Note: The Table of Contents and the list of illustrations were added by the transcriber. 

 McCLURE'S MAGAZINE

 JANUARY, 1896

 Vol. VI, JANUARY, 1896, NO. 2

 TABLE OF CONTENTS

 ILLUSTRATIONS ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Edited by Ida M. Tarbell. Lincoln's First Experiences in Illinois. In Charge of Denton Offutt's Store. The Clary's Grove Boys. Lincoln Studies Grammar. A Candidate for the General Assembly. The Black Hawk War. Lincoln a Captain. The Black Hawk Campaign. Electioneering for the General Assembly. EUGENE FIELD AND HIS CHILD FRIENDS. By Cleveland Moffett. POEMS OF CHILDHOOD, By Eugene Field. With Trumpet and Drum. The Delectable Ballad of the Waller Lot. The Rock-a-by Lady. "Booh!" The Duel. The Ride to Bumpville. So, So, Rock-a-by so! Seein' Things. A CENTURY OF PAINTING. By Will H. Low. THE DEFEAT OF BLAINE FOR THE PRESIDENCY. By Murat Halstead. THE SILENT WITNESS. By Herbert D. Ward THE SUN'S LIGHT. By Sir Robert Ball, CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, Life in Andover before the War. THE WAGER OF THE MARQUIS DE MÉROSAILLES. By Anthony Hope, MISS TARBELL'S LIFE OF LINCOLN. 

 ILLUSTRATIONS

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN 1861. THE KIRKHAM'S GRAMMAR USED BY LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. A CLARY'S GROVE LOG CABIN. NANCY GREEN. DUTCH OVEN. LINCOLN IN 1858. JOHN POTTER. JOHN A. CLARY. SITE OF DENTON OFFUTT'S STORE. ZACHARY TAYLOR. BOWLING GREEN'S HOUSE. THE BLACK HAWK. WHIRLING THUNDER. WHITE CLOUD, THE PROPHET. BLACK HAWK. LINCOLN IN 1860. BLACK HAWK WAR RELICS. MAJOR ROBERT ANDERSON. MONUMENT AT KELLOGG'S GROVE. JOHN REYNOLDS, GOVERNOR OF ILLINOIS 1831-1834. ELIJAH ILES. A DISCHARGE FROM SERVICE IN BLACK HAWK WAR SIGNED BY ABRAHAM LINCOLN. MAP OF ILLINOIS IN 1832. A FACSIMILE OF AN ELECTION RETURN WRITTEN BY LINCOLN. VIEW OF THE SANGAMON RIVER NEAR NEW SALEM. EUGENE FIELD TELLING A STORY. THE LAST PORTRAIT OF EUGENE FIELD. LUCY ALEXANDER KNOTT. JAMES BRECKINRIDGE WALLER, JR. KENDALL EVANS. WILLIAM AND KENT CLOW. ROSWELL FRANCIS FIELD, EUGENE FIELD'S YOUNGEST SON. ELIZABETH WINSLOW, IRVING WAY, JR.. KATHERINE KOHLSAAT. PARK YENOWINE, THE SABINE WOMEN. JACQUES LOUIS DAVID AS A YOUNG MAN. MICHEL GÉRARD AND HIS FAMILY. POPE PIUS VII. JUSTICE AND DIVINE VENGEANCE PURSUING CRIME. THE ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN. HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN. PRUD'HON. THE PRINCESS VISCONTI. THE COUNTESS REGNAULT DE SAINT-JEAN-D'ANGELY. THE ARRIVAL OF A DILIGENCE. BRUTUS CONDEMNING HIS SONS TO DEATH. THE BURIAL OF ATALA. MADAME LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER. FRANCIS I. , KING OF FRANCE, AND CHARLES V. , EMPEROR OF THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE. JAMES G. BLAINE. MR. BLAINE IN 1891. MR. BLAINE AT HIS DESK IN THE STATE DEPARTMENT. FACSIMILE OF THE LETTER WRITTEN BY MR. BLAINE TO MR. HALSTEAD. BLAINE'S GRAVE AT WASHINGTON, D. C.. STATUE OF WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON. ANNA SYMMES HARRISON, THE SILENT WITNESS. "MOVE ON, WILL YER!" "AM--I--IMPRISONED BECAUSE I AM FRIENDLESS AND POOR?" "OH, MY GOD!" HE SOBBED. "MY GOD! MY GOD!" THE SUN'S CORONA. ERUPTIVE PROMINENCE AT 10. 34 A. M. ERUPTIVE PROMINENCE AT 10. 40 A. M. ERUPTIVE PROMINENCE AT 10. 58 A. M. THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY BUILDINGS, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS. PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHELPS'S STUDY. VIEW LOOKING FROM THE FRONT OF ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS'S HOME. DR. EDWARDS A. PARK. THE PHYSICIAN RECEIVING THE PRINCESS IN THE MARQUIS'S SICKROOM. SHE STOLE UP AND SAW MONSIEUR DE MÉROSAILLES SITTING ON THE GROUND. LINCOLN IN 1863. LINCOLN IN 1854. LINCOLN IN FEBRUARY, 1860. 

[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN 1861. --NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 

From a photograph owned by Allen Jasper Conant, to whose courtesywe owe the right to reproduce it here. This photograph was taken inSpringfield in the spring of 1861, by C. S. German. ]

MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE

VOL. VI. JANUARY, 1896. NO. 2. 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

EDITED BY IDA M. TARBELL. 

LINCOLN AS STOREKEEPER AND SOLDIER IN THE BLACK HAWK WAR. 

_This article embodies special studies of Lincoln's life in New Salemmade for this Magazine by J. McCan Davis_. 

LINCOLN'S FIRST EXPERIENCES IN ILLINOIS. 

It was in March, 1830, when Abraham Lincoln was twenty-one years ofage, that he moved from Indiana to Macon County, Illinois. He spenthis first spring in the new country helping his father settle. In thesummer of that year he started out for himself, doing various kinds ofrough farm work in the neighborhood until March of 1831, when he wentto Sangamon town, near Springfield, to build a flatboat. In April hestarted on this flatboat for New Orleans, which he reached in May. After a month in that city, he returned, in June, to Illinois, wherehe made a short visit at his parents' home, now in Coles County, andin July went to New Salem, to take charge of a store and mill owned byDenton Offutt, who had employed him on the flatboat. [A] The goods forthe new store had not arrived when Lincoln reached New Salem. Obligedto turn his hand to something, he piloted down the Sangamon andIllinois rivers, as far as Beardstown, a flatboat bearing the familyand goods of a pioneer bound for Texas. At Beardstown he foundOffutt's goods waiting to be taken to New Salem. As he footed hisway home he met two men with a wagon and ox-team going for the goods. Offutt had expected Lincoln to wait at Beardstown until the ox-teamarrived, and the teamsters, not having any credentials, asked Lincolnto give them an order for the goods. This, sitting down by theroadside, he wrote out; and one of the men used to relate that itcontained a misspelled word, which he corrected. 

IN CHARGE OF DENTON OFFUTT'S STORE. 

The precise date of the opening of Denton Offutt's store is not known. We only know that on July 8, 1831, the County Commissioners' Court ofSangamon County granted Offutt a license to retail merchandise at NewSalem; for which he paid five dollars, a fee which supposed him tohave one thousand dollars' worth of goods in stock. When the oxenand their drivers returned with the goods, the store was opened in alittle log house on the brink of the hill, almost over the river. 

[Illustration: THE KIRKHAM'S GRAMMAR USED BY LINCOLN AT NEWSALEM. --NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. ]

The copy of Kirkham's Grammar studied by Lincoln belonged to a mannamed Vaner. Some of the biographers say Lincoln borrowed [it, ] butit appears that he became the owner of the book, either by purchaseor through the generosity of Vaner, for it was never returned to thelatter. It is said that Lincoln learned this grammar practically byheart. "Sometimes, " says Herndon, "he would stretch out at full lengthon the counter, his head propped up on a stack of calico prints, studying it; or he would steal away to the shade of some invitingtree, and there spend hours at a time in a determined effort to fixin his mind the arbitrary rule that 'adverbs qualify verbs, adjectivesand other adverbs. '" He presented the book to Ann Rutledge [the storyof Ann Rutledge will appear in a future number of the Magazine], andit has since been one of the treasures of the Rutledge family. Afterthe death of Ann it was studied by her brother, Robert, and is nowowned by his widow, who resides at Casselton, North Dakota. The titlepage of the book appears above. The words, "Ann M. Rutledge isnow learning grammar, " were written by Lincoln. The order on JamesRutledge to pay David P. Nelson thirty dollars and signed "A. Lincoln, for D. Offutt, " which is shown above, was pasted upon the front coverof the book by Robert Rutledge. From a photograph made especially forMCCLURE'S MAGAZINE. --_J. McCan Davis_. ]

The frontier store filled a unique place. Usually it was a "generalstore, " and on its shelves were found most of the articles needed in acommunity of pioneers. But to be a place for the sale of dry goods andgroceries was not its only function; it was a kind of intellectualand social centre. It was the common meeting-place of the farmers, thehappy refuge of the village loungers. No subject was unknown there. The _habitués_ of the place were equally at home in talking politics, religion, or sport. Stories were told, jokes were cracked and laughedat, and the news contained in the latest newspaper finding its wayinto the wilderness was discussed. Such a store was that of DentonOffutt. Lincoln could hardly have chosen surroundings more favorableto the highest development of the art of story-telling, and he had notbeen there long before his reputation for drollery was established. 

THE CLARY'S GROVE BOYS. 

But he gained popularity and respect in other ways. There was near thevillage a settlement called Clary's Grove. The most conspicuous partof the population was an organization known as the "Clary's GroveBoys. " They exercised a veritable terror over the neighborhood, andyet they were not a bad set of fellows. Mr. Herndon, who had a cousinliving in New Salem at the time, and who knew personally many of the"boys, " says:

"They were friendly and good-natured; they could trench a pond, diga bog, build a house; they could pray and fight, make a village orcreate a state. They would do almost anything for sport or fun, loveor necessity. Though rude and rough, though life's forces ran overthe edge of the bowl, foaming and sparkling in pure deviltry fordeviltry's sake, yet place before them a poor man who needed theiraid, a lame or sick man, a defenceless woman, a widow, or an orphanedchild, they melted into sympathy and charity at once. They gave allthey had, and willingly toiled or played cards for more. Thoughthere never was under the sun a more generous parcel of rowdies, astranger's introduction was likely to be the most unpleasant part ofhis acquaintance with them. "

[Illustration: A CLARY'S GROVE LOG CABIN, --NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 

From a water-color by Miss Etta Ackermann, Springfield, Illinois. "Clary's Grove" was the name of a settlement five miles southwest ofNew Salem, deriving its name from a grove on the land of the Clarys. It was the headquarters of a daring and reckless set of young menliving in the neighborhood and known as the "Clary's Grove Boys. " Thiscabin was the residence of George Davis, one of the "Clary's GroveBoys, " and grandfather of Miss Ackermann. It was built seventy-oneyears ago--in 1824--and is the only one left of the cluster of cabinswhich constituted the little community. ]

Denton Offutt, Lincoln's employer, was just the man to love to boastbefore such a crowd. He seemed to feel that Lincoln's physical prowessshed glory on himself, and he declared the country over that his clerkcould lift more, throw farther, run faster, jump higher, and wrestlebetter than any man in Sangamon County. The Clary's Grove Boys, ofcourse, felt in honor bound to prove this false, and they appointedtheir best man, one Jack Armstrong, to "throw Abe. " Jack Armstrongwas, according to the testimony of all who remember him, a "powerfultwister, " "square built and strong as an ox, " "the best-made man thatever lived;" and everybody knew the contest would be close. Lincolndid not like to "tussle and scuffle, " he objected to "woolling andpulling;" but Offutt had gone so far that it became necessary toyield. The match was held on the ground near the grocery. Clary'sGrove and New Salem turned out generally to witness the bout, andbetting on the result ran high, the community as a whole staking theirjack-knives, tobacco plugs, and "treats" on Armstrong. The two menhad scarcely taken hold of each other before it was evident that theClary's Grove champion had met a match. The two men wrestled long andhard, but both kept their feet. Neither could throw the other, andArmstrong, convinced of this, tried a "foul. " Lincoln no soonerrealized the game of his antagonist than, furious with indignation, he caught him by the throat, and holding him out at arm's length, he"shook him like a child. " Armstrong's friends rushed to his aid, andfor a moment it looked as if Lincoln would be routed by sheer force ofnumbers; but he held his own so bravely that the "boys, " in spite oftheir sympathies, were filled with admiration. What bid fair to bea general fight ended in a general hand-shake, even Jack Armstrongdeclaring that Lincoln was the "best fellow who ever broke into thecamp. " From that day, at the cock-fights and horse-races, whichwere their common sports, he became the chosen umpire; and when theentertainment broke up in a row--a not uncommon occurrence--he actedthe peacemaker without suffering the peacemaker's usual fate. Such washis reputation with the "Clary's Grove Boys, " after three months inNew Salem, that when the fall muster came off he was elected captain. 

[Illustration: NANCY GREEN. 

Nancy Green was the wife of "Squire" Bowling Green. Her maiden namewas Nancy Potter. She was born in North Carolina in 1797, and marriedBowling Green in 1818. She removed with him to New Salem in 1820, andlived in that vicinity until her death in 1864. Lincoln was a constantvisitor in Nancy Green's home. ]

Lincoln showed soon that if he was unwilling to indulge in "woollingand pulling" for amusement, he did not object to it in a case ofhonor. A man came into the store one day who used profane languagein the presence of ladies. Lincoln asked him to stop; but the manpersisted, swearing that nobody should prevent his saying what hewanted to. The women gone, the man began to abuse Lincoln so hotlythat the latter finally said, coolly: "Well, if you must be whipped, Isuppose I might as well whip you as any other man;" and going outdoorswith the fellow, he threw him on the ground, and rubbed smartweed inhis eyes until he bellowed for mercy. New Salem's sense of chivalrywas touched, and enthusiasm over Lincoln increased. 

[Illustration: DUTCH OVEN

From a photograph made for this Magazine. 

Owned by Mrs. Ott, of Petersburg, Illinois. These Dutch ovens were inmany cases the only cooking utensils used by the early settlers. Themeat, vegetable, or bread was put into the pot, which was then placedin a bed of coals, and coals heaped on the lid. ]

His honesty excited no less admiration. Two incidents seem to haveparticularly impressed the community. Having discovered on oneoccasion that he had taken six and one-quarter cents too much froma customer, he walked three miles that evening, after his store wasclosed, to return the money. Again, he weighed out a half-pound oftea, as he supposed. It was night, and this was the last thing hedid before closing up. On entering in the morning he discovered afour-ounce weight on the scales. He saw his mistake, and closing upshop, hurried off to deliver the remainder of the tea. 

[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1858. 

After a photograph owned by Mrs. Harriet Chapman of Charleston, Illinois. Mrs. Chapman is a grand-daughter of Sarah Bush Lincoln, Lincoln's step-mother. Her son, Mr. R. N. Chapman of Charleston, Illinois, writes us: "In 1858 Lincoln and Douglas had a series ofjoint debates in this State, and this city was one place of meeting. Mr. Lincoln's step-mother was making her home with my father andmother at that time. Mr. Lincoln stopped at our house, and as he wasgoing away my mother said to him: 'Uncle Abe, I want a picture ofyou. ' He replied, 'Well, Harriet, when I get home I will have onetaken for you and send it to you. ' Soon after, mother received thephotograph she still has, already framed, from Springfield, Illinois, with a letter from Mr. Lincoln, in which he said, 'This is not a verygood-looking picture, but it's the best that could be produced fromthe poor subject. ' He also said that he had it taken solely for mymother. The photograph is still in its original frame, and I am sureis the most perfect and best picture of Lincoln in existence. Wesuppose it must have been taken in Springfield, Illinois. "]

[Illustration: JOHN POTTER. 

From a recent photograph. John Potter, born November 10, 1808, wasa few months older than Lincoln. He is now living at Petersburg, Illinois. He settled in the country one and one-half miles from NewSalem in 1820. Mr. Potter remembers Lincoln's first appearance in NewSalem in July, 1831. He corroborates the stories told of his store, and of his popularity in the community, and of the general impressionthat he was an unusually promising young man. ]

LINCOLN STUDIES GRAMMAR. 

As soon as the store was fairly under way Lincoln began to look aboutfor books. Since leaving Indiana, in March, 1830, he had had, in hisdrifting life, little leisure or opportunity for study--though he hadhad a great deal for observation. Nevertheless his desire to learnhad increased, and his ambition to be somebody had been encouraged. In that time he had found that he really was superior to many of thosewho were called the "great" men of the country. Soon after enteringMacon County, in March, 1830, when he was only twenty-one years old, he had found he could make a better speech than at least one man whowas before the public. A candidate had come along where John Hanks andhe were at work, and, as John Hanks tells the story, the man made aspeech. "It was a bad one, and I said Abe could beat it. I turned downa box, and Abe made his speech. The other man was a candidate--Abewasn't. Abe beat him to death, his subject being the navigation ofthe Sangamon River. The man, after Abe's speech was through, took himaside, and asked him where he had learned so much and how he could doso well. Abe replied, stating his manner and method of reading, whathe had read. The man encouraged him to persevere. "

He had found that people listened to him, that they quoted hisopinions, and that his friends were already saying that he was ableto fill any position. Offutt even declared the country over that "Abeknew more than any man in the United States, " and "some day he wouldbe President. "

[Illustration: JOHN A. CLARY. 

John A. Clary was one of the "Clary's Grove Boys. " He was a son ofJohn Clary, the head of the numerous Clary family which settled in thevicinity of New Salem in 1818. He was born in Tennessee in 1815 anddied in 1880. He was an intimate associate of Lincoln during thelatter's New Salem days. ]

Under this stimulus Lincoln's ambition increased. "I have talked withgreat men, " he told his fellow-clerk and friend, Greene, "and I do notsee how they differ from others. " He made up his mind to put himselfbefore the public, and talked of his plans to his friends. In orderto keep in practice in speaking he walked seven or eight miles todebating clubs. "Practising polemics" was what he called the exercise. He seems now for the first time to have begun to study subjects. Grammar was what he chose. He sought Mentor Graham, the schoolmaster, and asked his advice. "If you are going before the public, " Mr. Grahamtold him, "you ought to do it. " But where could he get a grammar?There was but one, said Mr. Graham, in the neighborhood, and that wassix miles away. Without waiting further information the young man rosefrom the breakfast-table, walked immediately to the place, borrowedthis rare copy of Kirkham's Grammar, and before night was deep intoits mysteries. From that time on for weeks he gave every moment of hisleisure to mastering the contents of the book. Frequently he asked hisfriend Greene to "hold the book" while he recited, and, when puzzledby a point, he would consult Mr. Graham. 

Lincoln's eagerness to learn was such that the whole neighborhoodbecame interested. The Greenes lent him books, the schoolmaster kepthim in mind and helped him as he could, and even the village cooperlet him come into his shop and keep up a fire of shavings sufficientlybright to read by at night. It was not long before the grammar wasmastered. "Well, " Lincoln said to his fellow-clerk, Greene, "if that'swhat they call a science, I think I'll go at another. " He had madeanother discovery--that he could conquer subjects. 

[Illustration: SITE OF DENTON OFFUTT'S STORE. 

From a photograph taken for this Magazine. 

The building in which Lincoln clerked for Denton Offutt was standingas late as 1836, and presumably stood until it rotted down. A slightdepression in the earth, evidently once a cellar, is all that remainsof Offutt's store. Out of this hole in the ground have grown threetrees, a locust, an elm, and a sycamore, seeming to spring from thesame roots, and curiously twined together; and high up on the sycamoresome genius has chiselled the face of Lincoln. ]

Before the winter was ended he had become the most popular man in NewSalem. Although in February, 1832, he was but twenty-two years of age, had never been at school an entire year in his life, had never made aspeech except in debating clubs and by the roadside, had read only thebooks he could pick up, and known only the men who made up the poor, out-of-the-way towns in which he had lived, "encouraged by his greatpopularity among his immediate neighbors, " as he says himself, hedecided to announce himself, in March, 1832, as a candidate for theGeneral Assembly of the State. 

[Illustration: ZACHARY TAYLOR. 

At the breaking out of the Black Hawk war, Zachary Taylor, afterwardsgeneral in the Mexican War, and finally President of the UnitedStates, was colonel of the First Infantry. He joined Atkinson at thebeginning of the war, and was in active service until the end of thecampaign. ]

A CANDIDATE FOR THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY. 

The only preliminary expected of a candidate for the legislature ofIllinois at that date was an announcement stating his "sentiments withregard to local affairs. " The circular in which Lincoln complied withthis custom was a document of about two thousand words, in which heplunged at once into the subject he believed most interesting to hisconstituents--"the public utility of internal improvements. "

[Illustration: BOWLING GREEN'S HOUSE. 

From a photograph taken for this Magazine. 

Bowling Green's log cabin, half a mile north of New Salem, just underthe bluff, still stands, but long since ceased to be a dwelling-house, and is now a tumble-down old stable. Here Lincoln was a frequentboarder, especially during the period of his closest application tothe study of the law. Stretched out on the cellar door of his cabin, reading a book, he met for the first time "Dick" Yates, then acollege student at Jacksonville, and destined to become the great "WarGovernor" of the State. Yates had come home with William G. Greeneto spend his vacation, and Greene took him around to Bowling Green'shouse to introduce him to "his friend, Abe Lincoln. " Unhappily thereis nowhere in existence a picture of the original occupant of thishumble cabin. Bowling Green was one of the leading citizens of thecounty. He was County Commissioner from 1826 to 1828; he was for manyyears a justice of the peace; he was a prominent member of the Masonicfraternity, and a very active and uncompromising Whig. The friendshipbetween him and Lincoln, beginning at a very early day, continueduntil his death in 1842. --_J. McCan Davis_. ]

At that time the State of Illinois--as, indeed, the whole UnitedStates--was convinced that the future of the country depended on theopening of canals and railroads, and the clearing out of the rivers. In the Sangamon country the population felt that a quick way ofgetting to Beardstown on the Illinois River, to which point thesteamer came from the Mississippi, was, as Lincoln puts it in hiscircular, "indispensably necessary. " Of course a railroad was thedream of the settlers; but when it was considered seriously there wasalways, as Lincoln says, "a heart-appalling shock accompanying theamount of its cost, which forces us to shrink from our pleasinganticipations. " Improvement of the Sangamon River he declared the mostfeasible plan. That it was possible, he argued from his experienceon the river in April of the year before (1831), when he made hisflatboat trip, and from his observations as manager of Offutt'ssaw-mill. He could not have advocated a measure more popular. Atthat moment the whole population of Sangamon was in a state of wildexpectation. Some six weeks before Lincoln's circular appeared, acitizen of Springfield had advertised that as soon as the ice wentoff the river he would bring up a steamer, the "Talisman, " fromCincinnati, and prove the Sangamon navigable. The announcement hadaroused the entire country, speeches were made, and subscriptionstaken. The merchants announced goods direct per steamship "Talisman"the country over, and every village from Beardstown to Springfield waslaid off in town lots. When the circular appeared the excitement wasat its height. 

[Illustration: THE BLACK HAWK. 

From a photograph made for this Magazine. 

After a portrait by George Catlin, in the National Museum atWashington, D. C. , and here reproduced by the courtesy of the director, Mr. G. Brown Goode. Makataimeshekiakiak, the Black Hawk Sparrow, was born in 1767 on the Rock River. He was not a chief by birth, butthrough the valor of his deeds became the leader of his village. Hewas imaginative and discontented, and bred endless trouble inthe Northwest by his complaints and his visionary schemes. He wascompletely under the influence of the British agents, and in 1812joined Tecumseh in the war against the United States. After the closeof that war, the Hawk was peaceable until driven to resistance bythe encroachments of the squatters. After the battle of Bad Axe heescaped, and was not captured until betrayed by two Winnebagoes. Hewas taken to Fort Armstrong, where he signed a treaty of peace, andthen was transferred as a prisoner of war to Jefferson Barracks, nowSt. Louis, where Catlin painted him. Catlin, in his "Eight Years, "says: "When I painted this chief, he was dressed in a plain suit ofbuckskin, with a string of wampum in his ears and on his neck, andheld in his hand his medicine-bag, which was the skin of a black hawk, from which he had taken his name, and the tail of which made him afan, which he was almost constantly using. " In April, 1833, Black Hawkand the other prisoners of war were transferred to Fortress Monroe. They were released in June, and made a trip through the Atlanticcities before returning West. Black Hawk settled in Iowa, where he andhis followers were given a small reservation in Davis County. He diedin 1838. ]

[Illustration: WHIRLING THUNDER. 

From a photograph made for this Magazine. 

After a painting by R. M. Sully in the collection of the StateHistorical Society of Wisconsin, and here reproduced through thecourtesy of the secretary, Mr. Reuben G. Thwaites. Black Hawk hadtwo sons; the elder was the Whirling Thunder, the younger the RoaringThunder; both were in the war, and both were taken prisoners withtheir father, and were with him at Jefferson Barracks and at FortressMonroe and on the trip through the Atlantic cities. At JeffersonBarracks Catlin painted them, and the pictures are in the NationalMuseum. While at Fortress Monroe the above picture of Whirling Thunderwas painted. A pretty anecdote is told of the Whirling Thunder. Whileon their tour through the East the Indians were invited to variousgatherings and much done for their entertainment. On one of theseoccasions a young lady sang a ballad. Whirling Thunder listenedintently, and when she ended he plucked an eagle's feather from hishead-dress, and giving it to a white friend, said: "Take that to yourmocking-bird squaw. " Black Hawk's sons remained with him until hisdeath in 1838, and then removed with the Sacs and Foxes to Kansas. ]

Lincoln's comments in his circular on two other subjects on whichall candidates of the day expressed themselves are amusing in theirsimplicity. The practice of loaning money at exorbitant rates was thena great evil in the West. Lincoln proposed a law fixing the limits ofusury, and he closed his paragraph on the subject with these words, which sound strange enough from a man who in later life showed soprofound a reverence for law:

 "In cases of extreme necessity, there could always be means found to cheat the law; while in all other cases it would have its intended effect. I would favor the passage of a law on this subject which might not be very easily evaded. Let it be such that the labor and difficulty of evading it could only be justified in cases of greatest necessity. "

A change in the laws of the State was also a topic which he feltrequired a word. "Considering the great probability, " he said, "thatthe framers of those laws were wiser than myself, I should prefer notmeddling with them, unless they were attacked by others; in which caseI should feel it both a privilege and a duty to take that stand which, in my view, might tend most to the advancement of justice. "

[Illustration: WHITE CLOUD, THE PROPHET. 

From a photograph made for this Magazine. 

After a painting in the collection of the State Historical Society ofWisconsin, and here reproduced through the courtesy of the secretary, Mr. Reuben G. Thwaites. The chief of an Indian village on the RockRiver, White Cloud was half Winnebago, half Sac. He was false andcrafty, and it was largely his counsels which induced Black Hawk torecross the Mississippi in 1832. He was captured with Black Hawk, wasa prisoner at both Jefferson Barracks and Fortress Monroe, and madethe tour of the Atlantic cities with his friends. The above portraitwas made at Fortress Monroe by R. M. Sully. Catlin also painted WhiteCloud at Jefferson Barracks in 1832. He describes him as about fortyyears old at that time, "nearly six feet high, stout and athletic. " Hesaid he let his hair grow out to please the whites. Catlin's pictureshows him with a very heavy head of hair. The prophet, after hisreturn from the East, remained among his people until his death in1840 or 1841. ]

[Illustration: BLACK HAWK. 

From a photograph made for this Magazine. 

After an improved replica of the original portrait painted by R. M. Sully at Fortress Monroe in 1833, and now in the museum of the StateHistorical Society of Wisconsin, at Madison. It is reproduced throughthe courtesy of the secretary of the society, Mr. Reuben G. Thwaites. ]

[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1860

From a photograph loaned by H. W. Fay of DeKalb, Illinois. AfterLincoln's nomination for the presidency, Alex Hesler of Chicagopublished a portrait he had made of Lincoln in 1857. (See McCLURE'SMAGAZINE for December, p. 13. ) At the same time he put out a portraitof Douglas. The contrast was so great between the two, and in theopinion of the politicians so much in Douglas's favor, that theytold Hesler he must suppress Lincoln's picture; accordingly thephotographer wrote to Springfield requesting Lincoln to call and sitagain. Lincoln replied that his friends had decided that he remainin Springfield during the canvass, but that if Hesler would come toSpringfield he would be "dressed up" and give him all the time hewanted. Hesler went to Springfield and made at least four negatives, three of which are supposed to have been destroyed in the Chicagofire. The fourth is owned by Mr. George Ayers of Philadelphia. Theabove photograph is a print from one of the lost negatives. ]

The audacity of a young man in his position presenting himself as acandidate for the legislature is fully equalled by the humility of theclosing paragraphs of his announcement:

 "But, fellow-citizens, I shall conclude. Considering the great degree of modesty which should always attend youth, it is probable I have already been more presuming than becomes me. However, upon the subjects of which I have treated, I have spoken as I have thought. I may be wrong in regard to any or all of them; but, holding it a sound maxim that it is better only sometimes to be right than at all times to be wrong, so soon as I discover my opinions to be erroneous, I shall be ready to renounce them. 

 "Every man is said to have his peculiar ambition. Whether it be true or not, I can say, for one, that I have no other so great as that of being truly esteemed of my fellow-men by rendering myself worthy of their esteem. How far I shall succeed in gratifying this ambition is yet to be developed. I am young, and unknown to many of you. I was born, and have ever remained, in the most humble walks of life. I have no wealthy or popular relations or friends to recommend me. My case is thrown exclusively upon the independent voters of the county; and, if elected, they will have conferred a favor upon me for which I shall be unremitting in my labors to compensate. But, if the good people in their wisdom shall see fit to keep me in the background, I have been too familiar with disappointments to be very much chagrined. "

[Illustration: BLACK HAWK WAR RELICS. 

Tomahawk. Indian Pipe. Powder-horn. Flintlock Rifle. Indian Flute. Indian Knife. 

From a photograph made for this Magazine. 

This group of relics of the Black Hawk War was selected for us fromthe collection in the museum of the Wisconsin Historical Society bythe Secretary, Mr. Reuben G. Thwaites. The coat and chapeau belongedto General Dodge, an important leader in the war. The Indian relicsare a tomahawk, a Winnebago pipe, a Winnebago flute, and a knife. Thepowder-horn and the flintlock rifle are the only volunteer articles. One of the survivors of the war, Mr. Elijah Herring of Stockton, Illinois, says of the flintlock rifles used by the Illinoisvolunteers: "They were constructed like the old-fashioned rifle, onlyin place of a nipple for a cap they had a pan in which was fixed anoil flint which the hammer struck when it came down, instead of themodern cap. The pan was filled with powder grains, enough to catch thespark and communicate it to the load in the gun. These guns were allright, and rarely missed fire on a dry, clear day; but unless theywere covered well, the dews of evening would dampen the powder, andvery often we were compelled to withdraw the charge and load them overagain. We had a gunsmith with us, whose business it was to look afterthe guns for the whole regiment; and when a gun was found to be damp, it was his duty to get his tools and 'draw' the load. At that time theCramer lock and triggers had just been put on the market, and myrifle was equipped with these improvements, a fact of which I was veryproud. Instead of one trigger my rifle had two, one set behind theother--the hind one to cock the gun, and the front one to shoot it. The man Cramer sold his lock and triggers in St. Louis, and I was oneof the first to use them. "]

Very soon after Lincoln had distributed his handbills, enthusiasmon the subject of the opening of the Sangamon rose to a fever. The "Talisman" actually came up the river; scores of men went toBeardstown to meet her, among them Lincoln, of course; and to him wasgiven the honor of piloting her--an honor which made him remembered bymany a man who saw him that day for the first time. The trip wasmade with all the wild demonstrations which always attended the firststeamboat. On either bank a long procession of men and boys on foot orhorse accompanied the boat. Cannons and volleys of musketry werefired as settlements were passed. At every stop speeches were made, congratulations offered, toasts drunk, flowers presented. It wasone long hurrah from Beardstown to Springfield, and foremost inthe jubilation was Lincoln, the pilot. The "Talisman" went as nearSpringfield as the river did, and there tied up for a week. Whenshe went back Lincoln again had a conspicuous position as pilot. Thenotoriety this gave him was quite as valuable politically, probably, as was the forty dollars he received for his service financially. 

[Illustration: MAJOR ROBERT ANDERSON. 

From a photograph in the war collection of Robert A. Coster. 

Born in Kentucky in 1805. In 1825 graduated at West Point. Andersonwas on duty at the St. Louis Arsenal when the Black Hawk war brokeout. He asked permission to join General Atkinson, who commanded theexpedition against the Indians; was placed on his staff as AssistantInspector General, and was with him until the end of the war. Andersontwice mustered Lincoln out of the service and in again. When GeneralScott was sent to take Atkinson's place, Anderson was ordered toreport to the former for duty, and was sent by him to take charge ofthe Indians captured at Bad Axe. It was Anderson who conducted BlackHawk to Jefferson Barracks. His adjutant in this task was LieutenantJefferson Davis. From 1835-37 Anderson was an instructor at WestPoint. He served in the Florida War in 1837-38, and was wounded atMolino del Rey in the Mexican War. In 1857 he was appointed Major ofthe First Artillery. On November 20, 1860, Anderson assumed commandof the troops in Charleston Harbor. On April 14 he surrenderedFort Sumter, marching out with the honors of war. He was madebrigadier-general by Lincoln for his service. On account of failinghealth he was relieved from duty in October, 1861. In 1865 he wasbrevetted major-general. He died in France in 1871. ]

While the country had been dreaming of wealth through the opening ofthe Sangamon, and Lincoln had been doing his best to prove thatthe dream was possible, the store in which he clerked was "peteringout"--to use his own expression. The owner, Denton Offutt, had provedmore ambitious than wise, and Lincoln saw that an early closing bythe sheriff was probable. But before the store was fairly closed, andwhile the "Talisman" was yet exciting the country, an event occurredwhich interrupted all of Lincoln's plans. 

THE BLACK HAWK WAR. 

One morning in April a messenger from the governor of the State rodeinto New Salem scattering a circular. It was an address from GovernorReynolds to the militia of the northwest section of the State, announcing that the British band of Sacs and other hostile Indians, headed by Black Hawk, had invaded the Rock River country, to the greatterror of the frontier inhabitants; and calling on the citizens whowere willing to aid in repelling them, to rendezvous at Beardstownwithin a week. 

[Illustration: MONUMENT AT KELLOGG'S GROVE. 

On June 24, 1832, Black Hawk attacked Apple River Fort, fourteen mileseast of Galena, Illinois, but was unable to drive out the inmates. Thenext day he attacked a spy battalion of one hundred and fifty menat Kellogg's Grove, sixteen miles further east. A detachment ofvolunteers relieved the battalion, and drove off the savages, aboutfifteen of whom were killed. The whites lost five men, who were buriedat various points in the grove. During the summer of 1886 the remainsof these men were collected and, with those of five or six othervictims of the war, were placed together under the monument hererepresented. --See "The Black Hawk War, " by Reuben G. Thwaites, Vol. XII. In Wisconsin Historical Collections. This account of the BlackHawk War is the most trustworthy, complete, and interesting which hasbeen made. ]

The name of Black Hawk was familiar to the people of Illinois. Hewas an old enemy of the settlers, and had been a tried friend of theBritish. The land his people had once owned in the northwest of thepresent State of Illinois had been sold in 1804 to the government ofthe United States, but with the provision that the Indians shouldhunt and raise corn there until it was surveyed and sold to settlers. 

[Illustration: JOHN REYNOLDS, GOVERNOR OF ILLINOIS 1831-1834. 

After a steel engraving in the Governor's office, Springfield, Illinois. John Reynolds, Governor of Illinois from 1831 to 1834, wasborn in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, February 26, 1788. He wasof Irish parentage. When he was six months old his parents moved toTennessee. In 1800 they removed to Illinois. When twenty years old, John Reynolds went to Knoxville, Tennessee, to college, where he spenttwo years. He was admitted to the bar at Kaskaskia in 1812. In the warof 1812 he rendered distinguished service, earning the title of "theOld Ranger. " He began the practice of law in the spring of 1814. In1818 he was made an associate justice of the Supreme Court; in 1826 hewas elected a member of the legislature; and in 1830, after a stirringcampaign, he was chosen Governor of Illinois. The most important eventof his administration was the Black Hawk War. He was prompt in callingout the militia to subdue the Black Hawk, and went upon the fieldin person. In November, 1834, just before the close of his term asGovernor, he resigned to become a member of Congress. In 1837, aidedby others, he built the first railroad in the State--a short line ofsix miles from his coal mine in the Mississippi bluff to the bank ofthe river opposite St. Louis. It was operated by horse power. He againbecame a member of the legislature in 1846 and 1852, during the latterterm being Speaker of the House. In 1860, in his seventy-third year, he was an anti-Douglas delegate to the Charleston convention, and received the most distinguished attentions from the Southerndelegates. After the October elections, when it became apparent thatLincoln would be elected, he issued an address advising the supportof Douglas. His sympathies were with the South, though in 1832 hestrongly supported President Jackson in the suppression of the SouthCarolina nullifiers. He died in Belleville in May, 1865. GovernorReynolds was a quaint and forceful character. He was a man of muchlearning; but in conversation (and he talked much) he rarely roseabove the odd Western vernacular, of which he was so complete amaster. He was the author of two books--one an autobiography, and theother "The Pioneer History of Illinois. "]

Long before the land was surveyed, however, squatters had invadedthe country, and tried to force the Indians west of the Mississippi. Particularly envious were these whites of the lands at the mouth ofthe Rock River, where the ancient village and burial place of the Sacsstood, and where they came each year to raise corn. Black Hawk hadresisted their encroachments, and many violent acts had been committedon both sides. 

Finally, however, the squatters, in spite of the fact that the line ofsettlement was still fifty miles away, succeeded in evading the realmeaning of the treaty and in securing a survey of the desired land atthe mouth of the river. Black Hawk, exasperated and broken-hearted atseeing his village violated, persuaded himself that the village hadnever been sold--indeed, that land could not be sold:

 "My reason teaches me, " he wrote, "that land cannot be sold. The Great Spirit gave it to his children to live upon, and cultivate, as far as is necessary for their subsistence; and so long as they occupy and cultivate it, they have the right to the soil, but if they voluntarily leave it, then any other people have a right to settle upon it. Nothing can be sold but such things as can be carried away. "

Supported by this theory, conscious that in some way he did notunderstand he had been wronged, and urged on by White Cloud, theprophet, who ruled a Winnebago village on the Rock River, Black Hawkcrossed the Mississippi in 1831, determined to evict the settlers. Amilitary demonstration drove him back, and he was persuaded to sign atreaty never to return east of the Mississippi. "I touched the goosequill to the treaty, and was determined to live in peace, " he wroteafterward; but hardly had he "touched the goose quill" before hisheart smote him. Longing for his home; resentment at the whites;obstinacy; brooding over the bad counsels of White Cloud and hisdisciple Neapope, an agitating Indian who had recently been East tovisit the British and their Indian allies, and who assured Black Hawkthat the Winnebagoes, Ottawas, Chippewas, and Pottawottomies wouldjoin him in a struggle for his land, and that the British wouldsend him "guns, ammunition, provisions, and clothing early in thespring"--all persuaded the Hawk that he would be successful if he madean effort to drive out the whites. In spite of the persuasion of manyof his friends and of the Indian agent in the country, he crossed theriver on April 6, 1832, and with some five hundred braves, his squawsand children, marched to the Prophet's town, thirty-five miles up theRock River. 

As soon as they heard of Black Hawk's invasion, the settlers fled ina panic to the forts in the vicinity, and they rained petitions forprotection on Governor Reynolds. General Atkinson, who commanded acompany at Fort Armstrong, wrote the governor he must have help;and accordingly on the 16th of April Governor Reynolds sent out"influential messengers" with a sonorous summons. It was one ofthese messengers riding into New Salem who put an end to Lincoln'scanvassing for the legislature, freed him from Offutt's expiringgrocery, and led him to enlist. 

[Illustration: ELIJAH ILES, CAPTAIN OF COMPANY IN WHICH LINCOLN SERVEDAS PRIVATE IN BLACK HAWK WAR. 

From a photograph made for this Magazine. 

After a painting by the late Mrs. Obed Lewis, niece of Major Iles, andowned by Mr. Obed Lewis, Springfield, Illinois. Elijah Iles was bornin Kentucky, March 28, 1796, and when young went to Missouri. There heheard marvellous stories about the Sangamon Valley, and he resolvedto go thither. Springfield had just been staked out in the wilderness, and he reached the place in time to erect the first building--a rudehut in which he kept a store. This was in 1821. "In the early days inIllinois, " he wrote in 1883, "it was hard to find good material forlaw-makers. I was elected a State Senator in 1826, and again for asecond term. The Senate then comprised thirteen members, and the Housetwenty-five. " In 1827 he was elected major in the command of ColonelT. McNeal, intending to fight the Winnebagoes, but no fightingoccurred. In the Black Hawk War of 1832, after his term as a privatein Captain Dawson's company had expired, he was elected captain of anew company of independent rangers. In this company Lincoln reenlistedas a private. Major Iles lived at Springfield all his life. He diedSeptember 4, 1883. ]

There was no time to waste. The volunteers were ordered to be atBeardstown, nearly forty miles from New Salem, on April 22d. Horses, rifles, saddles, blankets were to be secured, a company formed. It waswork of which the settlers were not ignorant. Under the laws ofthe State every able-bodied male inhabitant between eighteen andforty-five was obliged to drill twice a year or pay a fine of onedollar. "As a dollar was hard to raise, " says one of the old settlers, "everybody drilled. "

LINCOLN A CAPTAIN. 

Preparations were quickly made, and by April 22d the men were atBeardstown. Here each company elected its own officers, and Lincolnbecame a candidate for the captaincy of the company from Sangamon towhich he belonged. 

His friend Greene gave another reason than ambition to explain hisdesire for the captaincy. One of the "odd jobs" which Lincoln hadtaken since coming into Illinois was working in a saw-mill for a mannamed Kirkpatrick. In hiring Lincoln, Kirkpatrick had promised tobuy him a cant-hook to move heavy logs. Lincoln had proposed, ifKirkpatrick would give him two dollars, to move the logs with a commonhand-spike. This the proprietor had agreed to, but when pay day camehe refused to keep his word. When the Sangamon company of volunteerswas formed, Kirkpatrick aspired to the captaincy; and Lincoln, knowingit, said to Greene: "Bill, I believe I can now pay Kirkpatrick forthat two dollars he owes me on the cant-hook. I'll run against him forcaptain;" and he became a candidate. The vote was taken in a field, by directing the men at the command "march" to assemble around the manthey wanted for captain. When the order was given, three-fourths ofthe men gathered around Lincoln. [B] In Lincoln's curious third-personautobiography he says he was elected "to his own surprise;" and adds, "He says he has not since had any success in life which gave him somuch satisfaction. "

[Illustration: A DISCHARGE FROM SERVICE IN BLACK HAWK WAR SIGNED BYABRAHAM LINCOLN, AS CAPTAIN. ]

The company was a motley crowd of men. Each had secured for his outfitwhat he could get, and no two were equipped alike. Buckskin breechesprevailed. There was a sprinkling of coon-skin caps, and the blanketswere of the coarsest texture. Flintlock rifles were the usual arm, though here and there a man had a Cramer. Over the shoulder of eachwas slung a powder-horn. The men had, as a rule, as little regard fordiscipline as for appearances, and when the new captain gave an orderwere as likely to jeer at it as to obey it. To drive the Indians outwas their mission, and any orders which did not bear directly on thatpoint were little respected. Lincoln himself was not familiar withmilitary tactics, and made many blunders of which he used to tellafterwards with relish. One of these was an early experience indrilling. He was marching with a front of over twenty men acrossa field, when he desired to pass through a gateway into the nextinclosure. 

"I could not for the life of me, " said he, "remember the proper wordof command for getting my company _endwise_, so that it could getthrough the gate; so, as we came near the gate, I shouted, 'Thiscompany is dismissed for two minutes, when it will fall in again onthe other side of the gate!'"

Nor was it only his ignorance of the manual which caused him trouble. He was so unfamiliar with camp discipline that he once had hissword taken from him for shooting within limits. Another disgrace hesuffered was on account of his disorderly company. The men, unknown tohim, stole a quantity of liquor one night, and the next morning weretoo drunk to fall in when the order was given to march. For theirlawlessness Lincoln wore a wooden sword two days. 

But none of these small difficulties injured his standing with thecompany. Lincoln was tactful, and he joined his men in sports as wellas duties. They soon grew so proud of his quick wit and great strengththat they obeyed him because they admired him. No amount of militarytactics could have secured from the volunteers the cheerful followinghe won by his personal qualities. 

The men soon learned, too, that he meant what he said, and wouldpermit no dishonorable performances. A helpless Indian took refugein the camp one day; and the men, who were inspired by what GovernorReynolds calls _Indian ill-will_--that wanton mixture of selfishness, unreason, and cruelty which seems to seize a frontiersman as soon ashe scents a red man--were determined to kill the refugee. He had asafe conduct from General Cass; but the men, having come out to killIndians and not having succeeded, threatened to take revenge on thehelpless savage. Lincoln boldly took the man's part, and though herisked his life in doing it, he cowed the company, and saved theIndian. 

[Illustration: MAP OF ILLINOIS IN 1832, PREPARED SPECIALLY FORMCCLURE'S MAGAZINE. 

[Transcriber's note: The map includes the following legend: The blackline indicates the route Lincoln is supposed to have followed withthe army as far as Whitewater, where he was dismissed. When thearmy started from near Ottawa, after the 20th of June, to followthe Indians up Rock River, Lincoln's battalion was sent towards thenorthwest, and joined the main army near Lake Koshkonong early inJuly. Soon after he went to Whitewater, where, about the middle of themonth, his battalion was disbanded, and he returned by foot and canoeto New Salem. The dotted line shows the route he is supposed to havetaken. The towns named on the map are those with which Lincoln wasconnected either in his legal or his political life. ]

THE BLACK HAWK CAMPAIGN. 

It was on the 27th of April that the force of sixteen hundred menorganized at Beardstown started out. The spring was cold, the roadsheavy, the streams turbulent. The army marched first to Yellow Bankson the Mississippi, then to Dixon on the Rock River, which theyreached on May 12th. None but hardened pioneers could haveendured what Lincoln and his followers did in this march. They hadinsufficient supplies; they waded in black mud for miles; they swamrivers; they were almost never dry or warm; but, hardened as theywere, they made the march gayly. At Dixon they camped, and near hereoccurred the first bloodshed of the war. 

A body of about three hundred and forty rangers, not of the regulararmy, under Major Stillman, asked to go ahead as scouts, to look fora body of Indians under Black Hawk, rumored to be about twelve milesaway. The permission was given, and on the night of the 14th ofMay Stillman and his men went into camp. Black Hawk heard of theirpresence. By this time the poor old chief had discovered that thepromises of aid from the Indian tribes and the British were false, and, dismayed, he had resolved to recross the Mississippi. When heheard of the whites near he sent three braves with a white flag to askfor a parley and permission to descend the river. Behind them he sentfive men to watch proceedings. Stillman's rangers were in camp whenthe bearers of the flag of truce appeared. The men were many of themhalf drunk, and when they saw the Indian truce-bearers, they rushedout in a wild mob, and ran them into camp. Then catching sight ofthe five spies, they started after them, killing two. The three whoreached Black Hawk reported that the truce-bearers had been killedas well as their two companions. Furious at this violation of faith, Black Hawk "raised a yell, " and declared to the forty braves, all hehad with him, that they must have revenge. The Indians immediatelysallied forth, and met Stillman's band of over three hundred men, who by this time were out in search of the Indians. Black Hawk, toomaddened to think of the difference of numbers, attacked the whites. To his surprise the enemy turned, and fled in a wild riot. Nordid they stop at their camp, which from its position was almostimpregnable; they fled in complete panic, _sauve qui peut_, throughtheir camp, across prairie and rivers and swamps, to Dixon, twelvemiles away, where by midnight they began to arrive. The first arrivalreported that two thousand savages had swept down on Stillman's campand slaughtered all but himself. Before the next night all but elevenof the band had arrived. 

Stillman's defeat, as this disgraceful affair is called, put allnotion of peace out of Black Hawk's mind, and he started out inearnest on the warpath. Governor Reynolds, excited by the reports ofthe first arrivals from the Stillman stampede, made out that night, "by candle-light, " a call for more volunteers, and by the morning ofthe 15th had messengers out and his army in pursuit of Black Hawk. Butit was like pursuing a shadow. The Indians purposely confused theirtrail. Sometimes it was a broad path, then it suddenly radiated to allpoints. The whites broke their bands, and pursued the savages here andthere, never overtaking them, though now and then coming suddenly onsome terrible evidences of their presence--a frontier home desertedand burned, slaughtered cattle, scalps suspended where the army couldnot fail to see them. 

This fruitless warfare exasperated the volunteers; they threatenedto leave, and their officers had great difficulty in making them obeyorders. On reaching a point in the Rock River, beyond which lay theIndian country, a company under Colonel Zachary Taylor refused tocross, and held a public indignation meeting, urging that they hadvolunteered to defend the State, and had the right, as independentAmerican citizens, to refuse to go out of its borders. Taylor heardthem to the end, and then said: "I feel that all gentlemen here aremy equals; in reality, I am persuaded that many of them will, in afew years, be my superiors, and perhaps, in the capacity of members ofCongress, arbiters of the fortunes and reputation of humbleservants of the republic, like myself. I expect then to obey them asinterpreters of the will of the people; and the best proof that I willobey them is now to observe the orders of those whom the people havealready put in the place of authority to which many gentlemen aroundme justly aspire. In plain English, gentlemen and fellow-citizens, theword has been passed on to me from Washington to follow Black Hawkand to take you with me as soldiers. I mean to do both. There are theflatboats drawn up on the shore, and here are Uncle Sam's men drawn upbehind you on the prairie. " The volunteers were quick-witted men, and knew true grit when they met it. They dissolved their meeting andcrossed the river without Uncle Sam's men being called into action. 

[Illustration: A FACSIMILE OF AN ELECTION RETURN WRITTEN BY LINCOLN ASCLERK IN 1832. NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 

From the original now on file in the County Clerk's office, Springfield, Illinois. The first civil office Lincoln ever heldwas that of election clerk, and the return made by him, of which afacsimile is here presented, was his first official document. The NewSalem election of September 20, 1832, has the added interest of havingbeen held at "the house of John McNeil, " the young merchant who wasthen already in love with Ann Rutledge, the young girl to whom Lincolnafterwards became engaged. All the men whose names appear on thiselection return are now dead except William McNeely, now residing atPetersburg. John Clary lived at Clary's Grove; John R. Herndon was"Row" Herndon, whose store Berry and Lincoln purchased, and at whosehouse Lincoln for a time boarded; Baxter Berry was a relative ofLincoln's partner in the grocery business, and Edmund Greer was aschool-teacher, and afterward a justice of the peace and a surveyor. James Rutledge was the keeper of the Rutledge tavern and the fatherof Ann Rutledge; Hugh Armstrong was the head of the numerous Armstrongfamily; "Uncle Jimmy" White lived on a farm five miles from New Salem, and died about thirty years ago in the eightieth year of his age;William Green (spelled by the later members of the family with afinal "e") was the father of William G. Greene, Lincoln's associatein Offutt's store; and as to Bowling Green, more is said elsewhere. In the following three or four years, very few elections were heldat which Lincoln was not a clerk. It is a somewhat singular factthat Lincoln, though clerk of this election, is not recorded asvoting. --_J. McCan Davis. _]

The march in pursuit of the Indians led the army to Ottawa, where thevolunteers became so dissatisfied that on May 27th and 28th GovernorReynolds mustered them out. But a force in the field was essentialuntil a new levy was raised; and a few of the men were patrioticenough to offer their services, among them Lincoln, who on May 29thwas mustered in at the mouth of the Fox River by a man in whom, thirtyyears later, he was to have a keen interest--General Robert Anderson, commander at Fort Sumter in 1861. Lincoln became a private in CaptainElijah Iles's company of Independent Rangers, not brigaded--a companymade up, says Captain Iles in his "Footsteps and Wanderings, "of "generals, colonels, captains, and distinguished men from thedisbanded army. " General Anderson says that at this muster Lincoln'sarms were valued at forty dollars, his horse and equipment at onehundred and twenty dollars. The Independent Rangers were a favoredbody, used to carry messages and to spy on the enemy. They had nocamp duties, and "drew rations as often as they pleased. " So that as aprivate Lincoln was really better off than as a captain. [C]

With the exception of a scouting trip to Galena and back, fruitful ofnothing more than Indian scares, Major Iles's company remained quietlyin the neighborhood of the Rapids of the Illinois until June 16th, when Major Anderson mustered it out. Four days later, June 20th, at the same place, he mustered Lincoln in again as a member of anindependent company under Captain Jacob M. Early. His arms werevalued this time at only fifteen dollars, his horse and equipment ateighty-five dollars. [D] The army moved up Rock River soon after themiddle of June. Black Hawk was overrunning the country, and scatteringdeath wherever he went. The settlers were wild with fear, and mostof the settlements were abandoned. At a sudden sound, at themerest rumor, men, women, and children fled. "I well remember thesetroublesome times, " says one old Illinois woman. "We often left ourbread dough unbaked to rush to the Indian fort near by. " When Mr. John Bryant, a brother of William Cullen Bryant, visited the colony inPrinceton in 1832, he found it nearly broken up on account of thewar. Everywhere the crops were neglected, for the able-bodied men werevolunteering. William Cullen Bryant, who travelled on horseback inJune from Petersburg to near Pekin and back, wrote home: "Every fewmiles on our way we fell in with bodies of Illinois militia proceedingto the American camp, or saw where they had encamped for the night. They generally stationed themselves near a stream or a spring in theedge of a wood, and turned their horses to graze on the prairie. Their way was barked or girdled, and the roads through the uninhabitedcountry were as much beaten and as dusty as the highways on New YorkIsland. Some of the settlers complained that they made war upon thepigs and chickens. They were a hard-looking set of men, unkempt andunshaved, wearing shirts of dark calico and sometimes calico capotes. "

Soon after the army moved up the Rock River, the independent spycompany, of which Lincoln was a member, was sent with a brigade to thenorthwest, near Galena, in pursuit of the Hawk. The nearest Lincolncame to an actual engagement in the war was here. The skirmish ofKellogg's Grove took place on June 25th; Lincoln's company came upsoon after it was over, and helped bury the five men killed. It wasprobably to this experience that he referred when he told a friendonce of coming on a camp of white scouts one morning just as the sunwas rising. The Indians had surprised the camp, and had killed andscalped every man. 

"I remember just how those men looked, " said Lincoln, "as we rode upthe little hill where their camp was. The red light of the morning sunwas streaming upon them as they lay heads towards us on the ground. And every man had a round red spot on the top of his head about as bigas a dollar, where the redskins had taken his scalp. It was frightful, but it was grotesque; and the red sunlight seemed to paint everythingall over. " Lincoln paused, as if recalling the vivid picture, andadded, somewhat irrelevantly, "I remember that one man had buckskinbreeches on. "[E]

By the end of the month the troops crossed into MichiganTerritory--what is now Wisconsin--and July was spent in flounderingthrough swamps and stumbling through forests, in pursuit of the nownearly exhausted Black Hawk. A few days before the last battle ofthe war, that of Bad Axe on August 2d, in which the whites finallymassacred most of the Indian band, Lincoln's company was disbanded atWhitewater, Wisconsin, and he and his friends started for home. Thevolunteers in returning, in almost every case, suffered much fromhunger. Mr. Durly, of Hennepin, Illinois, who walked home from RockIsland, says all he had to eat on the journey was meal and water bakedin rolls of bark laid by the fire. Lincoln was little better off. Thenight before his company started from Whitewater he and one of hismess-mates had their horses stolen; and, excepting when their morefortunate companions gave them a lift, they walked as far as Peoria, Illinois, where they bought a canoe, and paddled down the IllinoisRiver to Havana. Here they sold the canoe, and walked across thecountry to New Salem. 

[Illustration: VIEW OF THE SANGAMON RIVER NEAR NEW SALEM. 

The town lay along the ridge marked by the star. ]

ELECTIONEERING FOR THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY. 

Lincoln arrived only a few days before the election, and at onceplunged into "electioneering. " He ran as "an avowed Clay man, " andthe county was stiffly Democratic. However, in those days politicalcontests were almost purely personal. If the candidate was likedhe was voted for irrespective of principles. Around New Salemthe population turned in and helped Lincoln almost to a man. "TheDemocrats of New Salem worked for Lincoln out of their personal regardfor him, " said Stephen T. Logan, a young lawyer of Springfield, whomade Lincoln's acquaintance in the campaign. "He was as stiff as a mancould be in his Whig doctrines. They did this for him simply becausehe was popular--because he was Lincoln. "

It was the custom for the candidates to appear at every gatheringwhich brought the people out, and, if they had a chance, to makespeeches. Then, as now, the farmers gathered at the county-seat or atthe largest town within their reach on Saturday afternoons, to disposeof produce, buy supplies, see their neighbors, and get the news. During "election times" candidates were always present, and a regularfeature of the day was listening to their speeches. Public sales alsowere gatherings which they never missed, it being expected that afterthe "vandoo" the candidates would take the auctioneer's place. 

Lincoln let none of these chances to be heard slip. Accompanied by hisfriends, generally including a few Clary's Grove Boys, he always waspresent. The first speech he made was after a sale at Pappsville. Whathe said there is not remembered; but an illustration of the kindof man he was, interpolated into his discourse, made a lastingimpression. A fight broke out in his audience while he was on thestand, and observing that one of his friends was being worsted, hebounded into the group of contestants, seized the fellow who had hissupporter down, threw him "ten or twelve feet, " mounted the platform, and finished the speech. Sangamon County could appreciate sucha performance; and the crowd that day at Pappsville never forgotLincoln. 

His appearance at Springfield at this time was of great importance tohim. Springfield was not at that time a very attractive place. Bryant, visiting it in June, 1832, said that the houses were not as good as atJacksonville, "a considerable proportion of them being log cabins, and the whole town having an appearance of dirt and discomfort. "Nevertheless it was the largest town in the county, and among itsinhabitants were many young men of education, birth, and energy. Oneof these men Lincoln had become well acquainted with in the BlackHawk War--Major John T. Stewart, [F] at that time a lawyer, and, likeLincoln, a candidate for the General Assembly. He met others at thistime who were to be associated with him more or less closely in thefuture in both law and politics, such as Judge Logan and WilliamButler. With these men the manners which had won him the day atPappsville were of no value; what impressed them was his "verysensible speech, " and his decided individuality and originality. 

The election came off on August 6th. The first civil office Lincolnever held was that of clerk of this election. The report in his handstill exists; as far as we know, it is his first official document. 

Lincoln was defeated. "This was the only time Abraham was everdefeated on a direct vote of the people, " say his autobiographicalnotes. He had a consolation in his defeat, however, for in spite ofthe pronounced Democratic sentiments of his precinct, he received twohundred and seventy-seven votes out of three hundred cast. [G]

_(Begun in the November number, 1895; to be continued. )_

[Footnote A: The story of Lincoln's first seventeen months inIllinois, outlined in this paragraph, is told in MCCLURE'S MAGAZINEfor December. ]

[Footnote B: This story of Kirkpatrick's unfair treatment of Lincolnwe owe to the courtesy of Colonel Clark E. Carr of Galesburg, Illinois, to whom it was told several times by Greene himself. ]

[Footnote C: William Cullen Bryant, who was in Illinois in 1832 at thetime of the Black Hawk War, used to tell of meeting in his travels inthe State a company of Illinois volunteers, commanded by a "raw youth"of "quaint and pleasant" speech, and of learning afterwards that thiscaptain was Abraham Lincoln. As Lincoln's captaincy ended on May 27th, and Mr. Bryant did not reach Jacksonville, Illinois, until June 12th, and as the nearest point he came to the army was Pleasant Grove, eightmiles from Pekin on the Illinois River, and that was at a time whenthe body of Rangers to which Lincoln belonged was fifty miles away onthe rapids of the Illinois, it is evident that the "raw youth" couldnot have been Lincoln, much as one would like to believe that it was. See "Life of William Cullen Bryant, " by Parke Godwin, vol. I. Page283. Also Prose of William Cullen Bryant, edited by Parke Godwin, vol. Ii. Page 20. ]

[Footnote D: See Wisconsin Historical Collections, vol. X. , for MajorAnderson's reminiscences of the Black Hawk War. ]

[Footnote E: Reminiscences of Abraham Lincoln by Noah Brooks. ]

[Footnote F: There were many prominent Americans in the Black HawkWar, with some of whom Lincoln became acquainted. Among the best knownwere General Robert Anderson; Colonel Zachary Taylor; General Scott, afterwards candidate for President, and Lieut. -General; Henry Dodge, Governor of the Territory of Wisconsin and United States Senator; Hon. William L. D. Ewing and Hon. Sidney Breese, both United States Senatorsfrom Illinois; William S. Hamilton, a son of Alexander Hamilton;Colonel Nathan Boone, son of Daniel Boone; Lieutenant Albert SydneyJohnston, afterwards a Confederate general. Jefferson Davis was not inthe war, as has been so often stated. ]

[Footnote G: In the New Salem precinct, at the August election of1832, exactly three hundred votes were cast. Of these Lincoln received277. The facts upon this point are here stated for the first time. The biographers as a rule have agreed that Lincoln received all of thevotes cast in the New Salem precinct except three. Mr. Herndon placesthe total vote at 208; Nicolay and Hay, at 277; and Mr. Lincolnhimself, in his autobiography, has said that he received all but sevenof a total of 277 votes, basing his statement, no doubt, upon memory. An examination of the official poll-book in the County Clerk's officeat Springfield shows that all of these figures are erroneous. The factremains, however--and it is a fact which has been commented upon byseveral of the biographers as showing his phenomenal popularity--thatthe vote for Lincoln was far in excess of that given any othercandidate. The twelve candidates, with the number of votes of eachwere: Abraham Lincoln, 277; John T. Stewart, 182; William Carpenter, 136; John Dawson, 105; E. D. Taylor, 88; Archer G. Herndon, 84; PeterCartwright, 62; Achilles Morris, 27; Thomas M. Neal, 21; EdwardRobeson, 15; Zachariah Peters, 4; Richard Dunston, 4. 

Of the twenty-three who did not vote for Lincoln, ten refrained fromvoting for Representative at all, thus leaving only thirteen votesactually cast against Lincoln. Lincoln is not recorded as voting. Thejudges were Bowling Green, Pollard Simmons, and William Clary, and theclerks were John Ritter and Mentor Graham. --_J. McCan Davis. _]

[Illustration: EUGENE FIELD TELLING A STORY TO "SISSY" KNOTT AND'LISBETH AND MARTHA WINSLOW. ]

EUGENE FIELD AND HIS CHILD FRIENDS. [H]

BY CLEVELAND MOFFETT. 

The form of the expressions of regard and regret called out on allsides by the untimely death of Eugene Field, at his home in Chicago, on November 4, 1895, makes clear that the character in which thepublic at large knew and loved Mr. Field best was that of the poet ofchild life. What gives his child-poems their unequalled hold on thepopular heart is their simplicity, warmth, and genuineness; and thesequalities they owe to the fact that Field himself lived in theclosest and fondest intimacy with children, had troops of them forhis friends, and wrote his poems directly under their suggestion andinspiration. Mr. T. A. Van Laun of Chicago, who was one of Mr. Field'sclosest friends, has kindly given me many reminiscences, and helpedme to much material, illustrating all sides of Mr. Field's life, amongothers this fine relation with the children. A characteristic incidentoccurred on Field's marriage day. The hour of the ceremony was allbut at hand, and the bridal party was waiting at the church for thebridegroom to appear. But he did not come; and, after an anxiousdelay, some of his friends went in search of him. They found him ashort distance away, engaged in settling a dispute that had arisenamong some street gamins over a game of marbles. There he was, down onhis knees in the mud, listening to the various accounts of the originof the quarrel; and it was only on the arrival of his friends that hesuddenly recollected his more pressing and more pleasant duties. 

One day, as was often happening, Field received a letter written inthe scrawling hand of a child, which told him how the writer, a littlegirl, had read most of his poems, spoke of the pleasure they had givenher, and said that when she grew up she intended to be just such awriter as he was. Following his usual kindly custom, Field answeredthis letter, telling the child of the beauties of nature thatsurrounded him, of the twittering birds, and the lovely flowers he hadin sight from his window, and concluding: "Now I must go out and shoota buffalo for breakfast. "

Dr. Gunsaulus of Chicago, who was one of Mr. Field's most intimatefriends, tells a story of Field's first visit to his house that showshow quick the poet was to make himself at home with children. Foryears the little ones in the Doctor's household had heard of EugeneField as a wonderful person; and when they were told that he hadcome to see them their delight knew no bounds, and they ran into thelibrary to pay him homage. It was in the evening, and, presumably, Field had already dined; but he told the children with his firstbreath that he wanted to know where the cookery was. They, overjoyedat being asked a service they were able to render, trooped out intothe kitchen with Field following. The store of eatables was dulyexposed, and Field seized upon a turkey, or what remained of one fromdinner, and carried it into the dining-room. There he seated himselfat table, with the children on his knees and about him, and fell towith a good appetite, talking to the little ones all the time, tellingthem quaint stories, and making them listen with all their eyes andears. Having thus become good friends and put them quite at theirease, he spent the rest of the evening singing lullabies to them, andreciting his verses. Naturally, before he went away the childrenhad given him their whole hearts. And this was his way with all thechildren with whom he came in contact. 

One day on the cars Mr. Field chanced to sit near a workingman whohad with him his wife and baby. The father, it seemed, had heard Fieldlecture the night before, and had been deeply impressed. With greatdeference he brought his child up to Field, and said: "Now, littleone, I want you to look at this gentleman. He is Mr. Field, and whenyou grow up you'll be glad to know that once upon a time he spoke toyou. " At this Field took the baby in his arms, and played with itfor an hour, to the surprise and, of course, to the delight of theparents. 

Of recent years Mr. Field rarely went to the office of the Chicago"News, " the paper for which during the last ten years he had writtena daily column under the title of "Sharps and Flats, " but did most ofhis work at his home in Buena Park, which he called the Sabine Farm. Here he began his day about nine o'clock, by having breakfast servedto him in bed, after which he glanced through the papers, and thensettled himself to his writing, with feet high on the table, and hispages before him laid neatly on a piece of plate glass. He wrote witha fine-pointed pen, and had by him several different colored inks, with which he would illuminate his capitals and embellish hismanuscript. The first thing he did was his "Sharps and Flats" column, which occupied three or four hours, the task being usually finishedby one o'clock. His other work he did in the afternoons and evenings, writing at odd hours, sometimes in the garden if the weather waspleasant. He was much interrupted by friends dropping in to see him;but, however busy, he welcomed whoever came, and would turn asidegood-naturedly from his manuscript to entertain a visitor or to hear astory of misfortune. After dinner he retired to his "den" to read; forhe read constantly, whatever the distractions about him, and was muchgiven to reading in bed. 

And of all his visitors the most constant and appreciative werechildren. These he never sent away without some bright word, andhe rarely sent them away at all. Nowhere could they find such anentertaining playmate as he--one who would tell them such wonderfulstories and make up such funny rhymes for them on the spur of themoment, and romp with them like one of themselves. It was in thehomely incidents of these visits, and the like intimacy with his ownchildren, that he found the subjects for his poems. He could voice thefeelings of a child, because he knew child life from always living it. 

On his own children he bestowed pet names--"Pinney, " "Daisy, ""Googhy, " "Posey, " and "Trotty;" and they almost forgot that theyhad others. His eldest daughter, for instance, now a lovely girl ofnineteen, has remained "Trotty" from her babyhood, and "Trotty" shewill always be. At her christening Field had an argument with hiswife about the name they should give her. Mrs. Field wished her to becalled Frances, to which Field objected on the ground that it wouldbe shortened into Frankie, which he disliked. Then other names weresuggested, and, after listening to this one and that one, Fieldfinally said: "You can christen her whatever you please, but I shallcall her Trotty. " "Pinney" was named from the comic opera "Pinafore, "which was in vogue at the time he was born; and "Daisy" got his namefrom the song, popular when he was born: "Oh My! A'int He a Daisy?"

A devotion so unfailing in his relations with children would, naturally, show itself in other relations. His devotion to his wife, for example, was of the completest. In all the world she was the onewoman he loved, and he never wished to be away from her. In one of hisscrap-books, under her picture, are written these lines:

 You are as fair and sweet and tender, Dear brown-eyed little sweetheart mine! As when, a callow youth and slender, I asked to be your valentine. 

Often she accompanied him on his readings. Last summer it happenedthat they went together to St. Joe, Missouri, the home of Mrs. Field'sgirlhood. On their arrival, Mrs. Field's friends took possession ofher and carried her off to a lunch-party, where it was arranged thatMr. Field should join her later. But he, left alone, was swept by histhoughts back to the time when, a youth of twenty-one, he had herepaid court to the woman now his wife, then a girl of sixteen; andso affected was he by these memories that, instead of going to thelunch-party, he took a carriage, and all alone drove to the placeswhich he and she had been wont to visit in the happy time of theirlove-making, especially to a certain lover's lane where they had takenmany a walk together. 

[Illustration: THE LAST PORTRAIT OF EUGENE FIELD. 

From a copyrighted photograph by Place & Coover, Chicago; reproducedby permission of the Etching Publishing Co. , Chicago. ]

The day before Field's death the mail brought a hundred dollars inpayment for a magazine article he had written. It was in small bills, and there was quite a quantity of them. As he lay in bed, Field spreadthem out on the covers, and then called Mrs. Field. As she came in shesaid: "Why, what are you doing with all that money?"

Field, laughing, snatched the bills up and tucked them under thepillow, saying: "You shan't have it, this is my money. " After hisdeath, the bills, all crumpled up, were found still under his pillow. 

It was a common happening in the "News" office, while Mr. Field stilldid his work there, for some ragged, unwashed, woe-begone creature, too much abashed to take the elevator, to come toiling up the stairsand down the long passage into one of the editorial rooms, where hewould blurt out fearfully, sometimes half defiantly, but always as ifconfident in the power of the name he spoke: "Is 'Gene Field here?"Sometimes an overzealous office-boy would try to drive one of thesepoor fellows away, and woe to that boy if Field found it out. "I knew'Gene Field in Denver, " or, "I worked with Field on the 'Kansas CityTimes, '"--these were sufficient pass-words, and never failed to callforth the cheery voice from Field's room: "That's all right, show himin here; he's a friend of mine. " And then, after a grip of the handand some talk over former experiences--which Field may or may not haveremembered, but always pretended to--the inevitable half dollar ordollar was forthcoming, and another unfortunate went out into theworld blessing the name of a man who, whether he was orthodox or notin his religious views, always acted up to the principle that it ismore blessed to give than to receive. 

[Footnote H: NOTE. --See a "Conversation" between Eugene Field andHamlin Garland, in which Mr. Field tells the story of his literarylife, McCLURE'S MAGAZINE for August, 1893. Also a series of portraitsof Eugene Field in McCLURE'S MAGAZINE for September, 1893. Pricefifteen cents. ]

POEMS OF CHILDHOOD, BY EUGENE FIELD. 

The choicest literary expression of Eugene Field's intimacy withthe children is found in four volumes published by Messrs. CharlesScribner's Sons--"A Little Book of Western Verse, " "Second Book ofVerse, " "With Trumpet and Drum, " and "Love-Songs of Childhood. " Itis only a few years since the earliest of these was published; but nobooks are better known, and they hold in the hearts of their readersthe same fond place that their author held in the hearts of thechildren whose thoughts and adventures he so aptly and tenderlyportrayed. By the kind permission of the publishers, we reproducehere a few of the best known of the poems, adding pictures ofthe particular child friends of Mr. Field who inspired them. Theselections are from the last two volumes--"With Trumpet and Drum"and "Love-Songs of Childhood. " The pictures are from Mr. Field's owncollection, which chanced to be in New York at the time of his death;and the identifying phrases quoted under several of them were writtenon the backs of the photographs by Mr. Field's own hand. 

WITH TRUMPET AND DRUM. 

 With big tin trumpet and little red drum, Marching like soldiers, the children come! It's this way and that way they circle and file-- My! but that music of theirs is fine! This way and that way, and after a while They march straight into this heart of mine! A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum!

 Come on, little people, from cot and from hall-- This heart it hath welcome and room for you all! It will sing you its songs and warm you with love, As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine; It will rock you away to the dreamland above-- Oh, a jolly old heart is this old heart of mine, And jollier still is it bound to become When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum. 

 So come; though I see not _his_ dear little face And hear not _his_ voice in this jubilant place, I know he were happy to bid me enshrine His memory deep in my heart with your play-- Ah me! but a love that is sweeter than mine Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day! And my heart it is lonely--so, little folk, come, March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!

THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT. 

 Up yonder in Buena Park There is a famous spot, In legend and in history Yelept the Waller Lot. 

 There children play in daytime And lovers stroll by dark, For 'tis the goodliest trysting-place In all Buena Park. 

 Once on a time that beauteous maid, Sweet little Sissy Knott, Took out her pretty doll to walk Within the Waller Lot. 

 While thus she fared, from Ravenswood Came Injuns o'er the plain, And seized upon that beauteous maid And rent her doll in twain. 

 Oh, 'twas a piteous thing to hear Her lamentations wild; She tore her golden curls and cried: "My child! My child! My child!"

 Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs How bitterly wailed she? They never had been mothers, And they could not hope to be!

 "Have done with tears, " they rudely quoth, And then they bound her hands; For they proposed to take her off To distant border lands. 

[Illustration: LUCY ALEXANDER KNOTT. --"HEROINE OF THE 'BALLAD OF THEWALLER LOT'" (NOTE BY EUGENE FIELD ON PHOTOGRAPH). 

From a photograph by Max Platz, Chicago. ]

 But, joy! from Mr. Eddy's barn Doth Willie Clow behold The sight that makes his hair rise up And all his blood run cold. 

 He put his fingers in his mouth And whistled long and clear, And presently a goodly horde Of cowboys did appear. 

 Cried Willie Clow: "My comrades bold, Haste to the Waller Lot, And rescue from that Injun band Our charming Sissy Knott! "Spare neither Injun buck nor squaw, But smite them hide and hair! Spare neither sex nor age nor size, And no condition spare!"

 Then sped that cowboy band away, Full of revengeful wrath, And Kendall Evans rode ahead Upon a hickory lath. 

 And next came gallant Dady Field And Willie's brother Kent, The Eddy boys and Robbie James, On murderous purpose bent. 

 For they were much beholden to That maid--in sooth, the lot Were very, very much in love With charming Sissy Knott. 

[Illustration: JAMES BRECKINRIDGE WALLER, JR. --"A 'WALLER LOT' COWBOYOF RARE PROMISE" (NOTE BY EUGENE FIELD ON PHOTOGRAPH). 

From a photograph by Gehrig & Windeatt, Chicago. ]

 What wonder? She was beauty's queen, And good beyond compare; Moreover, it was known she was Her wealthy father's heir!

 Now when the Injuns saw that band They trembled with affright, And yet they thought the cheapest thing To do was stay and fight. 

 So sturdily they stood their ground, Nor would their prisoner yield, Despite the wrath of Willie Clow And gallant Dady Field. 

 Oh, never fiercer battle raged Upon the Waller Lot, And never blood more freely flowed Than flowed for Sissy Knott!

[Illustration: KENDALL EVANS. --"HE RODE A HICKORY LATH IN THE FAMOUSBATTLE OF 'THE WALLER LOT'" (NOTE BY EUGENE FIELD ON PHOTOGRAPH). 

From a photograph by Coover, Chicago. ]

 An Injun chief of monstrous size Got Kendall Evans down, And Robbie James was soon o'erthrown By one of great renown. 

 And Dady Field was sorely done, And Willie Clow was hurt, And all that gallant cowboy band Lay wallowing in the dirt. 

 But still they strove with might and main Till all the Waller Lot Was strewn with hair and gouts of gore-- All, all for Sissy Knott!

 Then cried the maiden in despair: "Alas, I sadly fear The battle and my hopes are lost, Unless some help appear!"

 Lo, as she spoke, she saw afar The rescuer looming up-- The pride of all Buena Park, Clow's famous yellow pup!

[Illustration: WILLIAM AND KENT CLOW. --"TWO REDOUBTABLE HEROES OF 'THEWALLER LOT'" (NOTE BY EUGENE FIELD ON PHOTOGRAPH). 

 From a photograph by D. R. Coover, Chicago. ]

 "Now, sick 'em, Don, " the maiden cried, "Now, sick 'em, Don!" cried she; Obedient Don at once complied-- As ordered, so did he. 

 He sicked 'em all so passing well That, overcome by fright, The Indian horde gave up the fray And safety sought in flight. 

 They ran and ran and ran and ran O'er valley, plain, and hill; And if they are not walking now, Why, then, they're running still. 

 The cowboys rose up from the dust With faces black and blue; "Remember, beauteous maid, " said they, "We've bled and died for you!

 "And though we suffer grievously, We gladly hail the lot That brings us toils and pains and wounds For charming Sissy Knott!"

 But Sissy Knott still wailed and wept, And still her fate reviled; For who could patch her dolly up-- Who, who could mend her child?

 Then out her doting mother came, And soothed her daughter then; "Grieve not, my darling, I will sew Your dolly up again!"

 Joy soon succeeded unto grief, And tears were soon dried up, And dignities were heaped upon Clow's noble yellow pup. 

 Him all that goodly company Did as deliverer hail-- They tied a ribbon round his neck, Another round his tail. 

 And every anniversary day Upon the Waller Lot They celebrate the victory won For charming Sissy Knott. 

 And I, the poet of these folk, Am ordered to compile This truly famous history In good old ballad style. 

 Which having done as to have earned The sweet rewards of fame, In what same style I did begin I now shall end the same. 

 So let us sing: Long live the King, Long live the Queen and Jack, Long live the ten-spot and the ace, And also all the pack!

THE ROCK-A-BY LADY. 

 The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby Street Comes stealing; comes creeping; The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet-- She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, When she findeth you sleeping!

 There is one little dream of a beautiful drum-- "Rub-a-dub!" it goeth; There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum, And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum, And a trumpet that bloweth!

 And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams With laughter and singing; And boats go a-floating on silvery streams, And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, The fairies go winging!

 [Illustration: ROSWELL FRANCIS FIELD, EUGENE FIELD'S YOUNGEST SON AND THE INSPIRER OF "THE ROCK-A-BY LADY, " "BOOH, " AND MANY OTHER POEMS IN THE VOLUME "LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD. "

 From a photograph by Stein, Chicago. ]

 Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? They'll come to you sleeping; So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby Street, With poppies that hang from her head to her feet, Comes stealing; comes creeping. 

"BOOH!"

 On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap, And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap, In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face, And cautiously and quietly I move about the place; Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view, And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say "Booh!"

 Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared, And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared; And then his under lip came out and farther out it came, Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a "cruel shame"-- But now what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do But laugh and kick his little heels when I say "Booh!"

 He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then In shrill, despotic treble bids me "do it all aden!" And I--of course I do it; for, as his progenitor, It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for! And it is, oh, such fun! and I am sure that we shall rue The time when we are both too old to play the game of "Booh!"

THE DUEL. 

 The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; 'Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t'other had slept a wink! The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat. _(I wasn't there; I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)_

 The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!" The calico cat replied "mee-ow!" The air was littered, an hour or so, With bits of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row! _(Now mind: I'm only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)_

[Illustration: ELIZABETH WINSLOW, TO WHOM THE POEM OF "THE DUEL" ISDEDICATED. ]

 The Chinese plate looked very blue, And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!" But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, Employing every tooth and claw-- In the awfullest way you ever saw-- And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! _(Don't fancy I exaggerate-- I got my news from the Chinese plate!)_

 Next morning, where the two had sat They found no trace of dog or cat; And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole that pair away! But the truth about the cat and pup Is this: they ate each other up! Now what do you really think of that! _(The old Dutch clock it told me so, And that is how I came to know. )_

[Illustration: IRVING WAY, JR. , TO WHOM THE POEM OF "THE RIDE TOBUMPVILLE" is DEDICATED. 

From a photograph by Leonard, Topeka, Kansas. ]

THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE. 

 Play that my knee was a calico mare Saddled and bridled for Bumpville; Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare, And gallop away to Bumpville! I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat, For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet, And many adventures you're likely to meet As you journey along to Bumpville. 

 This calico mare both gallops and trots While whisking you off to Bumpville; She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots, In the tortuous road to Bumpville! And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed, When one is en route to Bumpville!

 She's scared of the cars when the engine goes "Toot!" Down by the crossing at Bumpville; You'd better look out for that treacherous brute Bearing you off to Bumpville! With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels, And executes jigs and Virginia reels-- Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels Dancing so wildly to Bumpville. It's bumpytybump and it's jiggytyjog, Journeying on to Bumpville; It's over the hilltop and down through the bog You ride on your way to Bumpville; It's rattletybang over boulder and stump, There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump, And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump, Mile after mile to Bumpville!

 Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing Making the journey to Bumpville, So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring An end to this ride to Bumpville; For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, The calico mare must be blowing and faint-- What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't! So play we have got to Bumpville. 

[Illustration: KATHERINE KOHLSAAT. "TO HER, " WROTE MR. FIELD ON THEPHOTOGRAPH, "THE HUSH-A-BY SONG ENTITLED 'SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO, ' ISDEDICATED. "]

SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO!

 So, so, rock-a-by so! Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes, And here is a kiss on your dimpledown cheek, And here is a kiss for the treasure that lies In a beautiful garden way up in the skies Which you seek. Now mind these three kisses wherever you go-- So, so, rock-a-by so!

 There's one little fumfay who lives there, I know, For he dances all night where the dreamikins grow; I send him this kiss on your droopydrop eyes. I send him this kiss on your rosyred cheek. And here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise When the fumfay shall dance in those far-away skies Which you seek. Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe-- So, so, rock-a-by so!

 And, by-low, as you rock-a-by go, Don't forget mother who loveth you so! And here is her kiss on your weepydeep eyes, And here is her kiss on your peachypink cheek, And here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies Like a babe on the breast of those far-away skies Which you seek-- The blinkywink garden where dreamikins grow-- So, so, rock-a-by so!

[Illustration: PARK YENOWINE, "THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN, " WROTE MR. FIELDON THE PHOTOGRAPH, "TO WHOM 'SEEIN' THINGS AT NIGHT' IS DEDICATED. "

From a photograph by Stein, Milwaukee. ]

SEEIN' THINGS. 

 I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed, For when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, Mother tells me "Happy dreams!" and takes away the light, An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night!

 Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door, Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor; Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round So softly an' so creepy-like they never make a sound! Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white-- But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night!

 Once, when I licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street, An' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row, A-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me--so! Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite-- It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night!

 Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death! Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; An' I am, oh! _so_ sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again! Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night!

 An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at 's big an' nice; I want to--but I do not pass my plate f'r them things twice! No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night!

[Illustration: THE SABINE WOMEN. FROM A PAINTING BY DAVID. 

The legend of the Sabine women is familiar. In the early days of Rome, Romulus, the city's founder and first king, finding his subjects muchlacking in wives, invited the Sabines, a neighboring people, into thecity for a feast and games; and in the midst of the sport, he and hisfollowers seized the Sabine mothers and daughters by force of arms, and married them out of hand. David's picture represents the seizure. Classical subjects were especially preferred by David and his school. ]

A CENTURY OF PAINTING. 

NOTES BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL. --THE ART OF FRANCE IN THE BEGINNINGOF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. --DAVID AND HIS FOLLOWERS. 

BY WILL H. LOW. 

When the potter's daughter of remote antiquity first drew the incisedline around her lover's shadow cast upon the wall by the accomplicesun, art had its birth. Before that time primitive man hadendeavored--with who knows what desire to leave behind him some traceof his passage upon earth--to make upon bones rude tracings ofhis surroundings. The proof of the universality of art is in thesemanifestations, of which the logical outcome was the complete andsplendid art of Greece. Through the sequence of Byzantine art wecome to Giotto, who, a shepherd's son under the skies of Italy, wasreinspired at the source of nature, and became the first painter aswe to-day know painting. From Giotto descends in direct line the greatfamily of artists who, in the service of the spiritual and temporalsovereigns of the earth, shed illustration upon their craft andundying lustre on their names until the old order, changing, givingway to the new, enfranchised art in the great upheaval of the latterpart of the eighteenth century. 

It is well, in order to understand the position in which this greatrevolution left art, to briefly consider the conditions precedingit. Painting, up to the end of the seventeenth century, had beenessentially the handmaiden of religion; and religion in its turn hadbeen so closely allied to the state that, when declining faith letdown the barriers, art took for the first time its place among theliberal professions whose first duty is to find in the necessitiesof mankind a reason for their existence. Small wonder, then, that, accustomed to be fostered and encouraged, to be held aloof from thematerial necessity of earning their daily bread, the artists of thisperiod sought protection from the only class which in those dayshad the leisure to appreciate or the fortune to encourage them. Thepeople, the "general public, " as we say to-day, did not exist, exceptas a mass of patient workers in the first part, as a clamorous rabbledemanding its rights in the latter part, of the century. Hence thepatronage of art, its very existence, depended on the pleasure of thenobility, and naturally enough its themes were measured according tothe tastes of its patrons. Much that was charming was produced, butnever before did art portray its epoch with such great limitations. The persistent blindness to the signs and portents gathering thickabout them which characterized the higher classes of the time, may befelt in its art; of the great outside world, of the hungry masses sosoon to rise in rebellion, nothing is seen. One may walk through thepalaces at Versailles, may search through the pictures of the epoch inthe Louvre, or linger at Sans Souci in Potsdam--where Frederick filledhis house with sculptured duchesses in classical costume playingat Diana, and covered his walls with Watteaus and his ceilings withdecorations by Pesne, a less worthy Frenchman--and remain in completeignorance of hungry Jacques, who, with pike-staff and guillotine, wasso soon to change all that and usher in the period of the Revolution, Before the evil day dawned for the gilded gentry of France, however, the British colonies in America, influenced by the teachings of theprecursors of the French Revolution, and aided by their isolation, were to establish their independence. 

[Illustration: JACQUES LOUIS DAVID AS A YOUNG MAN. FROM A PAINTING BYHIMSELF. 

The exact date of this picture is unknown; but it was, presumably, painted before 1775, when David, having received the Prix de Rome, went to Italy for the first time. It was given to the Louvre, where itnow is, by the painter Eugene Isabey in 1852; David had presented itto the elder Isabey, also a painter. ]

It was undoubtedly at this time, when revolt was in the air and manwas preoccupied with his primal right to liberty of existence, thatart was given the bad name of a luxury. Until its long prostitutionthroughout the seventeenth century, its mission had been noble; butnow, coincident to the fall of the old _régime_, the people, from anignorance which was more their misfortune than their fault, confoundedart with luxuries more than questionable, in which their whilomsuperiors had indulged while they lacked bread. With the curiousassumption of Spartan virtue which rings with an almost convincingsound of true metal through so many of the resolutions passed by theNational Convention of France, in the days following the holocaust ofthe Reign of Terror, there was serious debate as to whether picturesand statues were to be permitted to exist or their productionencouraged. 

This debate must have fallen strangely on the ears of one of themembers of the Convention, who had already made his power as an artistfelt, and who was from that time for more than forty years to be thedirecting influence, not only of French art, but of painting on theContinent in general. This man, Jacques Louis David, in point of factwas soon practically to demonstrate to his colleagues that art hadas its mission other aims than those followed by the painters of thepreceding generations. It fell that Lepelletier, one of the members ofthe Convention, was assassinated, and David's brush portrayed him ashe lay dead; and the picture, being brought into the legislative hall, moved the entire assembly to a conviction that the art of the painterstruck a human chord which vibrated deep in the heart of man. 

[Illustration: MICHEL GÉRARD AND HIS FAMILY. FROM A PAINTING BY DAVID. 

Michel Gérard was a member of the National Assembly, the body whichruled France in the first years of the Revolution, from 1789 to 1791. The picture represents him in the midst of his family, attired withthe simplicity affected by the Revolutionary leaders at that time. ]

But a little later, when Marat, "the Friend of Man, " was strickendown, a voice rose in the Convention, "Where art thou, David?" Andagain, responding to the call, he painted the picture of the deaddemagogue lying in his bath, his pen in hand, a half-written screed ona rude table improvised by placing a board across the tub; and againthe picture, more eloquent, more explanatory of character and ofepoch than any written page of history, was a convincing argument thatpainting was not a plaything. 

Born August 21, 1748, a man over fifty years of age when this centurycommenced, David may yet be considered entirely our own; for the ideasof his country, despite minor influences that have affected modernart, have prevailed in the art of all other countries, and theseprinciples were largely formulated by him. France has been throughoutthis century the only country which has steadfastly encouraged art, with a system of education unsurpassed in any epoch, and by themaintenance of a standard which, however rebellious at times, everyserious artist has been and is obliged to acknowledge. A cousin--or, as some authorities have it, a grand-nephew--of Boucher (the artistwho best typifies the frivolity of the art of the eighteenth century, so that there is grim humor in the thought that this iconoclast was ofhis blood), David was twenty-seven years of age when, in 1775, he wonthe Prix de Rome, which enabled him to go to Italy for four years atthe expense of the government. He was the pupil of Vien, a painterwhose chief merit it was to have inspired his pupil with a hatred ofthe frivolous Pompadour art of the epoch; and David only obtained thecoveted prize after competing five successive years. It is instructiveto learn that of this first sojourn at Rome almost nothing remains inthe way of painting; for the young artist, endowed with the patiencewhich is, according to Goethe, synonomous with genius, devoted all histime to drawing from the antique. 

It was here and during this time, doubtless, that he formed hisconviction that painting of the highest type must conform to classicaltradition--that all nature was to be remoulded in the form of antiquesculpture. But it was also at this time, and owing to his sternapprenticeship to the study of form, that he acquired the mastery ofdrawing which served him so well when in the presence of nature; andwith no other preoccupation than to reproduce his model, he paintedthe people of his time and produced his greatest works. For by astrange yet not unprecedented contradiction, David's fame to-dayrests, not upon the great classical pictures which were the admirationof his time and by which he thought to be remembered, but on theportraits which, with his mastery of technical acquirement, he paintedwith surprising truth and reality. 

The time was propitious, however, for David. France, the seeds ofrevolution germinating in its soil, looked upon the Republic of Romeas the type from which a system could be evolved that would usher ina new day of virtuous government; and when, after a second visit toRome, David returned home with a picture representing the oath of theHoratii, Paris received him with open arms. The picture was exhibited, and viewed by crowds, burning, doubtless, in their turn to haveweapons placed in their hands with which to conquer their liberties. This was in 1786; but years after, in the catalogue of the Salonof 1819, we read this note: "The Oath of the Horatii, the firstmasterpiece which restored to the French school of painting the purityof antique taste. "

At the outbreak of the Revolution David abandoned painting; andon January 17, 1793, as a member of the Convention, voted for theexecution of Louis XVI. It was during this period that were paintedhis pictures of Lepelletier and Marat, in which his cold, statuesque, and correct manner was revivified and warmed to life--paradoxicallyenough, to paint death. A friend of Robespierre, he was carried downat the overthrow of the "little lawyer from Arras, " and imprisonedin the Luxembourg. His wife--who had left him at the outset of hispolitical life, horrified at the excesses of the time--now rejoinedhim in his misfortune; and inspired by her devotion, David made thefirst sketch of the Sabine women. 

Released from prison October 26, 1795, he returned to his art; andin 1800 the Sabines was exhibited in a room in the Louvre, where itremained for more than five years, during which time it constantlyattracted visitors, and brought to the painter in entrance fees morethan thirteen thousand dollars. Early in the career of Napoleon, Davidhad attracted his attention; and he had vainly endeavored to inducethe artist to accompany him on the Egyptian campaign. On the accessionof Napoleon as Emperor, therefore, we find in the Salon catalogues, "Monsieur David, first painter to his Imperial Majesty, " in place ofplain "Citizen David" of the Revolutionary years. 

Napoleon ordered from David four great paintings. The Coronation andthe Distribution of Flags alone were painted when the overthrow of theEmpire, and the loyalty of David to his imperial patron, caused him tobe exiled in 1816. He went to Brussels, where, on December 29, 1825, he died. The Bourbons, masters of France, refused to allow his body tobe brought back to his country; but Belgium gave him a public funeral, after which he was laid to rest in the Cathedral of Brussels. 

[Illustration: POPE PIUS VII. FROM A PAINTING FROM LIFE BY DAVID, NOWIN THE LOUVRE. 

Pius VII. Was the Pope who, in 1804, consecrated Napoleon I. AsEmperor of France. Later he opposed Napoleon's aggressions, and wasimprisoned for it, first in Italy and afterwards in France. In 1814he recovered his freedom and his dominions, temporal as well asspiritual. The above picture is, perhaps, the best example of what maybe termed the official portrait (as the preceding picture is of thefamiliar portrait) of David. It was painted in 1805, in the apartmentassigned to the Pope in the Tuileries. ]

This dominant artistic influence of France in the first quarter ofthis century is not entirely extinguished to-day. The classical spirithas never been entirely absent from any intellectual manifestation ofthe French; but in David and his pupils it was carried to an extremityagainst which the painters of the next generation were to strugglealmost hopelessly. Time, which sets all things right, has placedDavid in his proper place; and while to-day we may admire the immenseknowledge of the man as manifested in the great classical pictures, like the Horatii, the Sabines, or the Leonidas at Thermopylć, we remain cold before their array of painted statues. Hisportraits--Marat, the charming sketch of Madame Recamier, his ownportrait as a young man, the group of Michel Gérard and his family, and the Pope Pius VII. --give the touch of nature which is needed tokindle the fire of humanity in this man of iron. 

[Illustration: JUSTICE AND DIVINE VENGEANCE PURSUING CRIME. FROM APAINTING BY PRUD'HON. 

This picture was painted for the Criminal Court of the Palace ofJustice in Paris. At the time of the Restoration in 1816 the picturewas replaced by a crucifix, and removed to the Luxembourg gallery, where it remained until 1823, when it was placed in the Louvre. It isconsidered Prud'hon's masterpiece. ]

It is as though nature had wished a contrast to this coldlyintellectual type that there should have existed at the same timea painter who, seeking at the same inexhaustible fountain-head ofclassicism, found inspiration for an art almost morbid in excess ofsentiment. Pierre Prud'hon was born at Cluny in Burgundy, April 4, 1758, the son of a poor mason who, dying soon after the boy's birth, left him to the care of the monks of the Abbey of Cluny. The picturesdecorating the monastery visibly affecting the youth, the Bishop ofMacon placed him under the tuition of one Desvoges, who directedthe school of painting at Dijon. Here his progress was rapid, but atnineteen the too susceptible youth married a woman whose character andhabits were such that his life was rendered unhappy thenceforward. 

In 1780 Prud'hon went to Paris to prosecute his studies; and there, two years after, was awarded a prize, founded by his province, whichenabled him to go to Rome. It is characteristic of the man that, inthe competition for this prize, he was so touched by the despair ofone of his comrades competing with him that he repainted completelyhis friend's picture--with such success that it was the friend towhom the prize was awarded, and who, but for a tardy awakening ofconscience, would have gone to Rome in his place. 

The judgment rectified, Prud'hon went to Rome, where he stayed sevenyears, studying Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, and above all Correggio, whose influence is manifest in his work, and returned to Paris in1789. Unknown, and timid by nature, he attracted little attention, andfor some years gained his living by designing letter-heads, visitingcards, which were then of an ornate description, and the many trifleswhich constitute a present resource to the unsuccessful painter evento-day. 

[Illustration: THE ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN. FROM A PAINTING BYPRUD'HON. 

This picture was ordered by the Emperor Napoleon for the chapel ofthe Tuileries. It was exhibited in the Salon of 1819, and, after theRevolution of 1848, was removed from the Tuileries to the Louvre, where it has since remained. ]

It was not until 1796 that some of the charming drawings which he hadmade commenced to attract attention. A series of designs illustratingDaphnis and Chloe, for the publishing house of Didot _ainé_, were particularly noticeable; and through this work he made theacquaintance of M. Frochot, by whose influence he received acommission for a decoration for the palace of St. Cloud, which is nowplaced in the Louvre. 

[Illustration: HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. FROM A DRAWING BY PRUD'HON. 

This charming drawing, which forms part of the collection in theLouvre, is a study for a projected painting, and is, by its grace ofline and composition, peculiarly typical of the painter. Hector, aboutto depart for his combat with Ajax, and having bidden farewell toAndromache, his wife, desires to embrace his son. But the child, frightened at the emotion of which he is witness, takes refuge in hismother's arms. ]

Life now became somewhat easier, and in 1803--having long beenseparated from his wife--a talented young woman, Mlle. Mayer, becamehis pupil, and relations of a more tender character were established. The pictures of Mlle. Mayer are influenced by her master to a degreethat makes them minor productions of his own; and her unselfish, though unconsecrated, devotion to him makes up the sum of the littlehappiness which he may have had. 

In 1808 Prud'hon's picture of Justice and Divine Vengeance pursuingCrime was ordered for the Palace of Justice, and was shown at theSalon of that year, where the presence of David's Sabines and itsinfluence as shown in many of the productions of his pupils were notenough to rob Prud'hon of a legitimate success, and the cross of theLegion of Honor was accorded him. The Assumption of the Virgin wasexhibited in 1819; but before that Prud'hon had been made a member ofthe Institute, and (it passed for a distinction) drawing-master to theEmpress Marie Louise. 

Many pictures, all characterized by a subtile charm, were producedduring this happy period; but in 1821 Mlle. Mayer, preyed upon by herfalse position, committed suicide, and Prud'hon lingered in continualsorrow until February 16, 1823, when he died. The work of Prud'honcovers a wide range, of which not the least important are the drawingswhich he made with a lavish hand. As has been observed, he was a truechild of his time, and the classic influence is strongly felt in hiswork; but translated through his temperament, it is no longer lifelessand cold. It is eloquent of the early ages of the world, when life wasyoung and maturity and age bore the impress of a simple life, littleperplexed by intricate problems of existence. Throughout his work, in the recreation of the myths of antiquity or in the rarerrepresentation of Christian legend, his style is sober anddignified--as truly classic as that of David; but permeating it allis the indescribable essence of beauty and youth, the reflection, undoubtedly, of a man who, rarely fortunate, capable of gravemistakes, has nevertheless left much testimony to the love and esteemin which he was held. 

François Gérard, one of the many faithful followers of David, was bornMay 4, 1770, at Rome, where his father had gone in the service of theambassador of France. He went to France in his twelfth year, and atsixteen was enrolled in the school of David. As a docile pupil heentered the competition for the Roman prize in 1789; but Girodethaving obtained the first place, a second prize was awarded, and thenext year the death of his father prevented him from finishing hiscompetition picture; so that he is one of the exceptions amongstDavid's pupils, inasmuch as he did not obtain the Prix de Rome. In1790, however, he accompanied his mother, who was an Italian, toher native country. But his sojourn there was short, as in 1793he solicited the influence of David to save him from the generalconscription; which was done by naming him a member of theRevolutionary tribunal. By taking refuge in his studio and feigningillness, he avoided the exercise of his judicial functions; and thestorm passing away, he exhibited in 1795 a picture of Belisarius whichattracted attention. 

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN. FROM A PAINTING BY PRUD'HON, IN THE LOUVRE. ]

In 1806 Napoleon made him the official portrait painter attachedto his court, and ordered the picture of the battle of Austerlitz, finished in 1810. This and indeed all of Gérard's pictures are markedby all the defects of David's methods, and lack the virile quality ofhis master. His portraits, however, have many qualities of grace andgood taste, and his success in France was somewhat analogous to thatof Lawrence in England. Under the Restoration his vogue continued; in1819 he was given the title of baron; and, dying in Paris on January11, 1837, he left as his legacy to the art of his time no lessthan twenty-eight historical pictures, many of great dimensions, eighty-seven full-length portraits, and over two hundred smallerportraits, representing the principal men and women of his time. Theportraits of the Countess Regnault de Saint-Jean-d'Angely and of thePrincess Visconti are both excellent specimens of the work of thisestimable painter. 

[Illustration: PRUD'HON. FROM A PEN DRAWING BY HIMSELF. ]

Of the pictures which testify to the industry and talent ofLouis-Léopold Boilly, who was born at La Bassée, near Lille, on July5, 1761, the Louvre possesses but one specimen; namely, the Arrival ofa Diligence before the coach-office in Paris. This is undoubtedly dueto the fact that with the preoccupation of the public mind with theevents of the time, and the prevailing taste for great historicalpictures, Boilly's art, so sincere and so intimate in character, wasunderestimated. It is certainly not due to any lack of industry on thepart of the painter. Even at the age of eleven years he undertook topaint, for a religious fraternity of his native town, two picturesrepresenting the miracles of St. Roch. These still exist, and they aresaid to be meritorious. His facility in seizing the resemblance ofhis sitter was evidently native, for when only thirteen years of age, without instruction of any kind, he left his parents, and establishedhimself as a portrait painter first at Douai and afterwards at Arras. In 1786 he went to Paris, where he lived until his death. Herehe painted a great number of pictures of small size, representingfamiliar scenes of the streets and of the homes of Paris, and anincredible number of portraits. 

[Illustration: THE PRINCESS VISCONTI. FROM A PAINTING BYFRANÇOIS-PASCAL-SIMON (BARON) GÉRARD. 

The picture gives an interesting study of the costume of the FirstEmpire, and is a work conceived in the style of the time when therecent publication of "Corinne" by Madame de Staël had influenced thepopular taste. The original painting is now in the Louvre. ]

A valiant craftsman, happy in his work, following no school but thatof nature, careless of official honor (which came to him only when, late in life, on the demand of the Academy, the government accordedhim the cross of the Legion of Honor in 1833), his life wasuneventful. But his little pictures pleased the people who sawthemselves so truthfully depicted, and to-day they are more highlyesteemed than are the works of many of his at-the-time esteemedcontemporaries. He painted for seventy-two years, produced morethan five thousand portraits, an incredible number of pictures anddrawings, and died, his brush in hand, on January 5, 1845. Thelittle picture of the Arrival of a Diligence presents, with exquisitetruthfulness, a Paris unlike the brilliant city of our day, theParis where Arthur Young in his travels in 1812 notes the absence ofsidewalks; a city inhabited by slim ladies dressed _ŕ la Grecque_, andby high-stocked gentlemen content to travel by post. It is a canvas ofmore value than the pretentious and tiresome historical compositionsof the time, and suggests the reflection that many of the David pupilsmight have been better employed in putting their scientific accuracyof drawing to the service of rendering the life which they saw aboutthem, instead of producing the arid stretches of academy models posingas Hector or Romulus. 

Guillaume-Guillon Lethičre, a painter in whose veins there was anadmixture of negro blood, would hardly have echoed the sentimentsof this last paragraph, as he lived and worked in the factitiouscompanionship of the Greeks and Romans. So clearly, however, does thetemperament of a painter inspire the character of his work that wemay be glad that this was the case; for, of his school, Lethičre aloneinfuses into his classicism something of the turbulent life whichmarked his own character. 

[Illustration: THE COUNTESS REGNAULT DE SAINT-JEAN-D'ANGELY. FROM APAINTING BY BARON GÉRARD, IN THE LOUVRE. ]

Born in Guadeloupe January 10, 1760, coming to Paris when very young, he took the second prize of Rome in 1784, with a picture of such meritthat the regulation was infringed and he was given leave to go to Romeat the same time as the winner of the first prize. His first picturewas exhibited in the form of a sketch in the Salon of 1801; and notuntil eleven years after was the great canvas of Brutus Condemning hisSons to Death shown at the Salon of 1812. The other picture by whichhe is best known, the Death of Virginia, is, like the preceding, inthe Louvre; and though the sketch of this was exhibited in 1795, thepicture only took definite form in 1828. 

[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF A DILIGENCE. FROM A PAINTING BYLOUIS-LÉOPOLD BOILLY. 

This picture, now in the Louvre, is the only example of this artist'swork shown there, and is particularly interesting as showing the Parisof 1803, when the streets had no sidewalks. The scene is laid atthe place of arrival and departure of the coaches which from Parispenetrated into all parts of France, and were the only means oftransport or communication. ]

Meanwhile Lethičre had travelled much in England and Spain, and hadbeen for ten years director of the French School of Fine Arts in Rome. His life was adventurous, and it is told of him that he was ofteninvolved in quarrels, and fought a number of duels with militaryofficers because, humble civilian that he was, he yet dared to wearthe mustache! In 1822 he returned definitely to Paris, where he wasmade a member of the Institute and professor in the School of FineArts, and where he died April 21, 1832. The quality of his work iswell characterized by Charles Blanc, who writes of it "as producingthe effect of a tragedy sombre and pathetic. "

The picture of the Burial of Atala, from Châteaubriand's well-knownstory, is interesting as showing the methods of the David schoolapplied to subjects of less heroic mould than the master and hisdisciples were wont to treat. Anne-Louis Girodet de Roucy Trioson, born at Montargis January 3, 1767, was one of the most convincedadherents of his master David; and while competing for the Prizeof Rome, which he won in 1789, was accustomed each morning beforebeginning his work to station himself in front of David's picture ofthe Horatii as before a shrine, invoking its happy influence. Suchdevotion received its official reward, and after five years spentin Rome his great (and tiresome) picture of the Deluge met withthe greatest favor, and in 1810 was awarded the medal for the besthistorical picture produced in the preceding decade. The Burial ofAtala, painted in 1808, is, however, a work of charm in compositionand sentiment; and though in color it is dry and uninteresting, isnot unworthy of the popularity which it has enjoyed from the vantageground of the Louvre for more than four-score years. Girodet died inParis, December 9, 1824, after having received all the official honorswhich France can award to a painter. 

The charming face of Marie-Anne-Elizabeth Vigée-Lebrun, who, withthe arms of her daughter encircling her, smiles on us here, wasundoubtedly not painted in this century, as the painter was bornin Paris April 16, 1755, and it is as a young mother that she hasrepresented herself. But as its author lived until March 30, 1842, she should undoubtedly figure among the painters of this century. Fromearly girlhood until old age, "_Lebrun, de la beauté le peintre et le modčle. _"

as Laharpe sang, was, though largely self-taught, a formidableconcurrent to painters of the sterner sex. Married when very youngto Lebrun, a dealer in pictures and critic of art, a pure marriage ofconvention, she left France shortly before the Revolution, and wentto Italy. Before her departure she was high in favor at the court, andpainted no less than twenty portraits of Marie Antoinette. 

[Illustration: BRUTUS CONDEMNING HIS SONS TO DEATH. FROM A PAINTING BYLETHIČRE. 

Brutus led in overthrowing the tyranny of Tarquin the Proud andestablishing a republic in Rome. He was then elected one of thetwo consuls. His two sons were detected in a conspiracy to restoreTarquin, and he, as consul, himself condemned them to death. ]

[Illustration: THE BURIAL OF ATALA. FROM A PAINTING BY GIRODET, IN THELOUVRE. 

Atala, the heroine of a romance by Châteaubriand, was the daughter ofa North American Indian chief, passionately in love with the chiefof another tribe, with whom she fled into the desert. But having beenreligiously vowed to virginity by her mother, she remains faithful tothe vow, and finally in despair poisons herself. ]

[Illustration: MADAME LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER. FROM A PAINTING BYMADAME LEBRUN HERSELF. 

This picture, painted for a private patron, passed, at the period ofthe French Revolution, into the possession of the French nation, andis now in the Louvre. There is in the Louvre also another by MadameLebrun, representing herself and her daughter, one which the artistbequeathed to the Louvre at her death, in 1842. Of the two, whileboth are charming, the one here printed represents the painter at herbest. ]

Fortune favored her in Italy, whence she went to Vienna, Prague, Dresden, and Berlin. In each and every capital the same success, due to her talent, beauty, and amiability, followed her; and at lastarriving in St. Petersburg, she remained there until 1801, when shereturned to Paris. Some time after, she visited England, where sheremained three years, and then returned by way of Holland to Francein 1809. The Academy of France and the academies of all other Europeancountries admitted her to membership. 

Indefatigable as a worker during her long career, she produced animmense number of portraits; and while she painted comparatively fewsubject pictures, she arranged her models in so picturesque a fashionthat, as in the example here given, her portraits have great charm ofcomposition. With a virile grasp of form, tempered though it be withgrace, Madame Lebrun offers an interesting example of woman's workin art; and, while she has nothing to concede to the painters of hertime, is no less interesting as showing that by force of nativetalent the woman of the early part of the century had in her power theconquest of nearly all the desired rights of the New Woman. She hasleft extremely interesting memoirs of her life, written in her oldage, and there are many anecdotes bearing testimony to her wit. One ofthese goes back to the time when Louis XVIII. , then a youth, enlivenedthe sittings for his portrait by singing, quite out of tune. "How doyou think I sing?" inquired he. "Like a prince, " responded the amiableartist. 

With Antoine Jean Gros we come to the last and the greatest of thepupils of David. Born in Paris March 16, 1771, he competed but once, in 1792, for the Prix de Rome, was unsuccessful, but undertook thevoyage thither on his own slender resources the next year. Italy wasin a troubled state--he who troubled all Europe in the early yearsof the century being there at the head of his army; and in 1796, atGenoa, Gros attracted the attention of Madame Bonaparte. It was shewho proposed that Gros should paint Napoleon; and Gros consequentlywent to Milan, and after the battle of Arcole painted the herocarrying the tricolor across the bridge at the head of his grenadiers. The picture pleased Bonaparte, who had it engraved, and gave Gros acommission to collect for the Louvre the chief artistic treasures ofItaly. These functions occupied him until 1801, during which period, however, he executed a number of successful portraits. 

Returning to Paris after nine years, he painted the Hospital atJaffa, representing Napoleon visiting the fever-stricken soldiers. The success of this picture, exhibited in 1804, was very great; andit remains Gros's best title to remembrance. In it is something ofthe reality poetized and seen through the eyes of an artist whichcharacterizes the work of Eugene Delacroix. 

The force of David, however, was too great for Gros; at fifty years ofage we find him demanding counsel of the master, who sternly bids himleave his "futile subjects, " and devote his time to great historicalepochs of the past. When David was sent into exile in 1816, it was toGros that he confided the direction of his school; and this task, andthe production of immense canvases like the Battle of the Pyramids, filled his life. The picture here reproduced, the Visit of Charles theFifth and Francis the First to the Tombs of the Kings in the Cathedralof St. Denis, was painted in 1812. 

[Illustration: FRANCIS I. , KING OF FRANCE, AND CHARLES V. , EMPEROR OFTHE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE, VISITING THE TOMBS OF THE FRENCH KINGS AT ST. DENIS. FROM A PAINTING BY BARON GROS, IN THE LOUVRE. 

Between 1520 and 1545 all Europe was kept in distress and turmoil bya quarrel between Francis I. And Charles V. , the chief subject ofcontention being the duchy of Milan, which Charles held and Francisclaimed. Four separate wars were waged by Francis against Charles, all of them unsuccessful. But their majesties had intervals of outwardfriendship, and in one of these Francis invited Charles, then settingout from Spain for the Low Countries, to pass through France and visithim. The visit was duly paid, was one of great state and ceremony, and from it is derived the incident portrayed in the above picture. Francis is the figure in the centre; Charles, suited in black, standing at his right. ]

The revolt which was already making itself felt in French art wasa thorn in the flesh of the sensitive Gros. In vain were all theartistic honors showered upon him. In 1824 he was made a baron; since1816 he had been a member of the Institute; and the crosses of most ofthe orders of Europe, and the medals of all the exhibitions were his. Nevertheless, about him younger painters revolted. In his secret soul, doubtless, he felt sympathy with their methods. But the commands ofthe terrible old exile of Brussels were still in his ears. 

Finally a portrait of King Charles X. , the decorations in the Museumof Sovereigns, and a picture exhibited in the Salon of 1835 were inturn harshly criticized by the press, which looked with favor on theyounger men; and Gros, full of years, and of honors which had broughtfortune in their train, was found drowned in a little arm of the Seinenear Meudon, June 26, 1835. In despair he had taken his own life. Withhim died David's greatest pupil and a part of David's influence. Butthat portion of the teachings of the master most consonant withFrench character is not without effect to-day. Less strong than in thegeneration following David, absolutely extinct if we are to believethe extremists among the men of to-day, it yet remains a leaven to thefermenting mass of modern production. Perhaps its healthy influenceis the best monument to the man who "restored to France the purity ofantique taste. "

[Illustration: JAMES G. BLAINE. 

From a photograph by Handy, Washington. ]

THE DEFEAT OF BLAINE FOR THE PRESIDENCY. 

BY MURAT HALSTEAD. 

The fame of Blaine does not decline, but increases and will endure. It was not his destiny to fill the greater office created by ourConstitution, but with a distinction exceeding that of the majority ofPresidents, he is enrolled, with Clay, Webster, and Seward, among theillustrious Secretaries of State. The defeat of James G. Blaine forthe Presidency in 1884 will rank among the memorable disappointmentsand misfortunes of the people with that of Henry Clay, forty yearsbefore. 

Late in the week before the meeting of the Chicago National RepublicanConvention in 1884, I received in Cincinnati a telegram from Mr. Blaine requesting me to call on him in Washington, where he lived onthe opposite side of Lafayette Square from that of the celebratedold house where he spent his last days. He was engaged on his "TwentyYears in Congress. " I called on him the day after his despatch reachedme, making haste, for I was about to go to Chicago; and he first saidhe feared he had sent for me on an insufficient errand, and aftera moment's pause began to speak of the approaching convention, andquickly used the expression--"I am alarmed. "

[Illustration: MR. BLAINE IN 1891. 

This is accounted one of the best portraits of Mr. Blaine inexistence. It is from a photograph taken at Bar Harbor in the autumnof 1891 by Mr. A. Von Mumm Schwartzenstein, then _Charge d'Affaires_of the German Empire at Washington, and is here reproduced by the kindpermission of Mr. W. E. Curtis. ]

"Concerning what are you frightened?" I inquired; and added: "Yousurely are not afraid you are not going to be nominated?"

He responded with a flash of his eyes and a smile: "Oh, no; I amafraid I shall be nominated, and have sent for you for that reason, and want you to assist in preventing my nomination. " I shook my head, and Mr. Blaine asked: "Why not?"

I said I had not been so long in his confidence and known by hisfriends to be of them, to venture upon such an enterprise as workingin opposition. If I should appear actively against him, no matter howI presented the matter, the easy answer to any argument of mine wouldbe that I had relapsed into personal antagonism to him. I then said:"I have not heard of this;" and asked: "Are there many who know thatyou are against your candidacy?" He said he had talked freely tothat effect, and mentioned William Walter Phelps as one who was fullyacquainted with his views, and also Colonel Parsons, of the NaturalBridge, Virginia, then in the house. I said: "Mr. Blaine, I thinkit is too late. I have looked over the field, and your nomination isalmost certain--the drift is your way. Why precisely do you object, and what exactly do you think should happen?" He replied in hisrapid way with much feeling, and I believe his very words were: "Theobjection to my nomination is that I cannot be elected. With the Southsolid against us we cannot succeed without New York, and I cannotcarry that State. There are factions there and influences beforevoting and after voting, such that the party cannot count uponsuccess with me. I am sure of it--I have thought it all over, and mydeliberate judgment is as I tell you. I know, too, where I am strongas well as where I am weak--and we might, if we should get into thecampaign with my name at the head of the ticket, think we were goingto win. We would get to believing it, perhaps, but we should miss itin the end, if not by a great deal, just a little. With everythingdepending on New York, " he continued, "it would be a mistake tonominate me. This is not new to me--I have weighed all the chances. Besides"--and here he kindled--"why should we let the country go intothe hands of Democrats when we can name a ticket that is certain to beelected--one that would sweep every Northern State?"

"What is it?" I asked. 

The answer came with vivid animation: "William T. Sherman and RobertT. Lincoln. " This idea was instantly amplified. "The names of Shermanand Lincoln put together would be irresistible. That ticket wouldelect itself. We should have a campaign of marching and song. We needthe inspiration, and 'Marching Through Georgia' and 'We Are Coming, Father Abraham, ' would give it. We must not lose this campaign, and Iam alarmed by the prospect of losing it in my name. "

"But, " I interposed, "it is the report and the public opinion thatGeneral Sherman would not consent to be a candidate; that he wouldthrow the party down that would nominate him. Why not try the otherSherman?"

Mr. Blaine's response was that John Sherman would have the likedifficulty in carrying New York that he would have himself. Theelement of military heroism was wanting. He had written to GeneralSherman on the subject, and of course the General thought he couldnot consent to be President--for that was what it amounted to--but hisreasoning was fallacious. If General Sherman had the question put tohim--whether to be President himself or turn the office over to theDemocratic party, with the Solid South dominant--he would see his dutyand do it, though his reluctance was real. 

I said General Sherman could not consent to appear in competition withhis brother John at Chicago, though he had a funny way of lookingon John in West Point style as a "politician, " and that was aninsuperable difficulty; and that, Mr. Blaine did not seem to havethought of as a serious element in the case, but he realized the forceof it. I was anxious to hear more about the correspondence betweenBlaine and General Sherman; but was only told that the letter to theGeneral was a call to consider that circumstances might arise, andshould do so, in which the General's sense of duty could be appealedto, and be as strong as that to take up arms had been when the Uniondemanded defenders. 

[Illustration: MR. BLAINE AT HIS DESK IN THE STATE DEPARTMENT. 

From a photograph by Miss F. B. Johnston. ]

Arrived at Chicago, I soon ascertained that Mr. Blaine had been doinga good deal of talking of the same kind I had heard, but he hadnot been able to impress the more robust of those favorable to hisnomination with the view that he should be heeded. They insisted thathe was not wise, but timid; that he did not like war and would do toomuch for peace; that he especially miscalculated when he said he couldnot carry New York, for he was the very man who could carry it;that his personal force was far beyond his own estimation; that hisintuitions were like those of a woman, but were not infallible; thathis singing the campaign was a fancy; that "Marching ThroughGeorgia" would wear out, and was of the stuff of dreams. Mr. Blaine'saccredited friends felt that things had gone too far to permit achange to be contemplated. They were half mad at Blaine for hisSherman and Lincoln proposal, which was confidentially in the air, regarding it as not favorable to themselves. They said they couldcarry the country more certainly with Blaine than Sherman, for Shermanwas an uncertain political quantity, and might turn out to be almostthe devil himself. Some of them said he would proclaim martial law andannihilate the Constitution! They were sure the force of the celebrityof General Sherman in a campaign had been overestimated by Blaine, whohad the caprice and high color in his imagination that produceschemes too fine for success. In a word, Sherman and Lincoln were notpractical politicians. Blaine's idea was not politics, but poetry. What they wanted was the magnetism and magic of Blaine. The countrywas at any rate safely in the hands of the Republican party. They hadnearly lost the election because they had not nominated Blaine eightyears before, and won with Garfield because he was a Blaine man. Thewisdom of the Republican politicians was thus against Blaine's ticketso far as it was known; and those favorable to President Arthur, JohnSherman, John A. Logan, and George F. Edmunds did not give the leastcredit to the statement that Blaine did not want the nomination. Hisrumored objection to making the race--of course the real reasonswere not known--was regarded as a mere "play" in politics, if notaltogether fantastic; and they pursued their own courses heedless ofthe real conditions. There was a singular complication of errors ofjudgment in the Blaine opposition. The friends of Arthur took thecomplimentary resolutions from a majority of the States to mean hisnomination. In truth, the significance of that unanimity was quiteotherwise. Ohio was not solid for Sherman. It is a State that has beenvery hard to manage in national conventions--was so in the time whenChase was the Republican leader--divided in '60, nominating Lincoln, and rarely presented a front without a flaw for a national candidate. The energy of Logan's friends was not sufficiently supported to giveconfidence. The reformers by profession and of prominence were forEdmunds; and they were a body of men who had force, if judiciouslyapplied, to have carried the convention, provided they divestedthemselves of the peculiarities of extreme elevation that preventefficiency. While they assumed to have soared above practical politicsand to abhor the ways of the "toughs" in championing candidates, theysubordinated their own usefulness to a sentiment that was limited toa senator--Mr. Edmunds. It was clear at an early hour that thenomination of Mr. Edmunds was impossible. He was put into the combatby Governor Long with a splendid speech, and the mellow eloquence ofGeorge William Curtis was for him, and Carl Schurz was a counsellorwho upheld the banner of the lawyer statesman of Vermont. Theconclusion was to stick to Edmunds; and they stuck until the last, andfrittered away their influence. They were in such shape they might, by going in force, at a well-selected time and in a dramatic way, havecarried the convention with them. They could not, however, get theirown consent to go for Logan, or Arthur, or either of the Shermans; andso Blaine was overruled and nominated. 

He did a wonderful work in the campaign, and was himself apparentlysatisfied at last that his apprehensions as to New York had beenunwarranted. Still his words came back to me often during the heat ofthe summer and the fierce contest. "I cannot carry New York; we shalllose it, perhaps by just a little--but we shall lose it;" and so wedid. As the vote was counted the plurality of Mr. Cleveland over Mr. Blaine in the decisive State was one thousand and forty-seven. GailHamilton says, in her "Life of Blaine, " of the New York election, thatthere was a plurality claimed on election day for Cleveland offifty thousand, and "the next day the figures came down to seventeenthousand; then to twelve thousand; the next day to five thousand, andat length dwindled to four hundred and fifty-six. " The election was onthe 4th, and it was nearly two weeks before a decision was announced. General Butler "openly proclaimed that the New York vote for himselfwas counted to Cleveland. " The "just a little" by which Blaine wasbeaten was on the face of the returns one thousand and forty-seven, and John Y. McKane was ten years afterward convicted of frauds thatwere perpetrated as he willed, that amounted to thousands. There wasa fraud capacity in the machines of many times the plurality by whichBlaine was defeated, and there never was a rational doubt that it wasexerted. A change of six hundred votes would have given the PlumedKnight the Presidency, and outside the Solid South he had a popularmajority, "leaving out the protested vote of New York and Brooklyn, ofnearly half a million. " Mr. Blaine, when it became known that the NewYork vote was held to be against him, and civil war was threatenedif the returns were rectified, telegraphed to friends asking theiropinion of the New York situation; and I had the honor to be oneconsulted. My reply was that the New York influences that hadprevailed to cause the declaration of a plurality for Clevelandwould be sufficient to maintain that determination. Then came theopportunity of those unkindly toward Mr. Blaine to charge him withforcing himself on the Republican party and ruining it with hisreckless candidacies, and I thought the facts within my knowledgeshould be given the public, and wrote to General Sherman, asking himto allow me to publish the correspondence between himself and Blaine, proving that the nomination, instead of being forced by Blaine forhimself, was forced upon him; and I wrote to Blaine also, to the sameeffect. I received from the General the remarkable letters following:

GENERAL SHERMAN TO MR. HALSTEAD. 

 912 GARRISON AVENUE, ST. LOUIS, MO. , _November 17, 1884. _

 DEAR HALSTEAD:--After my former letter, when I went to put the newspaper slip into my scrap-book, I discovered my mistake in attributing the article to the "Louisville" instead of the "London Times. " My opinion is nevertheless not to contest the matter, as the real truth will manifest itself. [I]

 I think Arthur could have carried the Republicans past the last election[J]--but no man can tell what issues would have been made in case of his nomination. So the wisest conclusion is to accept gracefully the actual result, and to profit by the mistakes and accidents sure to attend the new administration, handicapped as it will surely be by the hot heads of the South. Truly yours, W. T. SHERMAN. 

 912 GARRISON AVENUE, ST. LOUIS, MO. , _November 21, 1884. _

 DEAR HALSTEAD:--I have yours of the 19th. The letter of Blaine to me was meant as absolutely confidential, and of course I would not allow any person to see it without his consent. I am not sure that I would, even with his consent, because I believe the true policy is to look ahead and not behind. Blaine's letter without any answer would be incomplete, and surely I will not have my letter published, as it contained certain points purely personal which the public has no right to. New questions will arise, and these will give you plenty of occupation without raking up the past. 

 Wishing you always all honor and fame, I am, Truly yours, W. T. SHERMAN. 

The letters that passed between Blaine and Sherman have appearedin Gail Hamilton's "Biography of Blaine, " but have not commandedattention according to their interest, because they have notbeen framed by the relation of the circumstances that gave themsignificance and that are supplied in this article. 

MR. BLAINE TO GENERAL SHERMAN. 

 (Confidential. )

 Strictly and absolutely so. 

 WASHINGTON, D. C. , _May 25, 1884. _

 MY DEAR GENERAL:--This letter requires no answer. After reading it carefully, file it away in your most secret drawer, or give it to the flames. 

 At the approaching convention in Chicago it is more than possible--it is indeed not improbable--that you may be nominated for the Presidency. If so you must stand your hand, accept the responsibility, and assume the duties of the place to which you will surely be chosen if a candidate. You must not look upon it as the work of the politicians. If it comes to you, it will come as the ground-swell of popular demand; and you can no more refuse than you could have refused to obey an order when you were a lieutenant in the army. If it comes to you at all, it will come as a call of patriotism. It would, in such an event, injure your great fame as much to decline it as it would for you to seek it. Your historic record, full as it is, would be rendered still more glorious by such an administration as you would be able to give the country. Do not say a word in advance of the convention, no matter who may ask you. You are with your friends, who will jealously guard your honor. 

 Do not answer this. 

 JAMES G. BLAINE. 

GENERAL SHERMAN TO MR. BLAINE. 

 ST. LOUIS, _May 28, 1884. _

 HON. J. G. BLAINE. 

 MY DEAR FRIEND:--I have received your letter of the 25th; shall construe it as absolutely confidential, not intimating even to any member of my family that I have heard from you; and though you may not expect an answer, I hope you will not construe one as unwarranted. I have had a great many letters from all points of the compass to a similar effect, one or two of which I have answered frankly; but the great mass are unanswered. I ought not to subject myself to the cheap ridicule of declining what is not offered; but it is only fair to the many really able men who rightfully aspire to the high honor of being President of the United States to let them know that I am not, and must not be construed as, a rival. In every man's life there occurs an epoch when he must choose his own career, and when he may not throw the responsibility, or tamely place his destiny in the hands of friends. Mine occurred in Louisiana when, in 1861, alone in the midst of a people blinded by supposed wrongs, I resolved to stand by the Union as long as a fragment of it survived to which to cling. Since then, through faction, tempest, war, and peace, my career has been all my family and friends could ask. We are now in a good home of our choice, with reasonable provision for old age, surrounded by kind and admiring friends, in a community where Catholicism is held in respect and veneration, and where my children will naturally grow up in contact with an industrious and frugal people. You have known and appreciated Mrs. Sherman from childhood, have also known each and all the members of my family, and can understand, without an explanation from me, how their thoughts and feelings should and ought to influence my action; but I will not even throw off on them the responsibility. I will not, in any event, entertain or accept a nomination as a candidate for President by the Chicago Republican convention, or any other convention, for reasons personal to myself. I claim that the Civil War, in which I simply did a man's fair share of work, so perfectly accomplished peace, that military men have an absolute right to rest, and to demand that the men who have been schooled in the arts and practice of peace shall now do their work equally well. Any senator can step from his chair at the Capitol into the White House, and fulfil the office of President with more skill and success than a Grant, Sherman or Sheridan, who were soldiers by education and nature, who filled well their office when the country was in danger, but were not schooled in the practices by which civil communities are, and should be, governed. I claim that our experience since 1865 demonstrates the truth of this my proposition. Therefore I say that "patriotism" does not demand of me what I construe as a sacrifice of judgment, of inclination, and of self-interest. I have my personal affairs in a state of absolute safety and comfort. I owe no man a cent, have no expensive habits or tastes, envy no man his wealth or power, [have] no complications or indirect liabilities, and would account myself a fool, a madman, an ass, to embark anew, at sixty-five years of age, in a career that may, at any moment, [become] tempest-tossed by the perfidy, the defalcation, the dishonesty, or neglect of any one of a hundred thousand subordinates utterly unknown to the President of the United States, not to say the eternal worriment by a vast host of impecunious friends and old military subordinates. Even as it is, I am tortured by the charitable appeals of poor distressed pensioners; but as President, these would be multiplied beyond human endurance. I remember well the experience of Generals Jackson, Harrison, Taylor, Grant, Hayes and Garfield, all elected because of their military services, and am warned, not encouraged, by their sad experiences. No--count me out. The civilians of the United States should, and must, buffet with this thankless office, and leave us old soldiers to enjoy the peace we fought for, and think we earned. 

 With profound respect, your friend, W. T. SHERMAN. 

[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF THE LETTER WRITTEN BY MR. BLAINE TO MR. HALSTEAD JUST AFTER MR. BLAINE'S DEFEAT FOR THE PRESIDENCY IN 1884, AND NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED--THE SAME LETTER THAT IS EMBODIED IN THETEXT OF THIS ARTICLE ON PAGE 169. ]

[Illustration: CONTINUATION OF FACSIMILE OF LETTER. ]

[Illustration: CONTINUATION OF FACSIMILE OF LETTER. ]

There is intrinsic evidence that these letters were not written with athought of possible publication. That which General Sherman saysabout Catholicism could only have been told to a close and sympatheticfriend. Mrs. Sherman and Mr. Blaine were cousins, and their motherswere Catholics. Mrs. Sherman was one whose devotion to the Church wasintense; and General Sherman could not endure the thought that herreligion should be subjected to such discussions as were certain toarise in a Presidential campaign. She was a very noble and giftedwoman, and the happiness of herself and husband in their domestic lifewas beautiful and elevated. 

James G. Blaine was nearer the Presidency than any other man who didnot reach the office. It was by a very narrow margin that hemissed the nomination in Cincinnati in 1876; and the opposition heencountered there from Republican editors was regretted by all ofthem, because they believed when the storm ceased that he had beenaccused excessively, sensationally, and maliciously, and condemned--bythose who did not appreciate his vindication--on evidence that wasindicated but not presented--on letters supposed to have been takenfrom the original package, and that were not produced because theynever existed. The investigations were largely instigated and carriedon to continue agitation with the purpose to strike down a brilliantman whose genius gave him almost incredible promotion, and to assailhim because he was lofty and aspiring. The personal fight that he madein Congress when cruelly set upon was one of the most effective thatever took place in a public body. A competent observer, who was aspectator of the scene in the House when the Mulligan letters wereread, said as Blaine came down the aisle, the letters in his hand, and called upon all the millions of his countrymen to be witnesses: "Ithought his fist was going right up through the dome. " Unhappily, hisexciting experiences in the course of these fierce controversies, withthe conduct of his Cincinnati campaign, and the sultry weather, causedhis prostration, attended with hours of unconsciousness, just atthe critical time when the delegates were assembling in nationalconvention. The local influences; the Republican editorial antagonism;the enthusiastic efforts for Bristow; the strenuous perseverance ofMorton of Indiana; the prestige of Conkling, backed with the highfavor of Grant; the solidity of Ohio for Hayes--all would have beenoverwhelmed but for the incident of the fall of Blaine in a swoon atthe door of the church which he was in the habit of attending and thathe was about to enter with his wife. It is reasonable to believe, if he had been the candidate that year, he could have carried theelection unequivocally, and that his administration would have vastlystrengthened the Republican party. It is due President Hayes, however, to say that his administration of the great office was an era of goodfor the country, and that he was succeeded by a Republican; but thefact of a disputed Presidency had a far-reaching evil influence, andprevented showing fair play in New York in 1884. Blaine lost in hisillness coincident with the Cincinnati convention the confidence ofthe country in his firm health and strength, and that handicapped himto his grave. Perhaps it is even more important that he lost faithin himself as a strong man, and had almost a superstition that if hebecame President it would be for him personally a fatality. And yethe was intellectually a growing man for fifteen years after hisCincinnati defeat. His greater works, his most influential ideas, thefull fruition of his gifts, were after that catastrophe. 

Mr. Blaine was so strong and so weak, so delicate and so tenacious, that he was as constant a puzzle to those who loved him as to hisenemies, to the best-informed as to the most ill-informed. Thosevery near to him took the liberty of laughing at him about his twoovercoats, and his going to bed and sending for a doctor in theafternoon, and getting off with gayety to the opera in the evening;about an alleged indigestion followed by eating a confection thatwould have tested the hardihood of a young candy-eater. One whostudied him with affection wrote of him that he had an associationof qualities giving at once sensitiveness and endurance, and we wereindebted to this for the faculties, the capacities, that made upthe man whose influence had been so remarkable and his popularity aphenomenon. He was of fine sensibilities, and there was nothing onearth or in the air that did not tell him something. He was like aninstrument of music that a breath would move to melody, and that wasever in tune for any wind that blew, and yet had patient strength, andwore like steel. He had a rare make-up of refinement and power, andlife was sweeter and brighter and more costly far to him than to theordinary man. 

It was after his first and, as it turned out, final defeat for thePresidency, in his earliest effort for the office, that his fame grewsplendid. His campaigning was fascinating, and his speeches, as theyears passed, took greater variety. In his tour when a candidate in1884, his addresses were marvellous in aptitude and in a thousandfelicities. There was much said of the fact that he was not a lawyer, and an affected superiority to him by gentlemen whose professionpermitted "fees, " and there was a system of deprecation to the effectthat he only harangued, that he had neither originality nor grace. Butafter Garfield's death and the retirement of the Secretary from theCabinet, he turned to writing history "as a resource, " and his greatwork is of permanent value to the country, while his Garfield orationis one of the masterpieces of the highest rank; and there camestraight from his brain two far-flashing ideas--that of the unionof American nations, and to protect the policy of protection withreciprocity--and in the two there is the manifestation of thatcrowning glory of public life which enters the luminous atmosphereof immortality--statesmanship. That he had not the opportunity of theexecution of these policies--of guiding and shaping their triumph--wasnot his fault but his fate. Their time may be coming but slowly, yet it surely will come. His zeal in behalf of making the protectiveprinciple irresistible by associating it intimately with reciprocity, was so strong that he grew impatient when others were tedious incomprehension; and there was a story of his concluding a sharpadmonition to the laborers on the tariff schedules by "smashing hisnew silk hat on a steam-heater in the committee-room. " He was asked bya friend who rode out with him to see the statue that he thought themost accurate and impressive of all the likenesses of Lincoln and wasfond of driving to see, located in a park east of the Capitol--thatby Story--whether he had "smashed a new silk hat" on a steam-heateron behalf of reciprocity; and he softly responded, "It was not a newhat. "

That Mr. Blaine was keenly disappointed when defeated for thePresidency at Cincinnati, there is no doubt; and that he began then tosee that it was not his destiny to be President, is certain. 

There is a great contrast in his favor in his manner of bearing thisdisappointment with that of Clay and Webster under somewhat similarcircumstances. Clay was furious at the nomination of General WilliamHenry Harrison, and greeted with unmeasured denunciation thoseresponsible for that judicious act; and Webster was bitter when Taylorand Scott were nominated in the first instance, but came, after atime, grandly out of the clouds. It is an interesting coincidence thatWebster when Secretary of State was a candidate for the Presidentialnomination against his chief, President Fillmore, and died, on the24th of October, 1852, a few months after Scott's triumph at Baltimoreand a few days before the popular election of Pierce. The enduringmemory of Mr. Blaine appeared in the last October he lived, in theprecise remark, when something was said of the death of Webster, "Ah!day after to-morrow it will be forty years since Webster died. " Thenews of the nomination of Hayes, Blaine received serenely, and beforethe vote was declared in the convention sent the nominee a cordialtelegram of congratulation. When he knew at Augusta in 1884 that hewas beaten, he said: "Personally I care less than my nearest friendswould believe, but for the cause and for many friends I profoundlydeplore the result. " And that was the entire truth. He felt that hehad not been fairly beaten, but he gave utterance only to the publicwrong done in the unfairness, and left that expression as a warning tothe country. He did not, as we have seen, follow the example of Clay, who persistently favored his own candidacy. On the contrary, Blainedid not covet the Presidency, and tried to avoid the personal strifeof 1884, and not for any of the apprehensive motives attributed tohim by those who acted upon the feeling in his case that the spirit ofjustice was malevolent. 

I feel that I should not now deal fairly with the public if I didnot give here the letter from Blaine in my possession, that morecompletely than any published gives expression to his personal bearingwhen defeated. 

LETTER FROM MR. BLAINE TO MR. HALSTEAD. 

 (Personal. )

 AUGUSTA, MAINE, _16th Nov. , '84. _

 DEAR MR. HALSTEAD:--I think there would be no harm to the public and no personal injustice if you should insert the three enclosed items in your editorial columns. 

 I feel quite serene over the result. As the Lord sent upon us an ass in the shape of a preacher, and a rainstorm, to lessen our vote in New York, I am disposed to feel resigned to the dispensation of defeat, which flowed directly from these agencies. 

 In missing a great honor I escaped a great and oppressive responsibility. You know--perhaps better than any one--how _much I didn't want_ the nomination; but perhaps, in view of all things, I have not made a loss by the canvass. At least I try to think not. The other candidate would have fared hard in Maine, and would have been utterly broken in Ohio. 

 Sincerely, JAMES G. BLAINE. 

 Of course all this is private. 

 _P. S. _--This note was written before receipt of yours. Pray publish nothing of the kind you intimate unless you first permit me to see the proof. Don't be afraid of the enclosed items. They are rock-ribbed for truth and for a good rendering of public opinion. 

Mr. Blaine refers in the closing paragraph to the proposition I madeto him to publish the true story of his candidacy--substantially thesame pressed upon the attention of General Sherman. Between them theysuppressed me, but it is due them that this chapter of history shouldbe known now that they are gone. 

I had the privilege of walking with Mr. Blaine in the beautiful andfragrant parks at Homburg, in Southern Germany, in the summer of 1887, and discussing with him the question whether he should be a candidatefor the Republican nomination the next spring. He then seemed to bevery well, but exertion speedily fatigued him. He was on sight a verystriking personage, and always instantly regarded with interest bystrangers. His personal appearance was of the utmost refinement and ofirreproachable dignity. His absolute cleanliness was something dainty, his dress simple but fitting perfectly and of the best material. Hisface was very pale, but his sparkling eyes contradicted the pallor. 

His form was erect, and his figure that of youth. His hair and beardwere exquisitely white. His mouth had the purity of a child's, andhe never had tasted tobacco or used spirituous liquors, save when hisphysician had recommended a little whiskey, and then not enough tocolor a glass. He drank sparingly of claret and champagne, caring onlyfor the flavor. He was gentle, kindly, genial, and in a manly sensebeautiful. There are many distinguished English people at Homburg inthe season, and they were gratified to meet Mr. Blaine, and charmedwith him. It required no ceremony to announce him as a personage--aman who had made events--and he never posed or gave the slightesthint, in his movements, of conscious celebrity. I never saw himbothered by being aware of himself but once, and that was when, acrossthe street from the Fifth Avenue Hotel, in the dusk of an evening, heshaded his face with his hand, and looked curiously at ten thousandpeople who were gazing at the house, and shouting madly for him, expecting that he would appear at a window and make acknowledgment oftheir enthusiasm. Suddenly he saw in the glance of one beside him thathe was curiously yet doubtfully regarded, and hastened away in fear ofhis friends, who in their delight at discovering him would have becomea mob. 

In Homburg he seemed to care for others' opinions about the propercourse for him to take; and the substance of that which I had tosay--and he seemed to think me in a way representative--was that healone must decide for himself, as he only knew all the circumstancesand elements that must be considered in a decision. Once we walkedthe main street of the town in the night--and it is then a very lonelyplace, for it is the fashion to get up in the morning at six o'clock, and take the waters and the music--and that time I was impressed, andthe impression abided, that the inner conviction of Mr. Blaine was hehad not the vitality to safely take the Presidency if he held it inhis hand; that he believed the office would wear him out--that it wasa place of dealing with persons who would worry away his existence;that he felt he could not endure the wear and tear and pressure ofthe first position, and preferred the Secretaryship of State, withthe hope of going on with his South American policy, which he haddeveloped in Garfield's time, brief as that was; and I conjecturedthat all this had been in his mind when he wanted Sherman and Lincolnto be the ticket in 1884. And it occurred to me with so much force asthe logic of many things he said, that I accepted it as true, and wasreminded of his weary exclamation once of a good friend whose moodswere changeable: "Now that he is right, stay with him. He takes thehealth out of me with his uncertainties. "

The Secretaryship of State he cared for; in that office the world wasall before him, and he was fully himself, and was not fretted bya perpetual procession of favor-seekers. The argument his urgentadmirers used with him was that it would be easier to make up his mindthan to convince a President, and that as the Chief of State he couldthrow the work on the Cabinet; but he was not satisfied. The Florenceletter to me seemed familiar, for it was a reminder of Homburg, andits sincerity was in all the lines and between the lines; and it wasaddressed to a friend in Pittsburg, that it might not be suppressed inNew York. He had very close and influential friends who did not divinehis true attitude, or would not admit that they had, and insisted thathe was really well and strong and tough, better than he had been, andthat he should not be humored in his fancy that he was an invalid. This feeling continued even to 1892, though he had been meantimepainfully broken by a protracted illness. It will be remembered thatin the correspondence between General Harrison as President-elect andMr. Blaine, when the Secretaryship of State was offered and accepted, there appeared harmony of views concerning Pan-Americanism; that Mr. Blaine enjoyed the office and that his official labors during theHarrison Administration were of the highest distinction, showinghis happiest characteristics. The difference as to duties that arosebetween the President and the Secretary was forgotten, and theirmutual sympathies abounded, when there came upon them, in theirhouseholds, the gravest, tenderest sorrows. 

[Illustration: BLAINE'S GRAVE AT WASHINGTON, D. C. THE TREE AT THE LEFTMARKS THE HEAD OF THE GRAVE, AND THE FIRST OF THE THREE LOW STONES INTHE FOREGROUND, NUMBERING FROM THE LEFT, MARKS THE FOOT. 

From a photograph by Miss F. B. Johnston. ]

When Mr. Blaine was for the last time in New York on his way toWashington, stopping as was his habit at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, he asked me to walk with him to his room, fronting on Twenty-thirdStreet, on the parlor floor; and he slowly, as if it were a task, unlocked the door. There was a sparkle of autumnal crispness inthe air, and he had a fire, that glittered and threw shadows aboutfitfully. There was not much to say. It was plain at last that Mr. Blaine was fading, that he had within a few weeks failed fast. Hisgreat, bright eyes were greater than ever, but not so bright. His facewas awfully white; not that brainy pallor that was familiar--somethingelse! He seated himself in the light of the fire, on an easy-chair. There was a knock at his door, and a servant handed him a card, andhe said: "No;" and we were alone. I could not think of a word ofconsolation; and in a moment he appeared to have forgotten me, andstared in a fixed, rapt dream at the flickering flame in the grate. It occurred to me to get up and go away quietly, as conversation wasimpossible--for there was too much to say. It came to me that I oughtnot to leave him alone. Something in him reminded me of the mysticalphrases of the transcendent paragraph of his oration on Garfield, picturing the death of the second martyred President, by the ocean, while far off white ships touched the sea and sky, and the feveredface of the dying man felt "the breath of the eternal morning. "

Some weeks earlier Mr. Blaine and I had had a deep talk about men andthings, and he was very kind, and his boundless generosity ofnature never revealed itself with a greater or sadder charm. He nowremembered that conversation--as a word disclosed--and said: "I couldhave endured all things if my boys had not died. " The door opened, and his secretary walked in--and I took Mr. Blaine's hand for thelast time, saying, "Good-night, " and he said, with a look that meantfarewell--"Good-by. "

His grave is on a slope that when I saw it was goldenly sunny, andthe turf was strewn by his wife's hand with lilies--for it was Eastermorning! Close at his left was a steep, grassy bank, radiantly bluewith violets, and there was in the shining air the murmurous humof bees, making a slumbrous, restful music. Blaine's monument is ahickory tree whose broken top speaks of storms, and at his feet isa stone white as new snow, and on it only--and they are enough--theinitials "J. G. B. , " that were the battle-cry of millions, and are andshall be always to memory dear. 

[Footnote I: This related to a matter General Sherman had mentioned inanother letter, and did not refer to the subject I was trying to gethim to consider. ]

[Footnote J: General Sherman differed in this judgment with Blaine andmany Republicans who were not unfriendly to Arthur. ]

THE NEW STATUE OF WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON. 

BY FRANK B. GESSNER. 

The erection of an equestrian statue of General William HenryHarrison, in Cincinnati, Ohio, is a fitting but also a tardycommemoration of a man who rendered his State and the nation mostdistinguished services. For fifty years there has been talk of doinghim honor in some such fashion, and even the statue which as thisMagazine goes to press is being formally dedicated in Cincinnati(in the presence of a grandson of the subject who is himself anex-President), has been completed for some years, and has been stowedaway in dust and darkness because there was not public interest enoughin the matter to meet the cost of setting it up. 

Although now almost a forgotten figure, General Harrison was oneof the ablest and worthiest of our public men. Born in Berkeley, Virginia, February 9, 1773, he grew to manhood with the close ofthe Revolution and the establishment of the national government. Hisfather was the friend of Washington, and when the son went into theWestern wilds he held a commission as ensign signed by the first ofthe Presidents. At the age of thirty he was a delegate in Congressfrom the Northwest Territory. For a succeeding decade he was governorof that wide stretch of country which in time he saw carved intoStates all owing much to his genius as warrior and statesman. In thesecond war with Great Britain he commanded the Western armies, and wonthe notable victories of Tippecanoe and the Thames. The first gave hima name which became the slogan of the Whigs in the memorable campaignof "Tippecanoe and Tyler too. " At the battle of the Thames fellTecumseh, whose death broke the Indian power east of the Mississippi. After the war of 1812 General Harrison was successively Congressman, Senator of the United States, and Minister to Colombia. 

[Illustration: STATUE OF WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON, MADE FOR THE CITY OFCINCINNATI BY MR. L. T. REBISSO. 

From a photograph by Landy, Cincinnati. ]

Returning in 1830 to his home at North Bend, on the line betweenIndiana and Ohio, he lived more or less in retirement until 1836, whenhe was made the Whig candidate for President. He was defeated; but in1840 he was again the nominee, and, after the greatest campaign of thecentury, was elected, defeating Martin Van Buren. The campaign of 1840was called the "log-cabin and hard-cider" campaign, though thereputed log-cabin home of the Whig candidate was in reality a spaciousmansion. General Harrison was inaugurated March 4, 1841, and on April4, a month later, he died in the White House, a victim of exposure andthe wearing importunities of office-seeking constituents. Something ofthe character of the man is disclosed in his last words, spoken fourhours before his death. To whom he thought himself speaking can onlybe conjectured--Vice-President Tyler, some authorities claim; but hewas heard by his physician to say: "Sir, I wish you to understandthe true principles of the government. I wish them carried out. I asknothing more. "

Physically, General Harrison has been described as "about six feethigh, " straight and rather slender, and of "a firm, elastic gait, "even in his last years. He had "a keen, penetrating eye, " a "high, broad and prominent" forehead, and "rather thin and compressed lips. "

[Illustration: ANNA SYMMES HARRISON, WIFE OF PRESIDENT WILLIAM HENRYHARRISON, AND GRANDMOTHER OF PRESIDENT BENJAMIN HARRISON. 

From a painting in possession of the Harrison family. ]

Mrs. Harrison was not with her husband at his death, and never becamean inmate of the White House. For that reason there hangs on its wallsno portrait of her, among those of the various ladies of the mansion. She was the daughter of John Cleves Symmes, a scion of the Colonialaristocracy. She loved better than the excitement of social life inWashington the domestic peace of her North Bend home and the societyof her thirteen children, growing up in usefulness and honor. In heryouth she had been a great belle, and she remained a beautifulwoman even in her declining years. She was educated in that firstfashionable school for young women in America founded by IsabellaGraham in the city of New York. A sister, Polly Symmes, was also afamous beauty. They went together to share their father's fortunesin the unsettled West, and both found their fates in the hand of theMiamis. Polly married Peyton Short, who became a millionaire. 

Mrs. Harrison had been detained by illness from going with her husbandto witness the proudest event of his life, his inauguration; and shehad purposed following him to Washington later in the spring, when theweather should be more favorable for the long, wearisome journey bystage-coach. But, alas! before the spring fully opened, instead offollowing him to Washington she was following his body to its silent, stone-walled tomb, overlooking the wide sweep of the Ohio southward. This noble woman lived to be eighty-nine and to see her grandson, Benjamin Harrison, now ex-President, a general in the Union army. She retained to the last much of her beauty and that sweetness ofdisposition which has endeared her memory to those of her blood whoknew her best. She sleeps by the side of her husband in the old vaultat North Bend. 

The Cincinnati statue of General Harrison is the work of L. T. Rebisso, who made the statue of General McPherson which stands in one of thecircular parks in Washington, and the equestrian statue of GeneralGrant for the city of Chicago. Its cost, which, exclusive of thepedestal, is twenty-seven thousand dollars, is paid by the city. Mr. Rebisso has given a portrayal of Harrison unlike any of the morefamiliar pictures. These usually present a decrepit old man, fromwhose eye have vanished that fire of youth and flash of soul whichmade Harrison a leader of men. The Rebisso statue, as will be seen bythe reproduction of it given herewith, presents a soldier in the fullflower of vigorous manhood. And this conception is no mere ideal offancy, but is taken from a portrait painted in 1812, which now hangsin the house of a grandchild of General Harrison near the old NorthBend homestead. 

[Illustration: THE SILENT WITNESS. ]

THE SILENT WITNESS

BY HERBERT D. WARD

There are many hamlets in New Hampshire, five, ten miles or even morefrom the railroad station. To the chance summer visitor the seclusionand the rest seem entrancing. The glamour of mountain scenery andtrout effectually obliterates the brave signs of poverty and strugglefrom before the irresponsive eyes of the man of city leisure. Hecarelessly gives the urchin, mutely pleading in front of the unpaintedfarm-house, a few cents for his corrugated cake of maple-sugar, andasks the name of a distant peak. If he should notice, how would heknow the meaning of the scant crops of hay and potatoes, or of theempty stall? Sealed to him is the pathos in the history of the ownersof the stone farm. His thoughts scarcely glance at the piteous wifeplaiting straw hats; the only son, whose rare happiness consists ina barn dance in the village three miles below, and whose large eyescontract with increasing age, and lose all expression except that ofanxiety. 

There was a time perhaps when the backbone of the New World used tobe straightened by men of a mountain birth. The question whether thehills of Vermont and New Hampshire produce giants of trade or lawto-day as they did fifty years ago, is an open one. So the grandold stock is run out of the soil? And is it replaced by the sons andgrandsons of those sturdy farmers themselves, who buy back the ricketyhomesteads, and remodel them into summer cottages?

Michael Angelo said that "men are worth more than money, " and if whatwas an axiom then is true in these fallen days of purse worship, Mrs. Abraham Masters was the richest woman under the range of MountKearsarge. For her son Isaac was the tallest, the strongest, thetenderest, and truest boy in the county; but her farm of a hundredacres, the only inheritance from a dead husband, was about thepoorest, most unprofitable, and most inaccessible collection ofboulders in the mountains. 

It was situated upon the cold shoulder of a hill, sixteen miles fromthe nearest station. The three-mile trail which led from the villagewould have been easier to travel could it have boasted a corduroyroad. What a site for a hotel! Yet the hotel did not materialize, andthe "view" neither fed nor warmed nor clothed the patient proprietorsof the desolate spot. 

"Never mind, I reckon we'll pull through, " Isaac used to comfort hismother. 

"You're a good boy, Ikey. If the Lord is willin', I guess I am, " sheanswered with quaint devoutness. 

But the Lord did not seem to be willing, and one spring He caused alate frost in June to kill most of the seed, and a drouth in July andAugust to wither what was left, and starvation stared in the faces ofthe widow and her son. At this time, Isaac began to "keep company, "and to talk of getting married in the next decade. He was twenty-two, and had a faithful, saving disposition, when there was anything tosave. And whether he became engaged because there was nothing but loveto harvest, or whether, woman-like, Abbie Faxon loved him better thanshe did her other suitors because of his poverty and misery, and waswilling to tell him so, I cannot pretend to decide. At any rate, Isaacbrought Abbie one afternoon from the village, three miles below, andthe two women kissed and wept, and Isaac went out and stood alonefacing the view; the apple in his throat rose and fell, and greattears blinded his sight. 

We can make no hero of Isaac, for he was none. His heart was as simpleand as clean as a pebble in a brook. Country vices had not smirchedhim. He had a mind only for his mother, and the farm, and earning aliving--and a heart for Abbie. Great thoughts did not invade his head. But this afternoon, as he stood there on the gray rock, his heartbursting with his happiness, which was made perfect by his mother'sblessing, an apprehension for the future--bitter, breathless, beganto arouse him. The promise of the horizon suddenly became revealed tohim. The distant line of green, now bold, now sinuous, now uncertain, had never asked him questions before, had never exasperated him with ameaning. 

But now he saw the tips of spires flecking the verdure of the far-offvalleys. He saw the hurrying smoke of a locomotive. He saw withawakening vision, starting from that dead farm of his, the region oftrade and life. A film had fallen from his eyes. The energetic arrowof love had touched his ambition, and his round, rosy face becameindented with lines of resolve. He turned and walked with a new treadinto the house. 

"Mother! Abbie!" he blurted out, "I'm going away. I'm going toBoston. " He stopped and stammered as he saw the horror-stricken facesbefore him. 

"Lord a-mercy!"

"Ikey! Air you teched?"

"No, " he resumed stoutly, "I be'ant. There's Dan Prentiss--hewent--see what he done; and Uncle Bill, he--"

"We hain't heard nothing from your Uncle Bill since he sot out. Thatwas twelve years ago, the spring your father built them three feet onthe shed. " Mrs. Masters spoke firmly. 

"Never mind, mother, I'm going to Boston, and I will come back. I'mgoing to earn my livin'. I'm strong and willin', and as able as DanPrentiss. Ye needn't be scared, I ain't going yet. I'll finish up thefall work fust. I'm going for the winter anyway, and Abbie'll come an'live with you, mother--won't you, Abbie, dear? She's the only motheryou've got now. Your folks can spare you. "

Here Abbie announced bravely, "I will, Ikey, if you must go. "

She blushed deeply as she said it, and the sight of her pretty colorso moved the young man that, having the bashfulness of his nativecrops, he rushed out into the glory of the sunset, and sat upon thegranite boulder watching until the gray, the purple, and then theblack had washed out the white steeples from the distant valley. 

Isaac Masters was of the boulder type. How many decades was thesmooth, worn rock in front of his house riding on the crest of aglacier until it reached its halt? But now it would need a doublecharge of dynamite to shake it from its base. It generally took themountain lad days, perhaps weeks, to make up his mind, even upon sucha simple problem as the quantity of grain his horse should have at afeed when the spring planting began; but when once his intention wasfixed it withstood all opposition. But this time he was astonished athis own temerity of mind, as his mother and sweetheart were; and themore profoundly he pondered over the gravest decision of his life, the more did it seem to him an inspiration, perhaps from the Deityhimself. 

But Isaac was formed in too simple and honest a mould to delude thetwo women or himself with iridescent dreams of success. He had workedon the ragged farm bitterly, incessantly. He had fought the rocks, andthe weeds, and the soil, the frost and the drouth, as one fights forhis life, and never had a thought of food or of comfort visited himunaccompanied by the necessity for labor. 

"I can work fourteen hours a day, mother, and live upon pork andbeans, as well as the next man. " He stood to his full height, displaying to the pale woman the outlines of massive musculardevelopment. His hands were huge and callous, their grip the terror ofhis mates after a husking bee. He had measured his great strength butonce; that was in the dead of winter, with the snow drifted five feetdeep between the barn and the house. A heifer, well grown, had beentaken sick, and needed warmth for recovery. Isaac swung the sick beastover his shoulders, holding its legs two in each hand before his head, and strode through the storm, subduing the battling snow with as muchease as he did the bellowing calf. His mother met him at the woodsheddoor. Behind the gladiator rose the forbidding background of a starkmountain range; but to her astonished and unfocussed sight, her sonseemed greater than the mountain, and more compelling than its peaks. From that hour his whisper was her law; and from that day--for howcould the adoring mother help telling her quarterly caller all aboutthe heifer?--Isaac had no more wrestling matches in the valley. 

August burned into September, and September, triumphant in herprocession of royal colors, marched into October, the month of months. Mrs. Masters had already completed her pathetic preparations for herson's departure. There, in the family carpet-bag, which his father hadcarried with him on his annual trip to Portland, were stowed a halfdozen pairs of well-darned woollen stockings, the few decent shirtsthat Isaac had left, his winter flannels, which had already servedsix years, his comb and brush, a hand mirror that had been one of hismother's wedding presents, likewise a couple of towels that had formeda part of her self-made trousseau; and we must not forget the necktiesthat Abbie had sewed from remnants of her dresses, and which Isaacnaďvely considered masterpieces of the haberdasher's art. 

At the mouth of the deep bag Mrs. Masters tucked a Bible which fiftyyears ago had been presented to her husband by his Sunday-schoolteacher as a prize for regular attendance. This inscription waswritten in a wavering hand upon the blank page:

 "_In the eighth year of the reign of Josiah, while he was yet young, he began to seek after the God of David his father_. -- 2 Chron. Xxxiv. 3. "

"For, " said Mrs. Masters softly to Abbie, after she had read theinscription aloud, and had patted the book affectionately, "this isthe first prize my Josiah ever had, an' the Lord knows he thought moreon it than he did of Lucy, his mare. An' if there should happen anyaccident to Isaac, they'd find by opening of his bag that ef hewas alone in a far country he was a Christian, nor ashamed of it, neither. "

Isaac had only money enough saved up to take him as far as Boston, andto board him in the cheapest way for several days. 

"If I can't work, " he said proudly, straightening to his full height, "no one can!"

It is just such country lads as this--strong, self-reliant, religious--who, when poverty has projected them out of her granitemountains upon granite pavements, each as hard and bleak as the other, by massive determination have conquered a predestined success. 

Too soon, for those who were to be left behind, the day of separationcame. Mrs. Masters's haggard face and Abbie's red eyes told ofunuttered misery. 

But Isaac did not notice these signs of distress. He was absorbed inhis future. The last bustle was over, the last breakfast gulped downamid forced smiles and ready tears, the last button sewed on at thelast moment; and now Mrs. Masters's lunch of mince pie, apples, anddoughnuts was tenderly tucked into the jaws of the carpet-bag; therebydisturbing a love letter that Abbie had hidden there. A young neighborhad volunteered to drive Isaac down the mountain to the station. 

[Illustration: "MOVE ON, WILL YER!"]

"All aboard! Hurry up, Ike!" cried this young person, consulting hissilver watch, and casting a look of mingled commiseration and envyupon the giant, locked in the arms of the two women, who hardlyreached to the second button of his coat. Isaac caught the glance, and started to tear himself away. But his mother laid her gnarled handgently upon his arm, and led him into the unused parlor. 

"Just a minute, Abbie dear, I want to be alone with my boy, " she wavedthe girl back. "Then you can have him last. It's my right an' your'n!"

She closed the door, and led him under the crayon portrait of hisfather, framed in immortelles. She raised her arms, and he stoopedthat they might clasp about his neck. 

"Isaac, " she said hoarsely, "I ain't no longer young nor very strong. Remember 'fore you go away from the farm that you're the son of anhonest man, an' a pious woman, and"--dropping with great solemnityinto scriptural language--"I beseech you, my son, not to disgrace yourgodly name. "

With partings like this the primitive Christians must have sent theirsons into the whirlwind of the world. 

Then Isaac broke down for the first time, and with the tearsstreaming, he lifted his mother bodily in his arms, and promised her, and kissed her. "Mother trusts you, Ikey, " was all she could say. Buthis time had come. There was a crunching of wheels. 

"Now go to Abbie. Leave me here! Good-by; you have always been a goodboy, dear. " Mrs. Masters's voice sank into a whisper; the strong man, moved as he was, could not comprehend her exhaustion. 

Abbie was waiting for him at the door, and he went to her. Theimpatient wagon had gone down the road. They were to cut through thepasture, and meet it at the brook. There they were to part. 

They clasped hands. Isaac turned. A gaunt, gray face, broken, helpless, hopeless, peered out beneath the green paper shade of theparlor window. If he had known--a doubt crossed his brain, but thegirl twitched his hand, and the cloud scattered. Down the hill theyran, down, until the brook was reached. There they stood, panting, breathless, listening. There were only a few minutes left, and theyhid behind an oak tree and clasped. 

 * * * * *

It was long after dark when the train came to its halt in its vaultedterminus. It was due at seven, but an excursion on the road delayed ituntil after nine. However, this did not disconcert Isaac Masters. He hurried out to the front of the station, where the row of herdicsgreeted him savagely. Carrying his father's old carpet-bag, he lookedfrom his faded hat to his broad toes the ideal country bumpkin; yethis head was not turned by the rumbling of the pavements, the whizof the electrics, the blaze of the arc lights, nor by the hecticinhalations that seem to comprehend all the human restlessness of acity just before it retires to sleep. His breath came faster, andhis great chest rose and fell; these were the only indications ofacclimation. Isaac had started from home absolutely without any "pull"or introduction but his own willingness to work. Utterly ignorant ofthe city, and knowing no one in it, on the way down in the train hehad marked out a line of conduct from which he determined not to beswerved. 

To the mountain mind the policeman becomes the embodiment of arighteously executed law. At home, their only constable was one of themost respected men in the community. Isaac argued from experience--andhow else should he? This was his syllogism:

A policeman is the most respectable of men in my town. 

This man before me is a policeman. 

Therefore he must be the most upright man in the city. I will go tohim for advice. 

The city casuist might have smiled at the major premise--and laughedat the ingenuous conclusion. Yet if brass buttons, a cork hat and a"billy" are the emblems of guardianship and probity, the country boyhas the right argument on his side, and the casuist none at all. 

It never occurred to Isaac that the policeman could either make amistake of judgment, or meditate one. Therefore he approached theguardian of the peace confidently. 

This gentleman, who had noticed the traveller as soon as he hademerged from the depot, awaited his approach with becoming dignity. The patronage and disdain that the metropolis feels for the hamletwere in his air. 

"Excuse me, sir--I want to ask you--" began Isaac, after a properobeisance. 

"Move on, will yer!"

"But I wanted to ask you--"

"Phwat are ye blockin' up the road fur, young man?"

"I want you to help me!"

"The ---- you do!" He looked about ferociously. "Look here, sonny, ifye don't move along, an' have plenty of shtyle about it, I'll help yeto the lock-up--so help me--!"

Isaac looked down upon the man, whom he could have crushed withone swoop of his hands. The consternation of his first broken idealpossessed his heart. With a deadly pallor upon his face, he hurried upthe clanging street, and the coarse laughter of brutes tingled in hisears. He swallowed this rough inhospitality, which is the hemlock thatpoisons country faith. Take from the pavement enough dust to coverthe point of a penknife, and insert it in the arm of a child, and in aweek it will be dead with tetanus. After this first encounter with theprotectors of the people, Isaac felt as if his soul had been bedaubedwith mud. He experienced a contracting tetanus of the heart. Had henot planned all the lonesome day to cast himself upon the kindnessof the first policeman whom he saw? What other guide or protectorwas there left for him in the strange city? The rebuff which he hadreceived half annihilated his intelligence. 

[Illustration: "AM--I--IMPRISONED BECAUSE I AM FRIENDLESS AND POOR? ISTHIS YOUR LAW?"]

Isaac could no more put up at the great hotel he saw on his right thanthe majority of us can take a trip to Japan. Isaac hurried on. Whydid he leave home? The fear of a great city is more teasing than theterror of a wilderness or of a desert. There the trees or the rocks orthe sand befriends you. But in the city the penniless stranger has nopart in people or home or doorsteps. Every one's heart is against him. It is the anguish of hunger amid plenty, the rattling of thirst amidrivers of wine, the serration of loneliness amid humanity thicker thanbarnacles upon a wharf pile. Such a terror--not of cowardice, but offriendlessness--seized Isaac Masters, and a foreboding that he mightpossibly fail after all made his spine tingle. Still he drove on. He had passed through the main street--or across it--he did notknow--until the electric lights cast dim shadows, until stately bankshad given way to unkempt brick fronts, until the glittering bar-roomshad been exchanged for vulgar saloons--until--

Masters came to a sudden halt, and dropping his bag, uttered a loudcry. The curtained door of a grog-shop opened upon him. A hatless mandashed out, swearing horribly, and all but fell into Isaac's arms. With a cry of terror the runner dodged the pedestrian, and bolted downthe street. Not twenty feet behind him bounded his pursuer. 

By this time the country boy had slipped into the shadow of thebuilding, where he could see without being seen. In that moment Isaaccaught sight of a dazed group of men within, and the profile of thepursuer against the hot light of the saloon. He saw a brute holdinga pistol in his out-stretched hand. Before Isaac understood thesituation, the weapon shot out two flames and two staccato reports. These were followed by the intense silence which is like the darknessupon the heels of lightning. 

Isaac's eyes were now strained upon the creature who was shot. He sawthe man stagger, throw up his hands, and fall. He heard a groan. Atthat time the murderer with the smoking revolver was not more than tenpaces away. As he fired, he had stopped. When he saw his victim fall, he gave a hoarse laugh. 

By this time the lights in the saloon were put out, and its occupantshad fled. The rustle of human buzzards flocking to the tragedy hadbegun. A motion that the murderer made to escape aroused the NewHampshire boy to a fierce sense of justice. A few bounds brought himby the side of the ruffian, who looked upon him with astonishment, andthen with inflamed fear. Isaac furiously struck the pointed pistol tothe pavement, and grasped the fellow's waist. Then he knew that he hadalmost met his match. Isaac held his opponent's left arm by the wrist, and tightened the vise. The murderer held the boy around his neck witha contracting grip such as only a prize-fighter understands. Neitherspoke a word. It was power--power against skill. 

There was a crash and a cry and a fall. But not until Isaac knew thatthe man under him was helpless did he utter a sound. Then he called:"Police! Police!"

The answer was a blinding blow upon the crown of his head. Then, before his head swam away into unconsciousness, he felt a strangething happen to his wrists. 

 * * * * *

The first lieutenant, the captain, and the superintendent aredifferent beings from the officer of the street, who has no giltstripes upon his sleeves. The one, having passed through all grades, is supposed to have been chosen not only because of his fidelityand bravery, but because of his discriminating gentleness orgentlemanliness. The other, a private of the force, often a foreigner, with foreign instincts, and eager for promotion (that is, he meansto make as many arrests as possible), confuses the difference betweenrudeness and authority, brutality and law. By the time he is asergeant sense has been schooled into him, and he ought to knowbetter. 

The superintendent looked at Isaac steadily and not unkindly, while helistened to the officer's story. 

"Off with those bracelets!" he said, sternly. 

Isaac Masters regarded the superintendent gratefully. For the firsttime since he had been rebuffed by the station policeman, his naturalexpression of trust returned to his face. 

"I'll forgive him, " said the boy of a simple, Christian education. "Itwas dark--and he made a mistake. " Isaac wiped the clotted blood fromhis cheeks. "Can I go now?"

Even a less experienced man than the white-haired superintendent wouldhave known that the young man before him could no more have committeda crime or told an untruth than an oak. The policeman who had clubbedhim, perhaps with the best intentions in the world, hung his head. 

"Let me hear your story first. " The superior officer spoke in his mostfatherly tones. He really pitied the country lad. 

"What is your name? Where do you come from? How did you get there?Tell me all about it. Here, sergeant, get him a glass of water, first. "

"Perhaps a little whiskey would do him good, " suggested a night-hawkwho had just opened the door of the reporters' room. Blood actsterribly upon even the most stolid imagination. Beneath thatred-streaked mask it needed all the experience of the superintendentto recognize the innocence of a juvenile heart. As Isaac in indignantrefusal turned his disfigured head upon the youthful representative ofan aged paper, he seemed to the thoughtless reporter the incarnationof a wounded beast. The young fellow opened the door, and beckoned hismates in to see the new show that was enacting before them. It is onlyfair to say that it is due to the modern insanity of the press forprying into private affairs that the worst phase of the tragedy I amrelating came to pass. 

Isaac Masters told his story eagerly and simply. 

"I have done nothing to be arrested for, " he ended, looking at thesuperintendent with his round, honest eyes. "I only did my duty asanybody else would. Now let me go. Tell me, Mr. Officer, where I canget a decent night's lodging, for I am going home to-morrow. I've hadenough of this city. I want to go home!"

Something like a sob sounded in the throat of the huge boy as he cameto this pathetic end. Every man in the station, from the most hardenedobserver of crime to the youngest reporter of misery, was moved. Isaachimself, still dizzy from the effects of the blow, nauseated by theprison smell, the indescribable odor of crime which no disinfectantscan overcome, confounded by the surroundings into which he had beencast, and trembling with the nameless apprehension that all honestpeople feel when drawn into the arms of the law, swayed and swoonedagain. 

The sergeant and the reporters (for they were not without kind hearts)busied themselves with bringing him to. From an opposite bench themurderer lowered, between scowls of pain, upon the man who had crushedhim. There had been revealed to him a simplicity of soul residing ina body of iron. He saw that the country lad had fainted, not fromphysical weakness, but because of mental anguish. Such an apparentdisparity between mind and body had not been brought to thesaloon-keeper's experience before. 

"He is the only witness, you say, officer?" inquired the chief. "Areyou sure?"

"Yes, sorr!"

"We'll have to hold him, then. It's a great pity. I don't suppose hecould get a ten-dollar bail. " The superintendent shook his gray headthoughtfully. His subordinates did the same, with an exaggerated airof distress. 

"Where am I? Oh!" What horror in that exhalation, as Isaac realizedthe place he was in! He staggered to his feet. 

"Give me my bag, quick!" he exclaimed. "I will go. "

"I'm afraid you can't go yet. " The superintendent spoke as if he hatedto do his duty. 

"Not go? Why not? You have no right to hold an innocent man!"

"In cases of assault and murder, the witnesses must be held until theycan furnish bail. That is the law. " The white-haired man hurried hisexplanation, as if he were ashamed of it. 

"I will come back. "

The officer shook his head. 

"I give you my word I will. " Isaac clasped the rail pleadingly. 

"I'll have to lock you up to-night; the judge will settle the amountof your bail to-morrow. "

"Lock me up? I tell you I have no friends here! How can I get bail?Where will you put me?"

"Show him his cell, " replied the chief to his sergeant. 

"Come along, " said the policeman kindly. "All witnesses are treatedthat way. We'll give you the most comfortable quarters we've got. "

He took Isaac by the arm after the professional manner. The youngman flung off the touch. For an instant his eyes swept the stationmenacingly. What if he should exert his strength! There weretwo--three--four officers in the room. He might even overpower these, and dash for liberty. He saw the livid reflection of electric lightsthrough the windows. Unconsciously he contracted his sinews, andtightened his muscles until they were rigid. Then the hopelessness ofhis position burst upon him like a red strontian fire. He felt blastedby his disgrace. 

"What are you doing to me?" he cried out. "Put me in prison? My God!This will kill my mother!"

The next morning at ten o'clock Tom Muldoon was released on tenthousand dollars bail. The surety was promptly furnished by thealderman of the--th Ward. Muldoon was to present himself before thegrand jury, which met the first Monday in each month. As this was thebeginning of the month, his appearance could not be required for threeweeks at least, and by mutual agreement of the district attorney andthe counsel for the defendant, action might be put off for one or evenfor two months more, pending the recovery or eventual death of theassaulted. This would give the saloon-keeper plenty of time for thetwo ribs that Isaac Masters had crushed, to mend!

There are sensitive men and women who would go insane after spendingan innocent night in a cell. In the dryest, the largest, the best ofthem there is everything to debase the manhood and nauseate the soul. The tin cup on the grated window-sill, half-filled with soup which thelast occupant left; the cot to the right of the hopeless door, madeof two boards and one straw mattress; and that necessity which is thenameless horror of such a narrow incarceration--that which suffocatesand poisons; then the flickering jet up the concrete corridor, castingsuch fitful shadows by the prisoner's side that he starts from his cotin terror to touch the phantoms lest they be real; the alternate wavesof choking heat and harrowing cold; the hammering of the steam-pipes;the curses, the groans, and the eruptive breathing of the sleepingand the drunken; the thoughts of home, and friends, and irreparabledisgrace; the feeble hope that, after all, the family will not hearof this so far away; and the despair because they will--mad visionsof suicide; blasphemy, repentant tears and prayers, each chasing theother amid the persistent thought that all things are impotent butfreedom. Oh, what a night! What a night!

There are souls that have existed five, ten years under the courtineof Catharine in the Petropavlovskaya Fortress--drugged, tortured, atlast killed like rats in a hole. All the while the maledict bannerof the Romanoffs writhes above them. What has been the power to keepalive thousands of prisoners in those bastions, beyond the naturalendurance of the flesh? The glory of principle. 

No wonder that a ghastly face and haggard eyes and wavering stepsfollowed the keeper to the American court-room the next morning;for nothing could be tortured into a principle to stimulate Isaac'scourage. It is easy to die for right, but not for wrong. 

There were three short flights of iron that led past tiers of cells, through the tombs, into the prisoner's dock. Isaac dully rememberedthe huge coils of steam-pipe that curled up the side of the wall. Hethought of pythons. As he passed by, the prisoners awaiting sentenceheld the rods of their doors in their hands, like monkeys, and swore, and laughed, and shot questions at the keeper as he passed along. 

"Have you no friends in the city?" proceeded the judge, after he hadexamined the witness. 

Isaac shook his head disconsolately. "I have about five dollars; thatis all, and my bag--and, sir, my character. "

"Then I am afraid I shall have to hold you over in default of bailuntil the trial. " The judge nodded to the sheriff to bring on the nextcase. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the City Jail, " answered the sheriff curtly. "Come along!" With amighty effort Isaac wrenched himself loose, and strode to the bar. 

"Judge!" he cried. "Judge, you wouldn't do that! Let me go! I willcome back on the trial. Look at me, Judge! What have I done? Whyshould I be sent to prison? I am an honest man!"

But the judge was used to such scenes, and he turned his head wearilyaway. 

"The law requires the government to hold the witness in default ofbail, in cases of capital crime. " The judge was a kind man, and hetried to do a kind act by explaining the subtle process of the lawagain to the lad. When he had done this, he nodded. And now the menapproached Isaac to remove him, by force if necessary. But the NewHampshire boy stood before the bar of justice stolidly. His eyeswandered aimlessly, and his lips muttered. Paralysis swept near him atthat instant. 

"Am--I--imprisoned because I am friendless and poor? Is this yourlaw?"

The judge shrugged his shoulders, but many in the court-room feltuncomfortable. 

"Then, " spoke Isaac Masters, rising to his greatest height, anduplifting his hand as if to call God to witness, "if this is law--damnyour law!" It was his first and last oath. Every man in the roomstarted to his feet at the utterance of that supreme legal blasphemy. But the judge was silent. What sentence might he not inflict for suchcontempt of court? What sentence could he? The witness had no money, wherewith to be fined, and he was going to prison at any rate. Thejudge was great enough to put himself in Isaac's place. He stroked hisbeard meditatively. 

"Remove the witness, " he said. This was sentence enough. Althoughtwo officers advanced cautiously, as if prepared for a tussle, a babemight have led the giant unto the confines of Hades by the pressure ofits little finger. For Isaac wept. 

[Illustration: "OH, MY GOD!" HE SOBBED. "MY GOD! MY GOD!"]

 * * * * *

There were two other witnesses in the white-washed cell to which Isaacwas assigned. It was on the south side, and large, and sunny, andoften the door was left unlocked; but the cell looked out into acrumbling grave-yard. One of these witnesses was a boy of abouteighteen, pale to the suggestion of a mortal disease. It did nottake Isaac long to find out that this complexion did not indicateconsumption, but was only prison pallor. The other prisoner was lesspathetic as to color, but he was listless and discouraged. The onlyamusement of these men consisted in chewing tobacco in enormousquantities, playing surreptitious games of high-low-jack, in readingthe daily paper, a single magazine, and waiting for the sun to enterthe barred window, and watching it in the afternoon as it slippedaway. These two men tried to cheer the new comer in a rude, heartyway; but when the country lad learned that they had been in detentionfor six months already, held by the government as main witnessesagainst the first mate of their brig, their words were as dust. Theyonly choked him. 

"What did you do, " Isaac asked, "to get you in such a scrape?"

"We saw the mate shoot the cook; that's all. "

"If I'd known, " said the pale boy, with, a look out of the window, "how Uncle Sam keeps us so long--I wished I hadn't said nothing. Butwe get a dollar a day; that's something. " And with a sigh that hemeant to engulf with his philosophy, the boy turned his face away, sothat Isaac should not suspect the tears that salted the flavor of thecoarse tobacco. 

The dark outlook, the blind future, the hopeless cell, the disorderedtable, the lazy life that deadened all activity but that of theimagination, the lack of vigorous air, the lounging companionship, but, above all things, the thought of his mother and Abbie, and thebrooding over what he dared to call an outrage perpetrated, in thename of the law, upon himself--these things made a turmoil of Isaac'sbrain. There was a daily conflict between the Christian and thecriminal way of looking at his irreparable misfortune which he wassurprised to find that even the possession of his father's Bible couldnot control. 

There were times when it needed all his intelligence to keep him fromspringing on the keeper, and running amuck in the ward-room, simplyfor the sake of uttering a violent, brutal protest. Then there werehours when he was too exhausted to leave his cot. At such a time hewrote a letter, his first letter to his mother, and he made the keeperpromise to have it mailed so that no one could possibly suspect thatit started from a prison. 

 "DEAR MOTHER"--it ran--"I have not written to you for three weeks since I have been here, because I have been sick. I am now in a very safe place, and am doing pretty well. I clear my food and board and seventy-five cents a day. I have not been paid yet. I think you had better not write to me until I can give you a permanent address. I read my Bible every day and love you more dearly than ever. I have tried to do my duty as you would have me. Give my love to Abbie. I will write soon again. 

 "Ever your affectionate son, "ISAAC. "

The simpleton! Could he not suspect that country papers copy from citycolumns all that is of special local interest, and more? And did henot know that it is one of the disgraces of modern journalism that nodepartment is so copiously edited, annotated, and illustrated as thatof criminal intelligence?

Could he not surmise that on the Saturday following his incarcerationthe very mountains rang with the news? That it should be mangledand turned topsy-turvy, and that in the eyes of his simple-mindedneighbors he should be thought of as the murderer, by reason ofhis great strength? For how could it come into the intelligence oflaw-abiding citizens and law-respecting people, that a man should beshut up in prison, no matter what the newspapers said, unless he had_done_ something to deserve it? What did the mountaineers know aboutthe laws of bail, and habeas corpus? And could such news, gossiped byone neighbor, repeated by another, confirmed by a third, fail to reachthe desolate farm-house in which a woman, feeble, old and faint ofheart, lay trembling between life and death?

The grand jury meets on the first Monday of each month to indict thosefor trial against whom reasonable proofs of guilt are obtained. Thesaloon loafer had been shot in the groin, and pending his injuriesindictment was waived. In proportion as the wound proved serious andthe recovery prolonged, trial was postponed. 

Isaac Masters had now been locked up six weeks. He had not yet heardfrom home, and had only written once. About noon, one day, the keepercame to tell him that a woman wished to see him. Isaac thought thatit was his mother, and the shame of meeting her in the guard-roomsurrounded by tiers upon tiers of murderers and thieves and pettycriminals overcame him. The man of strength sat down on his cot, andputting his hands over his white face, trembled violently. The guard, who knew that Isaac was an innocent man, spoke to him kindly. 

"Go! go!" said the prisoner in a voice of agony, "and tell my motherthat I will be right there. "

"Mother!" ejaculated the guard. "She's the youngest mother for a manof your size I ever see. " He winked at the sailor, and went. 

Then Isaac knew that it was Abbie, who had come alone, and hetightened his teeth and lips together, and went down. 

Isaac slowly came down the perforated iron stairs that were attachedto his prison wing like an inside fire-escape. On the bench in themiddle of the guard-room sat Abbie--a little, helpless thing sheseemed to him--facing the entrance, as if she feared to remove hereyes from the door that led to freedom. 

Abbie was greatly changed. She was dressed in black. If Isaac had beena free man, this fact would have startled him. As it was, he was sospent with suffering that his dulled mind could not understand it. At first Abbie did not recognize her hearty lover. His huge frame wasgaunt and wasted. His ruddy face was white, and his cheeks hungin folds like moulded putty. His country clothes dropped about himaimlessly. From crown to foot he had been devastated by unmeriteddisgrace. Grief may glorify; but the other ravages. 

This meeting between the lovers was singularly undramatic. Each shranka little from the other. They shook hands quietly. His was burning;her's like a swamp in October dew. He sat down beside her on the benchawkwardly, while the deputy looked at them with careless curiosity. Hewas used to nothing but tragedy and crime, and to his experienced mindthe two had become long ago confused. 

"Mother?" asked Isaac, nervously moving his feet. "Didn't she get myletter?"

The girl nodded gravely, tried to meet his eyes, and then looked away. Tears fell unresisted down her cheeks. She made no attempt to wipethem off. It was as if she were too well acquainted with them to checktheir flow. 

Then the truth began to filter through Isaac's bewebbed intellect. Hespread his knees apart, rested his arms upon them, and bent his headto his hands. His great figure shook. 

"Oh, my God!" he sobbed. "My God! My God!"

"Oh, don't, Isaac, don't!" Abbie put her hand upon his head as if hehad been her boy. "Your mother was as happy as could be. She was happyto die. We buried her yesterday!"

How could she tell him that his mother had died of grief--too sorelysmitten to bear it--for his sake?

But Isaac's head rose and fell--rose and fell rhythmically between hishands. His breath came in low groans, like that of an animal smittendead by a criminally heavy load. 

"She sent her love before she passed away. She wanted you to come backto the farm as soon as you could. She believed in you, Ikey, even ifyou were in prison. She said Paul was in prison, and that it was aterrible mistake. She knew your father's son would not depart from hisGod!"

As Abbie uttered this simple confession of country faith, thepitiful man lifted up his eyes from the tiled floor and looked at hergratefully. His dry lips moved, and he tried to speak. 

"Yes, " was all he said, with fierce humility. Then the lack of breathchoked him. 

"She made me promise not to give you up, and to come and see you. Ofcourse you are innocent, Ikey?" Abbie did not look at him. 

"Yes, " he answered mechanically. 

"I know, " she said softly. 

Of what use were more words? They would only beat like waves againstthe granite of his broken heart. The two sat silent for a time. ThenAbbie said, "I must go. " She edged a little towards him, and touchedhis coat. 

"When will you come out? I will explain it all to the minister and theneighbors. We will be married as soon as you come home. She wanted usto! Oh, Ikey! Oh, Ikey! My poor--poor boy!"

Isaac arose unsteadily. It was time for her to go, for the turnkey hadnodded to him. 

A fierce, mad indignation at his fate and what it had wrought upon hismother and upon his honorable name blinded him. He did not even saygood-by, but left the girl standing in the middle of the guard-roomalone. At any cost he must get back to his cell. Supposing his mindshould give way before he got there? He staggered to the stairway. Hethrew his hands up, and groped on the railing. A blindness struck himbefore he had mounted two steps. He did not hear a woman's shriek, northe rushing of feet, nor the sound of his own fall. 

When he awaked, he was alone in the witness cell; and when he put hiswhite hands to his hair, he felt that his head was shaven. The chipperprison doctor told him that he was getting nicely over a brain fever. 

 * * * * *

It was three months after this before the case of Tom Muldoon cameupon the docket. The man whom the saloon-keeper had shot had but justbeen declared out of clanger and on the road to recovery. 

When the case was called, the district attorney arose from hisdesk under the bench, and represented to the court that as for someunforeseen reason the said Frank Stevens, who had been maliciously andwilfully assaulted and shot by the said Tom Muldoon, had refused toprosecute, the prosecution rested upon the government, which wouldrely upon the direct evidence of one witness to sustain the case. 

The district attorney, who was an unbought man, and whose futureelection depended upon the number of convictions he secured for theState, now opened his case with such decision, vigor, and masterfulcertainty that the policemen and other friends of the defendant beganto quake for the boss of the--th Ward. 

"And now, your honor, I will call to the witness-stand a young man ofstainless life, whom the government has held as a witness since thebrutal assault was committed. He is in the custody of the sheriff ofthe county, Isaac Masters!"

All eyes turned to the door at the left of the bench. There was abustle of expectancy, and a pallor upon the face of Tom Muldoon. 

"Isaac Masters!" repeated the attorney impatiently. "Will the courtofficer produce the witness?"

The judge rapped his pencil on the desk in a nervous tattoo. Above allthings he detested delay. 

"I hope Your Honor will grant me a few moments, " said the attorney, annoyed. "The witness must surely be here directly. "

"It can go over--" began the judge indulgently, when he wasinterrupted by the entrance of the sheriff of the county himself. Thisman beckoned to the district attorney, and the two whispered togetherwith the appearance of great excitement. 

"Well?" said the judge, yawning. "Produce your witness. "

But the attorney for the government came back to his place slowly, with head bent. He was very pale, and evidently much shaken. Thesaloon-keeper's face expanded with hope, as he leaned aside andwhispered to a friendly wardman. 

What was the evidence? Where was the witness? Silent? Why? Thequestion flashed from face to face in the court-room. Had he escaped?Or been spirited away? Such things had been known to happen. Or had hebecome insane during his incarceration? Such things had been known tohappen, too. Gentlemen of the law! Gentlemen of the jury! Sheriffof the county! Judge of the Superior Court! Where is the witness? Wedemand him on penalty of contempt. Contempt of your Honorable Court?Contempt of court!

What? Is he not here? After all this cost to the State, and to theman? Why has he not met his enforced appointment? If not here, whywas the innocent witness suffocated behind bars and walls, while themurderer was free to dispense rum?

"Your Honor, " began the attorney, with white lips, "a most unfortunateoccurrence has happened, one that the government truly deplores. Thewitness has been suddenly called away. In fact, Your Honor--hem!--inshort, I have been informed by the sheriff that the witness cannotanswer to the summons of the court. He is disqualified from subpoena. In fact, Your Honor, the witness died this morning. "

The lawyer took out his handkerchief ostentatiously. He then bent tohis papers with shaking hands. He looked them over carefully while thecourt held its breath. 

"As the government is not in possession of any evidence againstMuldoon, I move to nolle prosequi the case. "

"It is granted, " said the judge, with a keen glance at the bloatedprisoner, whom wardmen and officers of the law were alreadycongratulating profusely. 

"Order!" continued the judge. "Prisoner, stand up! You are allowedto go upon your own recognizance in the sum of two hundred and fiftydollars. "

The next case was called, a new crowd entered the vitiated room, and the court proceeded with its routine as if nothing unusual hadhappened. 

And the silent witness has passed out of every memory but mine, andthat of one poor girl mourning in the New Hampshire hills. 

[Illustration: THE SUN'S LIGHT]

THE SUN'S LIGHT

BY SIR ROBERT BALL, LOWNDEAN PROFESSOR OF ASTRONOMY AND GEOMETRY AT CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND;FORMERLY ROYAL ASTRONOMER OF IRELAND. 

The light of the great orb of day emanates solely from a closelyfitting robe of surpassing brightness. The great bulk of the sun whichlies within that brilliant mantle is comparatively obscure, and mightat first seem to play but an unimportant part so far as the dispensingof light and heat is concerned. It may indeed be likened to thecoal-cellar from whence are drawn the supplies that produce the warmthand brightness of the domestic hearth; while the brilliant robe wherethe sun develops its heat corresponds to the grate in which the coalis consumed. With regard to the thickness of the robe, we might likenthis brilliant exterior to the rind of an orange, while the gloomyinterior regions would correspond to the edible portion of the fruit. Generally speaking, the rind of the orange is rather too coarse forthe purpose of this illustration. It might be nearer the truth toaffirm that the luminous part of the sun may be compared to thedelicate filmy skin of the peach. There can be no doubt that if thisglorious veil were unhappily stripped from the sun, the great luminarywould forthwith lose its powers of shedding forth light and heat. Thespots which we see so frequently to fleck the dazzling surface, aremerely rents in the brilliant mantle through which we are permitted toobtain glimpses of the comparatively non-luminous interior. 

As the ability of the sun to warm and light this earth arises from thepeculiar properties of the thin glowing shell which surrounds it, aproblem of the greatest interest is presented in an inquiry as to thematerial composition of this particular layer of solar substance. We want, in fact, to ascertain what that special stuff can be whichenables the sun to be so useful to us dwellers on the earth. Thisgreat problem has been solved, and the result is extremely interestingand instructive; it has been discovered that the material whichconfers on the sun its beneficent power is also a material whichis found in the greatest abundance on the earth, where it fulfilspurposes of the very highest importance. Let us see, in the firstplace, what is the most patent fact with regard to the structureof this solar mantle possessed of a glory so indescribable. It isperfectly plain that it is not composed of any continuous solidmaterial. It has a granular character which is sometimes perceptiblewhen viewed through a powerful telescope, but which can be seen morefrequently and studied more satisfactorily on a photographic plate. These granules have an obvious resemblance to clouds; and clouds, indeed, we may call them. There is, however, a very wide differencebetween the solar clouds and those clouds which float in our ownatmosphere. The clouds which we know so well are, of course, merelyvast collections of globules of water suspended in the air. No doubtthe mighty solar clouds do also consist of incalculable myriadsof globules of some particular substance floating in the solaratmosphere. The material of which these solar clouds are composedis, however, I need hardly say, not water, nor is it anything inthe remotest degree resembling water. Some years ago any attempt toascertain the particular substance out of which the solar clouds wereformed would at once have been regarded as futile; inasmuch as such aproblem would then have been thought to lie outside the possibilitiesof human knowledge. The advance of discovery has, however, shed aflood of light on the subject, and has revealed the nature of thatmaterial to whose presence we are indebted for the solar beneficence. The detection of the particular element to which all living creaturesare so much indebted is due to that distinguished physicist, Dr. G. Johnstone Stoney. 

In the whole range of science, one of the most remarkable discoveriesever made is that which has taught us that the elementary bodies ofwhich the sun and the stars are constructed are essentially the sameas those of which the earth has been built. This discovery was indeedas unexpected as it is interesting. Could we ever have anticipatedthat a body ninety-three millions of miles away, as the sun is, or ahundred million of millions of miles distant, as a star may be, shouldactually prove to have been formed from the same materials as thosewhich compose this earth of ours and all which it contains, whetheranimate or inanimate? Yet such is indeed the fact. We are thus, ina measure, prepared to find that the material which forms the greatsolar clouds may turn out to be a substance not quite unknown to theterrestrial chemist. Nay, further, its very abundance in the sun mightseem to suggest that this particular material might perhaps prove tobe one which was very abundant on the earth. 

[Illustration: THE SUN'S CORONA. 

From a photograph taken by Professor Schaeberle, at Mina Bronces, Chili, in April, 1893, and kindly loaned by Professor E. S. Holden, director of the Lick Observatory. ]

I had occasion to make use of the word carbon in a lecture whichI gave a short time ago, and I thought when I did so that I was ofcourse merely using a term with whose meaning all my audience must bewell acquainted. But I found out afterwards that in this matter I hadbeen mistaken. I was told that my introduction of the word carbon hadquite puzzled some of those who were listening to me. I learned that afew of those who were unfamiliar with this word went to a gentlemanof their acquaintance who they thought would be likely to know, andbegged from him an explanation of this mysterious term; whereupon hetold them that he was not quite sure himself, but believed that carbonwas something which was made out of nitro-glycerine! Even at the riskof telling what every schoolboy ought to know, I will say thatcarbon is one of the commonest as well as one of the most remarkablesubstances in nature. A lump of coke only differs from a pieceof carbon by the ash which the coke leaves behind when burned. Ascharcoal is almost entirely carbon, so wood is largely composed ofthis same element. Carbon is indeed present everywhere. In variousforms carbon is in the earth beneath our feet, and in the air which webreath. This substance courses with the blood through our veins; it isby carbon that the heat of the body is sustained; and the same elementis intimately associated with life in every phase. Nor is the presenceof carbon merely confined to this earth. We know it abounds on otherbodies in space. It has been shown to be eminently characteristic ofthe composition of comets. Carbon is not only intimately associatedwith articles of daily utility, and of plenteous abundance, but withthe most exquisite gems of "purest ray serene. " More precious thangold, more precious than rubies, the diamond itself is no more thanthe same element in crystalline form. But the greatest of all thefunctions of carbon in the universe has yet to be mentioned. This samewonderful element has been shown to be in all probability the materialwhich constitutes those glowing solar clouds to whose kindly radiationour very life owes its origin. 

[Illustration: At 10. 34 A. M. The height of the eruption at this stagewas 135, 200 miles. ]

[Illustration: At 10. 40 A. M. Height, 161, 500 miles. ]

[Illustration: At 10. 58 A. M. Height, 280, 800 miles. 

THREE VIEWS OF AN ERUPTIVE PROMINENCE OF THE SUN. 

From photographs taken at Kenwood Observatory, Chicago, March 25, 1895, and kindly loaned by Professor George E. Hale, of the ChicagoUniversity. ]

In the ordinary incandescent electric lamp, the brilliant light isproduced by a glowing filament of carbon. The powerful current ofelectricity experiences so much resistance as it flows through thisbadly conducting substance, that it raises the temperature of thecarbon wire so as to make it dazzlingly white-hot. Indeed the carbonis thus elevated to a temperature far in excess of that which couldbe obtained in any other way. The reason why carbon is employed inthe electric lamp, in preference to any other substance, may be easilyunderstood. Suppose we tried to employ an iron wire as the glowingfilament within the well-known glass globe. Then when the current wasturned on that iron would of course become red-hot and white-hot;but ere a sufficient temperature had been attained to produce therequisite illumination, the iron wire would have been fused into dropsof liquid, the current would have been broken, and the lamp would havebeen destroyed. Nor would the attempt to make an incandescent lamphave proved much more successful had the filament been made ofany other metal. The least fusible of metals is the costly elementplatinum, but even a wire of platinum, though it would stand muchmore heat than a wire of iron or of steel, would not have retained thesolid form by the time it had been raised to the temperature necessaryfor an incandescent lamp. 

There is no known metal, and perhaps no substance whatever, whichdemands so high a temperature to fuse it as does the element carbon. A filament of carbon, and a filament of carbon alone, will remainunfused and unbroken when heated by the electric current to thedazzling brilliance necessary for effective illumination. This isthe reason why this particular element is so indispensable for ourincandescent electric lamps. Modern research has now taught us that, just as the electrician has to employ carbon as the immediate agent inproducing the brightest of artificial lights down here, so the sun inheaven uses precisely the same element as the immediate agent inthe production of its transcendent light and heat. Owing to theextraordinary fervor which prevails in the interior parts of the sun, all substances there present, no matter how difficult we may findtheir fusion, would have to submit to be melted, nay, even to bedriven off into vapor. If submitted to the heat of this appallingsolar furnace, an iron poker, for instance, would vanish intoinvisible vapor. In the presence of the intense heat of the innerparts of the sun, even carbon itself is unable to remain solid. It would seem that it must assume a gaseous form under suchcircumstances, just as the copper and the iron and all the othersubstances do which yield more readily than it to the fierce heat oftheir surroundings. 

The buoyancy of carbon vapor is one of its most remarkablecharacteristics. Accordingly immense volumes of the carbon steamin the sun soar at a higher level than do the vapors of the otherelements. Thus carbon becomes a very large and important constituentof the more elevated regions of the solar atmosphere. We canunderstand what happens to these carbon vapors by the analogous caseof the familiar clouds in our own skies. It is true, no doubt, thatour terrestrial clouds are composed of a material totally differentfrom that which constitutes the solar clouds. The sun evaporates thewater from the great oceans which cover so large a proportion of ourearth. The vapor thus produced ascends in the form of invisible gasthrough our atmosphere, until it reaches an altitude thousands offeet above the surface of the earth. The chill that the watery vaporexperiences up there is so great that the vapor collects into littleliquid beads, and it is, of course, these liquid beads, associated incountless myriads, which form the clouds we know so well. 

We can now understand what happens as the buoyant carbon vaporssoar upwards through the sun's atmosphere. They attain at last to anelevation where the fearful intensity of the solar heat has sofar abated that, though nearly all other elements may still remainentirely gaseous, yet the exceptionally refractory carbon begins toreturn to the liquid state. At the first stage in this return, thecarbon vapor conducts itself just as does the ascending watery vaporfrom the earth when about to be transformed into a visible cloud. Under the influence of a chill the carbon vapor collects into a myriadhost of little beads of liquid. Each of these drops of liquid carbonin the glorious solar clouds has a temperature and a correspondingradiance vastly exceeding that with which the filament glows in theincandescent electric lamp. When we remember further that the entiresurface of our luminary is coated with these clouds, every particleof which is thus intensely luminous, we need no longer wonder at thatdazzling brilliance which, even across the awful gulf of ninety-threemillions of miles, produces for us the indescribable glory ofdaylight. 

_Sir Robert Ball will contribute a series of articles on "The Marvelsof the Universe. " Six or eight of these articles may be expectedduring the coming year_. 

[Illustration: THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY BUILDINGS, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS. ]

CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE. 

BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS, AUTHOR OF "THE GATES AJAR, " "THE MADONNA OF THE TUBS, " ETC. 

LIFE IN ANDOVER BEFORE THE WAR. 

Andover is--or Andover was--like the lady to whom Steele gaveimmortality in the finest and most famous epigram ever offered towoman. 

To have loved Andover; to have been born in Andover--I am brought upshort, in these notes, by the sudden recollection that I was _not_born in Andover. It has always been so difficult to believe it, that Iam liable any day to forget it; but the facts compel me to infer thatI was born within a mile of the State House. I must have become acitizen of Andover at the age of three, when my father resigned hisBoston pulpit for the professorship of Rhetoric in Andover Seminary. I remember distinctly our arrival at the white mansion with thelarge, handsome grounds, the distant and mysterious grove, the rotundhorse-chestnut trees, venerable and solemn, nearly a century old--tothis day a horse-chestnut always seems to me like a theologicaltrustee--and the sweep of playground so vast, so soft, so green, so fragrant, so clean, that the baby cockney ran imperiously to herfather and demanded that he go build her a brick sidewalk to playupon. 

What, I wonder, may be the earliest act of memory on record? Mine isnot at all unusual--dating only to two and a half years; at which timeI clearly remember being knocked down by my dog, in my father's areain Boston, and being crowed over by a rooster of abnormal proportionswho towered between me and the sky, a dragon in size and capabilities. 

My father always maintained that he distinctly remembered hearing thedeath of Napoleon announced in his presence when he was one year and ahalf old. 

Is the humiliating difference between the instinctive selection ofNapoleon and that of the rooster, one of temperament or sex? In eithercase, it is significant enough to lead one to drop the subject. 

Next to having been born in a university town, comes the advantage--ifit be an advantage--of having spent one's youth there. Mr. Howellssays that he must be a dull fellow who does not, at some time orother, hate his native village; and I must confess that I have not, atall stages of my life, held my present opinion of Andover. There havebeen times when her gentle indifference to the preoccupations of theworld has stung me, as all serenity stings restlessness. There havebeen times when the inevitable limitations of her horizon have seemedas familiar as the coffin-lid to the dead. 

[Illustration: PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHELPS'S STUDY. 

Drawn from a photograph taken after Professor Phelps's death, when thestudy had been somewhat dismantled. ]

There was an epoch when her theology--But, nevertheless, I certainlylook back upon Andover Hill with a very gentle pleasure and heartfeltsense of debt. 

It has been particularly asked of me to give some form to myrecollections of a phase of local life which is now so obviouslypassing away that it has a certain historical interest. 

That Andover remains upon the map of Massachusetts yet, one does notdispute; but the Andover of New England theology--the Andover of apeculiar people, the Andover that held herself apart from the worldand all that was therein--will soon become an interesting wraith. 

The life of a professor's daughter in a university town is always alittle different from the lives of other girls; but the differenceseems to me--unless she be by nature entirely alien to it--in favor ofthe girl. Were I to sum in one word my impressions of the influencesof Andover life upon a robust young mind and heart, I should call them_gentle_. 

As soon as we began to think, we saw a community engaged in studyingthought. As soon as we began to feel, we were aware of a neighborhoodthat did not feel superficially; at least, in certain higherdirections. When we began to ask the "questions of life, " which allintelligent young people ask sooner or later, we found ourselves in avillage of three institutions and their dependencies committed to thepursuit of an ideal of education for which no amount of later, orwhat we call broader, training ever gives us any better word thanChristian. 

Such things tell. Andover girls did not waltz, or suffer summerengagements at Bar Harbor, a new one every year; neither did they readIbsen, or yellow novels; nor did they handle the French stories thatare hidden from parents; though they were excellent French scholars intheir day. 

I do not even know that one can call them more "serious" than theircity sisters--for we were a merry lot; at least, _my_ lot were. Butthey were, I believe, especially open-hearted, gentle-minded girls. 

If they were "out of the world" to a certain extent, they were, toanother, out of the evil of it. As I look back upon the littledrama between twelve and twenty--I might rather say, between two andtwenty--Andover young people seem to me to have been as truly andnaturally innocent as one may meet anywhere in the world. Some ofthese private records of girl-history were so white, so clear, sosweet, that to read them would be like watching a morning-glory open. The world is full, thank Heaven, of lovely girls; but though otherforms or phases of gentle society claim their full quota, I never sawa lovelier than those I knew on Andover Hill. 

One terrible tragedy, indeed, befell our little "set;" for we had oursets in Andover, as well as they of Newport or New York. 

A high-bred girl of exceptional beauty was furtively kissed oneevening by a daring boy (not a native of Andover, I hasten toexplain), and the furore which followed this unprecedented enormityit would be impossible to describe to a member of more complicatedcircles of society. Fancy the reception given such a commonplace atany of our fashionable summer resorts to-day!

On Andover Hill the event was a moral cataclysm. Andover girls werecountry girls, but not of rustic (any more than of metropolitan)social training. Which of them would have suffered an Academy boy, walking home with her from a lecture or a prayer-meeting, any littleprivilege which he might not have taken in her father's house, andwith her mother's knowledge? I never knew one. The case of which Ispeak was historic, and as far as I ever knew, unique, and was that ofa victim, not an offender. 

The little beauty to whom this atrocity happened cried all night andall the next day; she was reported not to have stopped crying fortwenty-six hours. Her pretty face grew wan and haggard. She was tooill to go to her lessons. 

The teachers--to whom she had promptly related thecircumstance--condoled with her; the entire school vowed to avengeher; we were a score of as disturbed and indignant girls as ever weptover woman's wrongs, or scorned a man's depravity. 

Yet, for aught I know to the contrary, this abandoned young man mayhave grown up to become a virtuous member of society; possibly evenan exemplary husband and father. I have never been able to trace hishistory; probably the moral repulsion was too great. 

Yet they were no prigs, for their innocence! Andover girls, in thebest and brightest sense of the word, led a gay life. 

The preponderance of young men on the Hill gave more than ampleopportunity for well-mannered good times; and we made the most ofthem. 

[Illustration: VIEW LOOKING FROM THE FRONT OF ELIZABETH STUARTPHELPS'S HOME IN ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS. ]

Legends of the feminine triumphs of past generations were handedbreathlessly down to us, and cherished with awe. A lady of thevillage, said to have been once very handsome, was credibly reportedto have refused nineteen offers of marriage. Another, still plainlybeautiful, was known to have received and declined the suits of ninetheologues in one winter. Neither of these ladies married. We watchedtheir whitening hairs and serene faces with a certain pride of sex, not easily to be understood by a man. When we began to think howmany times they _might_ have married, the subject assumed sensationalproportions. In fact, the maiden ladies of Andover always, I fancied, regarded each other with a peculiar sense of peace. Each knew--andknew that the rest knew--that it was (to use the Andover phraseology)not of predestination or foreordination, but of free will absolute, that an Andover girl passed through life alone. This little socialfact, which is undoubtedly true of most, if not all, university towns, had mingled effects upon impressionable girls. For the proportion ofmasculine society was almost Western in its munificence. 

Perhaps it is my duty to say just here that, if honestly put tothe question, I should admit that this proportion was almost toomunificent for the methods of education then--and still to an extentnow--in vogue. 

A large Academy for boys, and a flourishing Seminary for young men, set across the village streets from two lively girls' schools, gaveto one observer of this little scholastic world her first argument forco-education. 

I am confident that if the boys who serenaded (right manfully) underthe windows of Abbott Academy or of "The Nunnery, " or who tiedtheir lady's colors to the bouquets that they tossed on balconies ofprofessors' houses, had been put, class to class, in competition withus, they would have wasted less time upon us; and I could not denythat if the girls who cut little holes in their fans through which onecould look, undetected and unreproved, at one's favorite Academy boy, on some public occasion, had been preparing to meet or pass that boyat Euclid or Xenophon recitation next morning, he would have occupiedless of their fancy. Intellectual competition is simpler, severer, andmore wholesome than the unmitigated social plane; and a mingling ofthe two may be found calculated to produce the happiest results. 

"Poor souls!" said a Boston lady once to me, upon my alluding to acertain literary club which was at that time occupying the enthusiasmof the Hill. "Poor souls! I suppose they are so starved for society!"We can fancy the amusement with which this comment would have beenreceived if it had been repeated--but it never was repeated till thismoment--in Andover. 

For Andover had her social life, and knew no better, for the mostpart, than to enjoy it. It is true that many of her diversions took onthat religious or academic character natural to the place. Of villageparish life we knew nothing, for our chapel was, like others of itskind, rather an exclusive little place of worship. We were ignorantof pastoral visits, deacons, parochial gossip, church fairs, and whatProfessor Park used to call "the doughnut business;" and, though wecultivated a weekly prayer-meeting in the lecture-room, I think itschief influence was as a training-school for theological studentswhose early efforts at public exhortation (poor fellows!) quaveringlybesought their Professors to grow in grace, and admonished thefamilies of the Faculty circle to repent. 

But we had our lectures and our concerts--quite distinct, as orthodoxcircles will understand, from those missionary festivals which went, Inever discovered why, by the name of Monthly Concerts--and ourPorter Rhets. I believe this cipher stood for Porter Rhetorical; andresearch, if pushed far enough, would develop the fact that Porterindicated a dead professor who once founded a chair and a debatingsociety for young men. Then we had our anniversaries and ourexhibitions, when we got ourselves into our organdie muslins or bestcoats, and listened to the boys spouting Greek and Latin orations inthe old, red brick Academy, and heard the theological students--buthere this reporter is forced to pause. I suppose I ought to be ashamedof it, but the fact is, that I never attended an anniversary exerciseof the Seminary in my life. It would be difficult to say why. I thinkmy reluctance consisted in an abnormal objection to Trustees. So faras I know, they were an innocent set of men, of good reputations andquite harmless. But I certainly acquired, at a very early age, an antipathy to this class of Americans from which I have neverrecovered. 

Our anniversaries occurred, according to the barbaric custom of thetimes, in the hottest heat of August; and if there be a hotter placein Massachusetts than Andover was, I have yet to simmer in it. Ourhouses were, of course, thrown open, and crowded to the shingles. 

I remember once sharing my tiny room with a little guest who would nothave the window open, though the thermometer had stood above ninety, day and night, for a week; and because she was a trustee's daughter, I must not complain. Perhaps this experience emphasized a natural lackof sympathy with her father. 

At all events, I cherished a hidden antagonism to these excellent anduseful men, of which I make this late and public confession. It seemedto me that everybody in Andover was afraid of them. I "took it out" inthe cordial defiance of a born rebel. 

Then we had our tea-parties--theological, of course--when the studentscame to tea in alphabetical order; and the Professor told his beststories; and the ladies of the family were expected to keep more orless quiet while the gentlemen talked. But this, I should say, was ofthe earlier time. 

And, of course, we had the occasional supply; and as for the clericalguest, in some shape he was always with us. 

I remember the shocked expression on the face of a not very eminentminister, because I joined in the conversation when, in the absenceof my father's wife, the new mother, it fell to me to take the head ofthe table. It was truly a stimulating conversation, intellectual, and, like all clerical conversations, vivaciously amusing; and it sweptme in, unconsciously. I think this occurred after I had written "TheGates Ajar. "

This good man has since become an earnest anti-suffragist and opposerof the movement for the higher education of women. I can only hope hedoes not owe his dismal convictions to the moral jar received on thatoccasion; and I regret to learn that his daughter has been forbiddento go to college. 

[Illustration: DR. EDWARDS A. PARK, FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF CHRISTIANTHEOLOGY IN ANDOVER SEMINARY. 

From a photograph taken in 1862 by J. W. Black, Boston. ]

We had, too, our levees--that was the word; by it one meant what isnow called a reception. I have been told that my mother, who was awoman of marked social tastes and gifts, oppressed by the lack ofvariety in Andover life, originated this innocent form of dissipation. 

These festivities, like others in academic towns, were democratic toa degree amusing or inspiring, according to the temperament of thespectator. 

The professors' brilliantly-lighted drawing-rooms were thrown open tothe students and families of the Hill. Distinguished men jostled theAcademy boy who built the furnace fire to pay for his education, andwho might be found on the faculty some day, in his turn, or mighthimself acquire an enviable and well-earned celebrity. 

Eminent guests from out of town stood elbow to elbow with poortheologues destined to the missionary field, and patheticallyobserving the Andover levee as one of the last occasions of civilizedgayety in which it might be theirs to share. Ladies from Beacon Streetor from New York might be seen chatting with some gentle figure inblack, one of those widowed and brave women whose struggles to sustainlife and educate their children by boarding students form so large apart of the pathos of academic towns. 

One such I knew who met on one of these occasions a member of theclub for which she provided. The lady was charming, well-dressed, well-mannered. 

The young man, innocent of linen, had appeared at the levee in a grayflannel shirt. Introductions passed. The lady bowed. 

"I am happy, " stammered the poor fellow, "I am happy to meet the womanwho cooks our victuals. "

If it be asked, Why educate a man like that for the Christianministry?--but it was _not_ asked. Like all monstrosities, he grewwithout permission. 

Let us hasten to call him the exception that he was to what, on thewhole, was (in those days) a fair, wholesome rule of theologicalselection. The Professor's eyes flashed when he heard the story. 

"I have never approved, " I think he said, "of the Special Course. "

For the Professor believed in no short-cut to the pulpit; but pleadedfor all the education, all the opportunity, all the culture, allthe gifts, all the graces, possible to a man's privilege or energy, whereby to fit him to preach the Christian religion. But, like otherprofessors, he could not always have his way. 

It ought to be said, perhaps, that, beside the self-made orself-making man, there always sat upon the old benches in thelecture-room a certain proportion of gentlemen born and bred to easeand affluence, who had chosen their life's work from motives whichwere, at least, as much to be respected as the struggles of theconverted newsboy or the penitent expressman. 

Take her at her dullest, I think we were very fond of Andover; andthough we dutifully improved our opportunities to present ourselves inother circles of society, yet, like fisher-folk or mountain-folk, wewere always uneasy away from home. I remember on my first visit toNew York or Boston--and this although my father was with me--quietlycrying my eyes out behind the tall, embroidered screen which thehostess moved before the grate, because the fire-light made me sohomesick. Who forgets his first attack of nostalgia? Alas! so far asthis recorder is concerned, the first was too far from the last. ForI am cursed (or blessed) with a love of home so inevitable andso passionate as to be nothing less than ridiculous to my day andgeneration--a day of rovers, a generation of shawl-straps and valises. 

"Do you never want to _stay_?" I once asked a distinguished authorwhose domestic uprootings were so frequent as to cause remark even inAmerica. 

"I am the most homesick man who ever lived, " he responded sadly. "If Ionly pass a night in a sleeping-car, I hate to leave my berth. "

"You must have cultivated society in Andover, " an eminent Cambridgewriter once said to me, with more sincerity of tone than was to beexpected of the Cambridge accent as addressed to the Andover fact. Iwas young then, and I remember to have answered, honestly enough, but with what must have struck this superior man as unpardonableflippancy:

"Oh, but one gets tired of seeing only cultivated people!"

I have thought of it sometimes since, when, in other surroundings, thememory of that peaceful, scholarly life has returned poignantly to me. 

When one can "run in" any day to homes like those on that quietand conscientious Hill, one may not do it; but when one cannot, oneappreciates their high and gentle influence. 

One of the historic figures of my day in Andover was Professor Park. Equally eminent both as a preacher and as a theologian, his fame wasgreat in Zion; and "the world" itself had knowledge of him, and didhim honor. 

He was a striking figure in the days which were the best of Andover. He was unquestionably a genius; the fact that it was a kind of geniusfor which the temper of our times is soon likely to find declininguses gives some especial interest to his name. 

The appearances are that he will be the last of his type, once sopowerful and still so venerable in New England history. He wears (forhe is yet living) the dignity of a closing cycle; there is somethingsad and grand about his individualism, as there is about the lastgreat chief of a tribe, or the last king of a dynasty. 

In his youth he was the progressive of Evangelical theology. In hisage he stands the proud and reticent conservative, the now silentrepresentative of a departed glory, a departed severity--and, we mustadmit, of a departed strength--from which the theology of our timeshas melted away. Like other men in such positions, he has had battlesto fight, and he has fought them; enemies to make, and he has madethem. How can he keep them? He is growing old so gently and so kindly!Ardent friends and worshipping admirers he has always had, and kept, and deserved. 

A lady well known among the writers of our day, herself a professor'sdaughter from a New England college town, happened once to be talkingwith me in a lonely hour and in a mood of confidence. 

"Oh, " she cried, "it seems some of these desolate nights as if I_must_ go home and sit watching for my father to come back fromfaculty meeting!"

But the tears smote her face, and she turned away. I knew that she hadbeen her dead father's idol, and he hers. 

To her listener what a panorama in those two words: "Faculty meeting!"

Every professor's daughter, every woman from a university family, cansee it all. The whole scholastic and domestic, studious and tenderlife comes back. Faculty meeting! We wait for the tired professor whohad the latest difference to settle with his colleagues, or the newestbreach to soothe, or the favorite move to push; how late he is! Hecomes in softly, haggard and spent, closing the door so quietly thatno one shall be wakened by this midnight dissipation. The woman wholoves him most anxiously--be it wife or be it daughter--is waiting forhim. Perhaps there is a little whispered sympathy for the troublein the faculty which he does not tell. Perhaps there is a littleexpedition to the pantry for a midnight lunch. 

My first recollections of Professor Park give me his tall, gaunt, but well-proportioned figure striding up and down the gravel walksin front of the house, two hours before time for faculty meeting, insolemn conclave with my father. The two were friends--barring thoseinterludes common to all faculties, when professional differences arein the foreground--and the pacing of their united feet might have wornAndover Hill through to the central fires. For years I cultivated anobjection to Professor Park as being the chief visible reason why wehad to wait for supper. 

I remember his celebrated sermons quite well. The chapel was alwaysthronged, and--as there were no particular fire-laws in those days onAndover Hill--the aisles brimmed over when it was known that ProfessorPark or Professor Phelps was to preach. I think I usually began witha little jealous counting of the audience, lest it should prove biggerthan my father's; but even a child could not long listen to ProfessorPark and not forget her small affairs, and all affairs except theeloquence of the man. 

Great, I believe it was. Certain distinguished sermons had theirpopular names, as "The Judas Sermon, " or "The Peter Sermon, " and drewtheir admirers accordingly. He was a man of marked emotional nature, which he often found it hard to control. A skeptical critic might havewondered whether the tears welled, or the face broke, or the voicetrembled, always just at the right moment, from pure spontaneity. Butthose who knew the preacher personally never doubted the genuinenessof the feeling that swept and carried orator and hearers down. We donot hear such sermons now. 

Professor Park has always been a man of social ease and wit. The lasttime I saw him, at the age of eighty-five, in his house in Andover, I thought, one need not say, "has been;" and to recall his brillianttalk that day gives me hesitation over the past tense of thisreminiscence. On the whole, with the exception of Doctor Holmes, Ithink I should call Professor Park the best converser--at least amongeminent _men_--whom I have ever met. 

He has always been a man very sensitive to the intellectual valuesof life, and fully inclined perhaps to approach the spiritual throughthose. It is easy to misunderstand a religious teacher of thistemperament, and his admiring students may have sometimes done so. 

One in particular I remember to have heard of who neglected thelecture-room to cultivate upon his own responsibility the misson workof what was known as Abbott Village. To the Christian socialism of ourday, the misery of factory life might seem as important for thefuture clergyman as the system of theology regnant in his particularseminary--but that was not the fashion of the time; at all events, theman was a student under the Professor's orders, and the orders were:keep to the curriculum; and I can but think that the Professor wasright when he caustically said:

"That ---- is wasting his seminary course in what _he calls doinggood_!"

Sometimes, too, the students used to beg off to go on book-agencies, or to prosecute other forms of money-making; and of one such ProfessorPark was heard to say that he "sacrificed his education to get themeans of paying for it. "

I am indebted to Professor Park for this: "Professor Stuart and myselfwere reluctant to release them from their studies. Professor Stuartremarked of one student that he got excused _every_ Saturday for thepurpose of going home for a _week_, and always stayed a _fortnight_. "

The last time that I saw Professor Park he told me a good story. It concerned the days of his prime, when he had been preachingsomewhere--in Boston or New York, I think--and after the audience wasdismissed a man lingered and approached him. 

"Sir, " said the stranger, "I am under great obligations to you. Yourdiscourse has moved me greatly. I can truly say that I believe I shallowe the salvation of my soul to you. I wish to offer, sir, tothe seminary with which you are connected, a slight tribute of myadmiration for and indebtedness to you. " The gentleman drew out hispurse. 

"I waited, breathless, " said Professor Park, with his own tremendoussolemnity of manner; "I awaited the tribute of that grateful man. Atwhat price did he value his soul? I anticipated a contribution for theseminary which it would be a privilege to offer. At what rate didmy converted hearer price his soul?--Hundreds? Thousands? Tensof thousands? With indescribable dignity the man handed to me--afive-dollar bill!"

THE WAGER OF THE MARQUIS DE MÉROSAILLES. 

BY ANTHONY HOPE, AUTHOR OF "THE PRISONER OF ZENDA, " "THE DOLLY DIALOGUES, " ETC. 

In the year 1634, as spring came, there arrived at Strelsau a Frenchnobleman, of high rank and great possessions, and endowed with manyaccomplishments. He came to visit Prince Rudolf, whose acquaintance hehad made while the prince was at Paris in the course of his travels. King Henry received Monsieur de Mérosailles--for such was hisname--most graciously, and sent a guard of honor to conduct him to theCastle of Zenda, where the prince was then staying in company with hissister Osra. There the marquis on his arrival was greeted with muchjoy by Prince Rudolf, who found his sojourn in the country somewhatirksome, and was glad of the society of a friend with whom he couldtalk and sport and play at cards. All these things he did withMonsieur de Mérosailles, and a great friendship arose between theyoung men, so that they spoke very freely to one another at all times, and most of all when they had drunk their wine and sat together in theevening in Prince Rudolf's chamber that looked across the moat towardthe gardens; for the new chateau that now stands on the site of thesegardens was not then built. And one night Monsieur de Mérosailles madebold to ask the prince how it fell out that his sister the princess, a lady of such great beauty, seemed sad, and showed no pleasure inthe society of any gentleman, but treated all alike with coldness anddisdain. Prince Rudolf, laughing, answered that girls were strangecreatures, and that he had ceased to trouble his head about them--ofhis heart he said nothing--and he finished by exclaiming, "On myhonor, I doubt if she so much as knows you are here, for she has notlooked at you once since your arrival!" And he smiled maliciously, forhe knew that the marquis was not accustomed to be neglected by ladies, and would take it ill that even a princess should be unconsciousof his presence. In this he calculated rightly, for Monsieur deMérosailles was greatly vexed, and, twisting his glass in his fingers, he said:

"If she were not a princess, and your sister, sir, I would engage tomake her look at me. "

"I am not hurt by her looking at you, " rejoined the prince; for thatevening he was very merry. "A look is no great thing. "

And the marquis being also very merry, and knowing that Rudolf hadless regard for his dignity than a prince should have, threw outcarelessly:

"A kiss is more, sir. "

"It is a great deal more, " laughed the prince, tugging his mustache. 

"Are you ready for a wager, sir?" asked Monsieur de Mérosailles, leaning across the table toward him. 

"I'll lay you a thousand crowns to a hundred that you do not gain akiss, using what means you will, save force. "

"I'll take the wager, sir, " cried the marquis; "but it shall be three, not one. "

"Have a care, " said the prince. "Don't go too near the flame, my lord. There are some wings in Strelsau singed at that candle. "

"Indeed, the light is very bright, " assented the marquis, courteously. "That risk I must run, though, if I am to win my wager. It is to bethree, then, and by what means I will, save force?"

"Even so, " said Rudolf, and he laughed again. For he thought the wagerharmless, since by no means could Monsieur de Mérosailles win so muchas one kiss from the Princess Osra, and the wager stood at three. Buthe did not think how he wronged his sister by using her name lightly, being in all such matters a man of careless mind. 

But the marquis, having made his wager, set himself steadily to winit; for he brought forth the choicest clothes from his wardrobe, andornaments and perfumes; and he laid fine presents at the princess'sfeet; and he waylaid her wherever she went, and was profuse ofglances, sighs, and hints; and he wrote sonnets, as fine gentlemenused in those days, and lyrics and pastorals, wherein she figuredunder charming names. These he bribed the princess's waiting-women toleave in their mistress's chamber. Moreover, he looked now sorrowful, now passionate, and he ate nothing at dinner, but drank his wine inwild gulps as though he sought to banish sadness. So that, in a word, there was no device in Cupid's armory that the Marquis de Mérosaillesdid not practise in the endeavor to win a look from the Princess Osra. But no look came, and he got nothing from her but cold civility. Yetshe had looked at him when he looked not--for princesses are much likeother maidens--and thought him a very pretty gentleman, and was highlyamused by his extravagance. Yet she did not believe it to witness anytrue devotion to her, but thought it mere gallantry. 

[Illustration: THE PHYSICIAN RECEIVING THE PRINCESS IN THE MARQUIS'SSICKROOM. ]

Then one day Monsieur de Mérosailles, having tried all else that hecould think of, took to his bed. He sent for a physician, and paid hima high fee to find the seeds of a rapid and fatal disease in him; andhe made his body-servant whiten his face and darken the room; and hegroaned very pitifully, saying that he was sick, and that he was gladof it, for death would be better far than the continued disdain of thePrincess Osra. And all this, being told by the marquis's servants tothe princess's waiting-women, reached Osra's ears, and caused her muchperturbation. For she now perceived that the passion, of the marquiswas real and deep, and she became very sorry for him; and the longerthe face of the rascally physician grew, the more sad the princessbecame; and she walked up and down, bewailing the terrible effectsof her beauty, wishing that she were not so fair, and mourning verytenderly for the sad plight of the unhappy marquis. Through all PrinceRudolf looked on, but was bound by his wager not to undeceive her;moreover, he found much entertainment in the matter, and swore that itwas worth three times a thousand crowns. 

At last the marquis sent, by the mouth of the physician, a very humbleand pitiful message to the princess, in which he spoke of himself asnear to death, hinted at the cruel cause of his condition, and prayedher of her compassion to visit him in his chamber and speak a word ofcomfort, or at least let him look on her face; for the brightness ofher eyes, he said, might cure even what it had caused. 

Deceived by this appeal, Princess Osra agreed to go. Moved by somestrange impulse, she put on her loveliest gown, dressed her hair mostsplendidly, and came into his chamber looking like a goddess. Therelay the marquis, white as a ghost and languid, on his pillows; andthey were left, as they thought, alone. Then Osra sat down, and beganto talk very gently and kindly to him, glancing only at the madnesswhich brought him to his sad state, and imploring him to summon hisresolution and conquer his sickness for his friends' sake at home inFrance, and for the sake of her brother, who loved him. 

"There is nobody who loves me, " said the marquis, petulantly; and whenOsra cried out at this, he went on: "For the love of those whom I donot love is nothing to me, and the only soul alive I love--" There hestopped, but his eyes, fixed on Osra's face, ended the sentence forhim. And she blushed, and looked away. Then, thinking the momenthad come, he burst suddenly into a flood of protestations andself-reproach, cursing himself for a fool and a presumptuous madman, pitifully craving her pardon, and declaring that he did not deserveher kindness, and yet that he could not live without it, and thatanyhow he would be dead soon and thus cease to trouble her. But she, being thus passionately assailed, showed such sweet tenderness andcompassion and pity that Monsieur de Mérosailles came very near toforgetting that he was playing a comedy, and threw himself into hispart with eagerness, redoubling his vehemence, and feeling now fullhalf of what he said. For the princess was to his eyes far morebeautiful in her softer mood. Yet he remembered his wager, and atlast, when she was nearly in tears, and ready, as it seemed, to doanything to give him comfort, he cried desperately:

"Ah, leave me, leave me! Leave me to die alone! Yet for pity's sake, before you go, and before I die, give me your forgiveness, and letyour lips touch my forehead in token of it! And then I shall die inpeace. "

At that the princess blushed still more, and her eyes were dim andshone; for she was very deeply touched at his misery and at the sadprospect of the death of so gallant a gentleman for love. Thus shecould scarcely speak for emotion; and the marquis, seeing her emotion, was himself much affected; and she rose from her chair and bent overhim, and whispered comfort to him. Then she leant down, and verylightly touched his forehead with her lips; and he felt her eyelashes, that were wet with her tears, brush the skin of his forehead; and thenshe sobbed, and covered her face with her hands. Indeed, his stateseemed to her most pitiful. 

Thus Monsieur de Mérosailles had won one of his three kisses; yet, strange to tell, there was no triumph in him, but he now perceivedthe baseness of his device; and the sweet kindness of the princess, working together with the great beauty of her softened manner, soaffected him that he thought no more of his wager, and could notendure to carry on his deception. And nothing would serve his turn butto confess to the princess what he had done, and humble himself inthe dust before her, and entreat her to pardon him and let him findforgiveness. Therefore, impelled by these feelings, after he had lainstill a few moments listening to the princess's weeping, he leaptsuddenly out of the bed, showing himself fully clothed under thebedgown which he now eagerly tore off, and he rubbed all the whitehe could from his cheeks; and then he fell on his knees before theprincess, crying to her that he had played the meanest trick on her, and that he was a scoundrel and no gentleman, and yet that, unless sheforgave him, he should in very truth die. Nay, he would not consent tolive, unless he could win from her pardon for his deceit. And in allthis he was now most absolutely in earnest, wondering only how he hadnot been as passionately enamoured of her from the first as he hadfeigned himself to be. For a man in love can never conceive himselfout of it; nor he that is out of it, in it: for, if he can, he ishalfway to the one or the other, however little he may know it. 

At first the princess sat as though she were turned to stone. But whenhe had finished his confession, and she understood the trick that hadbeen played upon her, and how not only her kiss but also her tears hadbeen won from her by fraud; and when she thought, as she did, that themarquis was playing another trick upon her, and that there was no moretruth nor honesty in his present protestations than in those whichwent before--she fell into great shame and into a great rage; and hereyes flashed like the eyes of her father himself, as she rose to herfeet and looked down on Monsieur de Mérosailles as he knelt imploringher. Now her face turned pale from red, and she set her lips, and shedrew her gown close round her lest his touch should defile it (so theunhappy gentleman understood the gesture), and she daintily picked hersteps round him lest by chance she should happen to come in contactwith so foul a thing. Thus she walked toward the door, and, havingreached it, she turned and said to him:

"Your death may blot out the insult--nothing less;" and with her headheld high, and her whole air full of scorn, she swept out of the room, leaving the marquis on his knees. Then he started up to follow her, but dared not; and he flung himself on the bed in a paroxysm of shameand vexation, and now of love, and he cried out loud:

"Then my death shall blot it out, since nothing else will serve!"

For he was in a very desperate mood. For a long while he lay there, and then, having risen, dressed himself in a sombre suit of black, and buckled his sword by his side, and put on his riding-boots, and, summoning his servant, bade him saddle his horse. "For, " said he tohimself, "I will ride into the forest, and there kill myself; andperhaps when I am dead, the princess will forgive, and will believe inmy love, and grieve a little for me. "

Now, as he went from his chamber to cross the moat by the drawbridge, he encountered Prince Rudolf returning from hawking. They met fullin the centre of the bridge, and the prince, seeing Monsieur deMérosailles dressed all in black from the feather in his cap to hisboots, called out mockingly, "Who is to be buried to-day, my lord, andwhither do you ride to the funeral? It cannot be yourself, for I seethat you are marvellously recovered of your sickness. "

"But it is myself, " answered the marquis, coming near and speaking lowthat the servants and the falconers might not overhear. "And I ride, sir, to my own funeral. "

"The jest is still afoot, then?" asked the prince. "Yet I do not seemy sister at the window to watch you go, and I warrant you have madeno way with your wager yet. "

"A thousand curses on my wager!" cried the marquis. "Yes, I have madeway with the accursed thing, and that is why I now go to my death. "

"What, has she kissed you?" cried the prince, with a merry, astonishedlaugh. 

"Yes, sir, she has kissed me once, and therefore I go to die. "

"I have heard many a better reason, then, " answered the prince. 

By now the prince had dismounted, and he stood by Monsieur deMérosailles in the middle of the bridge, and heard from him how thetrick had prospered. At this he was much tickled; and, alas! he waseven more diverted when the penitence of the marquis was revealed tohim, and was most of all moved to merriment when it appeared thatthe marquis, having gone too near the candle, had been caught by itsflame, and was so terribly singed and scorched that he could not bearto live. And while they talked on the bridge, the princess looked outon them from a lofty narrow window, but neither of them saw her. Now, when the prince had done laughing, he put his arm through hisfriend's, and bade him not be a fool, but come in and toast theprincess's kiss in a draught of wine. "For, " he said, "though you willnever get the other two, yet it is a brave exploit to have got one. "

But the marquis shook his head, and his air was so resolute and sofull of sorrow that not only was Rudolf alarmed for his reason, butPrincess Osra also, at the window, wondered what ailed him and why hewore such a long face; and she now noticed, that he was dressed all inblack, and that his horse waited for him across the bridge. 

"Not, " said she, "that I care what becomes of the impudent rogue!" Yetshe did not leave the window, but watched very intently to see whatMonsieur de Mérosailles would do. 

For a long while he talked with Rudolf on the bridge, Rudolf seemingmore serious than he was wont to be; and at last the marquis bent tokiss the prince's hand, and the prince raised him and kissed him oneither cheek; and then the marquis went and mounted his horse and rodeoff, slowly and unattended, into the glades of the forest of Zenda. But the prince, with a shrug of his shoulders and a frown on his brow, entered under the portcullis, and disappeared from his sister's view. 

Upon this the princess, assuming an air of great carelessness, walkeddown from the room where she was, and found her brother, sitting stillin his boots, and drinking wine; and she said:

"Monsieur de Mérosailles has taken his leave, then?"

"Even so, madam, " rejoined Rudolf. 

Then she broke into a fierce attack on the marquis, and on her brotheralso; for a man, said she, is known by his friends, and what a manmust Rudolf be to have a friend like the Marquis de Mérosailles!

"Most brothers, " she said, in fiery temper, "would make him answer forwhat he has done with his life. But you laugh--nay, I dare say you hada hand in it. "

As to this last charge the prince had the discretion to say nothing;he chose rather to answer the first part of what she said, and, shrugging his shoulders again, rejoined, "The fool saves me thetrouble, for he has gone off to kill himself. "

"To kill himself?" she said, half-incredulous, but alsohalf-believing, because of the marquis's gloomy looks and blackclothes. 

"To kill himself, " repeated Rudolf. "For, in the first place, you areangry, so he cannot live; and in the second, he has behaved like arogue, so he cannot live; and in the third place, you are so lovely, sister, that he cannot live; and in the first, second, and thirdplaces, he is a fool, so he cannot live. " And the prince finished hisflagon of wine with every sign of ill-humor in his manner. 

"He is well dead, " she cried. 

"Oh, as you please!" said he. "He is not the first brave man who hasdied on your account;" and he rose and strode out of the room verysurlily, for he had a great friendship for Monsieur de Mérosailles, and had no patience with men who let love make dead bones of them. 

The Princess Osra, being thus left alone, sat for a little while indeep thought. There rose before her mind the picture of Monsieur deMérosailles riding mournfully through the gloom of the forest to hisdeath; and although his conduct had been all, and more than all, that she had called it, yet it seemed hard that he should die forit. Moreover, if he now in truth felt what he had before feigned, thepresent truth was an atonement for the past treachery; and she saidto herself that she could not sleep quietly that night if the marquiskilled himself in the forest. Presently she wandered slowly up to herchamber, and looked in the mirror, and murmured low, "Poor fellow!"And then with sudden speed she attired herself for riding, andcommanded her horse to be saddled, and darted down the stairs andacross the bridge, and mounted, and, forbidding any one to accompanyher, rode away into the forest, following the tracks of the hoofs ofMonsieur de Mérosailles's horse. It was then late afternoon, and theslanting rays of the sun, striking through the tree-trunks, reddenedher face as she rode along, spurring her horse and following hard onthe track of the forlorn gentleman. But what she intended to do if shecame up with him, she did not think. 

When she had ridden an hour or more, she saw his horse tethered to atrunk; and there was a ring of trees and bushes near, encircling anopen grassy spot. Herself dismounting and fastening her horse by themarquis's horse, she stole up, and saw Monsieur de Mérosailles sittingon the ground, his drawn sword lying beside him; and his back wastowards her. She held her breath, and waited for a few moments. Thenhe took up the sword, and felt the point and also the edge of it, and sighed deeply; and the princess thought that this sorrowful moodbecame him better than any she had seen him in before. Then he rose tohis feet, and took his sword by the blade beneath the hilt, and turnedthe point of it towards his heart. And Osra, fearing that the deedwould be done immediately, called out eagerly, "My lord, my lord!" andMonsieur de Mérosailles turned round with a great start. When he sawher, he stood in astonishment, his hand still holding the blade of thesword. And, standing just on the other side of the trees, she said:

"Is your offence against me to be cured by adding an offence againstHeaven and the Church?" And she looked on him with great severity; yether cheek was flushed, and after a while she did not meet his glance. 

"How came you here, madam?" he asked in wonder. 

"I heard, " she said, "that you meditated this great sin, and I rodeafter you to forbid it. "

"Can you forbid what you cause?" he asked. 

"I am not the cause of it, " she said, "but your own trickery. "

"It is true. I am not worthy to live, " cried the marquis, smiting thehilt of his sword to the ground. "I pray you, madam, leave me aloneto die, for I cannot tear myself from the world so long as I see yourface. " And as he spoke he knelt on one knee, as though he were doinghomage to her. 

The princess caught at a bough of the tree under which she stood, andpulled the bough down so that its leaves half hid her face, and themarquis saw little more than her eyes from among the foliage. And, thus being better able to speak to him, she said, softly:

"And dare you die, unforgiven?"

"I had prayed for forgiveness before you found me, madam, " said he. 

"Of Heaven, my lord?"

"Of Heaven, madam. For of Heaven I dare to ask it. "

[Illustration: SHE STOLE UP AND SAW MONSIEUR DE MÉROSAILLES SITTING ONTHE GROUND. ]

The bough swayed up and down; and now Osra's gleaming hair, and nowher cheek, and always her eyes, were seen through the leaves. Andpresently the marquis heard a voice asking:

"Does Heaven forgive unasked?"

"Indeed, no, " said he, wondering. 

"And, " said she, "are we poor mortals kinder than Heaven?"

The marquis rose, and took a step or two towards where the boughswayed up and down, and then knelt again. 

"A great sinner, " said he, "cannot believe himself forgiven. "

"Then he wrongs the power of whom he seeks forgiveness; forforgiveness is divine. "

"Then I will ask it, and, if I obtain it, I shall die happy. "

Again the bough swayed, and Osra said:

"Nay, if you will die, you may die unforgiven. "

Monsieur de Mérosailles, hearing these words, sprang to his feet, andcame towards the bough until he was so close that he touched the greenleaves; and through them the eyes of Osra gleamed; and the sun's raysstruck on her eyes, and they danced in the sun, and her cheeks werereddened by the same or some other cause. And the evening was verystill, and there seemed no sounds in the forest. 

"I cannot believe that you forgive. The crime is so great, " said he. 

"It was great; yet I forgive. "

"I cannot believe it, " said he again, and he looked at the point ofhis sword, and then he looked through the leaves at the princess. 

"I can do no more than say that if you will live, I will forgive. Andwe will forget. "

"By Heaven, no!" he whispered. "If I must forget to be forgiven, thenI will remember and be unforgiven. "

The faintest laugh reached him from among the foliage. 

"Then I will forget, and you shall be forgiven, " said she. 

The marquis put up his hand and held a leaf aside, and he said again:

"I cannot believe myself forgiven. Is there no other token offorgiveness?"

"Pray, my lord, do not put the leaves aside. "

"I still must die, unless I have sure warrant of forgiveness. "

"Ah, you try to make me think that!"

"By Heavens, it is true!" and again he pointed his sword at his heart, and he swore on his honor that unless she gave him a token he wouldstill kill himself. 

"Oh, " said the princess, with great petulance, "I wish I had notcome!"

"Then I should have been dead by now--dead, unforgiven!"

"But you will still die!"

"Yes, I must still die, unless--"

"Sheath your sword, my lord. The sun strikes it, and it dazzles myeyes. "

"That cannot be; for your eyes are brighter than sun and swordtogether. "

"Then I must shade them with the leaves. "

"Yes, shade them with the leaves, " he whispered. "Madam, is there notoken of forgiveness?"

An absolute silence followed for a little while. Then Osra said:

"Why did you swear on your honor?"

"Because it is an oath that I cannot break. "

"Indeed, I wish that I had not come, " sighed Princess Osra. 

Again came silence. The bough was pressed down for an instant; then itswayed swiftly up again; and its leaves brushed the cheek of Monsieurde Mérosailles. And he laughed loud and joyfully. 

"Something touched my cheek, " said he. 

"It must have been a leaf, " said Princess Osra. 

"Ah, a leaf!"

"I think so, " said Princess Osra. 

"Then it was a leaf of the Tree of Life, " said Monsieur deMérosailles. 

"I wish some one would set me on my horse, " said Osra. 

"That you may ride back to the castle--alone?"

"Yes, unless you would relieve my brother's anxiety. "

"It would be courteous to do that much, " said the Marquis. 

So they mounted, and rode back through the forest. In an hour thePrincess had come, and in the space of something over two hours theyreturned; yet during all this time they spoke hardly a word; andalthough the sun was now set, yet the glow remained on the face andin the eyes of Princess Osra; while Monsieur de Mérosailles, beingforgiven, rode with a smile on his lips. 

But when they came to the castle, Prince Rudolf ran out to meet them, and he cried almost before he reached them. 

"Hasten, hasten! There is not a moment, to lose, if the marquisvalues life or liberty!" And when he came to them, he told them thata waiting-woman had been false to Monsieur de Mérosailles, and, aftertaking his money, had hid herself in his chamber, and seen the firstkiss that the princess gave him, and having made some pretext to gaina holiday, had gone to the king, who was hunting near, and betrayedthe whole matter to him. 

"And one of my gentlemen, " he continued, "has ridden here to tell me. In an hour the guards will be here, and if the king catches you, mylord, you will hang, as sure as I live. "

The princess turned very pale, but Monsieur de Mérosailles said, haughtily, "I ask your pardon, sir, but the king dares not hang me, for I am a gentleman and a subject of the king of France. "

"Man, man!" cried Rudolf. "The Lion will hang you first and think ofall that afterward! Come, now, it is dusk. You shall dress yourself asmy groom, and I will ride to the frontier, and you shall ride behindme, and thus you may get safe away. I cannot have you hanged over sucha trifle. "

"I would have given my life willingly for what you call a trifle, sir, " said the marquis, with a bow to Osra. 

"Then have the trifle and life, too, " said Rudolf, decisively. "Comein with me, and I will give you your livery. "

When the prince and Monsieur de Mérosailles came out again on thedrawbridge, the evening had fallen, and it was dark; and their horsesstood at the end of the bridge, and by the horses stood the princess. 

"Quick!" said she. "For a peasant who came in, bringing a load ofwood, saw a troop of men coming over the crown of the hill, and hesays they are the king's guard. "

"Mount, man!" cried the prince to Monsieur de Mérosailles, who was nowdressed as a groom. "Perhaps we can get clear, or perhaps they willnot dare to stop me. "

But the marquis hesitated a little, for he did not like to run away;and the princess ran a little way forward, and, shading her eyes withher hand, cried, "See there; I see the gleam of steel in the dark. They have reached the top of the hill, and are riding down. "

Then Prince Rudolf sprang on his horse, calling again to Monsieur deMérosailles: "Quick! quick! Your life hangs on it!"

Then at last the marquis, though he was most reluctant to depart, wasabout to spring on his horse, when the princess turned and glided backswiftly to them. And--let it be remembered that evening had fallenthick and black--she came to her brother, and put out her hand, andgrasped his hand, and said:

"My lord, I forgive your wrong, and I thank you for your courtesy, andI wish you farewell. "

Prince Rudolf, astonished, gazed at her without speaking. But she, moving very quickly in spite of the darkness, ran to where Monsieurde Mérosailles was about to spring on his horse, and she flung one armlightly about his neck, and she said:

"Farewell, dear brother--God preserve you! See that no harm comes tomy good friend Monsieur de Mérosailles. " And she kissed him lightlyon the cheek. Then she suddenly gave a loud cry of dismay, exclaiming, "Alas, what have I done? Ah, what have I done?" And she hid her facein her two hands. 

Prince Rudolf burst into a loud, short laugh, yet he said nothing tohis sister, but again urged the marquis to mount his horse. And themarquis, who was in a sad tumult of triumph and of woe, leaped up, andthey rode out, and, turning their faces towards the forest, set spursto their horses, and vanished at breakneck speed into the glades. And no sooner were they gone than the troopers of the king's guardclattered at a canter up to the end of the bridge, where the PrincessOsra stood. But when their captain saw the princess, he drew rein. 

"What is your errand, sir?" she asked, most coldly and haughtily. 

"Madam, " said the captain, "we are ordered to bring the Marquisde Mérosailles alive or dead into the king's presence, and we haveinformation that he is in the castle, unless indeed he were one of thehorsemen who rode away just now. "

"The horsemen you saw were my brother the prince and his groom, " saidOsra. "But if you think that Monsieur de Mérosailles is in the castle, pray search the castle from keep to cellar; and if you find him, carryhim to my father, according to your orders. "

Then the troopers dismounted in great haste, and ransacked the castlefrom keep to cellar; and they found the clothes of the marquis and thewhite powder with which he had whitened his face, but the marquis theydid not find. And the captain came again to the princess, who stillstood at the end of the bridge, and said:

"Madam, he is not in the castle. "

"Is he not?" said she, and she turned away and, walking to the middleof the bridge, looked down into the water of the moat. 

"Was it in truth the prince's groom who rode with him, madam?" askedthe captain, following her. 

"In truth, sir, it was so dark, " answered the princess, "that I couldnot myself clearly distinguish the man's face. "

"One was the prince, for I saw you embrace him, madam. "

"You do well to conclude that that was my brother, " said Osra, smilinga little. 

"And to the other, madam, you gave your hand. "

"And now I give it to you, " said she, with haughty insolence. "And ifto my father's servant, why not to my brother's?"

And she held out her hand that he might kiss it, and turned away fromhim, and looked down into the water again. 

"But we found Monsieur de Mérosailles's clothes in the castle!"persisted the captain. 

"He may well have left something of his in the castle, " said theprincess. 

"I will ride after them!" cried the captain. 

"I doubt if you will catch them, " smiled the princess; for by now thepair had been gone half an hour, and the frontier was but ten milesfrom the castle, and they could not be overtaken. Yet the captainrode off with his men, and pursued till he met Prince Rudolf returningalone, having seen Monsieur de Mérosailles safe on his way. And Rudolfhad paid the sum of a thousand crowns to the marquis, so that thefugitive was well provided for his journey, and, travelling withmany relays of horses, made good his escape from the clutches of KingHenry. 

But the Princess Osra stayed a long time looking down at the water inthe moat. And sometimes she sighed, and then again she frowned, and, although nobody was there, and it was very dark into the bargain, morethan once she blushed. And at last she turned to go in to the castle. And, as she went, she murmured softly to herself:

"Why I kissed him the first time I know--it was in pity; and why Ikissed him the second time I know--it was in forgiveness. But whyI kissed him the third time, or what that kiss meant, " said Osra, "Heaven knows. "

And she went in with a smile on her lips. 

MISS TARBELL'S LIFE OF LINCOLN. 

The response to our New Life of Lincoln is so extraordinary as todemand something more than mere acknowledgment from us. 

Within ten days of the publication of the magazine no less thanforty thousand new buyers were added to our list, and at this writing(November 25th) the increase has reached one hundred thousand, makinga clear increase of one hundred thousand in three months, and bringingthe total edition for the present number up to a quarter of a million. 

But even more gratifying have been the strong expressions of approvalfrom many whose intimate knowledge of Lincoln's life enables them todistinguish what is _new_ in this life. 

As Mr. Medill says in an editorial in the Chicago "Tribune, " "It isnot only full of new things, but is so distinct and clear in localcolor that an interest attaches to it which is not found in otherbiographies. "

And Mr. R. W. Diller, of Springfield, Illinois, who knew Mr. Lincolnintimately for nearly twenty years before his election to thePresidency, writes to us about Miss Tarbell's article: "As far as readshe goes to rock-bottom evidence and will beat her Napoleon out ofsight. "

There are certainly few men more familiar with all that has beenwritten about Lincoln than William H. Lambert, Esq. , of Philadelphia, whose collection includes practically every book, pamphlet, or printeddocument about Lincoln, and who has one of the finest collections ofLincolniana in the world. He writes:

"I have read your first article with intense interest, and I amconfident that you will make a most important addition to ourknowledge of Lincoln. "

But perhaps it is better to print some of the letters we have receivedcommenting on the first article and on the early portrait and otherportraits and illustrations. 

John T. Morse, Jr. , author of the lives of Abraham Lincoln, JohnQuincy Adams, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and Benjamin Franklin, published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. In their "American StatesmenSeries, " and editor of this series, writes as follows about the earlyportrait:

 6 FAIRCHILD STREET, BOSTON, _November 2, 1895. _

 S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ. --_Dear Sir_: I thank you very much for the artist's proof of the engraving of the earliest picture of Abraham Lincoln. 

 I have studied this portrait with very great interest. All the portraits with which we are familiar show us the man _as made_; this shows us the man _in the_ _making_; and I think every one will admit that the making of Abraham Lincoln presents a more singular, puzzling, interesting study than the making of any other man known in human history. 

 I have shown it to several persons, without telling them who it was. Some say, a poet; others, a philosopher, a thinker, like Emerson. These comments also are interesting, for Lincoln had the raw material of both these characters very largely in his composition, though political and practical problems so over-laid them that they show only faintly in his later portraits. This picture, therefore, is valuable evidence as to his natural traits. 

 Was it not taken at an earlier date than you indicate as probable in your letter? I should think that it must have been. 

 I am very sincerely yours, JOHN T. MORSE, JR. 

Dr. Hale also draws attention to the resemblance of the early portraitto Emerson:

 ROXBURY, MASSACHUSETTS, _October 28, 1895. _

 _My dear Mr. McClure_:--I think you will be interested to know that in showing the early portrait of Lincoln to two young people of intelligence, each of them asked if it were not a portrait of Waldo Emerson. If you will compare the likeness with that of Emerson in Appleton's "Cyclopedia of Biography, " I think you will like to print copies of the two likenesses side by side. 

 Yours truly, EDWARD E. HALE. 

Mr. T. H. Bartlett, the eminent sculptor, who has for many yearscollected portraits of Lincoln, and has made a scientific study ofLincoln's physiognomy, contributes this:

 The first interest of the early portrait to me is that it shows Lincoln, even at that age, as a _new man_. It may to many suggest certain other heads, but a short study of it establishes its distinctive originality in every respect. It's priceless, every way, and copies of it ought to be in the gladsome possession of every lover of Lincoln. Handsome is not enough--it's great--not only of a great man, but the first picture representing the only new physiognomy of which we have any correct knowledge contributed by the New World to the ethnographic consideration of mankind. 

 Very sincerely, T. H. BARTLETT. 

An eminent member of the Illinois bar, one who has been closelyidentified with the legal history of Illinois for nearly sixty years, and who is perhaps the best living authority on the history of theState, writes:

 That portion of the biography of Mr. Lincoln that appears in the November number of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE I have read with very great interest. It contains much that has not been printed in any other life of Lincoln. Especially interesting is the account given of pioneer life of that people among whom Mr. Lincoln had his birth and his early education. It was a strange and singular people, and their history abounds in much that is akin to romance and peculiar to a life in the wilderness. It was a life that had a wonderful attractiveness for all that loved an adventurous life. The story of their lives in the wilderness has a charm that nothing else in Western history possesses. It is to be regretted that there are writers that represent the early pioneers of the West to have been an ignorant and rude people. Nothing can be further from the truth. Undoubtedly there were some dull persons among them. There are in all communities. But a vast majority of the early pioneers of the West were of average intelligence with the people they left back in the States from which they emigrated. And why should they not have been? They were educated among them, and had all the advantages of those by whom they were surrounded. But in some respects they were much above the average of those among whom they dwelt in the older communities east of the Alleghany Mountains. The country into which they were about to go was known to be crowded with dangers. It was a wilderness, full of savage beasts and inhabited by still more savage men--the Indians. It is evident that but few other than the brave and most daring, would venture upon a life in such a wilderness. The timid and less resolute remained in the security of an older civilization. 

 The lives of these early pioneers abounded in brave deeds, and were often full of startling adventures. The women of that period were as brave and heroic as were the men--if not more so. It is doubtless true Mr. Lincoln's mother was one of that splendid type of heroic pioneer women. He was brave and good because his mother was brave and good. She has since become distinguished among American women because her child, born in a lowly cabin in the midst of a wild Western forest, has since been recognized as the greatest man of the century--if not of all centuries. It was fortunate for our common country that Mr. Lincoln was born among that pioneer people and had his early education among them. It was a simple school, and the course of studies limited; but the lessons he learned in that school in the forest were grand and good. Everything around and about him was just as it came from the hands of the Creator. It was good, and it was beautiful. It developed both the head and the heart. It produced the best type of manhood--both physical and mental. It was in that school he learned lessons of heroism, courage, and of daring for the right. It was there he learned lessons of patriotism in its highest and best sense; and it was there he learned to love his fellow-man. It was in the practice of those lessons his life became such a benediction to the American nation. 

 The story of that people among whom Mr. Lincoln spent his early life will always have a fascination for the American people; and it is a matter of congratulation so much of it has been gathered up and put into form to be preserved. 

 The portraits the work contains give a very good idea of that pioneer race of men and women. The one given of Mr. Lincoln's step-mother is a splendid type of a pioneer woman. A touching contribution are the brief lines of which a facsimile is printed:

 "Abraham Lincoln his hand and pen he will be good but God knows When. "

 These words--simple as they are--will touch the heart of the American people through all the years of our national history. It was "his hand and pen" that wrote many beautiful thoughts. It was his "hand and pen" that wrote those kindest of all words, "With malice towards none, with charity for all. " It was his "hand and pen" that traced the lines of that wonderful Gettysburg speech; and it was his "hand and pen" that wrote the famous proclamation that gave liberty to a race of slaves. It was then God knew he was "good. "

 If the remainder of the work shall be of the same character as that now printed, it will be both an instructive and valuable contribution to American biography. 

There is so much in Mr. Medill's editorial in the Chicago "Tribune, "and he is entitled to speak with such authority, that we print itcomplete herewith. 

Mr. Medill says:

 THE NEW LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

 It is apparent at the very outset that the new "Life of Abraham Lincoln, " edited by Miss Ida M. Tarbell, the first installment of which appears in McCLURE'S MAGAZINE for the current month, will be one of the most important and interesting contributions yet made to Lincoln literature, as it will contain much matter hitherto unpublished, and will be enriched with a large number of new illustrations. It will be a study of Abraham Lincoln as a man, and thus will naturally commend itself to the people. 

 The first installment covers about the first twenty-one years of Lincoln's life, which were spent in Kentucky and Indiana. The story is told very briefly, in simple, easy style, and abounds with reminiscences secured from his contemporaries. It is not only full of new things, but it is so distinct and clear in local color that an interest attaches to it which is not found in other biographies. A large part of this credit must be awarded not alone to the text and to its careful editing, but also to the numerous pictures which upon every page illustrate the context and give the scenes of the story. It is particularly rich in portraits. Among these are portraits from an ambrotype taken at Macomb, Illinois, in 1858, during his debate with Douglas, the dress being the same as that in which Lincoln made his famous canvass for the Senate; a second from a photograph taken at Hannibal, Missouri, in 1858; a third from an ambrotype taken at Urbana, Illinois, in 1857; and a fourth from an ambrotype taken in a linen coat at Beardstown, Illinois. 

 The picture, however, which will attract the greatest interest is the frontispiece, from a daguerreotype which his son, Robert Lincoln, thinks was taken when his father was about forty years old. In this picture, which bears little resemblance to any other known portraits, he is dressed with scrupulous care. His hair is combed and brushed down with something like youthful vanity, and he has a smooth, bright, rather handsome face, and without sunken cheeks, strikingly resembling in contour and the shape of the head some of the early portraits of Ralph Waldo Emerson. It looks, however, as if it had been taken at an earlier age than forty. As the only portrait of Lincoln with a comparatively young face it will be treasured by all his admirers, and his son has conferred a distinct benefit by his courtesy in allowing it to be reproduced. 

 There are numerous other portraits, among them those of the Rev. Jesse Head, who married Lincoln's father and mother; of Austin Gollaher, who was a boy friend of Lincoln in Kentucky, and the only one now living; of his step-mother, Sarah Bush Lincoln; of Josiah Crawford, whom Lincoln served in Indiana as "hired boy;" of the well-known Dennis Hanks, cousin of Lincoln's mother; of John Hanks, also a cousin; of Judge John Pitcher, who assisted Lincoln in his earliest studies; and of Joseph Gentry, the only boy associate of Lincoln in Indiana now living. These portraits, in addition to the numerous views of scenes connected with Lincoln's boyhood, add greatly to the interest of the text. Mr. McClure, the proprietor of the magazine, is certainly to be congratulated upon the successful manner in which he has launched the opening chapters of the new "Life of Lincoln. " The remaining ones, running a whole year, will be awaited with keen interest. It is said that Miss Tarbell has found and obtained a shorthand report of his unpublished but famous speech delivered at Bloomington, May 29, 1856, before the first Republican State convention ever held in Illinois. This is a great find and a very important addition to his published speeches. Many of those who heard it have always claimed that it was the most eloquent speech he ever made. 

In an editorial in the "Standard-Union" of Brooklyn, Mr. MuratHalstead expresses the general feeling of all who knew Lincoln:

 The magazine gives an admirable engraving of this portrait as the frontispiece, as "The earliest portrait of Abraham Lincoln, from a daguerreotype taken when Lincoln was about forty; owned by his son, the Hon. Robert T. Lincoln, through whose courtesy it is here reproduced for the first time. " This is a very modest statement, considering the priceless discovery it announces. The portrait does not show a man "about forty" years old in appearance. "About" thirty would be the general verdict, if it were not that the daguerreotype was unknown when Lincoln was of that age. It does not seem, however, that he could have been more than thirty-five, and for that age the youthfulness of the portrait is wonderful. This is a new Lincoln, and far more attractive, in a sense, than anything the public has possessed. This is the portrait of a remarkably handsome man.... The head is magnificent, the eyes deep and generous, the mouth sensitive, the whole expression something delicate, tender, pathetic, poetic. This was the young man with whom the phantoms of romance dallied, the young man who recited poems and was fanciful and speculative, and in love and despair, but upon whose brow there already gleamed the illumination of intellect, the inspiration of patriotism. There were vast possibilities in this young man's face. He could have gone anywhere and done anything. He might have been a military chieftain, a novelist, a poet, a philosopher, ah! a hero, a martyr--and, yes, this young man might have been--he even was Abraham Lincoln! This was he with the world before him. It is good fortune to have the magical revelation of the youth of the man the world venerates. This look into his eyes, into his soul--not before he knew sorrow, but long before the world knew him--and to feel that it is worthy to be what it is, and that we are better acquainted with him and love him the more, is something beyond price. 

[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1863. 

From a photograph by Brady, taken in Washington. ]

[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1854--HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED. 

From a photograph owned by Mr. George Schneider of Chicago, Illinois, former editor of the "Staats Zeitung, " the most influentialanti-slavery German newspaper of the West. Mr. Schneider first met Mr. Lincoln in 1853, in Springfield. "He was already a man necessary toknow, " says Mr. Schneider. In 1854 Mr. Lincoln was in Chicago, andMr. Isaac N. Arnold, a prominent lawyer and politician of Illinois, invited Mr. Schneider to dine with Mr. Lincoln. After dinner, asthe gentlemen were going down town, they stopped at an itinerantphotograph gallery, and Mr. Lincoln had the above picture taken forMr. Schneider. The newspaper he holds in his hands is the "Press andTribune. " The picture has never before been reproduced. ]

[Illustration: LINCOLN IN FEBRUARY, 1860, AT THE TIME OF THE COOPERINSTITUTE SPEECH. 

From a photograph by Brady. The debate with Douglas in 1858 had givenLincoln a national reputation, and the following year he received manyinvitations to lecture. One came from a young men's Republican club inNew York, --for one in a series of lectures designed for an audience ofmen and women of the class apt to neglect ordinary political meetings. Lincoln consented, and in February, 1860 (about three months beforehis nomination for the Presidency), delivered what is known from thehall in which it was delivered, as the "Cooper Institute speech"--aspeech which more than confirmed his reputation. While in New York hewas taken by the committee of entertainment to Brady's gallery, andsat for the portrait reproduced above. It was a frequent remark withLincoln that this portrait and the Cooper Institute speech made himPresident. ]