears of both Jasmine and the Prince how the Prince had been poisoned by his uncle. “JT will seek to know no more, then. I am not worthy to dwell in this beauti- ful garden, since I have not been able to inspire true love in any heart. Do your worst, Death, I will try no more.” “Try but this one,” replied Death, “and I will not ask again.” And he took from Jasmine’s willing hand the beautiful white blossom. The Prince obeyed as one that has but little hope of the result. But who can picture his joy, when the little white blossom became more beautiful and fragrant than ever, from being dipped in the waters of the fountain ? “ Kind Death,” he cried with delight, “whose heart prompted this gift ?” And Jasmine’s heart gave a great leap in his breast, as Death swept away the mist that seemed to have been be- fore the Prince’s eyes ; and the Prince seeing him, for the first time, clasped him in his arms, and held him up to his heart, and kissed him on his beautiful lips, which never would be dumb more in this Beautiful Land, as they had been on earth. And Death kissed the happy little boy. When they came to bear away the body of the dead Prince with a grand procession, they found the cold form of his little page, and it was reported that he had died of cold and exposure, lying so long on the marble floor. But when his heart gave that great bound of joy to be at last understood by his master, I think that little Jas- mine left this world, and that he and his dear Prince wander forever in that beautiful garden, loving each other the more with each new day. And some one picked up a little star- shaped white flower that was found be- side him. A flower of wonderful beauty and sweetness, and planted it. And, as it grew and thrived and bloomed and made people better and happier, as everything beautiful always does make us, they gave it the name of the little page, who had faithfully loved and served his master. And this same flower is called the Jasmine, even to this day.

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Tue brilliant woman who has chosen the pseudonym of ‘‘ John Oliver Hobbs,” and of whom the British press is so unanimous in its praise, in reality belongs to us. From good authority it is stated that she was Miss Pearl Richards, born of American parentage in the State of ‘New York. Educated in London, where she now resides with her parents at 56 Lancaster Gate, Hyde Park, W., she married, when quite young, an Englishman by the name of Richard Cragie, by whom she had one child, and from whom, it is said, she is divorced. Although but twenty-six years of age, she is the mother of a son of four. Mrs. Cragie is not a handsome woman, but she possesses a face of sweet, refined contour, an eye which penetrates thoroughly all it rests upon, and a rather firm mouth, Owing to extreme delicacy in health ‘‘ John Oliver Hobbs” has never, until recently, attempted a long novel. While she is the self-contained mistress of all that which is sparkling, acute, ingeniously satirical, clever, and inventive, penning striking lines which most people re: id twice and thrice over, she has never, until now, _ ed a sustained narrative. Her novel, ‘‘ A Bundle of Life,” which is, indeed, a fagot of wonderful feminine philos- ophy and epigrammatical force, insured for her the reputation promised by former works. Her latest book, ‘‘ The Gods, Some Mortals and Lord Wickenham,” is an intensely re- freshing novel, but in it some shockingly tell- ing English is used! The master-strokes are audacious and fearless, acrid with irony and grim in levity ; but the style is so pure, vigor- ous, and intelligible that it sounds with the true ring of genius. The plot is what might be expected from the brain of its originator— a little unordinary, a theme which might be called the pivot of modern customs and im- morals—a splendid vehicle for uncertainties and eccentricities, and a good background for the setting of rapid social life. Mrs. Cragie is truly an impressionist. What she reveals, she outlines with sharp primary colors ; what she conceals, suggests. The title of the pres- ent book, meanwhile, is misleading. One can easily discern who are the Mortals and Lord Wickenham, but just where the Gods come in is puzzling. (D. Appleton & Co.) A spook from ‘‘The Duchess” is like a burst of sunshine on a dismal day. She has the monopoly of an airy, flippant style indi- vidual with herself, and the love-affairs of her very youthful men and dainty misses, who had, all of them, better be undergoing the dis- ciptine of college, rather than be tampering thoughtlessly with the seriousness of matri- mony, are provoking, amusing, and captivat- ing, and one feels almost that the sweetheart- ing of very young people is, after all, the most inspiring of happinesses. Mrs. Hunger- ford must still be young in heart, for exuber- ant gayety, not always common in the ac- countants of fiction, is her chief charm, and while her hilarity ‘and the turmoil of her lover’s quarrels would drive a real student of literature to a degree of exasperation, her readers are countless, and she has been elected as a capital boudoir companion. Her recent book is a pure, pretty love-story ; harmless, in- teresting, in which a thread of beautiful sen- timent is interwoven. Its title, ‘‘ The Three Graces” (greatly modernized of course), is sug- gestive of its contents. Vincent Grace, the blind girl, is the best drawn. (J. B. Lippincott Co.) THE little town of Shein, the birthplace of Henrik Ibsen, is visited by many tourists. It is a plain little dwelling where Ibsen’s father retired when misfortune overtook him. Much has been written of Ibsen, but his wonderful personality always furnishes a fresh store of material. It is remarkable to think how a man may labor all his life unappreciated, and then rise suddenly to fame in the ripe old years. Such, however, has been the case of Henrik Ibsen. Many of his dramas, famous to-day, were written years ago. Public prej- udice was the foe he encountered upon all sides, and the obstacle that would have ruined the career. of a less prodigious man. His first extraordinary play, ‘* Ghosts,” was given a terrible reception ; it was denounced as “amass of vulgarity, egotism, and coarse- ness.” Nor did this end the excitement. Ibsen himself became the target of every journalistic ignoramus in Norway. But the grand old man kept dauntlessly on, producing ‘* An En- emy of the People,’’ in which he drew a par- allel of his own experience. True to his genius, he rose to fame under the very sting of journalistic persecution, and to day he is one of the greatest of living dramatists. Ibsen’s present home is in Christiana, Nor- way. Every day he goes to the reading-room in the Grand Hotel, where he may be seen spending an hour among the pile of news- papers, idly sipping refreshment from the small tray beside him. The first view shows a stout, florid old gentleman with a halo of as i

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BOOK REVIEWS ' 97 white hair and a bushy beard. In manner al- ways simple and courteous, he holds -out a hand in warm welcome. He expresses much delight at the American interest in his literary work, ‘‘I gladly know through the press,”’ he says, ‘‘ the kind feeling of the Americans. No, I shall never come to America,” he continues ; ‘*it is too long a journey.” Ibsen’s dramas are now studied in the schools of Norway the same as Shakespeare’s are in ours. His daugh- ter married Bjornson, the second modern lit- erary light of Norway. RicuarD HENRY SAVAGE has spent the last year in Germany and Russia in patient and scholarly research. Colonel Savage is of strik- ing appearance. Almost born a soldier, and certainly reared one, he naturally has a fine physique, a strong, composed face, the keen eye of a conqueror, and iron-grey locks. While the true type of American, he has chosen foreign lands for scenes of environment in many of his novels, and his latest book, ‘‘ In an Old Chateau,” being a tale of the old House of Nimovitch, in the delightful Volhynian lands, is doubiy interesting because the au- thor, himself, has spent many weeks in the ancient, fabled structure. Hereto vivid ro- mance still clings, and herefrom historic legend is derived. There has been such a de- mand for Colonel Savage’s novels in Europe that they are now published simultaneously in England, France, Spain, and Germany, as well as America. The first book of poems from the pen of this author, entitled ‘‘ After Many Years,” was published in May. (F. Tennyson Neely.) To my mind, ‘‘ With the Procession,” by Henry B. Fuller, is the best work this young author has yet done. The book is replete with fine character portrayals, inevitable re- flections of Chicago flesh and blood, and is rich in its store of matter relative to the con- ditions, social and otherwise, of that city. A story of social strugglers, the book is poli- tic, has energy, and should attract attention. (Harper & Bros.) As a writer of sea stories, W. Clark Russell is without a living rival. His important scenes of action are generally intensified by en- counters with mutinies, the exploits of ma- rauders, combats with pirates and deadly plagues mid-ocean; but in ** The Emigrant Ship” he introduces a clever novelty. The captain navigated this ship, bound from Eng- land to Australia, through several thousand miles of ocean with the assistance of women emigrants only. Such a voyage, it is quoted, is unprecedented, with the exception of one marine incident, related by a certain Mrs, El wood in ber narrative of a voyage to India in 1328. Much valuable information of the sea can be gleaned from all of Mr. Russell’s novels. (The Cassell Pub. Co.) RmeErR HAGGARD is an inexhaustible story- teller. When his first novel was issued, critics declared that he had struck a new field in fiction, and unquestionably he had—that of the weird, mystical romance, and adventure of the magnetic and blood-stirring kind, in which he made his impossible people live their charmed lives in a human sort of fashion, and compelled his readers to hold on till the de- vious and exciting action was over. In time he threw aside magic spells and attempted the modern novel, having considerable success in the latter field also, which marks him as a writer of great versatility. But the splendor of description and the fascination of imagery got the better of modern story-telling, and his best books are numbered among those charac- teristic of his first style. ‘*’The Heart of the World” is his last romance, and a right good story it iss A new people is discovered, and the heart of the world located. Numerous illustrations lend further enchantment to the mysterious tale. (Longmans, Green & Co.) TueE following are books of which lack of space does not permit the consideration deserved : ‘The Soulless Singer,” by Mary C. Lee (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.), a novel, than which nothing of its kind is more bright or timely—it tells of the heartache of baffled ambition and the final glory of achieve- ment; ‘A Free Lance in a Far Country,” by Herbert Compton (The Cassells), being an ac- count of the singular fortunes of Selwyn Fyveways and his strange adventures in Hin- dostan during the eighteenth century, a book of much historical value; ‘* Almayer’s Folly,” by Joseph Conrad (Macmillan & Co.), a Bor- nean romance of warm, tropical splendor and rare variation of color; ** Fidelis,’’ another of Ada Cambridge's healthy, genuine stories, one that enlists the true sympathies of the reader and concludes satisfactorily ; and ‘* The Mas- ter,” by I. Zangwill, a novel of which it is impossible to convey herein an impression of its great art. The book is one of the crown- ing glories of recent literature, a story match- less in its vitality and unparalleled in its vi- rility. MAIBELLE JUSTICE.

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PARIS Paris, May, 1895. Tue “Gay Capital” for brightness and vivacity is asserting her sapremacy over all other cities. Brilliant sunshine has drawn all the pleasure - loving Parisians from their homes, and boule- vards and magasins are thronged with well-dressed women. Taking a general survey of the modes this summer, the eye is attracted by the enormous width of the skirts, and by the number of spangles of all sizes, shapes, and colors used to embellish the corsages. To il- lustrate how the sparkling little orna- ments are being utilized I send two sketches. The first is a costly model for a ball-gown from the Printemps. The material of which the robe is com- posed is glacé silk of a pale salmon- pink tint, shot with a delicate shade of green, interwoven with a tiny black line and small bunches of roses. The cor- sage has a full front of pale pink chiffon, over which on either side come two pointed pieces of pink and green spangled embroidery, from which hangs a square-shaped flounce of real lace, and the large puffed elbow sleeves of the shot silk are ornamented at the top in a similar way. The plain, graceful skirt is very wide and stiffened all round with a new ma- terial which is delighting the souls of the modistes, as it is much lighter than horsehair and less cumbersome than steel. The second illustration repre- sents a charming garment for little din- ners or evenings. "It is called the “ Pa- pillon,” and the wide collar of pale café NOTES au lait lace back and front is cut and wired to represent a butterfly. The tight-fighting corsage is composed en- tirely of black and pink spangles and sequins. The loose front and panniers are of pale pink crépe de chine, which forms a large “ papillon ”-shaped bow at the back, the wide lace representing the tails of the brilliant insect. Either a black or a pink skirt can be worn with this very chic jacket. ON; os i | | 1/, The ‘* Papillon.”

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100 GODEY’S Blouse waists are meeting with the same success in Paris as they are else- where, but there is a certain cachet about the French blouses, which other nations vainly imitate. A charming model of blue taffetas has a large square empiecement in fine white linen, surrounded by a high turned-down col- lar and loose cravat. Beneath the em- piecement are small openings back and front, trimmed round with tiny mother- of - pearl buttons. The large puffed sleeves are gathered in at the elbow and finished with linen wristlets. Draped ribbon ceintures pass twice round the waist and terminate with a small loose bow at the side. A dainty blouse, of which I send a sketch, is of blue and red shot silk, made with a box-plait down the front, in the centre of which is a band of blue and red spangled trimming. At the throat, and coming down on either side of the box-plait, isa large bow, the ends of which are gathered loosely into the pleat. The sleeves are as large as Dame Fashion demands and are finished with spangled cufts. FASHIONS And now a word about millinery. It would be a hopeless task to give any adequate idea of the variety of colors used in trimming Parisian hats. No shades are too’ incongruous to be min- gled, nothing is too ovtré, and it is not unusual to see as many as eight or nine different colors grouped together on one hat; but a great many milliners are veiling the crude tones with black “point d’esprit ” tulle or chiffon. Shot straws in browns and greens are very fashionable and are trimmed with rib- bons in a combination of blue and emerald green with black to tone the two former glaring shades. Pinked ruchings in satin, chiffon, and muslin are largely used for trimming hat-brims, and form a very effective frame for the face. Rubans fagonnés are frequently employed on chapeaux and are made in most beautiful shades and combinations of color. The chine ribbons are mostly in favor, while for those who have well- filled purses hand-painted ribbons are a most fascinating luxury. Shot taffetas ribbons tied in voluminous butterfly bows, with a little lace and a cachepeigne of flowers at the back, make up the trimming of some of the smartest possi- ble chapeaux. From head-gear to heads is but a short step, and space must be devoted to describing the present style of coiffure in Paris. The hair is ar- ranged in wide, loose waves coming well over the ears and caught just at the centre of the back of the head into a puffed double coil, on either side of which is placed a small comb of dia- monds or some other precious stones. This style of coiffure is becoming only to the few, but is worn by many who prefer to look chic even at the expense of their beauty. As sleeves seem to grow more and more voluminous, capes can by no means be discarded, and some stylish models are being shown in some of the principal Parisian ateliers. I send a sketch of a pale fawn-colored cloth cape lined with shot heliotrope and green glacé silk, and covered with round designs in appliqué, with a helio- trope sequin hanging in the centre of each disk, glistening with each move- ment of the wearer, a gold cord border- ing each design. A thick ruche of the shot silk forms the collar, the trimming

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GODEY’S FASHIONS Fawn-colored Cape. down the front, and is continued all round the cape, which, if somewhat outré, is a very stylish garment. LONDON Dear Maisie: My imagination con- jures up a vision of your expectant face as you break the seal of the letter which is to reveal to you an account of the fol- lies, frivolities, and fashions of this great city. Could you guess how difficult it is to snatch an hour to devote to cor- respondence you would be quite grate- ful for my budget. Just now, when the season is in full swing, a constant suc- cession of dances, garden fétes, river- picnics, and race-meetings makes one feel that there is something wrong with nature's arrangements, the days are far too short ; there seem to be no nights to speak of, and where, oh! where, is the hour for shopping? Do you know, I have ceased to look in shop-windows and find it so much more satisfactory to 101 Another stylish cape is of blue and green chine silk covered with black grenadine, fastening at the neck by a ruche of accordion-plaited black satin. The front is ornamented by bands of black satin with a design in iridescent sequins matching the two colors of the silk, and finished with a hanging jet fringe. The materials for summer wear are really beautiful this season. Large plaids are very fashionable, and are made in a mixture of silk and cotton batiste. “Taffetas” is a popular fabric, while every variety of gauze and muslin is being used for robes designed for garden fétes. A pretty woollen mate- rial called “le mélangé carrelé” is to be extensively used, as well as a very fine di- agonal serge called “le serge mélangé 4 rayures,” which is interwoven with shreds of white silk forming stripes, and “le mélangé 4 rayures chines,” an effec- tive tissue composed of gathered threads, one white and the other dark alternately. Shot silks make up very stylishly and are largely used in all the chief ateliers, while some recherché gowns are being made of hand-painted silk and satin, but these lovely robes are only to be ob- tained by those to whom money is no object. Yvette. LETTER glean ideas from one’s well - dressed friends. Last week a large party of us went on a drag to the races, and after the excite- ment of sweepstakes and luncheon was over I went for a little promenade solely to note some pretty gowns and hats for your edification. I fancy my companion found me somewhat disérait, for I let him chatter on about horses and dogs, while my eyes wandered around and finally rested on such a fas- cinating gown that I mentally photo- graphed it there and then, and now send you an actual sketch. The dress was of royal blue silk crépon—that crinkled kind that is being so much worn here—and was made in a very novel way. The bodice and large full

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GODEY’S FASHIONS Blouse. sleeves were in fancy silk with a scrolly pattern in blue and white. Over the full corsage wide straps of the crépon from neck to waist hung over a shaped Swiss belt. The straps were continued over the shoulders and fitted tightly over the silken under -bodice at the back ; they were edged on either side with blue iridescent sequins. The skirt was wide, full, and plain. A charming bonnet composed of outstanding bows of shot blue and white silk’ ribbon and little humming-bird’s wings completed a dainty costume which became its fair wearer to perfection. Sitting close be- side this much-described damsel on the same coach was a very pretty girl wear- ing a very lovely blouse, of which I send you a sketch. It was of glacé silk in a rich shade of yellow, dotted all over with tiny black spots. The folded collar had large outstanding fan-shaped side- pieces and a similar idea was carried out at the waist, which was girded with a folded silken band. The entire lower portion of the bodice was composed of écru-tinted guipure lace, slightly shaped, 103 in the style of a Swiss bell, and fitting tightly to the figure. The upper part of the corsage was simply fulled into the lace belt, and the sleeves were plain and leg-of-mutton shaped. The skirt worn with this blouse was in wavy black crépon, and, as its wearer was descend- ing from the drag, I caught a glimpse of a deep yellow silk ruching beneath the hem which just gave the requisite dash of color. But I must hurry if I want you to know all about our water-picnic. Ah! Maisie, why were you not there ?, Even our much-despised English climate re- laxed its severity and sent us a day all smiles and sunshine. From below Kingston to Hampton Court we rowed. Oh, yes! we rowed, girls as well as men. Don’t open those blue eyes of yours in horror. English girls like to use their muscles; but, truth to tell, I think we all wanted to display our new “golfers.” You see I have sketched one for you. They are the most delightful garments imaginable, made entirely of knitted wool. They slip on over the head, fitting closely to the figure. A button or two is adjust- ed at the neck and shoulder and you Knitted '' Golfer,”

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104 GODEY’S are “fixed.” The full sleeves allow full play for the arms, and no pressure of bones, hooks, or buttons disturbs you. There were twelve “ feminines ” in the boats, of whom six wore black jerseys with cream serge skirts, while the re- maining number donned cream jerseys with black skirts, and the effect, I am told, was decidedly good and quite ‘ Beardsley ”-like. In the beautiful grounds of Hampton Court we had our lunch, a sort of hy- brid meal, and were joined by a large party of friends, who, disdaining our more energetic method of locomotion, came down from town by train. What pretty frocks, bonnets, capes, and wom- en there were, to be sure! One girl, “divinely tall and most divinely fair,” looked so stylish that I have reproduced her gown for you and advise you to procure a-fellow one. The gown, I must tell you, was very elaborate, but so neatly built that there did not seem to be a ribbon or color that was superfluous. The material was of the ever-popular cré- pon in a soft shade of green. The bodice had a deep, square collar of mauve satin, Medicis- shaped in front, and coming over the shoulders, the points finished with little flat bows of black satin ribbon. The collar was embroid- ered in lines of jet, with wheels of the same at each corner, and was edged with a deep straw colored lace flounce draped on the shoulders and opening over a vest of mauve satin covered with lace. The rest of the bodice was com- posed of black satin, and was tight- fitting, coming just to the waist and finished with little narrow black satin bows, ornamented with paste buckles The full er¢pon sleeves had dainty little black satin cuffs piped with mauve satin. FASHIONS The crépon skirt was full and plain, save for two exaggerated rosettes piped with black and mauve satin, which were placed one on either side of the skirt front. And now, after this detailed descrip- tion, I find that I can only spare a few words to describe a very pretty hat that Isaw. It was atoque-shaped brownish- green straw, ornamented on either side with large rosettes of green chine rib- bon interwoven with mauve flowers. Right in front black quills, held in po- sition by a diamond buckle, were poised, - while resting on the hair at the back were small bunches of cerise roses. I should like to have written you about several other very stylish cos- tumes, but time is fleeting and space limited, so I'll just add a few remarks about “ buttons.” These are now com- manding really serious attention, and their dimensions are growing quite alarming. Paste and steel, jet and porce- lain are equally pop- ular. I fancy the ad- vent of the smart lit- tle Eton jackets have given rise to the in- creased demand for buttons. First on the list come the beautiful paste buttons of cart- wheel design, but to indulge in these it is necessary to have a very long purse, and they are only used on very chic costumes. The porcelain ones follow closely in point of favor, and are being made (in Germany !) with charming little designs representing paintings of the heads of bygone beauties, each button being sur- rounded by a border of real or imitation precious stones. Gold and silver filigree, jet and steel, plain jet and plain steel but- tons are being used extensively for trim- mings. Scarcely a blouse either of silk or cotton but is ornamented in this way. Your devoted Rica.

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dd $7 eb: Wi TNT El Lipyf 2 = 4/- S tN Sh eA nel BAY Pea : : a fi4; = A oto, x i NT oe iy 2. ge UO B73 as ul ES De / Mii, Wi» Green Crépon.

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NEW YORK FASHIONS CONDUCTED BY MARIE DUVAL ARTISTIC PARASOLS THINK that among all the charming accessories of feminine attire that are given to us at this season the lovely diaphanous parasols, so delicate and artistic, are perhaps the most be- witching. They are of moderate size, and boast of many ribs; the handles are usually of medium length, and are invariably decorated with a large bow of ribbon, or a bunch of flowers. The ab- surdly small sunshade, which has been in vogue during the past few years, is now rarely seen, except for coaching. Generous in size and elaborate in de- sign, these airy compositions seem this year to have reached the height of per- fection. Chiffon is undoubtedly the fa- vorite material for the most elaborate ones, but all kinds of sheer cotton mus- lins are used. Parasols to match the gowns are ex- ceedingly fashionable, and those of well- selected contrasting colors are especi- ally effective. A black chiffon parasol with bunches of violets is extremely fetching when carried with a white or- gandie gown elaborately trimmed with butter-colored lace. One of white chif- fon and lilies-of-the-valley was wonder- fully effective, when carried at a garden féte by a young woman in a lovely gown of pale green organdie. The woman who has mastered the art of dressing will be most careful that her color scheme is in no way marred by an unhappy contrast in the selection even | of the smallest accessory of her cos- tume. She will study the effect of the minutest detail, and never will be guilty of wearing inartistic or inharmonious combinations. I have seen beautiful costumes utterly ruined in effect by some atrocious coloring in ribbon or other minor detail. A beautiful parasol that I have just seen is of deep pink chiffon drawn over white silk. This lining is used in order to soften the color of the chiffon. Half- way from the top of the parasol a charm- ing festoon is arranged, drawn high at each rib, and falling in graceful folds to within half an inch of the rim, where it is met by a wide ruffle, which falls over the edge, making a most becom- ing background for a pretty blonde at- tired in a pink flowered organdie gown. A charming sunshade that can be worn with any gown is of black organdie hav- ing a fine silk border ; it is drawn loosely over the parasol, and is finished with three ruffles, each showing a fancy edge. A bunch of flowers at the top makes a very charming addition. The flowers may be violets, if worn with black or lavender gowns, and daffodils or cow- slips are extremely effective with a gown of white or yellow. Many women regard these dainty parasols as a luxury not to be indulged in too often ; but this isa mistaken idea ; old parasols may with a little ingenuity be made as good as new. Take your last season’s sunshade, for instance; we will say it is plain black

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GODEY’S silk, with a carved black handle. With eight yards of black India lawn, with or without a silk edge, you can make a stylish cover for your parasol. Measure your parasol, making the fulness once and a half. Shirr the lawn tightly to the top of the parasol, leaving an inch- wide heading; draw the lawn down evenly to the rim, where it may be fin- ished with two rows of shirring. The ruffles are then added, commencing a little more than half way from the top, the last one falling over the edge of the parasol. Here you have a beautiful sunshade, with very little expenditure of time or money. A dainty parasol may be constructed in similar fashion of white dotted muslin over white or any delicate-colored silk. Edge the ruf- fles with ribbon to match the lining ; the ribs of the parasol may be enamelled white ; the effect thus made is very dainty. A pretty brunette attired in a white, dotted muslin gown, trimmed with yel- low lace and ribbon, is thoroughly be- witching beneath a white dotted parasol edged with narrow yellow ribbon. A very chic sunshade is of yellow or- gandie, very full, and falling about an inch below the rim, where it is tacked in graceful festoons to the lining. From the top of the parasol hang four battle- ment points of jet, which add greatly to the striking effect of this lovely crea- tion. A white chiffon sunshade has FASHIONS 107 large bunches of violets nestling in thé folds of its broad, pointed ruffle. The stick is of white enamelled wood with tiny violets painted on the handle, which is encircled by a deep purple bow of rib- bon. An exquisite confection pf black chiffon over white satin has a deep black chiffon ruffle, festooned with lilies-of- the-valley and rose-buds. The white satin lining has a double face, being rose-pink on the inside. The effect is like a sunset cloud, and is indescribably beautiful when the light glances through it. Another dainty parasol, worn with a gown of pale green organdie, is of the same material as the dress, and com- pletely covered with ruffles of white baby lace. An odd sunshade is com- posed of alternate ruffles of pink and violet chiffon. A large bunch of violets and rose-buds is placed at the top, anda bow of wide ribbon finishes the handle. Lace parasols are still very much in vogue, and are made over delicate- colored silk, chiffon, or pongée. A handsome pattern of Russian lace points is extremely effective over daf- fodil plaited chiffon. A lovely Parisian composition is of white plaited chiffon, with wide points of black Italian lace studded with cut jet. A wide ruffle of plaited chiffon finishes the edge. This parasol is effectively worn with a gown of accordion-plaited organdie, the bodice being finished with a chic bolero jacket of Italian lace spangled with jet. GOLF COSTUMES Since golf has become so wildly pop- ular a smart golfing costume is an es- sential feature of the up-to-date woman’s wardrobe. Golf demands a more showy costume than is required for cycling, and the most “swagger” suits, therefore, are both striking and picturesque. The latest golf suit from Worth’s is of sol- dier- blue covert cloth. The jaunty jacket is short, with revers of écru broadcloth. A fancy shirt-waist of écru percale makes a charming vest for this jacket-coat. Full silk trousers to match the cloth are worn beneath the skirt, which is gored and reaches to the ankles. High écru leather leggins and a Tam- o’-Shanter of soldier blue completes the costume. A golfing suit of red cheviot trimmed with black leather is very becoming to a brunette, when worn with the new golfing jersey of red ribbed wool. The golf trousers are indispensable, whether worn beneath the skirt or merely with the jacket. Worn under the skirt they are generally of silk, which prevents the dress from clinging to them. For those who indulge in the extreme fashion, a smart golf costume from Paris consists of a Figaro jacket and knickerbockers. The latter are made very full at the waist and knees. The material of this suit is mauve camel’s hair, and is worn with a full plastron of white silk, with ruffles of butter-colored lace.

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108 A narrow belt of light leather con- fines the waist. Rough worsted stock- ings are worn with all golf costumes ; they are plain, plaid, or of some con- trasting color. With a red tweed suit a pretty stocking is black and red plaid. GODEY’S FASHIONS A Tam-o’-Shanter of plaid to match the stockings and a plastron of plaid taffeta are very fetching. The golfing hat is either an Alpine or a Tam-o- Shanter, the sailor hat being abandoned because of its stiffness. YACHTING SUITS Tue yachting season is at hand, and the fashions this year show many charm- ing yachting suits, all equally chic and effective. One very jaunty suit is of white duck, trimmed with broad black linen braid. The jacket is short, reach- ing about six inches below the waist, and finished with a broad sailor collar edged with the braid ; the front seams of the wide skirt are also outlined with it. A broad tucked vest of batiste, trimmed with yellow lace, and finished with a dainty little 'turn-over collar, is worn with this gown. This striking costume is completed by a novel yachting cap of white duck, finished with a band of black braid. A suit of brown Holland has a double- breasted jacket trimmed with heavy white insertion, and large white pearl buttons. Any effective front or shirt- waist may be worn with these suits ; great care should be taken, however, that they harmonize in color and style. Perhaps the smartest yachting suit this season is of gray-blue denim trimmed with white duck; the jacket has a broad collar and cuffs of white duck, and a neat little belt of duck outlines the waist, passing through broad straps of blue denim. The coat has a short, full skirt, faced with duck. The skirt is also finished with a broad duck band. The yachting cap this season is particularly fetching and be- coming. The old-time visor is done away with altogether, and the simple sailor cap has become the regulation thing ; it is made of duck, linen, or cloth to match the suit. SUITS FOR THE BICYCLE Great care should be exercised in the choice of a bicycle suit. Women are conspicuous on the wheel at all times, but how much more so when attired in an ill-chosen or showy gown! A bicycle costume to be a success must be neat and trim. No startling colors should be worn. The suit should be chic, but not obtrusively gay. One well-dressed woman of my acquaintance has a bicy- cle suit of brown corduroy, which has a slightly full skirt, and Norfolk jacket, finished at the neck with a white linen chemisette. A broad-brimmed sailor hat of brown mixed straw and tan leggins and shoes complete this stylish costume. Another charming gown for the wheel is of gray tweed, distinctly tailor-made in style ; a full, gored skirt, with out- side seams, and a cutaway jacket slight- ly open in front, showing a tucked plastron of white batiste. The collar consists of a broad black satin band, over which is turned a dainty little hemstitched collar. A black or white sailor hat of pineapple straw makes a very jaunty finish to this trim gown. A cy- cling costume of navy-blue camel’s hair, with jacket and vest of white broadcloth, is very effective. The coat, short in front, with Prince Albert back, is tight- fitting, and stiff revers roll back from the broadcloth vest, which is generously trimmed with linen braid. Knicker- bockers and divided skirts are as pop- ular for the wheel as for golf. The di- vided skirt, which is very like Turkish trousers, extends half way down the leg, where it is met by strapped leggins of either cloth or leather. Yachting caps do not find much favor with the fair cyclists, and, indeed, the sailor hat is decidedly more trim. A stylish cos- tume of black and gray Scotch tweed or cheviot may be made with a Norfolk jacket and full skirt or knickerbockers. Black leather leggins complete this neat and attractive costume.

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GODEY’S FASHIONS 109 Duck Yachting Suit. NEGLIGE GOWNS FOR SUMMER WEAR Waar a world of comfort lies in the folds of those sheer muslin wrappers, which are to be found, with the ap- proach of summer, so daintily displayed in our best shops! Every sensible wom- an has planned, in the construction of her summer wardrobe, at least three or four of these robes de chambre. A charming trousseau for a July bride that I have just seen boasted five of the daintiest négligé wrappers imagi- nable. One of dimity lawn sprinkled with delicate pink roses was made slightly décolletée, with a square yoke,

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| | | 110 GODEY ’S FASHIONS Striped Lawn Gown. from which the gown was gathered and fell loosely to the ground. A soft fichu, edged with Valenciennes lace, was crossed upon the breast, and hung in loose points to the knees. A second was of pale green and white striped lawn, cut a little below the throat, fall- ing full to the feet, save for a box-plait ornamented with three large green silk buttons. A large sailor collar of the lawn was edged with baby lace, and a large Watteau plait at the back formed a demi-train. The third gown was of violet and white dotted muslin, some- what different in design from those just described, being drawn in at the waist with a ribbon belt. A wide box-plait from the neck to the feet was edged foe

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GODEY’S with yellow lace. Large ruffles of the muslin with yellow lace edging finished the neck at the back and shoulders, falling in jabots at either side of the box-plait. Still another robe de chambre was of pale blue muslin, with a large sailor collar trimmed with lace and in- sertion. A short baby waist and full skirt completed this quaint gown. The dressing sacque is as essen- tial to a well-stocked wardrobe as the négligé gowns described, and can be made quite as charming though not as elaborate. A pretty jacket is of yellow and white striped muslin, finished at FASHIONS 111 the neck and sleeves with ruffles of dainty lace. Another design for these little sacques is of flowered pink mus- lin, trimmed with lace and insertion. The neck has a broad sailor collar which extends to the end of the jacket in front. This dainty confection is held together at the bust by a broad pink ribbon bow. A unique dressing sacque can be made of two strips of bias mus- lin edged with lace, and drawn full across the bust, where they are loosely knotted. Large elbow sleeves are at- tached to this, and the effect is very quaint. PLASTRONS AND INDIVIDUAL COLLARS Scarcery too much can be said in favor and praise of the beautiful plas- trons so popular this season. Our shop- windows are full of these charming con- fections, which are of numberless de- signs, shades, and textures. A dainty plastron worn with a pearl gray suit is of yellow taffeta, having a broad box- plait, ornamented with three large cut- steel buttons. The stock collar is of taffeta, and covered with steel passe- menterie. The vest is finished at the waist with a narrow belt of steel to match the collar. With those lovely suits of white duck and piqué any dainty plastron can be worn. For a brunette a most becoming plastron is of yellow lawn, sprinkled with white polka dots ; it is made very full, and is covered with ruffles of Valenciennes, be- ing finished at the throat with a stock collar of yellow taffeta ribbon. Plas- trons of sheer white batiste are very popular, and, indeed, are very dainty when tastefully made. For morning wear the plastron has tiny tucks, edged with baby lace of white or yellow; it has also a most ex- quisite little turn-over collar with hem- stitched border. For afternoon the plastron is made of batiste over some pale color, and is finished with a stock collar of plain or flowered ribbon, matching the lining in color. An ex- quisite plastron is of accordion-plaited chiffon, finished with a stock collar cov- ered with jet, steel, or lace. The latest novelties in collars are those which can be worn with more than one gown. They are of linen and lace, made separately and in combination. One very pretty fancy in these collars or miniature capes is of écru linen cut in sailor fashion in the back and falling in loose points from the shoulders to the waist in front. It is covered with ruffies of narrow Valenciennes about half an inch apart. A charming fichu of sheer lawn has a deep ruffle of antique lace. This beautiful confection, when worn over a plain silk or lawn bodice, will trans- form it into a very dressy affair. An- other very chic lace collar is cut in battlement points, which fit close to the stock collar of dainty flowered ribbon, and flare out over the shoulders of the gown. SHIRT-WAISTS Tue popularity of the shirt-waist is perhaps the most sensible fad that has ever been adopted. These waists are cool and convenient, besides being ex- ceedingly trim. The broad, plaid shirt- waist is very popular this season, and when made with a box-plait is very fetching. The latest fancy is of some

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oe nnn me Se eg ee = a OER TIE | | 112 GODEY’S delicate - colored percale; the collar, cuffs, and front hem are embroidered with some dainty little flower or figure. A very pretty mourning waist of this kind is white, with black edging em- broidered in white. The sleeves of the up-to-date shirt-waist are very large, and when starched attain the most alarming proportions. HOW TO WASH GLASS © Never use soap for glass. Wash all glasses and tumblers in hot water and soda, and rinse in cold water. Soap is necessary for ground glass. Youshould wash ground-glass globes, or any ground glass, in a lather of soap and water and soda, with a brush, and rinse in cold water; dry them immediately out of the cold water; do not let them drain. Ground glass is apt to get a black look from exposure, and therefore all ground glass, such as ice-plates, for instance, that are not in daily use, should be wrapped up separately in soft paper, so that it may keep its color. ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS Janet. —You will not require soap for your hair if you will use my shampoo- ing mixture, as follows: Tincture of quillaya, one ounce ; powdered borax, a large teaspoonful. Dissolve the borax in tepid water, add the quillaya, and make up to a quart with warm water. Soap, except the very best castile, is bad for the hair, it spoils its brightness, and is difficult to wash out. Of course, you will use soft water. Once in three weeks will be often enough for you to’ wash your hair. In Doubt.—Yes, I would advise you to have your little daughter’s hair care- fully “ tipped” about once in six weeks, but as it has never yet been cut, do not have it touched until the warm weather comes. Spmach Sarap.—Take a quart of young, tender, spinach leaves, put in a salad-bowl with spring onions cut up fine and a sprig of mint, adding a lit- FASHIONS tle chopped-up parsley. Pour on the dressing and garnish with hard-boiled eggs and some slices of beet. DESCRIPTION OF ILLUSTRATIONS No. 1. Gown of plain violet organdie muslin, and violet and black dotted mus- lin trimmed with purple velvet collar. Yellow straw hat with violets, and faced with purple velvet. No. 2. Duck Yacutine Surr.—Skirt and jacket of white duck worn with blue and white striped shirt-waist. Blue anchors embroidered on sailor collar and duck cap. No. 3. Srrrpep Lawn Gowns.—Black and white striped lawn trimmed with yellow lace and green velvet ribbon. THanks are due Messrs. Deutsch & Co. for their courtesy in furnishing the gowns used by the models for both the June and the July cover-designs of Gopey’s MacazInE. a ch a ha ca a ii “ The Nation’s Favorite Stringed Instrument.” The Autoharp. “4 Half Million Persons have learned to piay the Autoharp without a teacher.’”’-— Easy To Piay. Prices Range from $1.50 to $150. If you doubt your ability to play it, there is very little risk in trying one of the smaller instru- ments :—but it will surely please you. Style 2 3-4, Price $5.00, Express paid. Can be returned and Money refunded if not satisfactory. The chords are made for the player by a simple pressure of the finger upon the chord-bar, anc a sweep of the strings with the other hand. To ractise is pleasure because no discord is possible. he magic words in connection with the Autoharp are, ‘‘ Easy to Play.” The tone is soft, sweet and pure, or strong, resonant and noble; and the instrument has wonderful possibilities under the touch of a skilful hand. Send for Illustrated Story, ‘* How the Autoharp Captured the Family.’’ ALFRED DOLGE & SON, Dept. N, 110 East 13th Street, NEW YORK CITY. FREER EEE KEKE EK KE He Ee ee oe be ae oe ob oe oe oe be ab be be ab be oe bb oe be be bb ob eb bo 2 Oe a a a Oe ae ee oe eb bo ee eb ee ee tee ee be eb bb ee ab eb ob ob bb

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|: EStmnisceace-ou. ces Stained Glass. stained glass windows is dent upon the size of the win- dow and the complexity of the # design. in Send twenty-five cents stamps to the undersigneg receive, by return mal costly and beautiful from the elaborate and costly to the simple and inexpensive. v2 ALFRED GODWIN, 1325 Market Street, Philadelphia, Pa. Correspondents with aivertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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il eecatemtalemediiine shins! weninanemdinmeento A Annual Gatueri 1, Sourtw Arrican NW, y iY] og GY) ICOME IN AND, BE | See SR Ce CounT ORANG O’TANN: ‘‘ Have you read ‘ Trilby,’ Miss Simian?” Miss S.: ‘‘ Yes, indeed ; all but the English.” . VEX |) Use National | 2A |i Without Economy PEARLN Fi) Soap SQW AGA NSE AQVAS HING Mions L00°€ Wt! Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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plexion to its original freshness, For sale oO ing all blemishes, and permanently —— the com- or a . x sent paid on recei 50c. Ui epee | entisoptic—harmless—cffective,. No soapy taste, MALVINA ICHTHYOL SoaP| Prof... ubert A, A nd, Subs: » LE good.” All druggists or by mail 250. Oo. H. Strong & 00. Chicago alte sicestetindh nein a

Celebrated PERNIN method. Awarded —— a SHORTHAND : sore EYES Dr SAACTHOMPSONS EYE WATER word Tria Peseen ERE ae coke al lessons by MAIL, nce write H. M. PERNIN, Author, Detroit, Mich. [00k AT YOUR FAGE, remit Ricks. Biscknesds, Blotches, Rough, Olly Skin,

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Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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on Ok ene a ain WS: G-C11-AA-€-O- W-INHALER. Cures While You Sleep. BY A PROCESS OF INHALATION. Catarrh, Bronchitis, Asthma, Throat and Lung Troubles, all yield to its healing influ- ence. Six to eight hours breathing air charged with its healing properties effects the cure. Mrs. S. T. Rorer, 1617 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, the famous authoress on cooking says: “‘I have used the Pillow- Inhaler, and I recommend it to those who wish to get rid of catarrh.” « S. De Vere, LL.D., Prof, University of Virginia, Charlottes- ville, Va., writes: ‘‘ The Pillow-Inhaler has done me good service in an attack of catarrh, on which nothing else would make an impression.”’ Mr. M. C. Hight, Leather goods, 52 and 54 South Street, Boston, says: ‘‘I have used the Pillow-Inhaler with the most gratifying results. No one troubled with bronchial or head catarrh should be without it.” Send for circulars and testimonials, and be sure to men- tion Godey’s Magazine. PILLOW-INHALER CO., 1217 Filbert Street, Philadelphia, Pa. B39 33990390830 3330005 03000. This Elegant ‘New Rochester’ Nickel or Gilt Sewing Lamp without glassware, will be sent ex- press paid to any address a {20 Chimney and Shade sold everywhere, or we can supply you. We make 70 other styles of the famous ‘New Roch- ester,’ (OW greatly improved.) The desidgratum for a Summer Lamp; sufficient light with one-quarter the heat of larger sizes. Bridgeport Brass Co., Bridgeport. Conn. Q222-2329900332820000003 20 SOOO SSS GIOO9S9 90003 8330584 IOI OI OD OD Nature, London, England. J. NORMAN LOCKYER, Editor: “ It pasess the wit of man to suggest anything which ought to have been done which has not been done to make the Dictionary a success.”’ The Funk & Wagnalls STANDARD DICTIONARY OF THE ENCLISH LANCUACE. Embodies — New Principles in Lexicography. 247 Editors and Spec- ialists and 500 Readers for Quotations. Cost Nearly One Million Dollars. Contains More thin 5,000 Illustrations, Made Expressly for This Work ; 301,865 Vocabulary Terms, Nearly Two and One-half Times the Number in Any Single-volume or Two-volume Dictionary, and About 75,000 More than in Any Other Dictionary of the Language ; Also a Complete Appendix of Proper Names, Foreign Phrases, ets., etc. Harvard University, Prof. ANDREW PRESTON PEABODY: “ The Standard Dictionary will prove of invaluable service and will last while the English language remains essentially unchanged. It may need sup- plements, but will not have to be rewritten for three or four generations to come.” Vale Caseoestty, Prof. A. M. WHEELER: “Clear, concise, accurate; at once scholarly and popular, a delight to the eye and mind.” Oxford University, England, Prof A. SAYCE: “It deserves all the encomia passed upon it.”” Cambridge University, England, Prof. J. E. SANDYS: “It is an ad- mirable work, and deserves to become famous on both sides of the Atlantic.’ Uuited States Patent-Office, A. G. WILKINSON, Principal Examiner, formerly Professor of Languages, University of Missouri: ‘‘ The general arrangement of matter is so vastly superior that 1 can hardly say enough in its praise. I congratulate the editors on the most perfect dic- tionary ever made in any language.” HMenry M. Stanley, the African Explorer: “ It comes nearest to my idea of a first-class dictionary.” Edmund C, Stedman: “ It is the most inclusive and scholarly of recent English dictionaries in not more than two volumes.” Journal of Education, Boston: “ It will make the world its debtor, and all who write must praise itevermore. . . . It challenges criticism and commands admiration.”’ The New York Herald: “ We are free to pronounce it the most com- plete dictionary yet printed.”’ The Liverpool Post, England: “ It is an implement that will be of vast service to those who cultivate the literary arts on either side of the Atlan- tic. It is a monument to American industry no less than the Great White City by Lake Michigan.” FROM $12 TO $22. SOLD BY SUBSCRIPTION. FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubiishers, New York. Fort Edward Collegiate Institute For Young Women and Girls. 38th year. Sept. 24th. $270. Five Graduating Courses and Preparatory. Twelve expert teachers. Art, Music, Elocution, Stenog., Mod. Languages. Superior buildings and appointments. Illus. Catalogue. Jos. E. King, B.D. Fort Edward, New York. Foot er Star ** minoneniin Automatic Lathes Cross Feed 9 and 12 inch Swing. New Designs. Novel Features. Send for Catalogue B. SENECA FALLS MFG. COMPANY, 680 Water St., Seneca Falls, N.Y. SORE EYES Dr ISAACTHOMPSONS EYEWATER RESTORE YOUR EYESIGHT, Cataracts, Scars or Films can be absorbed. Paralyzed Nerves restored, Diseased Eves or Lids cured. A Home Treatment ; ‘no risk.” Hundreds convinced. Pamphlet free. THE EVE, Glens Falls, New York. STONE'S COAT-COLLAR RETAINER Invaluable Gentlemen’s Coats ‘or and Ladies’ Jackets. Y0 U ~ Everybody should have one. They go under the Collar and keep it and Front of the Coat in perfect shape without buttoning. Cannot blow open. Applied and removed instantly. Wears a life-time. For sale by Dealers. Post-paid, 10 cents. E. G. CARLETON, 38 Court Sr., Boston, Mass. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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KING OF BICYCLES. LIGHT, STRONG, SPEEDY, HANDSOME. | | FOUR MODELS, $85 AND $100. Elegant 40-page catalogue for postage. 7 MONARCH CYCLE MFG. CO., Factory and Main Office, Retail Salesroom, LAKE and HALSTED STS., CHICAGO, ILL. 280 WABASH AVENUE, Eastern Distributing and Sales “Agents, HE C. F. GUYON CO., Ltd., 79 Reade Street and 97 Chambers Street, New York. Branches; San Francisco, Portland, Salt Lake City, Denver, Memphis, Detroit, Toronto. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S, s

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FRAGRANT SOZODONT. This remarkable dentifrice may be described as a PURE TRANS- PARENT LIQUID, delightfully perfumed, a few drops of which applied to the tooth-brush and rubbed on the teeth produces a most agreeable foam, which penetrates all the interstices of the teeth, and cleanses the mouth in a refreshing and pleasant manner. SOZODONT renders discolored teeth white by its use, and the BREATH DERIVES FRAGRANCE from its aroma. The gums become rosier and harder under its operation, and a sensation of perfect cleanliness of the teeth and mouth is produced.

' N y % : SM w ' TA A FS NY Le °8 . i. Saves over 60 per cent. Actual Strength, Unequaled In Quality, Strength, and Economy. K

S for hygienic and private nee, BBER CO., Kansas City, Mo. RUBBER &°°: SORE EYES Dr ISAACTHOMPSONS EYE WATER | SORE EYES R. T. FELIX GOURAUD’S ORIENTAL CREAM, OR MAGICAL BEAUTIFIER. _ MEN:WOMEN H Taughtto make Crayon Portraits in spare — at i —_ homes by a new poopyrig hted method. Those learn- will be 0$ ie'A work b: NF ~ yy they cy EARN $8 T AWE ] particulars GRIPP; TO $i6 AWE Tyrone, Pa. poe Thyself By Knowing - = - BURRELLE.

= 2 Removes Tan, Pimples, Freckles, Moth i Burrelle’s Press Clipping Bureau reads all Rnca & Pa, ee See Senn, any papers published, clipping therefrom all =< a Bs blemish on beauty, and defies ' items of designated interest to clients. a k— se) sseenen.. Ie hen atood ths test EXECUTIVE OFFICE, WESTERN UNION BUILDING, Se s2 pn | ee ee a: — ftom! we taste it sure it is prop- . Ss ee NEW YORK = a 3 = erly made. Accept no counter- - =sS° feit of similar name. Dr. L. A. Ba) Sayre said to a lady of the

: CARBUTT’S haut-ton (a patient): *‘ As you ladies will use them, I recom- mend ‘Gouraud’s Cream’ as : i t t a ee ee Dry Plates and Films :Cut Sizes AT ALL DEALERS, OR SEND DIRECT TO FACTORY FOR PRICE LIST JOHN CARBUTT. KEYSTONE DRY PLATE WORKS. WAYNE JUNCTION. PIHLADELPHIA. USED THE WORLD OVER

the least harmful of all the Skin preparations.”” For sale by all Druggists and Fancy Goods Dealers in the U. S., Canadas, and Europe. FERD. T. HOPKINS, Proprietor, 37 Great Jones St., N. Y.

; Celebrated Look For The Brand.

SOLD BY MORE THAN 20,000 HARDWARE DEALERS IN THE U. S.A. SCISSORS. ¢ Made In Great Variety Ot Superior Quality. Finest Finish and Cutters. Wear Longest Of Any Made. 7 es SHEAR _— Fremont, Ohio. arerar a PY ww SHEARS and

wig hgh Raha h®

Ve _s* beat "salle pt at Nak Pak a Lek

Semgaiide with ‘edventionss will oouter @ favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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| | Ceemiscenaneou HAIR ON THE FACE, NECK, ARMS OR ANY PART OF THE PERSON = QUICKLY DISSOLVED AND REMOVED WITH THE NEW BOLUTION s / Seed ‘ — 4 AND THE enoxee FOREVER DESTROYED WITHOUT THE SLIGHTEST INJURY OR e * e s bd DISCOLORATION OF THE MOST DELICATE 8KIN.—DISCOVERED BY ACCIDENT. ence tene In CoMPOUNDING, an incomplete mixture was accidentally spilled on the back of the on washing afterward it was discovered that the hair was completely removed. We pureed the new discovery and named it MODENE,. It is perfectly pure, free from all injurious sub- stances, and so simple any one can use it. It acts mildly but surely, and you will surprised and delighted with the results. Apply for a few minutes, and the hair disappears as if by magic. It has no resemblance whatever to any other preparation ever used for a like purpose, and no scientific discovery ever attained such wonderful results. IT CANNOT PAIL. If the growth be light, one application will remove it permanently; the heavy growth such as the beard or hair on moles may require two or more applications before all the roots are destroyed, al- though all hair will be removed at each application, and without the slightest injury or unpleas- ant feeling when applied or ever afterward. —MODENE SUPERCEDES ELEC ROLYSIS.— RECOMMENDED BY ALL WHO HAVE TESTED ITS MERITS—USED BY PEOPLE OF REFINEMENT. Gentlemen who do not appreciate nature’s gift of a beard, will find a priceless boon in Modene which does away with shaving. 1t dissolves and destroys the life principle of the hair, thereby rendering its future growth an utter impossibility, and is guaranteed to be as harmless as water to theskin. Young ye who find an embarrassing growth of hair coming, should use Modene to destroy its growth. Modene sent by mail, in safety mailing cases, postage paid, (securely sealed from observation) on receipt of price, $1.00 per bottle. Send money by letter, with your full address written plainly. Correspondence sacredly private. Postage stamps received the same as § cash. ALWAYS MENTION YOUR COUNTY AN LOCAL AND GENERAL AGENTS WANTED. D MODENE MANUFACTURING CO,, CINCINNATI, —U MANUFACTURERS OF THE HIGHEST GRADE HAIR PREPARATIONS. 2@You can register your letter at any Post-office and insure its safe delivery.~@@ WE OFFER $1,000 FOR FAILURE OR THE SLIGHEST INJURY. THIS PAPER. (Cut this out as it may not appear again.) OHIO, U. S. A, EVERY BOTTLE GUARANTEED = @ @® @ ® @28 e279 I will start you free in i a mail order business @ that you can conduct t ( ¢ t privately in your own room and will ¢ ( ¢ . guarantee you $600 a year. En- Cc. H. ROWAN, Milwaukee, Wis. ¢ @Se OB FSsSsVsEoesuevswessdy close stamp, +e SS or ONS EEE) PENCILS Are unequaled for amooth, tough points. Samples worth double the money for 16c. Jos. Dixon Crucible Co., Jersey City, N. J. Mention GODEY’S. S, MERICAN RAPHITE There are persons using Dobbins’ Electric Soap who commenced its use in 1869. Would this be the case, if it were not the purest, best, and most economical soap made? For 23 years it has been imitated by unscrupulous soap makers. Why? Because it is best of all, and has an immense sale. Poor articles are not imitated. Is it probable that what a million women say, after a lifetime of daily trial, is a mistake? They say that they Avow by actual test that Dobbins’ Electric Soap is the most economical soap made, TZzhey have had 23 years to try it. Yow try it one week. LOOK for imitations. There are twenty or thirty of them all made to deceive buyers. They are all inferior, adulterated soaps, not worthy a OUT trade-mark of their own, so they masquerade under the titles of Electric, Magnetic, or some other name calculated to make you think it is the original Dobbins’ Electric. See that every wrapper has our name, DOBBINS SOAP M’F’G CO., Successors to I. L. Cragin & Co., PHILADELPHIA, PA. A necessity for the TOILET in warm weather is MENNEN’S Borated Talcum TOILET POWDER. Be sure to get ‘‘Mennen’s.” Endorsed by highest Medical Authorities. A Skin Tonic. Positively relieves Chafed Skin, Prickly Heat, Sunburn, etc. Cures Eczema and kindred troubles. Delightful after shaving. Makes the skin smooth and _ healthy and beautifies the complexion. For Infants and Adults. , or by mail, 25 cents. Sen or sample (name this paper). GERHARD MENNEN CO., Newark, N. J. MENNENS porn Aly The Grant House, Jefferson Heights, Catskill, N.Y. Now Open. Rates from $10.00 week upward. Send for Illustrated Pamphlet. GRANT & CORNELL, Proprietors. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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PERSONAL contact night and morning with a cake of (ox 0

\fdy. bE N < Ss N q ~ SS spy N Lage NN ROSS Fe A : ‘LP, AWM

will do wonders for any complexion. Woodbury’s Facial Soap is prepared only under the auspices of the regular physicians at the great John H. Woodbury Dermatological Institute, 127 West Forty-second Street, New York, with branches in Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and St. Louis. John H. Woodbury has had over twenty years’ practical experience treating the Complexion, curing Skin Diseases, Facial Blem- ishes, and Featural Irregularities. If anybody knows what is good for the skin he ought to know. Woodbury’s Facial Soap is cleansing, heal- ing, beautifying, fragrant, refreshing. Doctors recommend it for washing infants, and for ladies’ all-around use it is matchless. For sale everywhere. A sample cake and ]32-page book, illustrated, on Dermatology and Beauty sent anywhere for 10 cents.

Correspondents wit. advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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PAPER PATTERNS OF THE LATEST New York FasnionS ou/ces HESE CELEBRATED PATTERNS have been sold by dealers throughout the United States for the past fifteen years at from 20 to 30 cents each, but we have made arrangements to supply them to our readers at the reduced price of 10 cents each, postage free They have been awarded medals of merit, and their superior quality has been fully demonstrated. They are perfect-fitting, economical cf material, have simple instructions how to cut, fit, and make each garment, the amount of goods required, and front and back pictures to go by. They save time, labor, material, money, and patience. All seams, hems or laps allowed for. EVERY PATTERN GUARANTEED PERFECT. This represents a neat Summer waist for boys from 2 to 12 years old. The design shows a striped muslin or embroidery coilar and cuffs, with ruffle or em- broidered edges, It can also be made in woolen or other fabric, with braid trimming. Descriptions in both English and German. PATTERNS MAILED SAME DAY ORDER RECEIVED. This is designed for a Spring street costume, to be made of light cloth trimmed with black satin or dark velvet and vest of mousseline de soie. The basque is tight fitting, with shirred or accordion-pleated Plastron. The bottom is finished with a box-plaited g 0 peplum, attached to a wide belt. Four yards of 27- inch material required, and 5-8 yard for plastron. Pat- Quantity of 36-inch material required to make the EN- TIRE BLOUSE of one ma- 1057.—Boys’ terial, 2 1-8 yards; or 1-2 d Blouse Waist yard for collar and cuffs; 3 terns cut in six sizes—32, yards of embroidery for a ruffling around collar 34, 36, 38, 40, and 42 and cuffs. / H inches bust measure. Ree Furnished in six sizes—2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and 12 tail price, 25c. years. Explicit directions in English and Ger- The skirt is composed of man and accurate front and back illustrations a front drapery, arranged on the pattern. All ~— ig - a laps al- —_ pol = —. y r. e " ade of lining an ace a with the material at the bottom. The back breadth is straight and full. Three yards of 54-inch material Basque. are required. Pattern made 6302.—Ladies’ in medium and large sizes, Skirt. Retail price, 30c. This costume requires two patterns. This shows a girls’ frock from 6 to 12 years of age, made to wear with a guimpe of Valenciennes in- sertion and fine tucks. The material intended is light blue cashmere, bengaline,: or silk, with light blue rib- bons or velvet trimming and rosettes at the belt. Heavy Van Dyke points go over each of the puffs, and narrow baby ribbon is run through lace beading at the neck and wrists. It has a full skirt, and low- necked waist with epuffed sleeves, with shirred blouse picces added to the front ‘ and back of the waist. 4 119.—Girls yards of 27-inch material Dress. - for the dress and 2 yards for the guimpe will make the entire design. Patterns cut in four sizes—6, 8, 10, and 12 years. Regular price, 25c. 4686.—Ladies’ This sacque may be made of either pale pink French flannel or = silk trimmed with ruffles and fine lace; it is shirred into the figure in the back, and is loose in front, caught in at waist-line by ribbons extending from under the arms. 3 3-4 yards of 27- inch gocds will be re- quired. Patterns cut in six sizes—32, 34, 36, 38, 40, and 42 inches bust meas- ure. Regular price, Se. The petticoat is most de- sirably made of silk, but is adapted for washable goods also. 6 yards of 27- inch goods for the skirt and 3 extra for the flounce and puffing will make this garment. Pattern is in medium and large _ sizes. Regular price, 30c. The above illustration represents two distinct pat- terns. Just the thing for tennis, recreation, or Summer wear, especially for boys from 8 to 16. Stylish, comfortable, and very serviceable. Every boy covets one, and as it only requires 1 1-2 yards of 48- inch material, costing 50 cents or less, his desire can be easily gratified. pattern furnished in sizes—8, 10, 12, 14, and 16 years. Regular price, 20c. This is a lovely apron, ar- aK HOW TO ORDER : tistic, yet very serviceable. 3 It can be made of lawn, [* ORDERING give the NUMBER of each 3033.—Ladies’ , Dressing Sacque. . 3034.—Ladies’ 1027.—Boys’ Petticoat. Blazer. gingham, swiss, or other ma- PATTERN desired and the BUST MEAS- terial, and trimmed with em- URE. and if for a Miss or Child give age broidery or lace. Of 36-inch also. Please WRITE ORDER on a small piece width material, 2 1-2 yards of paper the size of an envelope. will make this apron for a Send 10 CENTS in silver or stamps for each girl 6 years of age. 7 $4 pattern ordered, with your full name and yards of trimming will be re- address, to PATTERN DEPARTMENT, quired, put on as illustrated. s 8 10c GODEY’S MAGAZINE, Pattern is 14 years. Retail price, 15c. 62 LAFAYETTE PLACE. 966.—Girls’ Apron. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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Your Summer Vacation Will be most agreeably and profitably spent among the LAKES OF NORTHERN NEW YORK, In the MOUNTAINS OF PENNSYLVANIA, or at the SEA-SHORE ‘ ‘ ° POINTS MOST DIRECTLY REACHED BY THE PICTURESQUE Lehigh Valley Railroad This Company uses in its locomotives hard PENNSYLVANIA ANTHRACITE COAL exclusively, thereby avoiding the discomforts of SMOKE, DUST or CINDERS. Elegantly illustrated printed matter, descriptive of Summer Resorts, sent free, postage prepaid, on application to CHAS. S. LEE, General Passenger Agent, Philadelphia, Pa. GeO Summer Resorts Reached by the Chesapeake & Ohio Railway, ** The Rhine, The Alps, and the Battlefield Line.’’ Virginia Hot Springs, Warm Springs, Healing Springs, Rockbridge Alum Springs, Greenbrier White Sulphur Springs, Salt Sulphur Springs, Old Sweet Springs, Sweet Chalybeate Springs, The Natural Bridge, “ The Alleghany,” Goshen, Va., ‘* The Gladys Inn,” Clifton Forge, Va., Old Point Comfort, THE Virginia Beach. FAMOUS FR / LIMITED *AST FLYING VIRGINIAN Is the only solid vestibuled train, electric lighted, steam heated, with through Dining Car, ween CINCINNATI, LOUISVILLE, and NEW YORK, via Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia ountain Resorts of the Virginia ° H. Ww. FULLER, General Passenger Agent, Washington. D. C. 1895 THE Chateaugay Railroad BETWEEN Plattsburgh and Saranac Lake, TO THE Adirondack Mountains, IN CONNECTION WITH THE DELAWARE AND HUDSON RAILROAD THE ONLY LINE TO Chazy, Chateaugay, and Saranac Lakes, and Lake Placid, Which takes the traveler for nearly one hundred miles along the beautiful shores of Lake Champlain. DRAWING-ROOM CARS ON ALL TRAINS. Wagner Palace Sleeping Cars on all Night Trains, and Wagner Drawing-Room Cars on all Day Trains between NEW YORK AND PLATTSBURGH. Tickets, Sleeping and Drawing-Room Car Accommoda- tions, and Baggage Checked from all Stations. After June 24th trains will be run through to Lake Placid without change. F. M. JOHNSON, Supt., J. N. STOWER, Gen. Manager. PLATTSBURGH, N. Y. 1895 Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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.... The Land of the Rising Sun, IS BEST REACHED BY THE Canadian Pacific Railway AND THEIR MAGNIFICENT EMPRESS STEAMSHIPS Record, 14 Days Yokohama to New York. Go before it becomes Europeanized. Full particulars as to Rates, Sailings, ete., from any agent of the Canadian Pacific Railway, or from ° E. V. SKINNER, General Eastern Agent, 353 Broadway, New York. C. E. McPHERSON, Asst. Gen. Pass. Agent, 197 Washington Street, Boston J. F. LEE, District Passenger Agent, 232 South Clark Street, Chicago. C. SHEEHY, District Passenger Agent, 11 Fort Street W., Detroit. D. McNICOLL, General Passenger Agent, MONTREAL. Ask for a copy of “‘ Westward to the Far East.”’_ —_»_ Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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The Most Famous Health and Pleasure Resorts in the West Indies and Gulf of Mexico. HE steamers of the New York and Cuba Mail Steamship Co. (Ward Line) leave New York for Nassau, Santiago, and Cienfuegos every other Thursday ; for Havana and Mexican ports every Wednesday and Saturday. NASSAU is reached in 70 hours. It is the sanitarium of the West- ern Hemisphere, with an equable winter cli- mate of 70° to 78°, and a variation of not over 5° in twenty-four hours. Malaria, rheumatism, kidney and lung troub- les speedily benefited and often cured. The Royal Victoria Hotel is most comfortable and well kept by an Ameri- can. The physicians of Nassau are well known for their ability. HAVANA is the Paris of the Tropics. The Cuban winter is genial and the nights cool. The most delicate invalid who can travel at all will find Cuba restful and beneficial in that season of the year. MEXICO offers with the least discomfort a variety of climate that should please tourist or invalid. There is much to interest and learn within the borders of our sister republic. The steamers are new, full-powered steel ships that offer all the luxury and safety of modern sea going travel. For full information, beauti- fully illustrated pamphlets, maps, climatic tables, etc. (all sent free on ap- (S) Ny plication), apply to » “ty. CY AMES E. WARD & 60, So 113 WALL STREET, NEW YORK. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a faver by mentioning GODEY’S.

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ONLY PASSENGER LINE » « « BETWEEN... . N ew York and New Orleans Direct Steamers make NO STOPS between NEW YORK and NEW .ORLEANS. The steamers of this Line are built of Iron, expressly for the trade, and are in all respects First-class and Unsurpassed in Comfort, Safety, Speed, and Convenience for passengers. First-Class Tickets . . .|Excursion Tickets ... Entitle the holder to a Berth in Good for six months -on any a first-class room and meals free steamer of the Line, are issued at of extra charge. reduced rates. The Passenger accommodations are strictly first-class in every respect, and the table is ex- cellent, being amply supplied with the choicest products of the northern and southern markets, and is considered by travelers to be equal to that furnished by the best first-class hotels. The Saloons are large and luxurious, and fitted with every modern comfort. The Staterooms contain two berths and a sofa, are situated on the main deck of the Steamer, and are equal to the accommodations furnished by the newest transatlantic steamers. Superior accommodations for Steerage Passengers. Children, 3 years to 12 years of age, half fare. Children over 12 years of age, full fare. Steerage Tickets include Berth in Steerage, Blanket, Bedding, Food, and Dishes. AT NEW ORLEANS CONNECTING WITH ALL THE RAILROADS FOR POINTS IN TEXAS, CALIFORNIA, COLORADO, OLD AND NEW MEXICO. . E. S. ALLEN, Gen. Agt., ALFRED [MOULTON & CO., Agts., Pier 9, North River, New York. 313 Carondelet St., New Orleans. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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SEND 15 CENTS FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL BOOK. GE The Popular Route Between BOSTON, EASTERN MAINE, NEW BRUNSWICK, and NOVA SCOTIA. * J. B. COYLE, Manager, Portland, Me. E. A. WALDRON, General Agent, Boston. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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ew —~ew MOST EXACTING can be Satisfied at AMILTON ie Diesincer’s, 132 S. roth Street, Philadelphia, Pa., Sterling Silver, Cut Glass, Fine Plate. A CONNOISSEUR. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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\Y > PRE oF e)(s DROP LSA SAL LY ro ZOOS x LOS SAS DOD XXL 23K») Ty ID Ie e)(s we wid WS KAS KAS PRY KAS VR % XD > WY KDI si RS x Yr mS, LOS KAS IEA XX LAK » CAS 1 x 2 (o Bias) VA KOA IX XN RO URS CAAA LD . ee . *) So IIASA “AND MIND YOU!” : “GOLDEN CHOP TEA: : HIS Tea is blended scientifically correct from North China Congous, Formosa and Foochow Oolongs, and Japan Oolongs. The object we had in view when we started to evolve this blend was to combine flavor and body, and at a popular price within the reach of all. Our efforts have been rewarded most bountifully with a success which has far exceeded our expectations, and now we ask YOU to try it. It isn’t worth a dollar a pound, but youll find it “hard to beat” at less than 80 cents. Quality guaranteed. = ese2 a] Price, 34 Cents a Pound. Five Pound Lots, $1.50. Expressage, 10 cents per pound extra, or 35 cents on the five-pound package, to any point in the United States. THOMAS MARTINDALE & CO. Tenth and Market Streets, Philadelphia, Pa: Sf NOS AS ANNALS LA ~~ LX SF e a SE ACAD Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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Agreeable 4 Preventives in season are much surer than belated ’ drugs. A healthy condition of the Kidneys, Liver and Bowels ts the strongest safeguard against Headaches, Racking Colds or Fevers. S f i Acts as a perfect laxative should, cleansing | and refreshing the system without weaken- | ing it. Permanently curing constipation and tts cffects. Mild and Sure. Pleasant to the taste and free Jrom objectionable sub- stances. Physicians re- commend it. Millions’ have found ttinvaluable. Manufactured by California Fig Syrup Co. Sold everywhere in 50c. and $1 bottles. Hot cross buNs Hi Our BRANDS ON@ A PENNY Semi - Two K penny ~~ 4 ot ! . ial STLLBOURNE. Cross DuNS games DAvERIO A. PHILADELPHIA. ROSABEL. SEMPER IDEM. DEVON. aby , Jiusourne} firs (a 26 50.15" St PHILADELPHIA. THE Millbourne Mills flour is proverbial for strength and purity all over the Quaker City, near which it has been manufactured for over one hundred and thirty-five years. The-millers maintain a large bakery at their Philadelphia office, and make daily trials of their wares. The company are prepared to deliver this flour by the barrel at any railroad depot in the United States at closely com petitive prices. Trow Directory, PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY

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tou desire to be Stylishs We will tell you how— Interline the Puffed Sleeves and Skirts cf vour Spring and Summer Costumes with FIBRE CHAMOIS and your desire will be realized. Comes in three weights. Puffed Sleeves and Skirts will not lose their shape if lined with Fibre Chamois—unaffected by dampness— endorsed by all leading modistes. Lining Counter—Leading Dry Goods Stores. aa IVORY SOAP 99%o PURE When you pack for the sea-shore or the mountains, fill a tray of your trunk with Ivory Soap and require your laundress to use it. Light summer garments should be washed only with pure white soap. THE PROCTOR & GamBLe Co., CIN'T Your Prettiest Summer Dress is spoilt by those sticky rubber dress shields. Insist on having the Dress OMO Shields Light — White — Waterproof — Odorless. CONTAINS NO RUBBER. If your dealer does not keep them, send 25 cents for sample pair to OMO DRESS SHIELD, | $7 New Street, New York. THE ST. DENIS, Broadway and Eleventh St., NEW YORK. Opposite Grace Church. EUROPEAN PLAN. Rooms, $1.00 per day and Upward. The great popularity the St. Denis has acquired can readily be traced to its unique location, its homelike atmosphere, the peculiar excellence of its cuisine and service, and its very moderate prices. WILLIAM TAYLOR. Henry F. Miller. WRITE FOR CATALOGUE AND PRICES. ee TOE Standard and ners = PIANOS 88a BOYLSTON STREET, BOSTON.