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Title: The Scrap Book, Volume 1, No. 6
August 1906
Author: Various
Release Date: April 24, 2010 [EBook #32123]
Language: English
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THE SCRAP BOOK.
Vol. I. AUGUST, 1906. No. 6.
THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON.
BY ROBERT G. INGERSOLL.
A little while ago I stood by the grave of the old Napoleon--a magnificent
tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a deity dead--and gazed upon the
sarcophagus of rare and nameless marble, where rest at last the ashes of
that restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the
career of the greatest soldier of the modern world.
I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine contemplating suicide. I saw
him at Toulon. I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris. I
saw him at the head of the army in Italy. I saw him crossing the bridge at
Lodi with the tricolor in his hand. I saw him in Egypt, in the shadow of
the Pyramids. I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagles of France
with the eagles of the crags. I saw him at Marengo, at Ulm, and at
Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, when the infantry of the snow and the
cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered
leaves. I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster--driven by a million
bayonets back upon Paris--clutched like a wild beast--banished to Elba. I
saw him escape and retake an empire by the force of his genius. I saw him
upon the frightful field of Waterloo, where chance and fate combined to
wreck the fortunes of their former king. And I saw him at St. Helena, with
his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea.
I thought of the widows and orphans he had made, of the tears that had
been shed for his glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him, pushed
from his heart by the cold hand of ambition. And I said I would rather
have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes; I would rather have
lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing
purple in the amorous kisses of the autumn sun; I would rather have been
that poor peasant, with my wife by my side knitting as the day died out of
the sky, with my children upon my knees and their arms about me; I would
rather have been this man and gone down to the tongueless silence of the
dreamless dust, than to have been that imperial personation of force and
murder known as Napoleon the Great.
The Latest Viewpoints of Men Worth While
President Roosevelt Calls Our Supreme Bench the Most
Dignified and Powerful Court in the World--Professor Peabody
Describes the German Kaiser as a Man of Peace--Chancellor
MacCracken Discusses Teaching as a Profession for College
Graduates--Ex-Secretary Herbert Denies that the Confederate
Soldiers Were Rebels--With Other Notable Expressions of
Opinion from Speakers Entitled to a Hearing.
_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.
WHAT THE SUPREME COURT STANDS FOR.
The Members of Our Highest Tribunal
Have to Be Not Only Jurists but
Constructive Statesmen.
Justice Brown, of the Supreme Court of the United States, has retired from
active service. Before he laid aside the robes of his office a dinner was
given in his honor by the bar of the District of Columbia, and on this
occasion short speeches were delivered by several prominent men, including
President Roosevelt, who said:
In all the world--and I think, gentlemen, you will acquit me
of any disposition to needless flattery--there is no body of
men of equal numbers that possesses the dignity and power
combined that inhere in that court over which, Mr. Chief
Justice, you preside. Owing to the peculiar construction of
our government, the man who does his full duty on that court
must of necessity be not only a great jurist, but a great
constructive statesman.
The Men and the Tradition.
It has been our supreme good fortune as a nation that we
have had on that court, from the beginning to the present
day, men who have been able to carry on in worthy fashion
the tradition which has thus made it incumbent upon the
members of the court to combine in such fashion the
qualities of the great jurist and of the constructive
statesman.
Mr. Justice, we Americans are sometimes accused of paying
too much heed to mere material success, the success which is
measured only by the acquisition of wealth. I do not think
that the accusation is well founded.
A great deal of notoriety attaches, and must attach, to any
man who acquires a great fortune. If he acquires it well and
uses it well, he is entitled to and should receive the same
meed of credit that attaches to any other man who uses his
talents for the public good.
The Nation Sound at Bottom.
But if you will turn to see those whom in the past the
nation has delighted to honor, and those in the present whom
it delights to honor, I think that you will all agree that
this nation is sound at bottom in the bestowal of its
admiration in the relative estimate it puts upon the
different qualities of the men who achieve prominence by
rendering service to the public.
The names that stand out in our history in the past are the
names of the men who have done good work for the body
politic, and in the present the names of those whom this
people really hold in highest honor are the names of the men
who have done all that was in them in the best and most
worthy fashion.
In no way is it possible to deserve better of the republic
than by rendering sane, honest, clear-sighted service on the
bench, and, above all, on the highest bench of this
country.
Men who fear for our democratic institutions too often forget the Supreme
Court. Macaulay evidently forgot it when he described our Constitution as
"all sail and no anchor."
THE GERMAN KAISER'S CAMPAIGN FOR AMITY.
In His Farewell Audience to Professor
Peabody, of Harvard, He Said:
"We Must Stand Together."
Back from Berlin, where he occupied for a time a chair at the University,
under the existing arrangement for exchanges, Professor Peabody, of
Harvard, is aiming to straighten the American conceptions of Germany. The
Kaiser, he declares, is not a war-lord, but a man of peace, working in the
interest of civilization--a peace-lord, so to speak.
Speaking to a German audience in New York a few weeks ago, Professor
Peabody said:
There seems to be a general idea abroad that the German
Emperor is constantly looking about for somebody to fight.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. Germany, by virtue
of the commercial expansion it now is working for, is
pledged to maintain the peace of the world, so far as her
own honor will allow.
The German Emperor, speaking at the opening of the
Reichstag, said:
"I consider it the most sacred duty imposed upon me by an
all-wise Providence to preserve peace."
The German Emperor has been misjudged as few characters have
been in history when he has been described as a careless,
heartless intriguer, always ready to strike a blow.
I do not think I am betraying any confidence if I repeat to
you a phrase which fell from the lips of the emperor at the
very last audience with which his imperial majesty honored
me. I was about to return to America. The emperor was
speaking not as a statesman or a diplomatist, but as an
idealist discussing the ideals of his life. At parting he
said:
"We must stand together."
What could we do better here to-night than to repeat that
phrase? I bring to you the confident assurance that in
anything you do here to-night to bring about the negotiation
of a stable treaty of arbitration with your old country you
will have with you the solid common sense of the American
people.
We must stand together, and we must find a safe, solid, and
ample ground on which to stand together. That ground is a
program in which the deliberations of reason must supplant
the folly of force.
We should have reciprocity in the fullest meaning of the
word. Not only commercial reciprocity, but a fair exchange
of truth, of trade, and of treaties. We must have the open
door, the open mind, and the open hand.
Truly, from Baron von Steuben, who lent his sword to Washington, to Carl
Schurz, who lately died after a life of patriotic devotion to his adopted
country, Germans have done much for America.
THE GENIAL SPORT OF GENEALOGISTS.
Clambering Among the Branches of the
Family Tree, One May Find
Royal Ancestors.
A little harmless fun with the people who are engaged in a hunt for
ancestors is indulged in by that playful journal, the New York _Evening
Post_.
The point arises in connection with the exposé of a man who professes to
be able to link every American with royalty, by the chain of a common
ancestry, asserting that thus "you and your family, relatives, or friends
will have rare facilities in securing business contracts from European
governments." The reflections aroused in the _Post_ by this offer of
unearned greatness are in part as follows:
A fortune awaits the person who will thus bring genealogy
home to the hearts of the common people and make the
contemplation of a pedigree a source of daily happiness.
We fear that J. Henry Lea, who has just published a
hand-book entitled "Genealogical Research in England,
Scotland, and Ireland," misses the point of view. He is a
dryasdust, who is concerned about long, dull tables of the
probate courts, lists of marriage licenses, and parish
registers. He talks as if genealogy were a science--a notion
that also troubles a recent writer in the London
_Spectator_.
But if genealogy is to appeal to the masses, it must be an
art. Now, the strength of an art is not its grasp of facts,
but its flight of imagination. In a science the rule is,
abundant data and meager results; in an art, meager data and
abundant results.
Tell a scientific genealogist that your grandfather, a Welsh
cobbler, arrived in the steerage in 1860, and what do you
get? After three years and numerous fees for expenses, you
learn that for two centuries the heads of the family had
been mechanics or small tradesmen--a disgusting outcome.
Tell an artistic genealogist the same thing, and in three
weeks, for a stipulated sum, you have a neat picture of a
tree, proving that you are a Tudor, and that the English
Tudors got their start by marrying into your family. This is
why we set art above groveling science.
TEACHING IS A VERY POPULAR PROFESSION.
College Graduates in Increasing Proportion
Are Taking It Up Instead
of the Law and the Ministry.
College graduates in these times are found in all walks of life; but, of
course, there are more in the professions than in business--and more in
some professions than in others. Also there has been a change, during the
last twenty years, in the relative proportions of college men going into
different kinds of work.
Chancellor MacCracken, speaking at a commencement of New York University,
said:
What change, if any, has there been in the choice of
professions by college graduates in the last twenty years? I
was recently asked this question by a New York editor, and
was unable to answer him. I have since obtained this
information from the advance sheets of the new alumni
catalogue, issued to mark the seventy-fifth anniversary of
the university.
I have studied the record of ten classes of the College of
Arts, from 1885 until 1894, inclusive; also, of the ten
succeeding classes, from 1895 until 1904, inclusive. I find
most satisfactory reports have been obtained respecting the
occupation of these graduates. The chief results are as
follows:
Changes in Occupation.
There are two kinds of occupation which enlisted graduates
for the first decade and for the second in practically the
same proportions.
One is journalism, which enlisted two per cent in the first
decade and two and a half per cent in the second, an
increase of only one-half of one per cent.
The other is business in varied forms, which enlisted
sixteen and a half per cent of the college graduates in the
former decade and sixteen per cent in the latter decade.
On the other hand, three occupations show a decided falling
off. The graduates who have become clergymen numbered twenty
per cent in the first decade, but only seventeen per cent in
the second, a decrease of three per cent.
Those who entered the law were thirty-three per cent in the
first decade and twenty-six per cent in the second, a
decrease of seven per cent.
Those who became physicians were sixteen and a half per cent
in the first decade and fifteen and a half per cent in the
second, a decrease of one per cent; being a total decrease
in the recruits of these professions of eleven per cent.
Teaching Monopolizes the Increase.
Then comes the surprising fact that a single profession has
monopolized the entire increase. The profession of teaching,
which has twelve per cent in the ten classes first named,
has increased to no less than twenty-three per cent in the
ten classes down to the year before last.
The striking fact respecting college graduates is that
eleven per cent fewer of them go into law, medicine, and
divinity, and this entire eleven per cent have gone into
teaching.
What is the explanation? I answer, first, the teaching
profession has increased in dignity and reputation, and in
no part of the world more than in the region where New York
University finds its students.
A second reason is that philanthropic spirits find in
teaching to-day, compared with other professions, larger
scope than ever before. Law is less altruistic as a
profession and more commercial than a generation ago.
Theology is waiting for new statements of what to teach and
how to teach. Therefore, men who are inclined to teach turn
to the common school, the high school, and the college to
find scope for influencing others for good.
As further explanation of the vast increase in the number of
the teachers required for the higher positions, I can give
exact figures for only the year 1905, compared with the year
1900. In 1900 there were enrolled in the high schools of New
York City 11,706 students; last year there were enrolled
20,770 students; in other words, they have almost doubled in
the space of five years.
Can sordid covetousness long be charged against a people whose youth
increasingly seek entrance into "the poorest-paid profession"?
MEN OF THE SOUTH WERE NEVER REBELS.
Confederates and Federals Were Patriots
Settling a Constitutional Question,
Says Ex-Secretary Herbert.
In an oration over the graves of the Confederate dead in Arlington
Cemetery a few weeks ago, Hilary A. Herbert, former Secretary of the Navy,
gave force to the opinion that General Robert E. Lee, and those who fought
with him during the Civil War, though secessionists, were not "rebels." He
said:
Was Robert E. Lee and were these dead comrades of ours
traitors? With the great war in which they fought far away
in the dim past, what we have a right to ask is, Were they,
the history and Constitution of the United States
considered, either technically or legally traitors?
This may be purely an academic question. In one sense it is,
because all admit that practically the union of these States
is indissoluble; but in another sense it is not, because
there are those in the North who are fond of repeating, even
to this day, "The North was eternally right, and the South
eternally wrong."
This is declamation with which history will have nothing to
do.
Then, again, there are those in the South who say that if
the South ever had the right to secede, it has, though it
will never exercise it, that right to-day, because war
never settles a principle. This too is declamation; it loses
sight of history.
War Has Settled Great Questions.
Every international dispute about rights, about principles,
that could not be adjusted by diplomacy, has been settled by
war. Allegiances of people, forms of government, boundaries
of kingdoms and republics, all these time out of mind have
been submitted to the arbitrament of the sword, and the
results--treaties, not voluntary, but enforced at the
cannon's mouth--have been upheld by diplomats and
parliaments and courts, by every tribunal that has authority
to speak for law and order and the peace of the world.
It does not lie in the mouth of him who believed in the
right of a State in 1861 to secede, to deny now that the
question was settled by the war, and no formal treaty was
necessary as evidence of what all the world could see. We
had the right as sovereign States to submit to the
arbitrament of war. We did it, and, like others who have
gone to war, we must abide the issue. So that now if a State
should attempt to secede those who should cast their
fortunes with it would be rebels.
But not so in 1861. Then the right of a State to withdraw
from the Union was an open question. Nothing better
illustrates the situation at that time than this incident in
the life of General Lee:
General Lee's Rebuke.
When the great war was over and defeat had come to the
armies Lee had led, he was visiting the house of a friend in
Richmond. With that love of children that always
characterized him, the old hero took upon his knee a
fair-haired boy. The proud mother, to please her guest,
asked the child, "Who is General Lee?" Parrot-like the
expected answer came, "The great Virginian who was a
patriot, true to his native State." And then came the
question, "Who is General Scott?" and the reply, "A
Virginian who was a traitor to his country."
Putting down the child and turning to the mother, the
general said:
"Madam, you should not teach your child such lessons. I will
not listen to such talk. General Scott is not a traitor. He
was true to his convictions of duty, as I was to mine."
What General Lee here said and what even when the fires of
the late war were still smoldering he would have the mothers
of the South teach to their children was that he and
General Scott were both right, because each believed himself
to be right.
And that is precisely what that noble son of New England,
Charles Francis Adams, himself a gallant Union soldier, has
more recently said in a public address--that the North and
the South were both right, because each believed itself
right. And such is to be the verdict of history. We were all
patriots settling on the field of battle a constitutional
question that could be settled in no other way. Public
opinion is already moving, and moving rapidly, to the mark
of that final verdict.
With the interment of Confederate dead at Arlington much bitterness
disappears. The comradeship of death is unassailable by the arguments of
the living.
PLACE IN PUBLIC LIFE ONLY FOR PICKED MEN.
The Self-Made Have a Hard Time,
Those Born Rich Are Mostly Useless,
Says Speaker Cannon.
Somebody asked Speaker Cannon this question: "What would you say if a
young man of intelligence, education, and force, undecided as to what he
should adopt as a life career, should come to you for advice?"
Of his reply, as printed in the New York _World_, we quote the salient
passages, answering the further query as to the advisability of going into
politics:
I should say yes to the young man of intelligence, culture,
and efficiency, if these things were crossed with
patriotism. In the main those who go into public life are
picked men, and by just so much as they are picked men they
are ahead of the average. This is a fact in spite of the
oft-repeated assertion that the representatives of the
people are only of average grade.
If among a dozen young men, each of whom should decide to
devote his life to the public service and should qualify and
work hard and conscientiously for it, one--just one--should
get himself into public life and sustain himself with credit
to himself and benefit to the country, I should consider it
a great return for the effort put forth.
The man who has to make his own way, who is without a
competency to start with, and who enters public life these
days before he has saved enough to live independently of his
income as a public man, has a hard time before him.
Hard Time for the Poor Man.
The young man who has never earned his living for himself,
no matter what his advantages of circumstances or training,
is sure to make many mistakes through ignorance of hard,
practical life. Not personally having the same needs as the
man of the people, he doesn't know what to do or how to do
it.
Young men who enjoy the advantages of special training and
the opportunities that wealth gives may become especially
qualified for public life; such opportunities and training
are necessary to complete qualifications, but often they are
not equal to them. That which may be had without effort is
not often highly prized.
But all young men of ability, whether favored by fortunes or
not, owe it both to themselves and to the nation to give
attention to public affairs, to keep themselves in touch
with things, to be in constant preparation for public life
if the opportunity or necessity comes to them.
Everybody knows there is a large number of such young men in
the great business and industrial centers who give no
attention, or very little, to public affairs. The
manufacturing, the commercial or financial operations, the
contracting or transportation enterprises which they take up
give them so much better financial returns than public life
would yield that they lose sight altogether of the
government, upon whose proper conduct their success in their
various callings and enterprises depends--upon which, in
fact, the very chance to enter these callings and carry on
those enterprises rests, and whose demoralization would wipe
out everybody's chances in life.
Now, we can't prevent the evolution of such conditions in
this or any other civilized country. But these people, thus
completely absorbed in their callings and enterprises, whose
standpoint of self-interest now prevents them from giving
attention to public affairs, will surely be forced more and
more to broaden their culture--thorough knowledge of public
affairs is as necessary to truly broad culture as any other
sort of knowledge--as well as their patriotism.
Must Give More Than Money.
I don't say that these people should give, give, give--it
won't do for them to try to meet the situation merely by
being charitable with their money. Giving only gratifies
the giver. As a general rule, it pauperizes the people who
receive. The multimillionaire of to-day must give more than
his money. He must give some of his time, his attention, and
his thought to other and more important things than personal
money-getting.
The human animal accomplishes only as he works under the
pressure of necessity. The extensive development of the
United States in the last half century has kept the people
so busy in various industries, speculations, and
enterprises, in order to do their part in this development,
that many of them have neglected their duties as citizens,
or perhaps I should say as co-sovereigns in the government
of the great empire that has been built up by their efforts,
in which all men are equal at the ballot-box.
I myself am acquainted with many men who, merely because of
lucky location, though only of respectable ability, have sat
on the gateway of commerce, and, by simply levying toll,
have accumulated great fortunes.
In all their lives they have never got into touch with
public life; they know little about public questions, and
they give them no attention. These men, when pinched by the
unwise action of the majority of their fellows, are able to
do little except cover the latter with abuse.
Sometimes, however, such men try to enter public life
themselves. But then the people do not always acknowledge
their fitness for public position. Sometimes they seek
protection for their interests by improper methods instead
of trying to contribute their share in building up a wise
public sentiment.
The Most Dangerous Men.
It goes without saying that the most dangerous men in the
republic are those who, by inheritance or otherwise, have
vast fortunes, yielding great incomes, which enable them to
command the services of those who have ability, but not
conscience, and thus seek to control the average man--the
man who lives by the sweat of his face--by playing upon his
prejudices, his hopes, and his fears.
Is there a remedy for this? An offset to such evil
influences? Yes. A most efficient remedy. In the fulness of
time the multitude will find out from some actual and
painful experience that they have been misled. When, through
being misled, they begin to suffer; when they begin to be
oppressed they will seek to find new leadership and will
apply the proper remedies through the ballot-box.
Fortunately, in this republic there are plenty of men of
culture, ability, and wisdom--themselves of the people--who
cannot be bought or controlled by material considerations,
and who are daily performing the duties of citizenship, from
whom to select the required leaders not only among the rich
and well-to-do, but also among those who live by their daily
labor.
THEY WOULD KEEP THE PEACE-DOVE HOVERING.
Plans to Establish an International Parliament
for the Prevention of Conflicts
in the Future.
The year after a great war is naturally a period for talk of permanent
peace. The dove still coos, the ravages of conflict are still apparent,
the folly of an appeal to arms is evident in economic conditions. And so,
this summer, there has been more than the usual attention to plans for the
prevention of war in the future. Indeed, the time does seem ripe for the
establishment of an international parliament.
Among the addresses at the recent session of the Lake Mohonk Conference
was one by Judge W.L. Penfield, who said concerning the plan upon which
peace advocates are now agreed:
The institution of a parliament competent to legislate in
the international sphere, as the United States Congress is
within the Federal sphere, would undoubtedly present some
most difficult political problems, yet it would hardly be
more difficult for a body of jurists and statesmen to define
the bounds of authority of the international parliament than
it was for the framers of the Federal constitution to define
and distribute the powers of the Federal government.
Under existing political conditions the creation of an
international parliament clothed with the power of direct
legislation does not appear to be presently feasible. But it
is the unexpected that happens, as, for example, who would
have dared foretell five years ago the convocation of the
Russian Duma?
The Hague Conference as a Basis.
The call of an international parliament cannot be set down
as wholly improbable, and the way to that goal lies through
the more frequent calls and assemblages of The Hague
conference and by committing to it the task of codifying in
the form of treaties the leading branches of international
law. One of the subjects of its deliberations will be the
reciprocal rights and duties of neutrals and belligerents.
A more serious difficulty will arise in agreeing upon some
criterion to determine when articles of dual utility, for
war or peace, may be treated by a belligerent as absolutely
contraband of war.
There is the further question of the prize courts and of the
arrest and seizure by a belligerent's cruisers of neutral
ships and cargoes.
We may expect that another and kindred question will come
before the conference--the question of the immunity from
capture at sea of all non-contraband private property,
whether owned by the citizens or subjects of neutral or
belligerent states.
The Limits of Hospitality.
Another important subject which is likely to attract the
attention of the conference is the question of the
privileges and the limits of hospitality, of temporary
anchorage and asylum, and of the supply and repair of
belligerent war-ships in neutral ports.
It is understood that the subject which has been suggested
for the consideration of the conference is the question of
opening hostilities without previous declaration of war. It
is extremely doubtful whether the conference will attempt to
formulate any rule on so difficult a subject, and one so
intimately connected with the necessities of strategy.
There will be little objection, I imagine, to the view that
no government ought to use force to compel another
government to pay its public securities, its bonds, or other
national obligations which foreigners have voluntarily
purchased or subscribed to and taken.
But it is nearly certain that there will be a division of
opinion on the question whether any inflexible rule should
be laid down with respect to cases of individual foreigners
who have invested large sums of money in the development of
the natural resources of a country, under contract with its
government to do so, if the latter should then flagrantly
violate the contract and despoil them of the fruits of their
enterprises.
The experience had with the practical workings of The Hague
Tribunal suggests the desirability of certain amendments of
the convention of July 29, 1899, such as that only
disinterested arbitrators shall be eligible to seats on the
tribunal; that the arbitration of questions of a judicial
nature and of those concerning the interpretation and
execution of treaties shall be compulsory; that the medieval
idea that a sense of national honor, aside from the rights
of self-defense, can justify resort to war in any case shall
be abandoned, and, workable and in every way admirable as it
now is--when we consider its substance and the circumstances
of its formation--that the time is now ripe for the revision
and recasting of the convention of July 29, 1899.
Whether an international parliament can prevent war without the assistance
of an international police is another story.
LIQUOR DEALERS COME OUT FOR TEMPERANCE.
Rum-Sellers in Convention at Louisville
Praise the Work of the Societies that
Fight King Alcohol.
The National Liquor Dealers' Association, in annual convention at
Louisville, Kentucky, early in June, issued a startling address to the
public. These men, who are frequently thought to have no stronger desire
than that every person drink more than is good for him, actually commend
the work of the various temperance societies and urge that intoxication
should be considered a crime. They say:
From time to time during the past seventy-five or one
hundred years waves of public sentiment antagonistic to the
manufacture and sale of wine and spirits and other alcoholic
beverages have passed over this country, leaving in their
train State, county, and municipal legislation of a more or
less drastic character--legislation entirely out of sympathy
with the spirit of American institutions; legislation that
was bound to fail in its purpose in practically every
instance, and this because the sentiment that compelled it
was a sentiment engendered by agitation, and totally unripe
for its enforcement.
Prohibitory Laws Evaded.
That prohibitory laws are all evaded is clearly shown by the
fact that notwithstanding the adoption of prohibition by a
number of States, and by innumerable counties, until at the
present time it is unlawful to sell wines or spirits in more
than one-half of the geographical limits of the United
States, the demand for such beverages has increased in
almost the same proportion as our population, from the
legitimate trade, and in an enormously greater proportion
from illicit distillers and retailers.
We shall not be so uncharitable as to contend that the
agitation from which this public sentiment originates owes
its persistent recurrence to mercenary motives on the part
of men who make merchandise of aroused emotions, because it
gives a pleasurable excitement to the women who tire of the
monotony of home; but, on the contrary, we shall be candid
in the admission that there is good and sufficient reason
for an arousing of public sentiment in this country, and we
confess a feeling of sympathy with the movements for the
uplifting of mankind and for the purification of society.
Favor White Ribbon Movement.
The White Ribbon movement, the Blue Ribbon movement, the
Prohibition movement, and the Anti-Saloon League movement
were, or are, protests upon the part of good men and women
against two of the greatest evils connected with our
civilization, and, unfortunately for us, connected with our
trade--we refer to drunkenness and to those saloons which
are conducted in a disreputable manner, or in such a way as
to demoralize rather than to elevate those who patronize
them--and we, the delegates to this convention of the wine
and spirit trade, desire to express in no uncertain tones
our entire sympathy with the efforts that have been or may
be put forth to exterminate the evils, and our willingness
to lend cooperation and assistance by every means in our
power.
We do not desire to deceive or to mislead, nor to be
misunderstood, and in all candor we declare our views to be
as follows:
We believe that wines and spirits are blessings _per se_,
intended by an All-wise Providence to bring health and
happiness to mankind.
We believe that the legitimate manufacture and sale of wines
and spirits is an honorable trade, and one that should be
respected by society and by the laws.
We believe that the saloon and café can, and should be, so
conducted that men would not hesitate to visit them
accompanied by their wives and children, and that the
atmosphere of such places should be beneficial to both mind
and body.
Intoxication Should Be Crime.
We believe that it should be made a crime for a man to
become intoxicated. We hold that no man has a right to
deliberately overthrow his reason and render himself a
dangerous factor in society, and, therefore, we would gladly
welcome the passage of laws providing severe penalties for
such offenses and a firm, rigid enforcement without regard
to wealth or influence of the offender.
For the evils to which we have referred prohibitory laws
have proved no remedy, and, even if they should be enforced,
we believe they are dangerous to liberty, but the
suggestions that we have offered are practicable, and have
proven to be remedies in most of the countries of
Continental Europe, where drunkenness is seldom in evidence,
and furthermore, we can apply such laws without giving
offense save to those who by common consent are deserving of
condemnation as having done that which mankind recognizes to
be wrong, and having thereby placed themselves without the
pale.
That the liquor dealers should take this position is not so surprising as
at first thought it seems. Economically, the best condition for the liquor
business is temperance.
MACAULAY'S PROPHECY OF DEMOCRACY'S DOOM.
Fifty Years Ago the Great English Historian
Saw Dangers Ahead for the
American Ship of State.
Macaulay, the historian, wrote a striking letter in 1857 to H.S. Randall,
of New York, who had sent to the author of the "History of England" a
"Life of Jefferson."
The occasion seemed to Macaulay suitable for an expression of his opinion
of American institutions. Accordingly he wrote at length. The Boston
_Transcript_ recently published the letter, which, in its essential parts,
is as follows:
I have long been convinced that institutions purely
democratic must, sooner or later, destroy liberty or
civilization, or both. In Europe, where the population is
dense, the effect of such institutions would be almost
instantaneous.
What happened lately in France is an example. In 1848 a pure
democracy was established there. During a short time there
was reason to expect a general spoliation, a national
bankruptcy, a new partition of the soil, a maximum of
prices, a ruinous load of taxation laid on the rich for the
purpose of supporting the poor in idleness.
Such a system would, in twenty years, have made France as
poor and barbarous as the France of the Carlovingians.
Happily, the danger was averted; and now there is a
despotism, a silent tribune, an enslaved press. Liberty is
gone, but civilization has been saved. You may think that
your country enjoys an exemption from these evils; I will
frankly own to you that I am of a very different opinion.
Your fate I believe to be certain, though it is deferred by
a physical cause. As long as you have a boundless extent of
fertile and unoccupied land, your laboring population will
be far more at ease than the laboring population of the Old
World; and while that is the case the Jefferson politics may
continue to exist without causing any fatal calamity.
An Early Victorian Mother Shipton.
But the time will come when New England will be as thickly
settled as Old England. Wages will be as low, and will
fluctuate as much with you as with us. You will have your
Manchesters and Birminghams; and in those Manchesters and
Birminghams hundreds and thousands of artisans will
sometimes be out of work.
Then your institutions will be fairly brought to the test.
Distress everywhere makes the laborer mutinous and
discontented, and inclines him to listen with eagerness to
agitators, who tell him that it is a monstrous iniquity that
one man should have a million while another cannot get a
full meal.
In bad years there is plenty of grumbling here, and
sometimes a little rioting; but it matters little, for here
the sufferers are not the rulers. The supreme power is in
the hands of a class, numerous indeed, but select--of an
educated class--of a class which is, and knows itself to be,
deeply interested in the security of property and the
maintenance of order.
Restraining the Discontented Majority.
Accordingly the malcontents are gently but firmly
restrained. The bad time is got over without robbing the
wealthy to relieve the indigent. The springs of national
prosperity soon begin to flow again; work is plentiful,
wages rise, and all is tranquillity and cheerfulness.
I have seen England pass, three or four times, through such
critical seasons as I have described. Through such seasons
the United States will have to pass in the course of the
next century, if not of this. How will you pass through
them? I heartily wish you good deliverance; but my reason
and my wishes are at war, and I cannot help foreboding the
worst.
It is quite plain that your government will never be able to
restrain a distressed and discontented majority. For, with
you, the majority is the government, and has the rich, who
are always in the minority, absolutely at its mercy.
The day will come when, in the State of New York, a
multitude of people, none of whom has had more than half a
breakfast, or expects to have more than half a dinner, will
choose a Legislature. Is it possible to doubt what sort of a
Legislature will be chosen?
Statesman and Demagogue.
On one side is a statesman preaching patience, respect for
vested rights, strict observance of public faith; on the
other is a demagogue, ranting about the tyranny of the
capitalists and usurers, and asking why anybody should be
permitted to drink champagne and to ride in a carriage while
thousands of honest folk are in want of necessaries.
Which of the two candidates is likely to be preferred by a
workman who hears his children cry for bread?
I seriously apprehend you will, in some such season of
adversity as I have described, do things that will prevent
prosperity from returning; that you will act like people who
should, in a season of scarcity, devour all the seed-corn,
and thus make the next year not one of scarcity, but of
absolute famine.
There will be, I fear, spoliation. The spoliation will
increase the distress. The distress will produce fresh
spoliation. There is nothing to stop you. Your Constitution
is all sail and no anchor. As I said before, when a society
has entered on its downward progress, either civilization or
liberty must perish. Either some Cæsar or Napoleon will
seize the reins of government with a strong hand or your
republic will be as fearfully plundered and laid waste by
barbarians in the twentieth century as the Roman Empire was
in the fifth.
Curious that Macaulay's fears for America should not have been felt by
Americans themselves until now. Even to-day, when in some degree the
symptoms he described a half century ago are making their appearance, the
American people is more interested in the situation than alarmed by it;
for the Americans, like the English, rely with confidence upon the
Anglo-Saxon genius for working things out.
AN OPEN ATTITUDE IN STUDYING THE OCCULT.
What Shall the Man of Scientific Mind
Say in the Presence of Apparently
Supernatural Phenomena?
Sir Oliver Lodge, writing in the _Fortnightly Review_ a short time ago,
asserted that every man of science who has seriously undertaken to
investigate the "occult" has ended by believing in it.
This statement, as the Portland _Oregonian_ suggests, may not be so
important as might appear, for comparatively few trained scientists have
ventured into the vague problems of the threshold. The _Oregonian_,
however, proceeds to answer some of the objections commonly made to belief
in spirit communications, and also to define limitations of investigation
of occult phenomena:
People of well-balanced judgment, whether learned or not,
are inclined to look askance upon those who have dealings
with the spirit world. Some believe that communication
between the living and dead is possible, but wicked.
Others, while their faith is firm that life continues after
death, hold, nevertheless, that the gulf between the two
worlds can never be recrossed by those who have once passed
over, and that no message can traverse its dark immensity.
Still others believe that death ends our existence utterly;
there is no future life, no world of spirits, and therefore
all phenomena purporting to be caused by the disembodied
dead necessarily originate in some other way.
None of these opinions is held by the sternly scientific
mind, like Dr. Osler's, for example. In his well-known
Ingersoll lecture that distinguished physician and graceful
man of letters comes to the conclusion that we do not and
never can know whether there is a future life or not.
There is absolutely no evidence looking either way, and
there never can be any such evidence. To his view and to all
the others one may easily find objections.
The belief that communication with disembodied souls is
wicked is a mere superstition derived from the ancient
Jewish laws against witchcraft. With them, as with all
primitive peoples, a witch was one who, like Glendower,
could call spirits from the vasty deep, and the reason for
discouraging the practise is obvious; it set up a dangerous
competition with the regular priesthood, and cut off their
revenues.
The Jewish priests had a prescribed orthodox method of
consulting spirits, which contributed handsomely to their
income, and it was scarcely to be expected that they would
tolerate the piratical competition of hideous old women like
the Witch of Endor.
Hence that command in the law of Moses, "Thou shalt not
suffer a witch to live," which has been the cause of so much
cruelty and bloodshed.
Science and Experience.
When science says a thing cannot be done, experience proves
that she speaks prematurely almost always. We may as yet
have no evidence of the reality of a future life, but that
by no means demonstrates that we never shall have such
evidence.
A century ago we had no evidence of the X-rays, of the
telephone, of the new theory of non-atomic matter. That men
have been trying from the beginning of time to demonstrate
another existence and have always failed is of no
significance. Perhaps they have not tried in the right way.
The objection that most of the things purporting to be said
and done by spirits are absurd or trivial has no weight. The
only way to find out how a spirit will act under given
conditions is to place him under those conditions and watch
the results.
What seems absurd to us may not seem so to him. If he exists
at all, his norms of worth may be, and probably are, very
different from ours. According to the valuations of the
spirit world, rapping on a table may be as exalted a
function as heading an army is with us.
How silly it was for Galvani to make a frog's leg twitch
with his bits of zinc and copper! Yet something has come of
it. How trifling a thing was the fall of Newton's apple! Yet
he could see in it the revolutions of the stars.
Perhaps some day another Newton will appear who can discern
some law of universal import in those occult trifles which
now merely puzzle without edifying us.
As the course of the falling apple involves the trajectory
of Arcturus, so the foolish raps upon a kitchen table which
mystify a superstitious circle of devotees may imply the
immortality of the soul.
Let us wait and see.
The _Oregonian_ appears to argue simply for an open mind--which is the
right attitude for investigators.
THAT GREAT MYSTERY, THE COMMON TABBY.
There Must Be Something Esoteric About
the Cat, to Judge from Her
Astounding Performances.
However cozily she may sleep upon the rug, however certain her knowledge
of the quickest route to the milkpans on the closet shelf, the cat is ever
but a guest in the house. Though occasionally she permits herself to be
stroked, it is only when a stroking accords with her own desires. She
never makes concessions as the dog does; she is selfish and independent;
so canny in her policies as to be almost uncanny; aloof, full of
indirections.
The late Professor Shaler spoke of "the almost human dog"; and surely we
are able to trace the associational processes of mind by which Fido has
drawn close to his master. We are convinced that Fido does not know that
he is a dog. He does what his master pleases. But Tabby does what she
herself pleases.
If any animal approximates human consciousness, it is the common Tabby.
Perhaps she embodies some force unknown to, or misunderstood by, mankind.
The Chicago _Inter-Ocean_ argues that she does, for we read:
There is never any telling what a cat will do. Everybody who
has kept house, or who is keeping house, or who is an inmate
of a house that is kept, as all well-regulated houses are,
for the partial convenience of the cat, will agree to this
proposition.
The cat, to all appearances, as far as any member of the
family is able to see, has been put out for the night, and
yet she is found to be in at 4 A.M. as usual, pleading with
all the inmates, individually and collectively, to have the
door opened for her so that she may go out.
On the other hand, she is safely locked in, as far as
anybody can see. Witnesses are always willing to testify
that they have seen her locked in. Nevertheless, at about
4.30 A.M., she is heard outside under the bedroom windows,
pleading as usual to be let in.
Again, the cat has been taken to the river in a flour-sack,
and comfortably drowned. The small boy of the family,
accompanied by one of the boarders, who has given the small
boy a quarter, has seen the bag, with the cat inside of it,
sink below the surface.
The news is somehow rumored about the house, and all the
boarders go to bed early that night, feeling that there is
really more in life than they had any right to hope for. Yet
in the morning the voice of that cat is heard on the front
door-step, and the cat herself comes in when Mr. Johnson
reaches out for his morning paper.
And, again, a terrible noise is heard in the dining-room. It
sounds as if the contents of the sideboard had been emptied
on the floor. When sufficient time is given for the burglars
to escape, the procession comes down-stairs, headed by Mrs.
Johnson.
There is not a single thing disturbed in the dining-room or
elsewhere, and the cat is sleeping snugly on the best rug.
It is always a mystery how the cat makes that kind of noise.
The days of superstition are long since passed. Few are
superstitious now, and these are generally the ignorant. But
there are very many people in every community who do not
understand many things about the cat.
It is not going too far to say that many millions of people
who pass for intelligent believe that every cat has two
personalities--one that is just an ordinary cat and the
other an intangible something that can penetrate solid
matter like the X-ray.
This theory would account for the fact that a cat which you
have seen run down by an automobile will be found next
morning chasing squirrels across the lawn, and for the fact
that the cat which you expressed, charges prepaid, to your
brother's wife in Trenton, New Jersey, is heard running over
the piano-keys in your own house a few nights later.
We are far from knowing everything that is worth while about
the cat, much as we may boast of our advancement in general
education.
DEFINITIONS OF "HOME."
The golden setting in which the brightest jewel is "mother."
* * * * *
A world of strife shut out, a world of love shut in.
* * * * *
An arbor which shades when the sunshine of prosperity becomes too
dazzling; a harbor where the human bark finds shelter in time of storm.
* * * * *
Home is the blossom of which heaven is the fruit.
* * * * *
Home is a person's estate obtained without injustice, kept without
disquietude; a place where time is spent without repentance, and which is
ruled by justice, mercy, and love.
* * * * *
A hive in which, like the industrious bee, youth garners the sweets and
memories of life for age to meditate and feed upon.
* * * * *
The best place for a married man after business hours.
* * * * *
Home is the coziest, kindliest, sweetest place in all the world, the scene
of our purest earthly joys and deepest sorrows.
* * * * *
The place where the great are sometimes small, and the small often great.
* * * * *
The father's kingdom, the children's paradise, the mother's world.
* * * * *
The jewel casket containing the most precious of all jewels--domestic
happiness.
* * * * *
Where you are treated best and grumble most.
* * * * *
The center of our affections, around which our heart's best wishes twine.
* * * * *
A popular but paradoxical institution, in which woman works in the absence
of man, and man rests in the presence of woman.
* * * * *
A working model of heaven, with real angels in the form of mothers and
wives.
* * * * *
Having offered a prize for the best definition of "Home," London
_Tit-Bits_ recently received more than five thousand answers.
Among those which were adjudged the best were the definitions printed
above.
RECESSIONAL.
In 1897 the British Empire celebrated the Diamond Jubilee, as it was
called, of Victoria's accession to the throne. She had been queen for
sixty years, and in that time the dominion of the flag of Britain had been
extended over lands which, at her coronation, were scarcely known except
by name. The celebration culminated in a splendid and stately ceremonial
which made London appear to be the capital city of the entire world. From
out all the length and breadth of the empire came princes, chiefs, nobles,
and statesmen of every race, all united under British rule, and vying with
each other in homage to their sovereign. So overwhelming were this display
and the significance of its splendor that it roused in many minds a
feeling of awe bordering almost upon apprehension. Was this greatness not
too great? Might it not breed that overweening pride of power which goes
before destruction?
This thought sank deep into the impressionable mind of Rudyard Kipling.
His genius sought to express in words the idea which came to him--the wish
to deprecate that divine disfavor which men have always feared as the
punishment of too great prosperity. It was the feeling which made the
Greeks and Romans dread the power of Nemesis, the jealousy of the gods.
Kipling wrote five stanzas which he entitled "Recessional."
The lines at once were cabled to all parts of the English-speaking world,
and they took their place with the classic poems of the English tongue.
"Recessional" is indeed a majestic and noble poem--a prayer in verse. Its
solemnity and religious fervor are Hebraic. Its mastery of phrase is
almost unrivaled. Through it there runs a tone of proud humility which
marks the English character, touched with haughtiness even in its
supplication. Such a phrase as that which speaks of the "lesser breeds
without the Law" contains even a touch of scorn which would be discordant
were it not so characteristic of the great conquering race of which to-day
Kipling himself has become the unofficial laureate. It is not extravagant
to say that no poem written in the last quarter of a century is so sure of
immortality.
BY RUDYARD KIPLING.
God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart;
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire;
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe--
Such boasting as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard--
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard--
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord!
Amen.
FROM THE LIPS OF ANANIAS.
While Kipling Makes the Merits of "Unwreckable" and "Impeccable" Lies the
Subject of Song, Others Continue to Prefer the Medium of Story.
RUDYARD KIPLING'S LYRIC TO LIES.
_Heading of Chapter VII of "The Naulahka," by Rudyard Kipling and Walcott
Balestier. Copyright, 1892, Macmillan & Co._
There is pleasure in the wet, wet clay,
When the artist's hand is potting it,
There is pleasure in the wet, wet lay,
When the poet's hand is blotting it,
There is pleasure in the shine of your picture on the line
At the Royal Arcade--my;
But the pleasure felt in these is as chalk to Cheddar cheese
When it comes to a well made Lie,
To a quite unwreckable Lie,
To a most impeccable Lie!
To a water-tight, fire-proof, angle-iron, sunk-hinge, time-lock,
steel-faced Lie!
Not a private hansom Lie,
But a fair and brougham Lie,
_Not_ a little place in Tooting, but a country house with shooting
and a ring-fence, deer-park Lie.
SOME SNAKE STORIES.
When a boy, in the early days in the lead mines of Wisconsin, I often met
pioneers and heard them tell strange stories about hoop-snakes. In one
particular they all agreed--the snakes, in pairs, about the 15th of May
would come rolling up from Illinois. Then they would disappear, and not be
seen again until August. During that month strange sights might be seen on
lonely stretches of prairie--hundreds of them playfully chasing one
another.
They were a green snake--the males about six and the females five feet
long. About four inches from the ends of their tails grew a hard, curved
horn, from two to four inches in length.
They were considered the most dangerous snakes in the Northwest.
Wo betide the living thing that crossed their path as they rolled
noiselessly over the prairie. I heard an old hunter say he once stood by a
lone tree on the prairie and saw a hoop-snake come rolling toward the
tree. As it drew near he held his gun right across its path.
When near enough, the snake let go of its tail and struck the metal barrel
of the gun, knocking it out of his hand and making it ring like a bell.
The snake then stuck its tail into its mouth and went rolling away.
The hunter soon noticed that the gun-barrel began to swell. He watched the
gun until it swelled so big it scared him, and in terror he fled over the
prairie and never went near the spot again. Years afterward miners
prospecting for mineral found an old cannon shaped like a musket-barrel.
It was the old gun, grown to be a foot in diameter.--_Correspondence in
Chicago Inter-Ocean._
DISCRIMINATING SPARROWS.
An Atchison man planted lettuce, but as fast as it came through the ground
the English sparrows ate it off.
He finally got a few small flags and stuck them in the lettuce-bed, and
not a sparrow will consent to touch that lettuce as long as Old Glory
floats over it.--_Atchison (Kansas) Globe._
A GUN'S SELF-SACRIFICE.
Not long ago an ex-Governor of Michigan, a Cleveland capitalist, and
several friends were in the big woods near Turtle Lake, guided by Sam
Sampson, a famous hunter and trapper. Sam possesses a gun with a barrel
five feet long, but once, according to his story, he had a still longer
one.
"It was a wonderful gun," he said to the ex-Governor. "I could kill a b'ar
as fur off as I could see 'im, an' that gun was as knowing as a man. If it
hadn't been fur that, it would never ha' busted!"
"How did you break it?" asked one of the hunters.
"I strained it t' death," said the old guide soberly. "I was out hunting
one day when I seen a buck and seven does a-standin' close onto me. I
pulled up old Beetle--that's what I called th' gun--and was jest goin' t'
let go when I heard an awful funny noise over my head.
"I looked up 'n' there was more'n ten million wild geese a-sailin' over
me. There I was in a predicament. I wanted th' geese 'n' I wanted th'
deer.
"At last I aimed at th' geese an' let sliver. Beetle must ha' knowed I
wanted both, fur that was th' end of the old gun. The strain on her was
too much, an' both barrels busted.
"Th' shot in one of 'em killed the buck, th' shot in th' other killed ten
geese, and when Beetle died she kicked so hard I was knocked into a crick.
But when I come out my bootlegs was full o' fish. I ain't never seen
another sech gun as Beetle."--_Lippincott's Magazine._
A POWERFUL SALVE.
A man in Nebraska has invented a new powerful double-acting salve which
shows powers never before exhibited by salves of any kind.
The inventor accidentally cut off the tail of a tame wolf, and,
immediately applying some of the salve to the stump, a new tail grew out.
Then picking up the old tail, he applied some of the salve to the raw end
of that, and a wolf grew out; but he was a wild wolf, and had to be
shot.--_Chicago Tribune._
HOW THE PACK WAS PACKED.
A red-faced man was holding the attention of a little group with some
wonderful recitals.
"The most exciting chase I ever had," he said, "happened a few years ago
in Russia. One night, when sleighing about ten miles from my destination,
I discovered to my intense horror that I was being followed by a pack of
wolves. I fired blindly into the pack, killing one of the brutes, and to
my delight saw the others stop to devour it. After doing this, however,
they still came on. I kept on repeating the dose, with the same result,
and each occasion gave me an opportunity to whip up my horses. Finally
there was only one wolf left, yet on it came, with its fierce eyes glaring
in anticipation of a good, hot supper."
Here the man who had been sitting in the corner burst forth into a fit of
laughter.
"Why, man," said he, "by your way of reckoning, that last wolf must have
had the rest of the pack inside him."
"Ah!" said the red-faced man, without a tremor, "now I remember it did
wobble a bit."--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
A TALL TREE YARN.
Scott Cummins, the poet of Winchester, Woods County, was a cow-puncher in
the Northwest many years ago. His outfit came to Snake River one day with
three thousand cattle. Cummins, with a poet's license, relates what
happened:
"The river was too dangerous for swimming, but after following the bank a
short distance the foreman found a giant redwood tree that had fallen
across the river. Fortunately the tree was hollow, and, making a chute,
they had no trouble in driving the cattle through the log to the other
side.
"As the cattle had not been counted for several days, one of the cowboys
was stationed to count them as they emerged from the log. The count fell
short some three hundred head, but about that time a distant lowing was
heard.
"Their surprise may be imagined when on looking about they found that the
cattle had wandered off into a hollow limb."--_Kansas City Star._
REMARKABLE ECHOES.
President Murphy, of the Chicago National League Club, told at a baseball
dinner a remarkable echo story.
"There was a man," he began, "who had a country home in the Catskills. He
was showing a visitor over his grounds one day, and coming to a hilly
place, he said:
"'There's a remarkable echo here. If you stand under that rock and shout,
the echo answers four distinct times, with an interval of several minutes
between each answer.'
"But the visitor was not at all impressed. He said, with a laugh:
"'You ought to hear the echo at my place in Sunapee. Before getting into
bed at night I stick my head out of the window and shout, "Time to get up,
William!" and the echo wakes me at seven o'clock sharp the next
morning.'"--_Detroit Free Press._
Alas, it is not till time, with reckless hand, has torn out
half the leaves from the Book of Human Life to light the
fires of passion with from day to day, that man begins to
see that the leaves which remain are few in
number.--=Longfellow.=
The Graves of Our Presidents.
While a Very Few Are Marked by Monuments Erected at the Expense of the
Nation, Others, Almost Forgotten, Are in a State of Shameful Neglect.
_An original article written for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.
The ingratitude of republics is proverbial, and perhaps no better proof of
this fact need be adduced than the manner in which they neglect the graves
of illustrious persons who have reflected honor on the national life. We
may as well take this criticism directly home to ourselves. In the United
States there is nothing to correspond with England's Westminster Abbey,
and how many American schoolboys are there who are able to name the
burial-places of so many as a dozen of our Presidents, famous statesmen,
generals, admirals, and men of letters?
Nearly all the resting-places of our Presidents have been purchased by
private means, and in several cases the monuments that mark them have been
erected with funds obtained by popular subscription.
Unfortunately, however, many of these spots that should be held in
veneration by the citizens of the republic have, from time to time, been
suffered to remain in a state of neglect that reflects little credit on
the national spirit--and this, too, notwithstanding the proposition to
raise the salary of the President of the United States to one hundred
thousand dollars per annum and to pension retired Presidents at
twenty-five thousand dollars.
George Washington's tomb is situated at some little distance from the
mansion at Mount Vernon. Surrounded by sweet briar, trailing arbutus, and
other flowers, it is the Mecca of Americans as well as the revered
visiting-place of thousands of Europeans. The tomb is of brick, according
to Washington's desire. The front is plain, with a wide gateway arching
over double iron gates, above which is the inscription upon a plain white
marble slab:
Within This Enclosure
Rest the Remains of
GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON.
The sarcophagi containing the bodies of George and Martha Washington are
in the anteroom, behind which is the vault where the bodies of about
thirty members of the family repose. On a tablet over the door are the
words: "I am the Resurrection and the Life. He that believeth in Me,
though he were dead, yet shall he live."
On the sarcophagus of Mrs. Washington is the inscription: "Martha, Consort
of Washington; died 22nd of May, 1802; aged 71 years."
That of Washington is ornamented with the United States coat-of-arms upon
a draped flag, and bears the all-sufficient word:
WASHINGTON.
John Adams, the second President, rests side by side with his son, John
Quincy Adams, under the First Congregational Church, where they worshiped
in their native town of Braintree, Massachusetts, now called Quincy. The
tomb is in the front part of the cellar, under the porch. It is fourteen
feet square, and is made of large blocks of granite, slightly faced. The
door is formed by a granite slab, seven feet by three.
The bodies of the two Presidents and their wives are enclosed in leaden
caskets and are placed in stone coffins, each hewn from a single piece of
marble. In the church, on the right side of the pulpit, as seen from the
pews, is a memorial tablet surmounted by a life-sized bust of John Adams.
Below the bust is a Latin line:
Libertatem, Amicitiam, Fidem, Retinebis.
Above the tablet are the words:
Thy Will Be Done
The tablet is inscribed in two columns, the first testifying that "Beneath
these walls are deposited the mortal remains of John Adams, son of John
and Susanna (Boylston) Adams, second President of the United States." At
great length it eulogizes his life and says of his death that "On the
Fourth of July, 1826, he was summoned to the independence of immortality
and to the judgment of his God."
The second column is inscribed to his wife with similar feeling.
John Quincy Adams's last resting-place is necessarily described with that
of his father, John Adams. On the other side of the pulpit from the one
where stands the tablet and bust of the elder Adams is another similarly
dedicated to John Quincy Adams and his wife. It records that
Near this place reposes all that could die of John Quincy
Adams.
After dwelling on his official achievements, it refers to him as:
A Son worthy of his Father, a Citizen shedding Glory on his
Country, a Scholar ambitious to advance Mankind, this
Christian sought to walk humbly in the sight of God.
The second column of the tablet similarly commemorates the virtues of his
"partner for fifty years."
Thomas Jefferson's grave is at Monticello, the place of his residence. It
is a little way from his old house, in a thick growth of woods, surrounded
by about thirty graves, which are enclosed by a brick wall ten feet high.
Until 1883 it was a neglected spot, desecrated and ruined by vandal
relic-hunters. The mound was trodden level with the ground, and the
inscription on the coarse granite obelisk was beaten off and unreadable
except for the dates of birth and death.
In 1878 a movement was made in Congress to remedy this condition, but it
was frustrated by the owner of the place, who claimed the grave and the
right of way to it. An understanding was reached in 1883, and an
appropriation of ten thousand dollars made for the erection of a suitable
monument.
W.W. Corcoran, of Washington, endowed a professorship of natural history
at the University of Virginia on condition that the university should take
care of the grave. It is a place of exquisite natural beauty and grandeur,
and is now marked by a fitting monument, inscribed as was the old one, a
rough sketch of which was found. The inscription is as follows:
Here was buried Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration
of Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for Religious
Freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia. Born
April 2 (O.S.), 1743; died July 4, 1826.
Jefferson's death preceded that of John Adams by only one hour.
James Madison is buried at his beautiful home, Montpelier, four miles from
Orange, Virginia. An attractive lawn of about sixty acres surrounds the
brick mansion, and in the center of this is an enclosure, one hundred feet
square, fenced in by a brick wall some five feet high. In this enclosure
is the grave of Madison. Three other graves are near it, one of them being
Mrs. Madison's.
Over the dead President's grave is a mound, from the top of which rises a
granite obelisk twenty feet high.
Near the base are inscribed the words:
MADISON.
Born March 16, 1751.
A smaller monument beside it bears the record, "In memory of Dolly Payne,
wife of James Madison; born May 20th, 1772; died July 8, 1849."
James Monroe was the fifth President of the United States, and was the
third out of the five to die on July 4. For twenty-seven years after his
death his body rested at New York, where he had died, but on July 4, 1858,
it was removed, by order of the General Assembly of Virginia, to Hollywood
Cemetery, Richmond, and re-interred there on July 5.
A brick and granite vault, built five feet under ground on an eminence
overlooking the beautiful valley of the James River, now holds the body.
On a polished block of Virginia marble, eight feet by four, stands a large
granite sarcophagus bearing a brass plate with this inscription:
James Monroe, born in Westmoreland County, 28th of April,
1758; died in the city of New York 4th of July, 1831. By
order of the General Assembly his remains were removed to
this cemetery 5th of July, 1858. As an evidence of the
affection of Virginia for her good and honored son.
The ends and sides of the vault are formed by ornamental cast iron grating
joining the supporting pillars, and so closely made as to render it
difficult to see through the interstices.
Andrew Jackson is buried in the garden of his home, the Hermitage, eleven
miles from Nashville, Tennessee. The grave is about two hundred feet from
the house. A circular space of earth, eighteen feet across and elevated
about two feet, is crowned by a massive monument of Tennessee limestone
marking the spot where Jackson and his wife lie. The base covers the
graves, and from it rise eight fluted columns supporting a plain
entablature surmounted by an urn. The ceiling and cornices thus formed are
ornamented with white stucco work.
From a base on this encolumned platform rises a pyramid. On the left, over
the body of the President, is a stone bearing the inscription:
GENERAL ANDREW JACKSON.
Born March 15, 1767;
Died June 8, 1845.
On the right of the pyramid is another stone recording his undying esteem
for his wife.
Martin Van Buren died at Kinderhook, Columbia County, New York, and is
buried in the graveyard at the northern end of that village.
The grave is crowded by other graves, and is neglected, unfenced, and
flowerless. Over it is a plain granite monument, about fifteen feet high,
with an inscription which reads:
MARTIN VAN BUREN,
Eighth President of the United States.
Born December 5, 1782;
Died July 24, 1862.
Beneath this inscription is another one which reads: "Hannah Van Buren,
his wife; born March 3, 1783; died at Albany, New York, February 3, 1819."
William Henry Harrison's grave is marked by no monument and bears no
inscription. It is situated fifteen miles west of Cincinnati at North
Bend. A brick vault on the summit of a small hill holds the remains of
Harrison and his wife and children. He died one month after his
inauguration and received funeral honors all over the country, but his
grave is now singularly neglected and apparently forgotten.
John Tyler, the tenth President, rests in an obscurity similar to that of
his immediate predecessor, Harrison. At Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond,
Virginia, ten yards from the unique monument which marks the grave of
President Monroe, are interred Tyler's remains. No monument--save a small
magnolia-tree--no inscription, no tablet; nothing but weeds and shrubs and
loneliness mark the last resting-place of the President whose sad fate it
was to be the nation's executive at a time when his political and
temperamental tendencies were the least of all adjustable to the great
office he held.
James K. Polk's remains repose at Nashville, Tennessee, almost within
sight of The Hermitage, the last resting-place of President Jackson. A
limestone monument marks the grave, designed by William Strickland, the
architect of the Capitol. It is in Grecian Doric style (a roof supported
by columns), about twelve feet square and the same height. An inscription
on the architrave of the eastern front reads:
JAMES KNOX POLK,
Eleventh President of the United States.
Born November 2, 1795;
Died June 15, 1849.
Further inscriptions inform the reader that "the mortal remains of James
K. Polk are resting in the vault beneath." They eulogize his virtues and
detail his public services at great length.
Zachary Taylor is buried in the old burial-ground on the ancestral farm of
the Taylors, five miles from Louisville, Kentucky. The plot is about one
hundred yards from the mansion and contains the bodies of three
generations of the family.
A few years after Taylor's death Congress made an appropriation for the
purpose of constructing a vault, and within a few years the State of
Kentucky appropriated five thousand dollars to erect a monument. The
sarcophagi containing the bodies of the President and his wife are
separated by a marble bust of Taylor.
The monument is a gray granite shaft, surmounted by a colossal Italian
marble statue, representing General Taylor in full military dress, with
sword and cap in hand. The monument is inscribed with the general's name,
dates of birth and death on one side, and on the opposite side are the
United States coat-of-arms and implements of war in bas-relief. On the
other two sides are the names of the great battles of the Mexican War.
Millard Fillmore, the thirteenth President, was the second Vice-President
to be called to the higher office. His grave is at Forest Lawn Cemetery,
three miles from Buffalo, New York. The monument is of highly polished
Scotch granite, twenty-two feet high. On the base, in raised letters, is
the word "Fillmore," and farther up is the inscription which proclaims his
name and the dates of birth and death.
Franklin Pierce is buried in the Minot Lot, Old Cemetery, Concord, New
Hampshire. The monument over his grave is of elaborately carved Italian
marble. The base is of granite, and on the plinth in raised letters is the
word "Pierce." A panel is inscribed:
FRANCIS PIERCE.
Born November 23, 1804;
Died October 8, 1869.
Presumably Francis is the name under which he was baptized. Near the
President's grave is that of Mrs. Pierce--a plain white marble spire with
an upward pointing hand, marking the spot.
James Buchanan, the fifteenth President, reposes in Woodward Hill
Cemetery, Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The Buchanan plot is thirty feet by
twelve, and is surrounded by an iron fence interwoven with rose-bushes,
and roses are profusely dotted all over the well-kept lawn. The
President's remains are in a vault covered with slabs of rock in the
center of the plot. On these is a base of granite which is surmounted by a
block of Italian marble, six feet four inches long, by two feet ten inches
wide, and three feet six inches high. It is worked with a molded cap and
base, and bears the inscription:
Here Rest the Remains of James
Buchanan, Fifteenth President of the
United States, Born in Franklin
County, Pa., April 23, 1791, Died at
Wheatland, June 1, 1868.
Abraham Lincoln's tomb is in the National Lincoln monument, Oak Ridge
Cemetery, Springfield, Illinois. The base on which the column stands is
seventy-two feet six inches square, with projections at the front and rear
for the catacomb and memorial hall, making a total length of one hundred
and nineteen feet six inches. The height of the base is fifteen feet, and
round the top of it runs a strong railing.
The obelisk stands on a beautiful pedestal with four bronze statues at the
corners, and is eighty-two feet six inches high from the base. In front of
this, on a separate pedestal, is a statue of Lincoln. In his right hand he
is holding an open scroll representing the Proclamation of Emancipation.
The top of the base and the platform round the pedestal are reached by two
flights of stairs, each of which has twenty-four steps. The tomb is a
vault in the catacomb in the front projection of the base. Under the
statue of the President is the single word:
LINCOLN.
Andrew Johnson's grave is on a beautiful cone-shaped eminence, a little
way from Greenville, Tennessee. On each side of the tomb are piers from
which springs a granite arch of thirteen stones--presumably typifying the
thirteen original States. Above the arch rises a column, on the marble
plinth of which are inscribed the words:
Andrew Johnson, Seventeenth President,
U.S.A., Born December 29,
1808, Died July 31, 1875. "His faith
in the people never wavered."
Below is Mrs. Johnson's name with the dates of birth and death, and the
words, "In Memory of Father and Mother." It was erected by the surviving
children.
Ulysses S. Grant's tomb is the finest mausoleum in America, and for beauty
and majesty of situation one of the finest in the world. It stands on an
eminence in Riverside Park, New York City, on the banks of the Hudson,
directly overlooking the noble river. It is about one hundred feet square
and one hundred and sixty feet high.
The building is in the Ionic style, strong and massive without a
suggestion of severity, the surrounding pillars and the dome adding grace
to its strength. Over the entrance are inscribed Grant's own words:
"Let Us Have Peace."
The inside is of Italian marble and Massachusetts granite highly polished,
with the ceiling and rotunda formed of exquisitely wrought white stucco
work. It contains two sarcophagi, holding the bodies of President and
Mrs. Grant. These are placed in a well-shaped crypt, thirty feet deep,
entered from two staircases, each of twenty marble steps. They are hewn
from one solid piece of red Massachusetts granite, and weigh ten tons
each. Two anterooms serve as repositories of Grant relics, which include a
matchless piece of Japanese embroidery presented to Mrs. Grant by the
Japanese government.
Rutherford B. Hayes rests in unostentatious simplicity in Oakwood
Cemetery, Fremont, Ohio; James A. Garfield in a bronze sarcophagus in the
magnificent monument erected by the nation at Lake View Cemetery, on the
shore of Lake Erie; Chester A. Arthur beneath a monument representing an
angel, and with a palm-leaf on his sarcophagus, at Rural Cemetery, Albany;
Benjamin Harrison at Crown Hill Cemetery, Indianapolis; and McKinley in
Canton Cemetery, Canton, Ohio, not yet honored by a national memorial, but
probably soon to be so.
MILITARY RED TAPE IN INDIA.
Mix-Up in Which the Senior Cat, the Junior Cat, and Rations Were Involved
Had to be Adjusted by the War Office.
The precision of organization and discipline that is the very foundation
of military life is always a matter of wonder and admiration to the
civilian. He may express impatience with army "red tape," yet he has a
lurking regard for this very thing which he condemns, because he knows,
vaguely, that it has a reason for being and that it is good for men
generally to be compelled to respect a silent force as powerful and
dignified as this is.
Red tape is a serious matter, not to be lightly treated by any one,
soldier or civilian, but the observance of its "code" to the very letter
probably never was more complete than in the case of a native officer in
India.
* * * * *
This babu, who was in charge of the documents of a certain town, found
that they were being seriously damaged by rats. He wrote a letter to the
government, informing it of the danger to his records, and respectfully
urging it to provide him with weekly rations for two cats to destroy the
marauding rats.
The request was granted, and the two cats were installed--one, the larger
of the two, receiving slightly better rations than the other.
All went well for a few weeks, when the supreme government of India
received the following despatch:
"I have the honor to inform you that the senior cat is absent without
leave. What shall I do?"
The problem seemed to baffle the supreme government, for the babu received
no answer.
After waiting a few days he sent off a proposal:
"In re Absentee Cat. I propose to promote the junior cat, and in the
meantime to take into government service a probationer cat on full
rations."
The supreme government expressed its approval of the scheme, and things
once more ran smoothly and without friction in that department.
A Fight With a Cannon.
By VICTOR HUGO.
Victor Hugo (1802-1885) is most highly regarded in France as
a poet and dramatist, while in foreign countries his novels
are best known and hold the highest place.
Hugo was the son of a soldier of the First Republic and of a
lady who was a royalist of the most enthusiastic type. The
son, therefore, showed a blend of the two traditions whose
clash has made France what it is to-day. His most striking
quality was his wealth of imagination. His creations were
always imaginative--sometimes superbly so and sometimes
grotesquely so--but his thoughts and imagery were always
vast and gigantic, even when monstrous.
Hugo's second trait was his egotism, which prevented him
from having the saving grace of humor. He thought himself to
be almost more than mortal, and he lived in an atmosphere of
hero-worship. When the Emperor of Brazil visited Paris and
expressed a wish to meet him, Hugo disdainfully remarked:
"I have no time to waste on emperors."
When the Germans were besieging Paris, Hugo seriously
proposed that the war be settled by a single combat between
himself and the newly crowned Kaiser of Germany. He wrote to
the emperor:
"You are a great monarch; I am a great poet. We are
therefore equals."
His notion of himself was summed up in a single epigram:
"France is the world. Paris is France. Victor Hugo is
Paris."
Amiel called him "half genius and half charlatan."
Hugo's novels read like prose epics--overwhelming and at
times almost convulsive in their effort to give expression
to his tremendous imaginings. One of the most striking of
them is "Ninety-Three," from which the accompanying passage
is taken. The book is a great drama of the breaking out of
the French Revolution, a time when every passion was at its
height and was exhibited with utter unrestraint.
With such a theme Hugo was perfectly at home. He flames and
thunders. He flings before the reader actions in which the
Titanic energy of the writer is felt in every line, and he
revels in the conflict of the two great forces of repression
and revolt which made that period memorable. In the passage
quoted here many of the author's conspicuous qualities are
seen. The translation is that contained in the
"International Library of Famous Literature," and is
reprinted by the courtesy of the Avil Publishing Company, of
Philadelphia.
La Vieuville's words were suddenly cut short by a desperate cry, and at
the same instant they heard a noise as unaccountable as it was awful. The
cry and this noise came from the interior of the vessel.
The captain and lieutenant made a rush for the gun-deck, but could not get
down. All the gunners were hurrying frantically up.
A frightful thing had just happened.
One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four-pounder, had got
loose.
This is perhaps the most formidable of ocean accidents. Nothing more
terrible can happen to a vessel in open sea and under full sail.
A gun that breaks its moorings becomes suddenly some indescribable
super-natural beast. It is a machine which transforms itself into a
monster. This mass turns upon its wheels, has the rapid movements of a
billiard-ball; rolls with the rolling, pitches with the pitching; goes,
comes, pauses, seems to meditate; resumes its course, rushes along the
ship from end to end like an arrow, circles about, springs aside, evades,
rears, breaks, kills, exterminates. It is a battering-ram which assaults a
wall at its own caprice. Moreover, the battering-ram is metal, the wall
wood. It is the entrance of matter into liberty.
One might say that this eternal slave avenges itself. It seems as if the
power of evil hidden in what we call inanimate objects finds a vent and
bursts suddenly out. It has an air of having lost patience, of seeking
some fierce, obscure retribution; nothing more inexorable than this rage
of the inanimate.
The mad mass has the bounds of a panther, the weight of the elephant, the
agility of the mouse, the obstinacy of the ox, the unexpectedness of the
surge, the rapidity of lightning, the deafness of the tomb. It weighs ten
thousand pounds, and it rebounds like a child's ball. Its flight is a wild
whirl abruptly cut at right angles. What is to be done? How to end this?
A tempest ceases, a cyclone passes, a wind falls, a broken mast is
replaced, a leak is stopped, a fire dies out; but how to control this
enormous brute of bronze? In what way can one attack it?
You can make a mastiff hear reason, astound a bull, fascinate a boa,
frighten a tiger, soften a lion; but there is no resource with that
monster--a cannon let loose. You cannot kill it--for it is dead; while at
the same time it lives. It lives with a sinister life bestowed on it by
Infinity.
The planks beneath it give it play. It is moved by the ship, which is
moved by the sea, which is moved by the wind. This destroyer is a
plaything. The ship, the waves, the blasts, all aid it; hence its
frightful vitality. How to assail this fury of complication? How to fetter
this monstrous mechanism for wrecking a ship? How foresee its comings and
goings, its returns, its stops, its shocks? Any one of these blows upon
the sides may stave out the vessel. How divine its awful gyrations! One
has to deal with a projectile which thinks, seems to possess ideas, and
which changes its direction at each instant. How stop the course of
something which must be avoided?
The horrible cannon flings itself about, advances, recoils, strikes to the
right, strikes to the left, flees, passes, disconcerts ambushes, breaks
down obstacles, crushes men like flies. The great danger of the situation
is in the mobility of its base. How combat an inclined plane which has
blind caprices? The ship, so to speak, has lightning imprisoned in its
womb which seeks to escape; it is like thunder rolling above an
earthquake.
In an instant the whole crew were on foot. The fault was the chief
gunner's; he had neglected to fix home the screw-nut of the mooring-chain,
and had so badly shackled the four wheels of the carronade that the play
given to the sole and frame had separated the platform, and ended by
breaking the breeching. The cordage had broken, so that the gun was no
longer secure on the carriage. The stationary breeching which prevents
recoil was not in use at that period. As a heavy wave struck the port-hole
the carronade, weakly attached, recoiled, burst its chain, and began to
rush wildly about.
Conceive, in order to have an idea of this strange sliding, the movements
of a drop of water running down a pane of glass.
At the moment when the lashings gave way the gunners were in the battery,
some in groups, others standing alone, occupied with such duties as
sailors perform in expectation of the command to clear for action. The
carronade, hurled forward by the pitching, dashed into this knot of men,
and crushed four at the first blow; then, flung back and shot out anew by
the rolling, it cut in two a fifth poor fellow, glanced off to the
larboard side, and struck a piece of the battery with such force as to
unship it.
Then rose the cry of distress which had been heard. The men rushed toward
the ladder; the gun-deck emptied in the twinkling of an eye. The enormous
cannon was left alone. She was given up to herself. She was her own
mistress, and mistress of the vessel. She could do what she willed with
both. The whole crew of the corvette, men accustomed to laugh in battle,
trembled now. To describe the universal terror would be impossible.
Captain Boisberthelot and Lieutenant Vieuville, although both intrepid
men, stopped at the head of the stairs, and remained mute, pale,
hesitating, looking down on the deck. Some one pushed them aside with his
elbow and descended.
It was their passenger, the peasant--the man of whom they had been
speaking a moment before.
When he reached the foot of the ladder, he stood still.
The cannon came and went along the deck. One might have fancied it the
living chariot of the Apocalypse. The marine lantern, oscillating from the
ceiling, added a confusing whirl of lights and shadows to the strange
vision. The shape of the cannon was undistinguishable from the rapidity of
its course; now it looked black in the light, now it cast weird
reflections through the gloom.
It kept on its work of destruction. It had already shattered four other
pieces, and dug two crevices in the side, fortunately above the
water-line, though they would leak in case a squall should come on. It
dashed itself frantically against the framework; the solid tiebeams
resisted, their curved form giving them great strength, but they creaked
ominously under the assaults of this terrible club, which seemed endowed
with a sort of appalling ubiquity, striking on every side at once. The
strokes of a bullet shaken in a bottle would not be madder or more rapid.
The four wheels passed and repassed above the dead men, cut, carved,
slashed them, till the five corpses were a score of stumps rolling about
the deck; the heads seem to cry out, streams of blood twisted in and out
of the planks with every pitch of the vessel. The ceiling, damaged in
several places, began to gape. The whole ship was filled with the awful
tumult.
The captain promptly recovered his composure, and at his order the sailors
threw down into the deck everything which could deaden and check the mad
rush of the gun--mattresses, hammocks, spare sails, coils of rope, extra
equipments, and the bales of forged French currency of which the corvette
carried a whole cargo--an infamous deception which the English considered
a fair trick in war.
But what could these rags avail? No one dared descend to arrange them in
any useful fashion, and in a few instants they were mere heaps of lint.
There was just sea enough to render the accident as complete as possible.
A tempest would have been desirable--it might have thrown the gun upside
down; and the four wheels once in the air, the monster could have been
mastered. But the devastation continued and increased. There were gashes
and even fractures in the masts, which, embedded in the woodwork of the
keel, pierce through the decks of ships like great round pillars.
The mizzenmast was cracked, and the mainmast itself was injured under the
convulsive blows of the gun. The battery was being destroyed. Ten pieces
out of the thirty were disabled; the breaches multiplied in the side, and
the corvette began to take in water.
The old passenger, who had descended to the gun-deck, looked like a form
of stone stationed at the foot of the stairs. He stood motionless, gazing
sternly about upon the devastation. Indeed, it seemed impossible to take a
single step forward.
Each bound of the liberated carronade menaced the destruction of the
vessel. A few minutes more and shipwreck would be inevitable.
They must perish or put a summary end to the disaster. A decision must be
made--but how?
What a combatant--this cannon!
They must check this mad monster. They must seize this flash of lightning.
They must overthrow this thunderbolt.
Boisberthelot said to La Vieuville:
"Do you believe in God, chevalier?"
La Vieuville replied:
"Yes. No. Sometimes."
"In a tempest?"
"Yes; and in moments like this."
"Only God can aid us here," said Boisberthelot.
All were silent; the cannon kept up its horrible fracas.
The waves beat against the ship; their blows from without responded to the
strokes of the cannon.
It was like two hammers alternating.
Suddenly, into the midst of this sort of inaccessible circus, where the
escaped cannon leaped and bounded, there sprang a man with an iron bar in
his hand. It was the author of this catastrophe--the gunner whose culpable
negligence had caused the accident; the captain of the gun. Having been
the means of bringing about the misfortune, he desired to repair it. He
had caught up a handspike in one fist, a tiller rope with a slipping noose
in the other, and thus equipped had jumped down into the gun-deck.
Then a strange combat began, a Titanic strife--the struggle of the gun
against the gunner; a battle between matter and intelligence; a duel
between the inanimate and the human.
The man was posted in an angle, the bar and rope in his two fists; backed
against one of the riders, settled firmly on his legs as on two pillars of
steel, livid, calm, tragic, rooted as it were in the planks, he waited.
He waited for the cannon to pass near him.
The gunner knew his piece, and it seemed to him that she must recognize
her master. He had lived a long while with her. How many times he had
thrust his hand between her jaws! It was his tame monster. He began to
address it as he might have given an order to his dog.
"Come!" said he. Perhaps he loved it.
He seemed to wish that it would turn toward him.
But to come toward him would be to spring upon him. Then he would be lost.
How to avoid its crush? There was the question. All stared in terrified
silence.
Not a breast respired freely, except perchance that of the old man who
alone stood in the deck with the two combatants, a stern second.
He might himself be crushed by the piece. He did not stir.
Beneath them the blind sea directed the battle.
At the instant when, accepting this awful hand-to-hand contest, the gunner
approached to challenge the cannon, some chance fluctuation of the waves
kept it for a moment immovable, as if suddenly stupefied.
"Come on!" the man said to it. It seemed to listen.
Suddenly it darted upon him. The gunner avoided the shock.
The struggle began--struggle unheard of. The fragile matching itself
against the invulnerable. The living thing of flesh attacking the
inanimate brass. On the one side blind force, on the other a soul.
The whole passed in a half light. It was like the indistinct vision of a
miracle.
A soul--strange thing; but you would have said that the cannon had one
also--a soul filled with rage and hatred. This blindness appeared to have
eyes. The monster had the air of watching the man. There was--one might
have fancied so at least--cunning in this mass. It also chose its moment.
It became some gigantic insect of metal, having, or seeming to have, the
will of a demon.
Sometimes this colossal grasshopper would strike the low ceiling of the
gun-deck, then fall back on its four wheels like a tiger upon its four
claws, and dart anew on the man. He, supple, agile, adroit, would glide
away like a snake from the reach of these lightning-like movements. He
avoided the threatened encounters; but the blows which he escaped fell
upon the vessel and continued the havoc.
An end of broken chain remained attached to the carronade. This chain had
twisted itself, one could not tell how, about the screw of the breech
button. One extremity of the chain was fastened to the carriage. The
other, hanging loose, whirled wildly about the gun and added to the danger
of its blows.
The screw held it like a clinched hand, and the chain, multiplying the
strokes of the battering-ram by its strokes of a thong, made a fearful
whirlwind about the cannon--a whip of iron in a fist of brass. This chain
complicated the battle.
Nevertheless, the man fought. Sometimes, even, it was the man who attacked
the cannon. He crept along the side, bar and rope in hand, and the cannon
had the air of understanding, and fled as if it perceived a snare. The
man pursued it, formidable, fearless.
Such a duel could not last long. The gun seemed suddenly to say to itself,
"Come, we must make an end!" and it paused. One felt the approach of the
crisis. The cannon, as if in suspense, appeared to have, or had--because
it seemed to all a sentient being--a furious premeditation. It sprang
unexpectedly upon the gunner. He jumped aside, let it pass, and cried out
with a laugh, "Try again!" The gun, as if in a fury, broke a carronade to
larboard; then, seized anew by the invisible sling which held it, was
flung to starboard toward the man, who escaped.
Three carronades gave way under the blows of the gun; then, as if blind
and no longer conscious of what it was doing, it turned its back on the
man, rolled from the stern to the bow, bruising the stem and making a
breach in the plankings of the prow. The gunner had taken refuge at the
foot of the stairs, a few steps from the old man, who was watching.
The gunner held his handspike in rest. The cannon seemed to perceive him,
and, without taking the trouble to turn itself, backed upon him with the
quickness of an ax-stroke. The gunner, if driven back against the side,
was lost. The crew uttered a simultaneous cry.
But the old passenger, until now immovable, made a spring more rapid than
all those wild whirls. He seized a bale of the forged currency, and at the
risk of being crushed, succeeded in flinging it between the wheels of the
carronade. This maneuver, decisive and dangerous, could not have been
executed with more adroitness and precision by a man trained to all the
exercises set down in Durosel's "Manual of Sea Gunnery."
The package had the effect of a plug. A pebble may stop a log, a
tree-branch turn an avalanche. The carronade stumbled. The gunner, in his
turn, seizing this terrible chance, plunged his iron bar between the
spokes of one of the hind wheels. The cannon was stopped.
It staggered. The man, using the bar as a lever, rocked it to and fro. The
heavy mass turned over with a clang like a falling bell, and the gunner,
dripping with sweat, rushed forward headlong and passed the slipping noose
of the tiller-rope about the bronze neck of the overthrown monster.
It was ended. The man had conquered. The ant had subdued the mastodon; the
pygmy had taken the thunderbolt prisoner.
The marines and the sailors clapped their hands.
The whole crew hurried down with cables and chains, and in an instant the
cannon was securely lashed.
The gunner saluted the passenger.
"Sir," he said to him, "you have saved my life."
The old man had resumed his impassible attitude, and did not reply.
The man had conquered, but one might say that the cannon had conquered
also. Immediate shipwreck had been avoided, but the corvette was by no
means saved. The dilapidation of the vessel seemed irremediable. The sides
had five breaches, one of which, very large, was in the bow. Out of the
thirty carronades, twenty lay useless in their frames.
The carronade which had been captured and rechained was itself disabled;
the screw of the breech button was forced, and the leveling of the piece
impossible in consequence. The battery was reduced to nine pieces. The
hold had sprung a leak. It was necessary at once to repair the damages and
set the pumps to work.
The gun-deck, now that one had time to look about it, offered a terrible
spectacle. The interior of a mad elephant's cage could not have been more
completely dismantled.
However great the necessity that the corvette should escape observation, a
still more imperious necessity presented itself--immediate safety. It had
been necessary to light up the deck by lanterns placed here and there
along the sides.
But during the whole time this tragic diversion had lasted, the crew were
so absorbed by the one question of life or death that they noticed little
what was passing outside the scene of the duel. The fog had thickened; the
weather had changed; the wind had driven the vessel at will; it had got
out of its route, in plain sight of Jersey and Guernsey, farther to the
south than it ought to have gone, and was surrounded by a troubled sea.
The great waves kissed the gaping wounds of the corvette--kisses full of
peril. The sea rocked her menacingly. The breeze became a gale. A squall,
a tempest perhaps, threatened. It was impossible to see before one four
oars' length.
While the crew were repairing summarily and in haste the ravages of the
gun-deck, stopping the leaks and putting back into position the guns which
had escaped the disaster, the old passenger had gone on deck.
He stood with his back against the mainmast.
He had paid no attention to a proceeding which had taken place on the
vessel. The Chevalier La Vieuville had drawn up the marines in line on
either side of the mainmast, and at the whistle of the boatswain the
sailors busy in the rigging stood upright on the yards.
Count du Boisberthelot advanced toward the passenger.
Behind the captain marched a man, haggard, breathless, his dress in
disorder, yet wearing a satisfied look under it all. It was the gunner who
had just now so opportunely shown himself a tamer of monsters, and who had
got the better of the cannon.
The count made a military salute to the unknown in peasant garb, and said
to him:
"General, here is the man."
The gunner held himself erect, his eyes downcast, standing in a soldierly
attitude.
Count du Boisberthelot continued:
"General, taking into consideration what this man has done, do you not
think there is something for his commanders to do?"
"I think there is," said the old man.
"Be good enough to give the orders," returned Boisberthelot.
"It is for you to give them. You are the captain."
"But you are the general," answered Boisberthelot.
The old man looked at the gunner.
"Approach," said he.
The gunner moved forward a step. The old man turned toward Count du
Boisberthelot, detached the cross of Saint-Louis from the captain's
uniform and fastened it on the jacket of the gunner.
"Hurrah!" cried the sailors.
The marines presented arms. The old passenger, pointing with his finger
toward the bewildered gunner, added:
"Now let that man be shot."
Stupor succeeded the applause.
Then, in the midst of a silence like that of the tomb, the old man raised
his voice. He said:
"A negligence has endangered this ship. At this moment she is perhaps
lost. To be at sea is to face the enemy. A vessel at open sea is an army
which gives battle. The tempest conceals, but does not absent itself. The
whole sea is an ambuscade. Death is the penalty of any fault committed in
the face of the enemy. No fault is reparable. Courage ought to be rewarded
and negligence punished."
These words fell one after the other, slowly, solemnly, with a sort of
inexorable measure, like the blows of an ax upon an oak.
And the old man, turning to the soldiers, added:
"Do your duty."
The man upon whose breast shone the cross of Saint-Louis bowed his head.
At a sign from Count du Boisberthelot, two sailors descended between
decks, then returned, bringing the hammock winding sheet. The ship's
chaplain, who since the time of sailing had been at prayer in the
officers' quarters, accompanied the two sailors; a sergeant detached from
the line twelve marines, whom he arranged in two ranks, six by six; the
gunner, without uttering a word, placed himself between the two files. The
chaplain, crucifix in hand, advanced and stood near him.
"March!" said the sergeant.
The platoon moved with slow steps toward the bow. The two sailors who
carried the shroud followed.
A gloomy silence fell upon the corvette. A hurricane moaned in the
distance.
A few instants later there was a flash; a report followed, echoing among
the shadows; then all was silent; then came the thud of a body falling
into the sea.
Good Manners Fifty Years Ago.
Easier for a Camel to Pass Through a Needle's Eye Than for the Modern
Aspirant to Butt into Society Through the Rules of Deportment
Prevalent in the Middle of the Last Century.
Eliza Leslie was born in Philadelphia in 1787. Her father
was a personal friend of Franklin, Jefferson, and other
eminent men. She went with her family to England as a child,
remaining until her sixteenth year. She wrote some verse at
different periods, but not until her fortieth year did she
publish any prose. This took the form of a cookery-book,
which met with great success. Later, _Godey's Ladies' Book_
published a prize story from her pen--"Mrs. Washington
Potts"--and she adopted literature as a profession. Several
books on household topics and manners were among her most
popular productions, and in one of the latest of these--the
"Behavior Book," published in 1853--one may find so many
illuminating suggestions and such a wealth of instruction
for ladies "as regards their conversation; manners; dress;
introductions; entrée to society; shopping; conduct in the
street; at places of amusement; in traveling; at the table,
either at home, in company, or at hotels; deportment in
gentlemen's society; lips; complexion; teeth; hands; the
hair; etc., etc.," that it would seem to have been a
straight way and a narrow gate indeed which led to the land
of good form and good looks fifty years ago.
It would also seem, from her having addressed the work
particularly to ladies, that they were the worst offenders
in matters of manners; she avows her purpose, however, in a
conciliatory preface, to be "to amend and not to offend; to
improve her young countrywomen, and not to annoy them." The
few "habitual misbehavements" to which she would call their
attention she has noted during a "long course of
observation, on a very diversified field."
Shopping.
When circumstances render it expedient to carry much money out with you,
divide it; putting half in one purse or pocketbook and half in another,
and put these portions in two pockets.
Gentlemen consider it a very irksome task to go on shopping expeditions,
and their ill-concealed impatience becomes equally irksome to you.
Do not interfere with the shopping of other customers (who may chance to
stand near you at the counter), by either praising or depreciating any of
the articles they are looking at. Leave them to the exercise of their own
judgment, unless they ask your opinion; and then give it in a low voice
and sincerely.
Always object to a parcel being put up in newspaper, as the printing ink
will rub off and soil the article enclosed. If it is a little thing that
you are going to take home in your own hand, it will smear your gloves.
All shopkeepers in good business can afford to buy proper wrapping-paper,
and they generally do so. It is very cheap. See also that they do not wrap
your purchase in so small a bit of paper as to squeeze and crush it.
We knew an instance of a lady in New York giving a hundred-dollar note to
a strawberry-woman, instead of a note of one dollar. Neither note nor
woman were seen or heard of more.
In getting change, see that three-cent pieces are not given you for five
cents.
Traveling.
Previous to departing, put into the hand of your escort rather more than a
sufficient sum for the expenses of your journey, so as to provide for all
possible contingencies. He will return you the balance when all is paid.
Having done this, should any person belonging to the line come to you for
your fare, refer them to the gentleman (mentioning his name), and take
care to pay nothing yourself.
Dress very plainly when traveling. Few ladies that _are_ ladies wear
finery in railcars and steamboats--still less in stages, stage-roads being
usually very dusty. Showy silks, and what are called dress-bonnets, are
preposterous; so are jewelry ornaments--which, if real, you run a great
risk of losing, and if false, are very ungenteel. Above all, do not travel
in white kid gloves. Respectable women never do.
Such are the facilities of traveling that a lady evidently respectable,
plainly dressed, and behaving properly, may travel very well without a
gentleman. Two ladies still better. On commencing the journey, she should
speak to the conductor, requesting him to attend to her and her baggage,
and to introduce her to the captain of the boat, who will, of course, take
charge of her during the voyage.
Arrival at a Hotel.
On arriving at the hotel, ask immediately to see the proprietor, give him
your name and address, tell how long you purpose staying, and request him
to see that you are provided with a good room. Request him also to conduct
you to the dining-room at dinner-time, and allot you a seat near his own.
For this purpose he will wait for you near the door (do not _keep him
waiting_), or meet you in the ladies' drawing-room. While at table, if the
proprietor or any other gentleman asks you to take wine with him, politely
refuse.
If you do not wish to be encumbered by carrying the key in your pocket,
let it be left during your absence with the clerk in the office, or with
the barkeeper; and send to him for it on your return. Desire the servant
who attends the door to show no person up to your room during your
absence. If visitors wish to wait for your return, it is best they should
do so in the parlor.
In a public parlor, it is selfish and unmannerly to sit down to the
instrument uninvited and fall to playing or practising without seeming to
consider the probability of your interrupting or annoying the rest of the
company, particularly when you see them all engaged in reading or in
conversation. If you want amusement, you had better read or occupy
yourself with some light sewing or knitting-work.
If you have breakfasted early, it will be well to put some
gingerbread-nuts or biscuits into your satchel when you go out, as you may
become very hungry before dinner.
Hotel Breakfast.
Always take butter with the butter-knife, and then do not forget to return
that knife to the butter-plate. Carefully avoid cutting bread with your
own knife, or taking salt with it from the salt-cellar. It looks as if you
had not been accustomed to butter-knives and salt-spoons.
Ladies no longer eat salt-fish at a public table. The odor of it is now
considered extremely ungenteel, and it is always very disagreeable to
those who _do not_ eat it. If you breakfast alone, you can then indulge in
it.
It is ungenteel to go to the breakfast-table in any costume approaching to
full dress. There must be no flowers or ribbons in the hair. A morning-cap
should be as simple as possible. The most genteel morning-dress is a close
gown of some plain material, with long sleeves, which in summer may be
white muslin. A merino or cashmere wrapper (gray, brown, purple, or
olive), faced or trimmed with other merino of an entirely different color
(such as crimson, scarlet, green, or blue), is a becoming morning-dress
for winter. In summer, a white cambric-muslin morning-robe is the
handsomest breakfast attire, but one of gingham or printed muslin the most
convenient. The colored dress may be made open in front, with short, loose
sleeves, and a pointed body. Beneath it a white under-dress, having a
chemisette front down to the belt, and long white sleeves down to the
wrist. This forms a very graceful morning-costume, the white skirt
appearing where the colored skirt opens.
The fashion of wearing black silk mittens at breakfast is now obsolete. It
was always inconvenient, and neither useful nor ornamental.
Hotel Dinner.
When eating fish, remove the bones carefully, and lay them on the edge of
your plate. Then, with the fork in your right hand (the concave or hollow
side held uppermost), and a small piece of bread in your left, take up the
flakes of fish. Servants, and all other persons, should be taught that the
butter-sauce should not be poured over the fish, but put on one side of
the plate, that the eater may use it profusely or sparingly, according to
taste, and be able to mix it conveniently with the sauce from the
fish-castors. Pouring butter-sauce over anything is now ungenteel.
It is an affectation of ultra-fashion to eat pie with a fork, and has a
very awkward and inconvenient look. Cut it up with your knife and fork,
then proceed to eat it with the fork in your right hand.
Much of this determined fork-exercise may be considered foolish; but it is
fashionable.
It is, however, customary in eating sweet potatoes of a large size to
break them in two, and, taking a piece in your hand, to pierce down to the
bottom with your fork, and then mix in some butter, continuing to hold it
thus while eating it.
If a lady wishes to eat lobster, let her request the waiter that attends
her to extract a portion of it from the shell, and bring it to her on a
clean plate--also to place a castor near her.
On no consideration let any lady be persuaded to take two glasses of
champagne. It is more than the head of an American female can bear. And
she may rest assured that (though unconscious of it herself) all present
will find her cheeks flushing, her eyes twinkling, her tongue unusually
voluble, her talk loud and silly, and her laugh incessant. Champagne is
very insidious, and two glasses may throw her into this pitiable
condition.
We have seen a young _gentleman_ lift his plate of soup in both hands,
hold it to his mouth, and drink, or rather lap it up. This was at no less
a place than Niagara.
On Shipboard.
If you are sick yourself, say as little about it as possible. And never
allude to it at table, where you will receive little sympathy, and perhaps
render yourself disgusting to all who hear you. At no time talk about it
to gentlemen. Many foolish commonplace sayings are uttered by ladies who
attempt to describe the horrors of seasickness. For instance this: "I felt
all the time as if I wished somebody to take me up and throw me
overboard." This is untrue--no human being ever really _did_ prefer
drowning to seasickness.
A piano never sounds well on shipboard--the cabins are too small and the
ceilings too low. To the sick and nervous (and all who are seasick become
very nervous) this instrument is peculiarly annoying. Therefore, be kind
enough to spare them the annoyance. You can practise when the weather is
fine, and the invalids are on deck. Pianos have been abolished in many of
the finest ships. Such instruments as can be carried on deck and played in
the open air are, on the contrary, very delightful at sea, when in the
hands of good performers--particularly on a moonlight evening.
Things Not to Do.
Slapping a gentleman with your handkerchief, or tapping him with your fan.
Allowing him to take a ring off your finger, to look at it. Permitting him
to unclasp your bracelet, or, still worse, to inspect your brooch. When
these ornaments are to be shown to another person always take them off for
the purpose.
Introductions.
Where the company is large, the ladies of the house should have tact
enough to avoid introducing and placing together persons who cannot
possibly assimilate, or take pleasure in each other's society. The dull
and the silly will be far happier with their compeers. To a woman of
talent and a good conversationalist it is a cruelty to put her
unnecessarily in contact with stupid or unmeaning people. She is wasted
and thrown away upon such as are neither amusing nor amusable. Neither is
it well to bring together a gay, lively woman of the world, and a solemn,
serious, repulsive dame, who is a contemner of the world and all its
enjoyments.
Avoid giving invitations to bores. They will come without.
We saw no less a person than Charles Dickens compelled at a large party to
devote the whole evening to writing autographs for a multitude of young
ladies--many of whom, not satisfied with obtaining one of his signatures
for themselves, desired half a dozen others for "absent friends." All
conversation ceased with the first requisition for an autograph. He had no
chance of saying anything. We were a little ashamed of our fair
townswomen.
DINNERS THAT CONSISTED OF BOOKS.
Some Authors Have Been Compelled to Eat Their Printed Volumes--Tartars
Tried to Acquire Knowledge That Way.
With the exception of minerals it is difficult for one to find on the
earth's surface substances that do not tempt the appetite of some sort of
animal. The list of queer articles of diet includes the earth, which is
munched with satisfaction by the clay-eater, and the walrus hide, which
the Eskimo relishes as much as does John Bull his joint of beef.
It is not generally known, however, that men, as well as mice and
book-worms, have eaten dinners that have consisted only of books. This
tendency has been described as "bibliophagia," though the word has not yet
gained scholarly approval. An interesting account of some of these
extraordinary meals appeared in a recent issue of the _Scientific
American_, and is as follows:
In 1370 Barnabo Visconti compelled two Papal delegates to eat the bull of
excommunication which they had brought him, together with its silken cords
and leaden seal. As the bull was written on parchment, not paper, it was
all the more difficult to digest.
A similar anecdote was related by Oelrich, in his "Dissertatio de
Bibliothecarum et Librorum Fatis" (1756), of an Austrian general, who had
signed a note for two thousand florins, and when it fell due compelled his
creditors to eat it. The Tartars, when books fall into their possession,
eat them, that they may acquire the knowledge contained in them.
A Scandinavian writer, the author of a political book, was compelled to
choose between being beheaded or eating his manuscript boiled in broth.
Isaac Volmar, who wrote some spicy satires against Bernard, Duke of
Saxony, was not allowed the courtesy of the kitchen, but was forced to
swallow them uncooked.
Still worse was the fate of Philip Oldenburger, a jurist of great renown,
who was condemned not only to eat a pamphlet of his writing, but also to
be flogged during his repast, with orders that the flogging should not
cease until he had swallowed the last crumb.
How They Got On In The World.
Brief Biographies of Successful Men Who Have Passed Through
the Crucible of Small Beginnings and Won Out.
_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.
HE "PEELED OFF HIS COAT."
Indiana Boy Obeyed Order of Merchant,
and His Successful Uphill Struggle
Landed Him in Senate.
James A. Hemenway, Senator from Indiana, found himself, at the age of
seventeen, confronted with the problem of supporting his mother, the
younger children of the family--and there were six of them--and himself.
His father had just died bankrupt, every cent of money and stick of
property having gone to pay the liabilities incurred by indorsing bad
notes.
Young Hemenway knew what hard work meant, for he had been used always to
toiling on the farm. It was difficult, however, to earn ready money in
Boonville, Indiana, where he was born in 1860, and so he was forced to
migrate to Iowa.
A relative living in Des Moines introduced him to the proprietor of a
dry-goods store, and Hemenway was promised a place. When he reported for
business next morning the manager looked him over and said:
"We've already a pretty big force of people. Do you see anything that
needs to be done?"
Hemenway looked around at the disorderly arrangement of the stock-room.
"I might fix this up," he said.
"All right. I'll try you out. Peel off your coat and pitch in."
Hemenway pitched in, and for eighteen months he continued at work in the
dry-goods store, sending home to Boonville every cent above his absolute
expenses. His living during this time cost him on an average two dollars a
week.
His next venture was on a farm in Kansas. He borrowed money enough to
start in with another brother, and both put in a hard spring and summer.
They had the prospect of a crop that would clear off their indebtedness
and leave them something ahead for other operations. A scorching drought
set in, however, blasted every stalk of grain and blade of grass on the
place and left them both broke.
All that was left to them were a team of horses and a yoke of oxen, and
they used these to haul meal and other provisions from Wichita out to the
dwellers on the frontier.
In 1880, Hemenway returned to Boonville as poor as he was when he set out
three years before. He managed to get a job in a livery stable caring for
horses; then he became a shipper in a tobacco factory. He also found time
to begin the study of law, and in this he was assisted by Judge George
Rhinehard, a jurist of local repute.
While he was still studying law, the Republicans of his district nominated
him to the office of public prosecutor. This was not done because they
thought Hemenway was specially fitted for the office, but because the
district was so overwhelmingly Democratic that there seemed to be no
chance of his election. His name was put on just to fill out the ticket.
"You can't get it," the campaign manager told him. "So you needn't go to
any bother. Some time, maybe, you'll get the nomination to something
within reach."
Hemenway refused to be a dummy, and as long as he was on the ticket he
thought it best to put up a fight, and he made such a stiff canvass that
he not only won out, but he carried a part of his ticket into office with
him. Then when he was in office he acquitted himself so well that he was
reelected, and in 1895 he was elected to Congress.
Hemenway made his greatest reputation as head of the Appropriations
Committee, and it was due to him that heads of departments were prevented
from exceeding their appropriations. They had been in the habit of asking
for a certain sum, and, when it was not granted, going ahead as though it
had been, exceeding their allowance and then calling on Congress to make
up the deficit. The practise had grown to dangerous limits, and Hemenway
forcibly put a stop to it.
In 1905 he was elected to the Senate, and he has already begun to make
himself felt in that body as a man of ability and forcefulness.
MADE TRAVEL LUXURIOUS.
Discomfort of Old-Time Railroad During
a Night Ride Gave Young Inventor
Idea for Sleeping-Cars.
George Mortimer Pullman, inventor of the Pullman car, was born on a farm
in Chautauqua County, New York, in 1831. The family was poor, and when
George was fourteen years old his mother became ill, and he was forced to
leave school and go to work in a country store. He stayed there three
years, and was then apprenticed to his brother in Albion, New York, to
learn the cabinet-making business.
There wasn't much money to be gained, but in 1859 he had saved a few
hundred dollars, and when the widening of the Erie Canal made it necessary
to pull down or move the buildings along its bank he went into the
business of house-moving.
He had been drawn to the work in the first place by the idea of getting
the hard wood that entered into the construction of some of the buildings.
This was cheap, and some of it was suitable for cabinet-making. But the
profit was not great, and the field for the sale of his goods had not
increased. So he turned to house-moving, and by this greatly increased the
amount of money at his command.
It was at this time that he got the idea of an improved sleeping-car. One
night he was riding from Buffalo to Westfield, a distance of sixty miles,
and the rattling and jolting of the cars as they swung around the curves
or banged over the uneven roadbed made sleep almost impossible.
At that time the bunks provided were nothing more than three tiers of
shelves similar to the bunks on the canal boats. It was necessary on
rounding a curve to hold on tight to keep from being spilled out on the
car floor. A person could recline in such a bunk, but it would have been
foolhardy to try to sleep.
The unusual roughness and discomfort of the trip set Pullman to thinking,
and during the six hours occupied by the run he considered the question in
various ways. Before the end of the journey was reached he had decided to
build a car in which it would be possible to sleep, and which would also
give passengers as much comfort as the space at command permitted.
Young Pullman was not able then to put his idea into operation, for none
of the railroad officials would listen to him, and he did not have the
necessary money to carry on his experiments independently. He earned the
money, however, in the work he did in Chicago. The whole city was being
raised so that a sewerage system could be introduced.
Before that time Chicago was on a level with Lake Michigan, and during
storms the water frequently backed into the cellars, and there was not
fall enough to carry waste out into the lake. The work of raising
buildings or removing them was in Pullman's line, and during the few years
it lasted he made money quickly.
Then he set to work to carry out his ideas about sleeping-cars. He took
two old passenger coaches and refitted them, and went to the head of the
Chicago and Alton Railroad and asked that they be given a trial.
"All right," said the president; "go ahead. We won't charge you for the
use of the road during the trial."
The trial showed that there was a demand for more comfortable cars, but
none of the roads was willing to put any money into the scheme. This
necessitated more experimenting by Pullman, at his own expense, and in
1863 he built, at a cost of eighteen thousand dollars, a car that was
equipped throughout according to his plans.
Pullman's First Sleeping-Car.
This first sleeping-car, the "Pioneer," embodied many of the features of
the modern Pullman, but it was condemned by practically every railroad man
in the country as a wild extravagance, for the ordinary sleeping-car of
the time cost only four thousand dollars.
The "Pioneer" lay in the train-shed most of the time during the first year
of its existence, but whenever it was used the demand for berths in it was
promising.
This led James F. Joy, president of the Michigan Central, to give a
half-hearted consent to experiments on his road. Pullman took every cent
of money he possessed and as much money as he could borrow, and built four
cars. They cost twenty-four thousand dollars each, and when Joy learned
how much money had been expended on them it amazed him so much that he was
on the point of ordering a discontinuance of all experiments.
Joy held up the trial for a month, and then allowed the cars to go out
only on condition that each one be accompanied by an old-style car. The
old cars were deserted. People preferred to pay two dollars for a berth in
a Pullman car, rather than fifty or seventy-five cents for a bunk in the
jolting, springless cars.
Still, the railroad men could not see the advisability of investing
twenty-five thousand dollars or more--for Pullman's plans grew in
expensiveness all the time--in cars, and they steadfastly turned down his
requests that they give him orders to build cars and buy the cars when
they were finished. This led him to determine to build the cars and rent
them.
Investors did not flock to him, but he got together enough to start
operations, and the five cars he already had on the rail were earning
money. During the first year he did not add any new cars, but the next
year he put several out, and they were a huge success--the company that
year earning two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
The big roads centering in Chicago were pushing out in all directions. The
transcontinental roads were open for business. The ending of the Civil War
had paved the way to railroad extension in the South. All these facts gave
new opportunities for Pullman's business.
In the second year the company earned still larger profits, reaching the
four-hundred-thousand-dollar mark. Its income went on steadily up to a
million dollars, and still on until it passed beyond twenty millions.
Before this stage was attained, however, Pullman found that his factory
had outgrown its Chicago quarters, and all the surrounding land was held
at prohibitive prices. He determined to break away from the city, so he
went out several miles, and for eight hundred thousand dollars purchased a
thirty-five-hundred-acre tract. Here he built the city of Pullman, raising
the ground from the level of the prairie, so that the mistake Chicago had
made would not be repeated, and planning everything on such a scale that
no future changes were necessary.
For a year Pullman had four thousand men constantly employed in raising
the ground, laying out streets, and building shops and residences. When
they finished he was ready for the seven thousand employees engaged in
building the Pullman cars.
COLT AND HIS REVOLVER.
Not Until It Had Been Used in Two Wars
Was Inventor Able to Demonstrate
Its Effectiveness.
Samuel Colt, whose revolver was the pioneer of all practical rapid-fire
arms, was ten years old when he was taken out of school and put to work in
his father's silk and woolen mill in Hartford, Connecticut. At fourteen he
was doing a man's work in the dyeing department of the establishment, but
he wasn't getting a man's pay, for his father did not think it worth while
to pay money to a member of the family. So in 1828, when he was fourteen,
Samuel Colt ran away to sea, shipping on an India merchantman.
It was on this voyage that young Colt conceived the idea and made a rough
wooden model of the first revolver. He fashioned it with a jack-knife, and
figured the mechanical details out on a piece of paper. On his return from
sea the following year he made a rough iron model of it, but it did not
work satisfactorily. His mechanical knowledge was not sufficient to enable
him to remedy the defects, and he had to go back to work for his father.
The question of pay came up again, and it was settled as before by young
Colt leaving and striking out on his own account. This time it was as a
lecturer on chemistry, for in the dyeing department he had gained a fair
idea of the subject.
Investors Were Timorous.
His lectures brought him money enough to enable him to continue his work,
and in 1835 he patented his first revolver. It was a heavy, cumbersome
affair, but the device whereby the various chambers were brought in line
with a single barrel put it far ahead of all previous revolvers and
double, triple, and quadruple barreled pistols.
The easiest part of Colt's work was the invention of the weapon. The hard
part came when he organized a company and started in to manufacture
fire-arms. Investors didn't care for the idea, and in 1842 the Colt
Manufacturing Company suspended for lack of funds.
"I'll give you one thousand dollars for the entire rights to the thing,"
said a Hartford business man to Colt.
Colt took a couple of days to think it over. He did not have any money or
any prospect of money, and a thousand dollars was a big temptation.
However, he decided not to take it.
"It wouldn't pay me for the work I put into it," he said. "I'm going to
try again."
The new attempt met with more success, for toward the end of the Seminole
War in Florida the United States soldiers had begun to appreciate the
effectiveness of the Colt revolver. Then the adventurers in Texas and
through the Middle West came to look upon the six-shooter as the most
valuable part of their outfit, and there was a sufficiently large band of
these adventurers to cause a fair-sized demand. This enabled the Colt
Company to struggle on until the Mexican War became certain.
Then General Taylor, who had used the Colt revolver in his Indian
campaigns, recommended that the United States troops be furnished with it.
The little factory in Hartford suddenly found itself confronted with an
order for twenty thousand revolvers. It was necessary to work day and
night to meet the demand, and while this was going on Colt enlarged his
place of business in anticipation of future orders of like magnitude. They
came plentifully enough during the two years of the Mexican War, for the
Colt was the only small arm that played any part in that contest.
After the war, business did not fall off materially, for the great Western
migration was on, and every one who made it went armed. The pioneer and
the traveler depended upon the Colt in an emergency, and the workmanship
was so good that the revolver itself never failed. It played a great part
again in the Civil War, for most of the Northern troops, in addition to
their Springfield rifles, carried Colt revolvers. Thus the idea that a
runaway boy evolved during his trip to India helped to win the Mexican
War, to settle the West, and to decide the Civil War.
THE FIRST EXPRESSMAN.
A Great Industry Began When a Man Decided
to Carry Parcels Between
Boston and New York.
William Frederick Harnden, when quite a young man, worn out by his sixteen
hours a day work in the office of the Boston and Worcester Railroad, came
to New York for a short rest. That was in 1839, and there were in the
United States 2,818 miles of railroad, all built within the previous ten
years, as against the 212,000 or more miles that exist at present. There
was no express company in those days, so Harnden said to a friend, James
W. Hale:
"I'm sick of working in a railroad office. Do you know, I think that I
could make a living doing errands between New York and Boston for
people?"
Hale took up the idea at once. He was employed in the Hudson Newsroom, at
the corner of Wall and Water Streets, and one of his duties was to bring
papers down to the Boston boat on its tri-weekly trips. Besides the
papers, he also carried various consignments of money, or parcels from
persons who could not get down to the boats themselves. These parcels were
then turned over to some passenger who was willing to deliver them.
On the stage line the drivers or the passengers were the parcel
deliverers, and no one ever thought of asking money for his services.
"Go ahead," Hale said to Harnden. "You can make money. I'll get you a lot
of customers right here in New York."
Carpetbags First Express Cars.
Harnden bought a couple of extra large carpetbags, and announced that he
was in the errand-running business, and would transport parcels between
Boston and New York, or between intermediate points, at remarkably low
prices.
The idea took. It was now possible to send goods with some surety of their
reaching the desired point in a reasonable time, instead of waiting until
some good-natured traveler or stage-driver came along and agreed to make
the delivery.
Harnden prospered, for the railroads were reaching out in all directions.
Instead of the stage lines that ran out of Boston there were now three
railroads that did most of the business. New York's stage lines were also
rapidly disappearing, their work being taken over by the railroads.
All this enabled Harnden to systematize his work, and by hiring a couple
of assistants, each carrying two carpetbags, to cover the New York and
southern New England district with tolerable regularity.
The railroad companies at first made no provision for the transportation
of anything but passengers, but the growth of the business Harnden had
established necessitated consideration, and soon a special department was
reserved for the goods he was shipping. He cleared over six hundred
dollars the first year of operations, and the force of men employed by
him went up from one to five.
Besides the parcel delivery branch, Harnden had another that occupied much
of his attention. He was engaged in sending immigrants from the Atlantic
seaports to those parts of the country where they would have the best
chance of making a living.
A Builder of the West.
In 1840, Harry Wells, later one of the founders of Wells, Fargo & Company,
was Harnden's clerk, and had been trying to persuade him to extend his
operations Westward.
"That's the way people are heading," said Wells, "and you'll double your
money if you follow them up."
Harnden was doubtful.
"Put people out West," he said, "and my express will follow them."
Wells persisted in pushing his idea, and it gradually took hold of
Harnden. He saw a chance--a big one--of helping the new arrivals in this
country, and at the same time of developing the country. He arranged for
cheap transportation on the Erie Canal, and made it known that he was
ready to transport immigrants to any part of the West. New arrivals in
this country who had friends in Europe saw the advantages at once, and
money was sent over for passage to America.
When the immigrants landed in New York, Harnden's agents took charge of
them and kept them under supervision until they reached their
destinations. In this way the sharper was fought off, the immigrant was
given access to advantages he could not otherwise have, and the country
was developed in the right direction.
It was primarily due to Harnden's foresight that the prosperous industrial
cities of central and western New York, and the great cities of the Middle
West, received the impetus they did during the middle of the last century.
Harnden's business prospered mightily, but death struck him down when he
was only thirty-three years old. The business he started and carried on by
means of two carpetbags now employs about thirty-five thousand men, and
the six-hundred-dollar profits have jumped into the tens of millions, the
four leading express companies of the country alone being capitalized for
almost fifty million dollars.
TRIUMPHS OF A RUNAWAY.
Irish Lad Went to Sea, Developed Peru,
and Became Aggressive Reform
Mayor of New York.
William R. Grace, long one of the leading merchants in the United States,
and Mayor of New York City in 1881 and 1882, and 1885 and 1886, ran away
from home when he was fourteen. His father had a fairly good business in
Dublin and intended his son to become a partner.
The son wanted to enter the British navy, and on being refused permission
he shipped as cook's scullion on a vessel bound for New York. He left the
ship when it reached port, and spent two years in New York, taking any
work he could find, helping in the kitchens of the water-front
eating-houses, acting as porter, or occasionally going on a short cruise
when nothing else offered.
His father had been searching for him all this time, and when he found him
he induced him to return home. A partnership was bought for him in a
Liverpool firm dealing in ships' supplies, and by the time Grace was
twenty-one he was well started on the road to wealth.
This did not satisfy him, for he did not like the restriction imposed upon
him by such a business. He broke away from it by going to Callao, Peru,
where he found employment with Brice & Co., dealers in ships' supplies. He
was order solicitor for the firm, and in going around from one vessel to
another in the harbor he came to know all the captains, and he increased
the business to such an extent that it was necessary to take him into the
firm in order to keep him.
Young Grace also profited by his dealings with the Peruvian government,
for he was of great assistance to it in its foreign affairs. Peru was
rapidly developing its resources and entering into closer relations with
other nations.
In 1869, when he was thirty-six years old, Grace was a rich man. But
tropical fever had gripped him, and the only hope of regaining health was
to leave Peru. Even that hope was a scant one, but he took it, and went
back to Ireland.
His health came to him slowly, and he spent a year traveling from place to
place, finally landing again in New York. His old energy had returned, and
after a few months he once more plunged into business, establishing the
firm of W.R. Grace & Co., and engaging in trade with South America.
He also became the confidential agent of the Peruvian Government, and
while acting in this capacity he armed and equipped the Peruvian army and
reorganized the Peruvian navy. In 1880 he became the candidate for mayor
of two factions of the Democracy--Tammany Hall and Irving Hall--and was
elected by a few hundred votes. About the first thing he did was to
quarrel with John Kelly, the leader of Tammany. Kelly had sent around a
list of appointments he wanted Grace to make.
"Can they do the work?" the mayor asked.
Kelly looked at him in surprise.
"What difference does it make?" he asked. "They are organization men."
"The fact that they are organization men doesn't make any difference,
either," said Grace. "I'm going to appoint men who know their business."
This started a quarrel between him and Tammany Hall, but he managed to
carry through the reforms on which he was determined.
He put the Louisiana Lottery Company out of business in the city, by
raiding their place, and when he found no one there to arrest he carted
off their safe to the City Hall, and refused to give it up until the
company withdrew from the city and promised to stay out.
He took the street-cleaning department from under the control of the
police and made it an independent department with a special head. The
local machine tried to stop him by holding out the inducement of another
term. But he sent back the answer:
"I'm mayor now, and I'm going to run things in the interest of the city
and to suit myself. There is no use leaving any work to a second term."
The next election he was defeated, but in 1884, when Cleveland was running
for President, Grace ran for mayor as an independent, and was easily
elected. The work of his second term was along the same lines as that of
his first.
His business interests with Peru continued to increase in importance, for
his brother, Michael Grace, had established himself as the leading man in
the country. He helped develop the banking system, railroads and mines of
the country, and also aided in founding a regular line of steamships
between there and New York. In 1890 he organized a corporation which
assumed the Peruvian national debt, and in return for doing this the
company was given control of the canals, roads, and other sources of
revenue in Peru.
Although much of his time was given to his business with South America, he
was also interested in many home enterprises, and was a director in a
score of big corporations.
LETTERS FAMOUS FOR BREVITY.
A Few Pointed Lines Written by Sharp-Witted People Have Been Effective in
Taking the Conceit Out of Their Correspondents.
Almost telegraphic brevity distinguishes some of the most famous letters
that have ever been written. A writer in _Notes and Queries_ gives a sheaf
of these laconic messages, with such editorial illumination as is
necessary to make their meaning clear.
According to Campbell's "Lives of the Admirals," Sir George Walton was
sent in pursuit of a Spanish squadron, and reported what took place in the
following dispatch to the admiral in command:
SIR--I have taken or destroyed all the
Spanish ships as per margin. Yours,
etc., G. WALTON.
Horace Walpole, in one of his papers in "The World," praises the following
letter, written by Lady Pembroke in the reign of Charles II. I quote from
memory, but think that Lady Pembroke wrote to Lord Arlington, who had
insisted on her allowing Sir Joseph Williamson to be returned member for
her borough of Appleby:
SIR--I have been bullied by a usurper,
I have been neglected by a court, but I will
not be dictated to by a subject. Your man
sha'n't stand. ANNE PEMBROKE.
I have some memory of a story that some person wrote to the first Duke of
Wellington, threatening to publish certain letters of his, and that he
replied:
DEAR JULIA--Publish and be damned.
Yours, WELLINGTON.
When Lord John Russell announced the breaking up of Earl Grey's cabinet
on May 27, 1834, Mr. Stanley, colonial secretary, wrote the following to
Sir James Graham, first lord of the Admiralty:
MY DEAR G.--Johnny has upset the coach.
Yours, etc.
Sir Walter Scott said that the most pointed letter he knew was the answer
of Lord Macdonald to the head of the Glengarry family:
MY DEAR GLENGARRY--As soon as you
can prove yourself to be _my chief_, I shall
be ready to acknowledge you; in the meantime,
I am _yours_, MACDONALD.
The following is quoted as Francis Jeffrey's wicked reply to a begging
letter:
Sir--I have received your letter of
6th inst., soliciting a contribution in behalf
of the funds of ----. I have very
great pleasure in subscribing [with this
word the writer contrived to end the first
page, and then continued overleaf] myself,
Yours faithfully,
FRANCIS JEFFREY.
A certain lady having written to Talleyrand informing him of the death of
her husband, he replied:
DEAR MARQUISE--Alas! Your devoted
TALLEYRAND.
At a later date the same lady wrote telling him of her approaching
marriage. To this he replied:
DEAR MARQUISE--Ho, ho! Your devoted
TALLEYRAND.
BRAHMA.
THE SUBTLE VERSES IN WHICH EMERSON GAVE EXPRESSION TO THE MYSTICISM
INVESTING HINDU RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.
The four stanzas composing Emerson's poem "Brahma" afford perhaps in the
smallest compass the best example of the Concord philosopher's subtle mode
of expression with a meaning so elusive as to require careful thought on
the reader's part to render it intelligible.
There is a pleasing vagueness which the music of the lines imbues with a
nameless charm. Here, more than anywhere else, Emerson has caught in a few
simply written stanzas the very essence of mysticism--strange, fleeting,
and yet full of suggestiveness that shifts and shimmers like the shadow
and the sunlight of which the poem tells.
The interpretation of the poem is to be found in an understanding of what
Brahma really means in the Hindu religion and philosophy. It is not a
personal divinity; but rather the creative force of the universe, an
all-pervading presence, bringing power, devotion, and holiness, unlimited
by time or space, and signifying soul and spirit. Hence, Brahma views with
equal unconcern both life and death, both doubt and faith, both shame and
fame. Those who attain to a true conception of this ideal have no need to
think of heaven, since heaven is everywhere.
By RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
The First Piano in Camp.
BY SAM DAVIS.
The story which is published herewith under the title of
"The First Piano in Camp" originally appeared several years
ago in the Virginia City _Chronicle_, and was then named "A
Christmas Carol." Its literary merit, quaint humor, and
pathos were at once recognized, and in the course of the
next six months it was republished in scores of newspapers
throughout the country. It next reached England, and from
there its popularity spread to the Continent, with the
result that it was translated into nearly every European
language.
In several cases newspapers in reprinting the story failed
to give the name of the author, and, believing that it had
originally been published anonymously, a number of persons
asserted that it had been written by them. These claims were
quickly disproved, however, and in the numerous collections
of specimens of American humor in which it now appears due
credit is given to Sam Davis, who was brought up in the same
atmosphere which gave life to the genius of Bret Harte and
Mark Twain. Mr. Davis was for several years editor of the
Virginia City _Enterprise_ and the Virginia City
_Chronicle_. He is now the State Comptroller of Nevada and
the proprietor and editor of the Carson _Appeal_.
"The First Piano in Camp," as here printed, is taken from
"Little Masterpieces of American Wit and Humor," edited by
Thomas L. Masson, and published by Doubleday, Page & Co.
In 1858--it might have been five years earlier or later; this is not a
history for the public schools--there was a little camp about ten miles
from Pioche, occupied by upward of three hundred miners, every one of whom
might have packed his prospecting implements and left for more inviting
fields any time before sunset.
When the day was over, these men did not rest from their labors, like
honest New England agriculturists, but sang, danced, gambled, and shot one
another, as the mood seized them.
One evening the report spread along the main street (which was the only
street) that three men had been killed at Silver Reef and that the bodies
were coming in. Presently a lumbering old conveyance labored up the hill,
drawn by a couple of horses well worn out with their pull. The cart
contained a good-sized box, and no sooner did its outlines become visible,
through the glimmer of a stray light, than it began to affect the idlers.
Death always enforces respect, and even though no one had caught sight of
the remains, the crowd gradually became subdued, and when the horses came
to a standstill the cart was immediately surrounded. The driver, however,
was not in the least impressed with the solemnity of his commission.
"All there?" asked one.
"Haven't examined. Guess so."
The driver filled his pipe and lighted it as he continued:
"Wish the bones and load had gone over the grade!"
A man who had been looking on stepped up to the teamster at once.
"I don't know who you have in that box, but if they happen to be any
friends of mine I'll lay you alongside."
"We can mighty soon see," said the teamster coolly. "Just burst the lid
off, and if they happen to be the men you want, I'm here."
The two looked at each other for a moment, and then the crowd gathered a
little closer, anticipating trouble.
"I believe that dead men are entitled to good treatment, and when you talk
about hoping to see corpses go over a bank all I have to say is that it
will be better for you if the late lamented ain't my friends."
"We'll open the box. I don't take back what I've said, and if my language
don't suit your ways of thinking, I guess I can stand it."
With these words the teamster began to pry up the lid. He got a board off,
and then pulled out some rags. A strip of something dark, like rosewood,
presented itself.
"Eastern coffins, by thunder!" said several, and the crowd looked quite
astonished.
Some more boards flew up, and the man who was ready to defend his friend's
memory shifted his weapon a little. The cool manner of the teamster had so
irritated him that he had made up his mind to pull his weapon at the first
sight of the dead, even if the deceased was his worst and oldest enemy.
Presently the whole of the box-cover was off, and the teamster, clearing
away the packing, revealed to the astonished group the top of something
which puzzled all alike.
"Boys," said he, "this is a pianner."
A general shout of laughter went up, and the man who had been so anxious
to enforce respect for the dead muttered something about feeling dry, and
the keeper of the nearest bar was several ounces better off by the time
the boys had given the joke due attention.
Had a dozen dead men been in the box their presence in the camp could not
have occasioned half the excitement that the arrival of that lonely piano
caused. But the next morning it was known that the instrument was to grace
a hurdy-gurdy saloon, owned by Tom Goskin, the leading gambler in the
place. It took nearly a week to get this wonder on its legs, and the owner
was the proudest individual in the State. It rose gradually from a
recumbent to an upright position amid a confusion of tongues, after the
manner of the Tower of Babel.
Of course, everybody knew just how such an instrument should be put up.
One knew where the "off hind leg" should go, and another was posted on the
"front piece."
Scores of men came to the place every day to assist.
"I'll put the bones in good order."
"If you want the wires tuned up, I'm the boy."
"I've got music to feed it for a month."
Another brought a pair of blankets for a cover, and all took the liveliest
interest in it. It was at last in a condition for business.
"It's been showin' its teeth all the week. We'd like to have it spit out
something."
Alas! there wasn't a man to be found who could play upon the instrument.
Goskin began to realize that he had a losing speculation on his hands. He
had a fiddler, and a Mexican who thrummed a guitar. A pianist would have
made his orchestra complete. One day a three-card-monte player told a
friend confidentially that he could "knock any amount of music out of the
piano, if he only had it alone a few hours to get his hand in." This
report spread about the camp, but on being questioned he vowed that he
didn't know a note of music. It was noted, however, as a suspicious
circumstance, that he often hung about the instrument and looked upon it
longingly, like a hungry man gloating over a beef-steak in a restaurant
window. There was no doubt but that this man had music in his soul,
perhaps in his finger-ends, but did not dare to make trial of his strength
after the rules of harmony had suffered so many years of neglect. So the
fiddler kept on with his jigs, and the greasy Mexican pawed his discordant
guitar, but no man had the nerve to touch the piano. There were doubtless
scores of men in the camp who would have given ten ounces of gold-dust to
have been half an hour alone with it, but every man's nerve shrank from
the jeers which the crowd would shower upon him should his first attempt
prove a failure. It got to be generally understood that the hand which
first essayed to draw music from the keys must not slouch its work.
* * * * *
It was Christmas eve, and Goskin, according to his custom, had decorated
his gambling-hell with sprigs of mountain cedar and a shrub whose crimson
berries did not seem a bad imitation of English holly. The piano was
covered with evergreens, and all that was wanting to completely fill the
cup of Goskin's contentment was a man to play the instrument.
"Christmas night, and no piano-pounder," he said. "This is a nice country
for a Christian to live in."
Getting a piece of paper, he scrawled:
$20 REWARD
TO A COMPETENT PIANO PLAYER
This he stuck up on the music-rack, and though the inscription glared at
the frequenters of the room until midnight, it failed to draw any musician
from his shell.
So the merrymaking went on; the hilarity grew apace. Men danced and sang
to the music of the squeaky fiddle and worn-out guitar as the jolly crowd
within tried to drown the howling of the storm without. Suddenly they
became aware of the presence of a white-haired man, crouching near the
fireplace. His garments--such as were left--were wet with melting snow,
and he had a half-starved, half-crazed expression. He held his thin,
trembling hands toward the fire, and the light of the blazing wood made
them almost transparent. He looked about him once in a while as if in
search of something, and his presence cast such a chill over the place
that gradually the sound of the revelry was hushed, and it seemed that
this waif of the storm had brought in with him all the gloom and coldness
of the warring elements. Goskin, mixing up a cup of hot egg-nogg, advanced
and remarked cheerily:
"Here, stranger, brace up! This is the real stuff."
The man drained the cup, smacked his lips, and seemed more at home.
"Been prospecting, eh? Out in the mountains--caught in the storm? Lively
night, this!"
"Pretty bad," said the man.
"Must feel pretty dry?"
The man looked at his streaming clothes and laughed, as if Goskin's remark
was a sarcasm.
"How long out?"
"Four days."
"Hungry?"
The man rose up, and, walking over to the lunch-counter, fell to work upon
some roast bear, devouring it as any wild animal would have done. As meat
and drink and warmth began to permeate the stranger he seemed to expand
and lighten up. His features lost their pallor, and he grew more and more
content with the idea that he was not in the grave. As he underwent these
changes the people about him got merrier and happier, and threw off the
temporary feeling of depression which he had laid upon them.
"Do you always have your place decorated like this?" he finally asked of
Goskin.
"This is Christmas eve," was the reply.
The stranger was startled.
"December 24, sure enough."
"That's the way I put it up, pard."
"When I was in England I always kept Christmas. But I had forgotten that
this was the night. I've been wandering about in the mountains until I've
lost track of the feasts of the Church."
Presently his eye fell upon the piano.
"Where's the player?" he asked.
"Never had any," said Goskin, blushing at the expression.
"I used to play when I was young."
Goskin almost fainted at the admission.
"Stranger, do tackle it, and give us a tune! Nary man in this camp ever
had the nerve to wrestle with that music-box." His pulse beat faster, for
he feared that the man would refuse.
"I'll do the best I can," he said.
There was no stool, but seizing a candle-box, he drew it up and seated
himself before the instrument. It only required a few seconds for a hush
to come over the room.
"That old coon is going to give the thing a rattle."
The sight of a man at the piano was something so unusual that even the
faro-dealer, who was about to take in a fifty-dollar bet on the tray,
paused and did not reach for the money. Men stopped drinking, with the
glasses at their lips. Conversation appeared to have been struck with a
sort of paralysis, and cards were no longer shuffled.
The old man brushed back his long white locks, looked up to the ceiling,
half closed his eyes, and in a mystic sort of reverie passed his fingers
over the keys. He touched but a single note, yet the sound thrilled the
room. It was the key to his improvisation, and as he wove his cords
together the music laid its spell upon every ear and heart. He felt his
way along the keys like a man treading uncertain paths, but he gained
confidence as he progressed, and presently bent to his work like a master.
The instrument was not in exact tune, but the ears of his audience did not
detect anything radically wrong. They heard a succession of grand chords,
a suggestion of paradise, melodies here and there, and it was enough.
"See him counter with his left!" said an old rough, enraptured.
"He calls the turn every time on the upper end of the board," responded a
man with a stack of chips in his hand.
The player wandered off into the old ballads they had heard at home. All
the sad and melancholy and touching songs, that came up like dreams of
childhood, this unknown player drew from the keys. His hands kneaded their
hearts like dough and squeezed out tears as from a wet sponge.
As the strains flowed one upon the other, the listeners saw their homes of
the long ago reared again; they were playing once more where the
apple-blossoms sank through the soft air to join the violets on the green
turf of the old New England States; they saw the glories of the Wisconsin
maples and the haze of the Indian summer blending their hues together;
they recalled the heather of Scottish hills, the white cliffs of Britain,
and heard the sullen roar of the sea, as it beat upon their memories,
vaguely. Then came all the old Christmas carols, such as they had sung in
church thirty years before; the subtle music that brings up the glimmer of
wax tapers, the solemn shrines, the evergreen, holly, mistletoe, and
surpliced choirs. Then the remorseless performer planted his final stab in
every heart with "Home, Sweet Home."
When the player ceased the crowd slunk away from him. There was no more
revelry or devilment left in his audience. Each man wanted to sneak off
to his cabin and write the old folks a letter. The day was breaking as the
last man left the place, and the player, with his head on the piano, fell
asleep.
"I say, pard," said Goskin, "don't you want a little rest?"
"I feel tired," the old man said. "Perhaps you'll let me rest here for the
matter of a day or so."
He walked behind the bar, where some old blankets were lying, and
stretched himself upon them.
"I feel pretty sick. I guess I won't last long. I've got a brother down in
the ravine--his name's Driscoll. He don't know I'm here. Can you get him
before morning? I'd like to see his face once before I die."
Goskin started up at the mention of the name. He knew Driscoll well.
"He your brother? I'll have him here in half an hour."
As Goskin dashed out into the storm the musician pressed his hand to his
side and groaned. Goskin heard the word "Hurry!" and sped down the ravine
to Driscoll's cabin. It was quite light in the room when the two men
returned. Driscoll was pale as death.
"My God! I hope he's alive! I wronged him when we lived in England, twenty
years ago."
They saw the old man had drawn the blankets over his face. The two stood a
moment, awed by the thought that he might be dead. Goskin lifted the
blanket and pulled it down, astonished. There was no one there!
"Gone!" cried Driscoll wildly.
"Gone!" echoed Goskin, pulling out his cash-drawer. "Ten thousand dollars
in the sack, and the Lord knows how much loose change in the drawer!"
The next day the boys got out, followed a horse's track through the snow,
and lost them in the trail leading toward Pioche.
There was a man missing from the camp. It was the three-card-monte man,
who used to deny pointblank that he could play the scale. One day they
found a wig of white hair, and called to mind how the "stranger" had
pushed those locks back when he looked toward the ceiling for inspiration
on the night of December 24, 1858.
ALL KINDS OF THINGS.
George Washington as the Farmer of Mount Vernon--The Dress,
Manners, and Personality of John Hancock--Men Whose Names
Live in Their Inventions--The Strange Story of a
Revolutionary Spy and a Silver Bullet--Treasure Trove in
Unexpected Hiding-Places--Political Routes That Have Led to
the White House--With Other Items of Interest from Various
Sources.
_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.
THE THRIFTY FARMER OF MOUNT VERNON.
FIFTEEN SQUARE MILES OF LAND.
System of Crop Rotation Made the
Wheels Go Round Smoothly on
Washington's Plantation.
As military leader and statesman, George Washington is the great figure in
our history. His greatness as a farmer is not so generally appreciated.
Yet as soon as the Revolution ended he turned his attention to agriculture
with a keen eye to improve his estate.
Finding that the cultivation of tobacco exhausted his land, he gradually
substituted grass and wheat, as better suited to the soil. He began a new
method of rotation of crops, drawing up an exact scheme by which all his
fields were numbered and the crops assigned for several years in advance.
The extent of his farming operations appears in the following account,
printed many years ago in the _Maine Cultivator_:
The farm of General Washington at Mount Vernon contained ten
thousand acres of land in one body--equal to about fifteen
square miles. It was divided into farms of convenient size,
at the distance of two, three, four, and five miles from his
mansion house. These farms he visited every day in pleasant
weather, and was constantly engaged in making experiments
for the improvement of agriculture.
Some idea of the extent of his farming operations may be
formed from the following facts: In 1787 he had five hundred
acres in grass; sowed six hundred bushels of oats, seven
hundred acres of wheat, and as much more in corn, barley,
potatoes, beans, peas, etc., and fifty with turnips.
His stock consisted of one hundred and forty horses, one
hundred and twelve cows, two hundred and thirty-five working
oxen, heifers, and steers, and five hundred sheep. He
constantly employed two hundred and fifty hands, and kept
twenty-four plows going during the whole year, when the
earth and the state of the weather would permit.
In 1786 he slaughtered one hundred and fifty hogs for the
use of his family and provisions for his negroes, for whose
comfort he had great regard.
ELABORATE APPAREL OF OLD JOHN HANCOCK.
APTNESS AT PUNISHING THE PUNCH.
Pen Picture of the Revolutionary Statesman
Shows Him Garbed Gorgeously
in a Blue Damask Gown.
Our revolutionary heroes were not all plain-garbed farmers. Indeed, not a
few of them were rather dandified--which is not surprising, inasmuch as
men dressed more showily in those times than they dress now.
John Hancock, whose bold signature is so prominent among those of the
signers of the Declaration of Independence, was addicted to rich apparel.
One who saw him in 1782 says that he then had the appearance of advanced
age, though his years were only forty-five.
He had been repeatedly and severely afflicted with gout,
probably owing in part to the custom of drinking punch--a
common practise in high circles in those days. As
recollected at this time, Hancock was nearly six feet in
height and of thin person, stooping a little, and apparently
enfeebled by disease. His manners were very gracious, of the
old style; a dignified complaisance. His face had been very
handsome.
Dress was adapted quite as much to the ornamental as useful.
Gentlemen wore wigs when abroad, and commonly caps when at
home. At this time, about noon, Hancock was dressed in a red
velvet cap, within which was one of fine linen. The latter
was turned up over the lower edge of the velvet one, two or
three inches.
He wore a blue damask gown lined with silk, a white stock, a
white satin embroidered waistcoat, black satin small
clothes, white silk stockings, and red morocco slippers. It
was a general practise in genteel families to have a tankard
of punch made in the morning and placed in a cooler when the
season required it.
At this visit Hancock took from the cooler standing on the
hearth a full tankard, and drank first himself and then
offered it to those present. His equipage was splendid, and
such as is not customary at this day.
His apparel was sumptuously embroidered with gold, silver,
lace, and other decorations fashionable among men of fortune
of that period; and he rode, especially upon public
occasions, with six beautiful bay horses, attended by
servants in livery.
He wore a scarlet coat, with ruffles on the sleeves, which
soon became the prevailing fashion; and it is related of Dr.
Nathan Jacques, the famous pedestrian of West Newbury, that
he passed all the way from West Newbury to Boston in one
day, to procure cloth for a coat like that of John Hancock,
and returned with it under his arm on foot.
Hancock was a rich man. In 1764 his uncle, Thomas Hancock, left him about
eighty thousand pounds and the control of a large mercantile business. His
position as a colonial aristocrat emphasized the importance of his
defection from British allegiance. His patriotic services are well
remembered, but it is true, also, that he was somewhat vain and somewhat
jealous.
MEN WHOSE NAMES LIVE IN THEIR INVENTIONS.
ODD COINING OF SUITABLE WORDS.
McAdam, MacIntosh, and Guillotin Examples
of Men Whose Inventions Transmit
Their Names to Posterity.
Many common words have been derived from proper names, just as many proper
names have been derived from common words. The London _Globe_ cites
several instances of men who have been immortalized by the application of
their names to inventions.
While the word "macadamize" was rapidly establishing its position in the
English language, no less an authority than Jeremy Bentham gave it a
helping hand on its way by declaring that "the success of Mr. McAdam's
system justified the perpetuation of his name in popular speech."
This is, perhaps, the most perfect example of a spontaneous popular
impulse whereby an inventor who had benefited mankind was embalmed, so to
say, in his own invention. His name, connected indissolubly with it, was
handed down to future ages with a certainty that it would endure as long
at least as the language continued to exist.
But, curiously enough, at almost the same time when the great roadmaker
was achieving immortality, another inventor, with a no less obviously
Scotch name, was treading the same path to linguistic fame.
The labors in the field of chemistry which enabled MacIntosh to perfect
and patent a new sort of clothing--and that in a time when traveling by
stage coaches rendered it particularly welcome--were almost as prolonged
as those which qualified his fellow countryman in a long life to solve the
problem of constructing a durable roadway for wheeled traffic.
A third notable specimen of the conversion of a name into a vernacular
word may be taken from France, where Dr. Guillotin found himself
effectually, though not perhaps very agreeably, immortalized in connection
with the lethal implement which still bears his name. The popular belief
that he perished by the machine which he had introduced appears to be
erroneous. This rather left-handed compliment was not paid him by the
authorities, but by the voice of public opinion, which insisted that the
association of the doctor with his invention should be thus commemorated.
This list might be extended by many names which have become descriptive of
their original owner's acts or theories. There is, for example, the case
of Captain Boycott. And more recently, of course, people have begun to use
the verb "to Oslerize."
HOW INSECTS CONDUCT THEIR CONVERSATIONS.
THE MUSIC OF THE GRASSHOPPER.
Some Insects Talk by Vibrating Their
Wings, Others Stridulate, and Others
Emit Sounds from the Thorax.
Insects, like birds and animals, have their calls. But the sounds they
produce include the rubbing together of their limbs or wing covers and the
vibration of their wings, so they cannot always be spoken of as voices.
For that matter, when man knocks at a door, or rings a bell, or snaps his
fingers to attract the attention of a waiter, he is communicating by other
than spoken sounds--as is also the case when he uses the telegraph. Says
an old exchange:
Flies and bees undoubtedly mean something when they hum
louder or lower. Landoise has calculated that to produce the
sound of F by vibrating its wings, they vibrate 352 times a
second, and the bee to create A vibrates 440 times a second.
A tired bee hums on E sharp. This change is perhaps
involuntary, but undoubtedly at the command of the will, and
is similar to the voice.
When seeking honey a bee hums to A sharp.
Landoise noticed three different tones emitted by insects--a
low one during flight, a higher one when the wings are held
so that they cannot vibrate, and a higher one yet when the
insect is held so that none of his limbs can be moved. This
last is of course the voice proper of insects and is
produced by the stigmata of the thorax.
No music is as familiar as that produced by the locusts,
grasshoppers, and crickets, and, although they are not
produced by the mouth, they answer as calls, and are
undoubtedly a language to a certain extent, and indeed their
calls have been reduced to written music.
The music of grasshoppers is produced in four different
ways, according to Scudder. First, by rubbing the base of
one wing upon the other, using for that purpose veins
running through the middle portion of the wing; second, by a
similar method, by using the veins of the inner part of the
wing; by rubbing the inner surface of the hind legs against
the outer surface of the wing covers; and, fourth, by
rubbing together the upper surface of the front edge of the
wings and the under surface of the wing covers. The insects
which employ the fourth method also stridulate during night.
The first method is used by the crickets, the second by the
green or long-legged grasshoppers, the third and fourth by
certain kinds of short-horned or jumping grasshoppers.
Butterflies have been heard to utter a loud click, and the
same is true of many beetles; while the cicada, or
seventeen-year locust, utters a most remarkable note or
series of sounds.
Spiders have often been heard to utter sounds. John
Burroughs says in his "Pepacton," that one sunny April day
his attention was attracted by a soft, uncertain, purring
sound made by little spiders that were running over the dry
leaves.
LUCKLESS SPY WHO SWALLOWED A BULLET.
A MESSAGE STRANGELY CONCEALED.
Alertness of Governor Clinton's Men Defeated
the Stratagem of a British
Courier on His Way to Burgoyne.
One of the strangest incidents of the American Revolution is the story of
a silver bullet.
The year was 1777. Burgoyne, pushing down from the north, was expecting to
effect a junction with Sir Henry Clinton at Albany. The field of Saratoga
was still before him. Clinton was pressing up the Hudson Valley from New
York. After taking Fort Montgomery, in the Highlands, he sent a letter to
Burgoyne with news of his movements.
As the message had to pass through the American lines, the letter was
enclosed in a silver bullet, coated with lead, and the spy who carried it
placed it in his pocket with a few real bullets.
In Dutchess County the spy was captured. His captors found nothing
incriminating, and were about to release him, when one of them happened on
the bullets, and noticed that one bullet was lighter than the others.
"Why," he exclaimed, "this can never be a bullet; it is too light!"
At this moment the spy snatched the bullet and swallowed it. The incident
was promptly reported to Governor George Clinton, commander of the
Revolutionary force, and by his direction a surgeon recovered the bullet.
In it was found Sir Henry Clinton's letter, which read as follows:
FORT MONTGOMERY, OCTOBER 8, 1777.
_Nous voici_, and nothing between us but _Gates_. I
sincerely hope this little success of ours may facilitate
your operations. In answer to your letter of 28th September,
by C.C., I shall only say that I cannot presume to order, or
even advise, for reasons obvious. I heartily wish you
success.
Faithfully yours,
HENRY CLINTON.
_To General Burgoyne._
The spy was hanged on a tree at Hurley, a few miles from Kingston.
FINDING MONEY IN UNEXPECTED PLACES.
WEALTH WAS HIDDEN IN A CRUTCH.
Mustard-Tins, Bicycle Handle-Bars, Bibles,
Nests of Mice, Chimneys, Etc.,
Have Concealed Treasure.
Old stockings are proverbially the savings-banks of the poor--and no
interest on deposits. To-day, when all towns have their banks, the family
hoard is usually more safely placed than in a domestic cranny.
Queer hiding-places are, however, still uncovered. There are savers who
will not trust the banks. An English exchange, having collected facts in a
number of cases where money has been found in very strange places,
presents the following interesting incidents in this way:
A few months ago a dealer in old furniture secured for thirty shillings,
at an auction held in a village near Carnarvon, North Wales, an oak
dresser, part of the property of an old lady who had just died. On his
arrival home he proceeded to overhaul his purchase, when to his surprise
he discovered, on the top shelf, a mustard-tin filled to the brim with
sovereigns and half-sovereigns.
An old bicycle was not long since knocked down to a gentleman for a mere
song. In due course it was sent to a cycle repairer in Hampstead to be put
in working order. During this process nine half-sovereigns were found
concealed in the handle-bars.
In October of 1899 a gentleman residing at East Dulwich purchased at a
local auction-room for a few shillings a parcel of second-hand books,
among which was an old Bible. On the following Sunday his wife, on opening
this, found several of the leaves pasted together. These she took the
trouble to separate, when six five-pound Bank of England notes dropped
out. On the back of one of these notes the former owner of the Bible had
written his will, which ran as follows: "I have had to work very hard for
this, and having none as natural heirs, I leave thee, dear reader,
whosoever shall own this holy book, my lawful heir."
On the appraisers of the estate of an old miser, who died a year or so
back at Newburgh, searching his house, they came upon an old cupboard
seemingly filled with rubbish. This they overhauled, to find in a corner a
family of young mice comfortably ensconced in a nest constructed of
bank-notes to the value of four hundred pounds.
A mouse was the cause of a still greater find. As an old Paris hawker,
named Mme. Jacques, was endeavoring to dislodge one of these little
animals that had taken refuge in her chimney, she knocked aside some
bricks and laid bare a cavity containing a number of bank-notes, amounting
in value to forty thousand francs, which had belonged to a former tenant
of the house, who had died seven years previously.
'Tis an ill-wind that blows no one any good. Some time ago an old
Birmingham woman, who had the misfortune to lose her leg, purchased a pair
of crutches at a second-hand dealer's. Not long after one of the crutches
snapped beneath her weight, disclosing a hollow in the wood, within which
were secreted twenty pounds in notes and a diamond scarf-pin.
Among a quantity of household effects, forming one lot, that a gentleman
purchased some years since at a sale in Kent, was a stuffed parrot. This
being of no value was given over to his children, who, after the manner of
their kind, proceeded in due course to inspect its anatomy. Curiosity in
this case met its reward, for within the bird reposed fifteen sovereigns
and two spade guineas of George III--no bad return for the few shillings
invested originally in the purchase of the entire lot.
NO ROYAL ROAD TO THE PRESIDENTIAL CHAIR.
ROUTES THROUGH POLITICAL MAZE.
Senators, Representatives, Governors, and
Others Who Have Made Their Way
to the White House.
The road to the Presidency is as uncertain as the course of a Western
river. Men have marched to the White House by so many different routes
that it seems as if any path might lead to that center of our political
labyrinth. On the other hand, any path may unexpectedly present an
obstacle to the ambitious traveler.
Senator La Follette hesitated to leave the Governorship of Wisconsin for
the Senate, and at the time political experts said pointedly that the
Senate was not the road to the Presidency. The ghost of that old
superstition is laid by the Louisville _Herald_:
This statement does not bear investigation. Virginia sent
two men who had served as Senators, James Monroe and John
Tyler, later on to the White House. Martin Van Buren served
as a Senator from New York before he became President. James
Buchanan, of Pennsylvania, served in the Senate from 1834
till 1845, when he became Secretary of State under President
Polk. John Quincy Adams was elected to the Senate in 1803.
Andrew Jackson, of Tennessee, was sent to the Senate twice,
first in 1797 and second in 1823. He did not become
President till 1829. Andrew Johnson, of the same State, was
elected to the Senate in 1857, and became President in 1865.
Franklin Pierce was a Senator from New Hampshire in 1837.
Benjamin Harrison went direct almost from the Senate to the
White House, the term which he served in the Senate expiring
in 1887, the year before his election to the Presidency.
Abraham Lincoln was a defeated candidate for the Senate, and
his leading opponent for the Presidency, Douglas, a
full-fledged Senator at the time of the election of Lincoln
for President. Breckinridge, another of Lincoln's opponents,
was Vice-President from 1857 till 1861.
Successful soldiers find, it is often said, an easy road to
the White House; but not all the soldiers who have been
candidates for the Presidency have succeeded. Scott and
Fremont both failed of election. So did McClellan and
Hancock.
Scott was beaten by another soldier, Franklin Pierce, but
Fremont was in turn defeated by a civilian, Buchanan.
McClellan was defeated by Lincoln, a lawyer, and Hancock by
another soldier, Garfield.
McKinley had served a long time in the House of
Representatives before becoming a candidate for the
Presidency. His opponent, Bryan, had also served for a time
in the House of Representatives. James G. Blaine, who so
often aspired to the Presidency, had, like Henry Clay, also
a frequent Presidential aspirant, served with distinction as
Speaker of the House.
President Roosevelt broke, in 1904, the tradition that no
Vice-President succeeding to the Presidency by the death of
the actual incumbent could be elected President.
BRIDEGROOM NAMED A BABY AS SECOND WIFE.
TRUTH BORN IN HONEYMOON JEST.
Twenty Years Later John Thacher's
Prophecy Came True When He Married
His Son's Sweetheart.
Thacher is a solid name in American history. Beginning with Thomas
Thacher, the minister and physician, who came from England to New England
in 1635, there is a long line of educators and professional men; and the
cognate branches of the family have also contributed many prominent
citizens, including James Thacher, the famous surgeon of the Revolution.
An old copy of the Yarmouth (Massachusetts) _Register_ gives an anecdote
concerning John Thacher, son of one of the first settlers at Yarmouth.
He married, in 1661, Miss Rebecca Winslow, of Duxbury,
Plymouth County, if we mistake not. On his way home with his
new bride, he stopped for the night at the house of a
friend, a Colonel Gorham, of Barnstable, one of the most
prominent citizens of the town.
Merriment and gaiety prevailed, and during the evening a
female infant about three weeks old was introduced, and the
night of her birth being mentioned, Mr. Thacher observed,
"That is the very night on which we were married," and,
taking the child in his arms, he presented it to his bride
and jokingly said: "Here, my dear, is a little lady that was
born on the same night that we were married. I wish you
would kiss her, for I intend to have her for my second
wife."
"I will, my dear, with great pleasure," replied she, "but I
hope it will be very long before your intention is fulfilled
in that respect."
Mr. Thacher and his wife lived happily together until her
death, about twenty years later. She left him a large family
of children, among whom was a son named Peter.
After Mr. Thacher had mourned a reasonable length of time he
began to think of getting another partner. None of the
maidens, young or old, seemed to please him like Lydia
Gorham, the little lady of the preceding part of the story,
now grown up, if we may believe tradition, to a fair, comely
girl.
But there was one impediment in the way. His eldest son,
Peter, had shown a predilection for the girl, and the old
man was at a loss to decide whether she favored the suit of
the sire or the son.
The one rode a black horse in his visits, and the other rode
a white. There was a kind of tacit agreement between the two
that one should not interfere with the visits of the other;
so when the father found a white horse tied in front of
Colonel Gorham's, unlike the good Samaritan, he crossed over
on the other side; and the son, when the black horse was
there, returned the favor.
Thus things went on till the patience of the elder gentleman
was well-nigh exhausted, and he resolved upon a desperate
step to decide the matter. Taking his son one side, he said
to him:
"Peter, are you or are you not going to marry Lydia Gorham?"
Peter replied that he had not yet made up his mind.
"Well," said the old gentleman, "I will make you an offer;
if you will give her up and court her no more, I will give
you thirteen pounds in money and the pair of black steers.
What do you say to that?"
The young man hesitated but a moment. "'Tis a bargain," said
he; and it is due the parties to say that it was observed by
them all with perfect good faith.
Whether Lydia knew the bargaining that her charms had
occasioned, tradition sayeth not; but she subsequently
became Mr. Thacher's wife, and bore him ten children.
A LEARNED BLACKSMITH AND THE IRON HORSE.
BURRITT, THE SELF-MADE SCHOLAR.
Word-Picture of the Locomotive, "Strutting
Forth from His Smoky Stable,"
and the "Man in the Saddle."
A considerable figure in his time, Elihu Burritt has left no very definite
impress on American life or letters. Born in New Britain, Connecticut,
December 8, 1810, the son of a shoemaker, he became a blacksmith, but his
desire for learning was so insatiable that in the intervals of his trade
he mastered many branches of study, and especially languages, for which he
possessed great aptitude.
His strongest claim to remembrance lies in his work in the interest of
peace. The first international congress of Friends of Peace, held in
Brussels in 1848, was organized by him. He died in New Britain, March 9,
1879.
Mr. Burritt, the "Learned Blacksmith," made frequent lecture tours. His
descriptive power is seen in the following word picture of the steam
locomotive:
I love to see one of those huge creatures, with sinews of
brass and muscles of iron, strut forth from his smoky
stable, and, saluting the long train of cars with a dozen
sonorous puffs from his iron nostrils, fall gently back into
his harness.
There he stands, champing and foaming upon the iron track;
his great heart a furnace of glowing coals; his lymphatic
blood is boiling in his veins; the strength of a thousand
horses is nerving his sinews--he pants to be gone.
He would "snake" St. Peter's across the desert of Sahara if
he could be fairly hitched to it, but there is a little
sober-eyed, tobacco-chewing man in the saddle, who holds him
in with one finger, and can take away his breath in a
moment should he grow restive and vicious.
I am always deeply interested in this man; for, begrimed as
he may be with coal, diluted in oil and steam, I regard him
as the genius of the whole machinery, as the physical mind
of that huge steam horse.
BIG FORTUNES FOUND IN DISEASED WHALES.
ONE LEVIATHAN YIELDED $100,000.
A Dirty-Looking Lump of Ambergris Is
Worth More Than Half Its
Weight in Gold.
Ambergris is one of the most valuable products of the sea. The mariner who
spies floating on the waves a grayish mass, fatty in appearance, will, if
he knows what ambergris is, betray considerable excitement, for the
substance fetches high prices.
Captain James Earle, of New Bedford, Massachusetts, is said to have been
the luckiest of all skippers in the old whaling days. From a single sperm
whale he realized more than a hundred thousand dollars. It was not the
ninety barrels of oil which gave the leviathan its extraordinary value,
for that was sold for something like four thousand dollars; but within the
whale's vast interior there was found a solid piece of ambergris weighing
seven hundred and eighty pounds. This was sold in chunks in all markets of
the world for about one hundred thousand dollars.
The finest piece, if not the largest, obtained in recent years weighed one
hundred and sixty-three pounds. It was sold in London in 1891.
As to what ambergris is, we may quote the Philadelphia _Saturday Evening
post_:
There is no longer any mystery as to the origin of
ambergris. It is a morbid secretion due to a disease of the
liver of the sperm whale, in the intestines of which animal
lumps of it are occasionally, though rarely, discovered. Dr.
C.H. Stevenson, of the United States Fish Commission, who
has made a special study of the subject, says that the
whales which yield ambergris are sickly and emaciated.
Anciently, the substance was known as amber--a name which
was subsequently applied also to the fossil gum now
commonly so called. But, to distinguish the two, one was
called "_amber gris_" (gray), and the other "_amber jaune_"
(yellow).
So it appears that ambergris means simply gray amber. Like
the fossil gum, pieces of it were found now and then on the
seashore, where they had been cast up by the waves; hence,
doubtless, the giving of the same name to both.
The substance has been used for centuries in sacerdotal
rites of the church, and with fragrant gums was formerly
burned in the apartments of royalty. To some extent it was
employed as a medicine and to flavor certain dishes.
Nowadays it is utilized almost exclusively by perfumers, in
the preparation of fine scents, being first converted into a
tincture by dissolving it in alcohol.
ORIGIN OF HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.
ANCIENT PARALLEL OF OUR JINGLE.
"A Kid! A Kid!" Sang the Hebrew
Children in Lieu of Our Parable from
the Pages of Mother Goose.
The sources of our nursery rhymes are many, and slowly to be traced out.
Many of them have a lineage with serious historical meaning; others seem
to have been suggested by the forms of more serious verses or parables.
Take "The House That Jack Built"; many sources and parallels have been dug
out. The Kafirs of South Africa tell a story like it in form and
substance. The most interesting parallel, however, is an ancient Hebrew
parable called "The Two Zuzim," the summation of which is as follows:
[This is] the kid that my father bought
for two zuzim.
[This is] the cat that ate the kid, etc.
[This is] the dog that bit the cat, etc.
[This is] the stick that beat the dog, etc.
[This is] the fire that burned the stick, etc.
[This is] the water that quenched the fire,
etc.
[This is] the ox that drank the water, etc.
[This is] the butcher that slew the ox, etc.
[This is] the angel of death that killed the
butcher, etc.
[This is] Yaveh, that vanquished the angel
of death, etc.
Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua.
BY ELIJAH KELLOGG.
It is Friday afternoon. The "scholars" of School Number
Nine, having droned through a week of lessons, are beginning
the "weekly exercises." Come visitors--Freddy Jones's mother
and aunt, and William Groso's father, and the minister, and
old Mrs. Huggins, who never misses the occasion, though she
has no children of her own. Teacher, working into her voice
an unwonted note of encouragement, calls the first name on
the program, and Freddy Jones, his legs very stiff, marches
to the platform, jerks his head toward teacher, and faces
his mates. His legs are no longer stiff; on the contrary,
his knee-joints seem to be made of whalebone. His mouth is
dry and his forehead is clammy.
Freddy is not the biggest or strongest of the boys; he is
not a leader among them. He has even been known to play with
the girls. He is sandy as to hair and complexion, and stubby
as to hands and feet and nose. Yet he begins: "Ye call me
chief----"
How often, while practising the lines up in the attic, he
has attained to an exalted sense of his leadership! How
often he has leaned metaphorically upon his sword and
surveyed with scornful contempt the fawning groundlings, the
Roman Adonises, the shouting rabble! He was Spartacus then.
But now--now he is a small boy with a doubtful memory; and
mother, from the front row of benches, has to prompt him
twice.
This thrilling old piece of declamation, this address of
Spartacus to the Gladiators, was written by the Rev. Elijah
Kellogg, who also wrote a great many books for boys--"The
Elm Island Series," the "Pleasant Cove Series," the
"Whispering Pine Series," and others which are still read.
He was born in Portland, Maine, May 20, 1813; went to
Bowdoin College and Andover Theological Seminary; served as
a minister and chaplain from 1843 to 1865, and thereafter
devoted himself almost exclusively to writing until his
death, at Harpswell, Maine, March 17, 1901.
Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long
years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad Empire
of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one
among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my
actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be
three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come
on. And yet I was not always thus--a hired butcher, a savage chief of
still more savage men. My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled
among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella.
My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported; and when, at
noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the
shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in
the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together
our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all
seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old
man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a
little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a
whole army.
I did not then know what war was; but my cheeks burned, I know not why,
and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting
the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go
to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very
night the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished
me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse--the bleeding body of my father
flung amid the blazing rafters of our dwelling! To-day I killed a man in
the arena; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold! he was my friend.
He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died--the same sweet smile upon
his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the
lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish
triumph!
I told the prætor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and
brave; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a
funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Aye! upon my knees, amid the dust
and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled
maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble,
shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's
fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of
bleeding clay! And the prætor drew back as if I were pollution, and
sternly said, "Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans."
And so, fellow gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs.
O, Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Aye! thou hast given
to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone
than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to
drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm
it in the marrow of his foe--to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the
fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay
thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its
deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled!
Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! The strength of brass is in your
toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume
from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and
bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his
den? 'Tis three days since he has tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall
break his fast upon yours--and a dainty meal for him ye will be! If ye are
beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife! If
ye are men, follow me!
Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work,
as did your sires at old Thermopylæ! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian
spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored
hound beneath his master's lash? O comrades! Warriors! Thracians! If we
must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us
slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky,
by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle!
THE AVERAGE AGES OF ANIMALS.
The Elephant and the Whale Dispute the Record for Longevity, With the
Camel Third.
Elephants are perhaps the longest-lived members of the animal kingdom,
averaging between one hundred and two hundred years.
It is said that when Alexander conquered India he took one of King Porus's
largest elephants, named Ajax, and turned him loose with this inscription,
"Alexander, the son of Jupiter, dedicated Ajax to the sun," and that this
elephant, bearing this inscription, was captured three hundred and fifty
years later.
Most naturalists allow the whale about the same length of life as the
elephant--from a century to two centuries; but Cuvier declared that some
whales, at least, attain the age of a thousand years.
The average ages of other animals are as follows:
YEARS.
Ass 30
Bear 20
Camel 75
Cat 15
Cow 15
Deer 20
Dog 14
Fox 14
Goat 12
Guinea-pig 4
Hare 8
Hippopotamus 20
Horse 25
Hyena 25
Jaguar 25
Leopard 25
Lion 40
Monkey 17
Mouse 6
Ox 30
Pig 15
Rabbit 7
Rat 7
Rhinoceros 20
Sheep 10
Squirrel 8
Tiger 25
Wolf 20
LINES ON A SKELETON.
A reward of two hundred and fifty dollars, offered more than
three-quarters of a century ago, for the discovery of the identity of the
author of "Lines on a Skeleton" was as unsuccessful in attaining its
object as had been the search made by the literary world of Great Britain,
and it now seems scarcely likely that the person who wrote this remarkable
poem will ever be known as its author.
The story of the finding of the manuscript is to the effect that in the
year 1820 an attendant in the Museum of the Royal College of Physicians
and Surgeons, in London, came upon a couple of sheets of paper lying near
a human skeleton. Glancing at the sheets, he saw that they contained
verses. The ink with which they had been written was scarcely dry, and the
idea occurred to the finder that they might have been penned by some
official of the institution. Accordingly he took the sheets to one of his
superiors, and in the course of the next few days the manuscript passed
through the hands of several well-known medical men who were wont to visit
the college. One of these gentlemen copied the verses and sent them to the
_Morning Chronicle_, which promptly printed them.
The poem made a marked impression on the public mind, and earnest efforts
were made by several prominent literary people to discover the identity of
the author.
ANONYMOUS.
BEHOLD this ruin! 'Twas a skull
Once of ethereal spirit full.
This narrow cell was Life's retreat,
This space was Thought's mysterious seat,
What beauteous visions filled this spot,
What dreams of pleasure long forgot,
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear,
Have left one trace of record here.
Beneath this moldering canopy
Once shone the bright and busy eye,
But start not at the dismal void--
If social love that eye employed,
If with no lawless fire it gleamed,
But through the dews of kindness beamed,
That eye shall be forever bright
When stars and sun are sunk in night.
Within this hollow cavern hung
The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue;
If Falsehood's honey it disdained,
And when it could not praise was chained;
If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke,
Yet gentle concord never broke--
This silent tongue shall plead for thee
When Time unveils Eternity!
Say, did these fingers delve the mine?
Or with the envied rubies shine?
To hew the rock or wear a gem
Can little now avail to them.
But if the page of Truth they sought,
Or comfort to the mourner brought,
These hands a richer meed shall claim
Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame.
Avails it whether bare or shod
These feet the paths of duty trod?
If from the bowers of ease they fled,
To seek Affliction's humble shed;
If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned,
And home to Virtue's cot returned--
These feet with angel wings shall vie,
And tread the palace of the sky!
THE BEGINNINGS OF THINGS.
EVOLUTION OF THE PIANO.
The pianoforte was directly evolved from the clavichord and the
harpsichord. In 1711, Scipione Maffei gave a detailed account of the first
four instruments, which were built by Bartolommeo Cristofori, named by him
pianoforte, and exhibited in 1709.
Marius, in France, exhibited harpsichords, with hammer action, in 1716;
and Schroter, in Germany, claimed to have invented the pianoforte between
1717 and 1721.
Marius at first was generally credited with the invention, for it was not
until 1738, when Cristofori's instruments had become famous, that the
Italian advanced his claim, and it was in 1763 that he brought forward the
proof of his contention.
Pianos of that period were shaped like the modern grand, the first square
piano being built by Freiderica, an organ builder of Saxony, in 1758. The
first genuine upright was patented in England and the United States by
John Isaac Hawkins, an Englishman, in 1800.
THE FIRST LIGHTHOUSE.
There is excellent authority for stating that the first lighthouse ever
erected for the benefit of mariners was that built by the famous architect
Sostratus, by command of Ptolemy Philadelphus, King of Egypt, between
285-247 B.C. It was built near Alexandria, on an island called Pharos, and
there was expended upon it about eight hundred talents, or over a million
of dollars.
Ptolemy has been much commended by some ancient writers for his liberality
in allowing the architect to inscribe his name instead of his own. The
inscription reads: "Sostratus, son of Dexiphanes, to the protecting
deities, for the use of seafaring people." This tower was deemed one of
the seven wonders of the world and was thought of sufficient grandeur to
immortalize the builder.
It appears from Lucian, however, that Ptolemy does not deserve any praise
for disinterestedness on this score, or Sostratus any great credit for his
honesty, as it is stated that the latter, to engross in after times the
glory of the structure, caused the inscription with his own name to be
carved in the marble, which he afterward covered with lime and thereon put
the king's name.
In process of time the lime decayed, and the inscription on the marble
alone remained.
ORIGIN OF THE TYPEWRITER.
Many persons will be surprised to learn that the typewriter is not, as
they imagined, a distinctly modern invention. So long ago as 1714 a patent
was taken out in England by Henry Mill for a "machine for impressing
letters singly and progressively as in writing, whereby all writings may
be ingrossed in paper so exact as not to be distinguished from print."
His machine was very clumsy and practically useless, however. It was not
until more than a century later (1829) that anything more was attempted.
Then the first American typewriter, called a "typographer," was patented
by W.A. Burt.
In 1833 a machine was produced in France having a separate key lever for
each letter, and between the years 1840 and 1860 Sir Charles Wheatstone
invented several machines which are now preserved in the South Kensington
Museum, London.
In 1873, C.L. Sholes, an American, after five or six years' work,
succeeded in producing a machine sufficiently perfect to warrant extensive
manufacture. He interested E. Remington & Son, the gun-manufacturers, in
it, and in 1874 the first model of the modern typewriter was put upon the
market.
THE FIRST PRINTED BOOK.
The first book printed with type, according to Pettigrew, was the Latin
Bible printed by John Gutenberg, at Mayence, about 1455; but Haydn is
inclined to assign a somewhat later date to this, making the Book of
Psalms, by Faust and Scheffer, printed on August 14, 1457, the first book.
The Gutenberg book is called the Mazarin Bible, having first been found in
the library of Cardinal Mazarin.
There are only twenty copies of this first edition known to exist, and the
workmanship in type, ink, and paper far exceed any of the subsequent
editions for two hundred years.
Christopher Sower (or Saur) made the first punches and matrices and cast
the first type in America at Germantown, Pennsylvania, about 1735. The
anvil on which he hammered them out is still preserved. They were for a
German Bible which Sower published.
"The price of our newly finished Bible, in plain binding, with a clasp,
will be eighteen shillings," he said, "but to the poor and needy we have
no price."
THE INVENTION OF MATCHES.
Friction matches are a comparatively modern invention. They were first
made by John Walker in England, in 1827, but were rather crude affairs; he
improved them somewhat in 1833 by using phosphorus. But the first really
practical friction match was made in the United States in 1836 by L.C.
Allin, of Springfield, Massachusetts. Before this time a clumsy form of
match was imported from France, which had to be dipped into a bottle of
sulphuric acid before it was lighted.
This took a great deal of time and trouble, and Allin, seeing the
necessity for friction matches, set about to make them, and succeeded. He
neglected to patent them, however, and on finally applying for a patent
found that a man named Alonzo Phillips, who was a peddler, had discovered
through a third person the secret of making the matches and had already
obtained a patent. Allin, though the real inventor, was forced to become
a mere manufacturer under another man's patent.
THE FIRST HORSE-CARS.
The modern street-railway for passenger service is distinctly an American
invention. The first in the world was operated in New York in 1831-1832,
when a horse-car, much like an old English stage-coach, was run on wooden
rails from Prince Street and the Bowery to Yorkville and Harlem,
following, for some distance, the route now taken by the present Madison
Avenue line, which still operates under the original charter of 1831.
This remained the only line in the world until 1852, when charters were
granted for the Second, Third, Sixth, and Eighth Avenue lines.
In 1856 a line was built in Boston, Massachusetts, and Philadelphia
established one in 1857.
In 1860, through the efforts of George Francis Train, the first line was
started in Birkenhead, England, but it was not until 1868 that one was
laid in Liverpool and in 1869-1871 in London.
The first line in Paris was built in 1875, though there had been one from
St. Cloud to Paris since 1856.
BEAUX AND GALLANTS OF FORMER DAYS.
How the Splendid Sir Walter Raleigh and Later the Duke of Buckingham
Sought to Dazzle Envious Eyes in the English Court.
At the present time, when so much is said about ostentatious display, when
the luxury of the rich is compared with the luxury of Rome in her decline,
we may be partly reassured by looking back only one or two or three
hundred years. It is but a century since the time of Beau Brummel, the
exquisiteness of whose toilet could hardly be the aim of a modern
gentleman. And the glories of the Pump Room at Bath in the eighteenth
century, when Beau Nash held sway over social England, would not be
emulated by modern dressers. Looking a little farther back we see gallants
in whose effulgence the brilliance of all their successors would pale.
Sir Walter Raleigh wore a white satin pinked vest, close-sleeved to the
wrist; over the body a brown doublet, finely flowered and embroidered with
pearl. In the feather of his hat a large ruby, and a pearl-drop at the
bottom of the sprig, in place of a button; his trunk of breeches, with
his stockings and ribbon garters, fringed at the end, all white; and buff
shoes with white ribbon.
On great court days his shoes were so gorgeously covered with precious
stones as to have exceeded the value of six thousand pounds sterling; and
he had a suit of armor of solid silver, with sword and belt blazing with
diamonds, rubies, and pearls.
King James's favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, had twenty-seven suits of
clothes, the richest that embroidery, lace, silk, velvet, gold, and gems
could contribute. One was of white uncut velvet, set all over, both suit
and cloak, with diamonds valued at eighty thousand pounds, besides a great
feather stuck all over with diamonds, as were his sword, girdle, hat, and
spurs.
Considering how much greater was the value of money at that period, the
cost of the clothing of the Elizabethan and Jacobean gallants was simply
enormous.
CASEY'S REVENGE.
By JAMES
WILSON.
Being a Reply to the Famous Baseball Classic "Casey at the Bat."
There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more;
There were muttered oaths and curses--every fan in town was sore.
"Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat!
And then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that."
All his past fame was forgotten; he was now a hopeless "shine."
They called him "Strike-out Casey" from the mayor down the line,
And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,
While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.
The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again.
And Fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men.
And Casey smiled--his rugged face no longer wore a frown.
The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.
All Mudville had assembled; ten thousand fans had come
To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;
And when he stepped into the box the multitude went wild.
He doffed his cap in proud disdain--but Casey only smiled.
"Play ball!" the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began;
But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan
Who thought Mudville had a chance; and with the setting sun
Their hopes sank low--the rival team was leading "four to one."
The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score;
But when the first man up hit safe the crowd began to roar.
The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard
When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third.
Three men on base--nobody out--three runs to tie the game!
A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night
When the fourth one "fouled to catcher" And the fifth "flew out to right."
A dismal groan in chorus came--a scowl was on each face--
When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;
His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed; his teeth were clinched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.
But fame is fleeting as the wind, and glory fades away;
There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day.
They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored, "Strike him out!"
But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.
The pitcher smiled and cut one loose; across the plate it sped;
Another hiss, another groan--"Strike one!" the umpire said.
Zip! Like a shot, the second curve broke just below his knee--
"Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.
No roasting for the umpire now--his was an easy lot.
But here the pitcher whirled again--was that a rifle shot?
A whack! a crack! and out through space the leather pellet flew--
A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.
Above the fence in center field, in rapid whirling flight
The sphere sailed on; the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit;
But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit!
Oh, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun,
And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun;
And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall;
But Mudville hearts are happy now--for Casey hit the ball!--_Exchange._
A Course From Trimalchio's Dinner.
By GAIUS PETRONIUS.
Translated from the Latin by HARRY THURSTON PECK, Professor of Latin,
Columbia University.
The first realistic novel of which any portion has been
preserved to modern times is the so-called "Satyricon" of
Gaius Petronius, who lived at Rome in the early part of the
first century A.D. Petronius was the favorite courtier of
the Emperor Nero. Men knew him as one who set the fashions
in dress and manners, so that he had been compared to Beau
Brummel. He was, however, under all his foppishness, a
person of much intellect, which he showed both as an
administrator in high political office and as an author.
Enemies who were jealous of him accused him to the emperor
of treason; and, knowing that his condemnation was certain,
he resolved to die by his own hands. He therefore opened a
vein and slowly bled to death, checking, however, the flow
of blood from time to time, and down to the very last
chatting and joking with his friends. A very interesting and
probably accurate pen-picture of him is given by Henryk
Sienkiewicz in his famous novel "Quo Vadis."
The "Satyricon" of Petronius was originally a lengthy novel
of which there remains to us only about a hundred pages. The
book related the adventures of two disreputable sharpers who
lived by their wits; and the portion which we still have
gives many glimpses of vagabond existence in ancient Italy.
The selection here reprinted contains part of the account of
a lavish dinner given by a vulgar old millionaire named
Trimalchio, and the guests are mainly ignorant and boastful
friends of the host, who talk and brag after their own
fashion. This passage is remarkable because it contains the
only continuous specimen of Latin slang which we now
possess, and which differs decidedly from the elegant Latin
of literature. It bears many resemblances to the English and
American slang of the present day, and makes the ancient
Romans appear almost modern. The translation is that of
Professor Harry Thurston Peck in his "Trimalchio's Dinner,"
and is reprinted here by the courteous permission of Messrs.
Dodd, Mead & Co.
_Copyright, 1898, by Dodd, Mead & Co., New York._
We had already taken our places, all except Trimalchio himself, for whom
the seat of honor was reserved. Among the objects placed before us was a
young ass made of Corinthian bronze and fitted with a sort of pack-saddle
which contained on one side pale-green olives and on the other side dark
ones. Two dishes flanked this; and on the margin of them Trimalchio's name
was engraved and the weight of the silver. Then there were little
bridge-like structures of iron which held dormice seasoned with honey and
poppy-seed; and smoking sausages were arranged on a silver grill which
had underneath it dark Syrian plums to represent black coals, and scarlet
pomegranate seeds to represent red-hot ones.
In the midst of all this magnificence Trimalchio was brought in to the
sound of music and propped up on a pile of well-stuffed cushions. The very
sight of him almost made us laugh in spite of ourselves; for his shaven
pate was thrust out of a scarlet robe, and around his neck he had tucked a
long fringed napkin with a broad purple stripe running down the middle of
it. On the little finger of his left hand he wore a huge gilt ring, and on
the last joint of the next finger a ring that appeared to be of solid
gold, but having little iron stars upon it. Moreover, lest we should fail
to take in all his magnificence, he had bared his right arm, which was
adorned with a golden bracelet and an ivory circle fastened by a
glittering clasp.
As he sat there picking his teeth with a silver toothpick, he remarked:
"Well, friends, it was just a bit inconvenient for me to dine now; but, so
as not to delay you by my absence, I have denied myself a considerable
amount of pleasure."
While we were still eating the _hors d'oeuvres_, a tray was brought in
with a basket on which a wooden fowl was placed with its wings spread out
in a circle after the fashion of setting hens. Immediately two slaves
approached and amid a burst of music began to poke around in the straw,
and having presently discovered there some pea-hens' eggs, they
distributed them among the guests.
Trimalchio looked up during this operation and said:
"Gentlemen, I had the hens' eggs placed under this fowl; but I'm rather
afraid they have young chickens in them. Let's see whether they're still
fit to suck."
So we took our spoons, which weighed not less than half a pound each, and
broke the egg-shells, which were made of flour paste. As I did so, I was
almost tempted to throw my egg on the floor, for it looked as though a
chicken had just been formed inside; but when I heard an old diner-out by
my side saying:
"There's bound to be something good here," I thrust my finger through the
shell and drew out a plump reed-bird, surrounded by yolk of egg, well
seasoned with pepper.
I was unable to eat another mouthful; and so, turning to my companion, I
tried to draw as much information out of him as possible, and to get the
run of the gossip of the house, asking, in the first place, who the woman
was who was darting here and there about the room.
"Oh," said he, "that's Trimalchio's wife. Her name is Fortunata. She has
money to burn now, but a little while ago what do you suppose she was?
Your honor will excuse me for saying so, but really in those days you
wouldn't have taken a piece of bread from her hand. And now, without any
why or wherefore, she's at the top notch and is all the world to
Trimalchio--in fact, if she should say it was night at noonday, he'd
believe her. As for Trimalchio himself, he's so rich that he doesn't know
how much money he's got; but this jade has an eye to everything, even the
things that you wouldn't think about yourself. She doesn't drink, she's as
straight as a string--in fact, a really smart woman; but she has an
awfully sharp tongue, a regular magpie on a perch. If she likes any one,
she likes him way down to the ground, and if she doesn't like him, she
just hates him! Trimalchio's estates are so large that it would tire a
bird to fly over them, and he has heaps on heaps of cash. Take his silver
plate, for instance. Why, there's more of it in his janitor's office than
most persons have in their entire outfit; and his slaves--well, sir,
they're so numerous that I don't think a tenth part of them would
recognize their own master. In fact, when it comes to money, he can buy up
any of these chumps here ten times over; and there's no reason for his
paying out money for anything at all, because he produces everything on
his own place--wool and cedar wood and pepper--why, if you were to ask for
hens' milk, you'd get it. To give you an instance: He found that he wasn't
getting very good wool, so he bought some rams at Tarentum and changed the
breed of his sheep. Again, because he wanted to have Athenian honey right
here on his estate, he imported bees from Athens, and incidentally these
improved the breed of the native bees also. Only a few days ago he wrote
and ordered mushroom-seed to be sent him from India. He hasn't a single
mule on his place that wasn't sired by a wild ass. Just see how many
cushions he has here. Every single one of them has either purple or
scarlet stuffing. That's what I call being rich. But you're not to suppose
that his associates here are to be sneezed at, for they've got plenty of
rocks too. Just look at that man who has the last place at the table. Even
he has to-day his little eight hundred thousand, and yet he started out
with nothing. It wasn't very long ago that he was a porter carrying wood
on his back through the street. But, as the saying goes, he found a fairy
wishing-cup. I never grudge a man his good luck. It only means that he
knows how to look out for himself; and this chap over here not long ago
put up his shanty for sale with this sort of an advertisement:
"'Gaius Pompeius Diogenes will let this lodging from July first, having
just bought a large house for himself.'
"Now, take the case of that other man over there who has the freedman's
place at the table. How well off do you suppose he is? I don't know
anything against him, but he's seen the time when he had his little
million; only, somehow or other, he went wrong. To-day I don't imagine he
has a hair on his head that isn't mortgaged, and it isn't his own fault
either, for there's no better man in the world; but it's the fault of his
confounded freedmen who made way with everything that he had. You know the
saying, 'Too many cooks spoil the broth,' and the other saying that 'He
who loses money loses friends.' And what a fine profession he had, too,
just as you see him now! He was an undertaker. He used to dine like a king
on wild boar with pastry and birds, and he had cooks and bakers by the
score. They used to spill more wine under his table than most men have in
their wine-cellars. In fact, he was a fairy vision rather than a man. When
his affairs got into Queer Street and he was afraid his creditors would
think that things were in a bad way, he wanted to raise some money on his
goods and chattels; so he advertised an auction of them in this fashion:
'Julius Proculus will hold an auction for the sale of his superfluous
property.'"
After this course, Trimalchio left the room for a few minutes, so that,
feeling a certain freedom in the absence of our master, we began to draw
each other into conversation. Dama, first of all, calling for a goblet,
remarked:
"A day is nothing. Night comes before you can turn around. That's why I
think there's nothing better than to go from your bed straight to the
dining-room. It's a cold climate we have here. Even a bath scarcely warms
me up. In fact, a hot drink is my wardrobe. I've had several stiff drinks
already, so that I'm loaded for bear; for the wine has gone to my head."
At this point Seleucus interrupted him, remarking:
"Well, for my part, _I_ don't take a bath every day. The cold water nips
you so that when you bathe every day your courage all oozes out of you.
But after I've swigged a toby of booze, I tell the cold to go to the
devil. But I couldn't take a bath to-day, anyhow, for I was to a funeral.
Chrysanthus, a fine man and _such_ a good fellow, kicked the bucket. I saw
him only the other day--in fact, I can hear him talking to me now. Dear
me! we go around like blown-up bladders. We're of less consequence than
even the flies, for flies have some spirit in them, while we are nothing
but mere bubbles. But as to Chrysanthus, what if he wasn't a total
abstainer? Anyhow, for five days before he died, he never threw a drink in
his face nor ate a crumb of bread. Well, well, he's joined the majority.
It was the doctors that really killed him, or perhaps just his bad luck;
for a doctor is nothing after all but a sort of consolation to your mind.
He was laid out in great style on his best bed, with his best bedclothes
on, and he had a splendid wake, though his wife wasn't sincere in her
mourning for him. But I say, what if he didn't treat her very well? A
woman, so far as she is a woman, _is_ a regular bird of prey. It isn't
worth while to do a favor for a woman, because it's just as if you'd
chucked it down a well. But love in time becomes a regular ball-and-chain
on a man."
He was getting to be rather boresome when Phileros chimed in:
"Oh, let's think of the living. Your friend has got whatever was his due.
He lived an honorable life and he died an honorable death. What has he to
complain of? From having nothing, he made a fortune, for he was always
ready to pull a piece of money out of a muck-heap with his teeth; and so
he grew as rich as a honey-comb. By Jove! I believe the fellow left a cool
hundred thousand, and he had it all in cash. I'm giving you this straight,
for I have a rough tongue. He was a man of unlimited cheek, a tonguey
fellow, and he always had a chip on his shoulder. His brother was a good
sort of chap, a friend to a friend, a man with an open hand, a generous
table. At the start he had a hard row to hoe, but his first vintage set
him on his legs again, for he sold his wine at his own price. But what
especially kept his head above water was this, that he got hold of a
legacy, and waltzed into a good deal more of it than had been really left
him. But this friend of yours, because he had quarreled with his brother,
left his fortune to some outsider. I tell you a man has to go mighty far
to get away from his relatives! Unfortunately he had slaves who blabbed
all his secrets and harmed him. A man makes a mistake who trusts others
too readily, especially if he's a business man. Nevertheless, while he
lived, he enjoyed what he had."
After Phileros had finished, Ganymedes started in:
"All this talk of yours isn't the least bit to the point. No one here
seems to care about the high price of grain. By Jove, I couldn't get a
mouthful of bread to-day! And how the drought keeps on! We've had a sort
of famine for a year. Confound the officials anyhow, who are standing in
with the bakers! 'Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours,' as the saying
goes. So the public has to suffer for it and their jaws get a long
vacation. Oh, if we only had those roaring blades that I found here when I
first arrived from Asia! I tell you, _that_ was life! If the flour sold
wasn't equal to the very best, they used to go for those poor devil
officials as if Jupiter himself was angry with them. I remember Safinius.
In those days he used to live down by the old archway, when I was a boy.
He was hot stuff! Wherever he went he used to make the ground smoke! But
he was perfectly straight, a man to rely on, a friend to a friend, a chap
with whom you could safely throw dice with your eyes shut. In the
court-room, too, how he used to make things hum! And he didn't talk in
figures either, but straight to the point, and when he was arguing his
voice used to swell like a trumpet. How affable he was. In those days, I
tell you, grain was as cheap as dirt. If you bought a loaf of bread for a
penny, you couldn't eat it up, even if you hired another man to help you;
whereas nowadays, I've seen bulls'-eyes that were bigger than the loaves.
Dear, dear, every day things are getting worse! The town is growing
backward like a calf's tail. And why do we have a mayor who's no good and
who thinks more of a penny piece than of the lives of all of us? He has a
soft snap in private, for he takes in more money in a day than most of us
have in our whole fortunes. I know one source from which he got a thousand
gold pieces. If we had any spunk he wouldn't be so stuck on himself. But
our people are lions in private and foxes in public. As far as I'm
concerned, I've already eaten up my wardrobe, and if this sort of a
harvest keeps on I'll have to sell my shanties."
The thing had gone to a disgusting extreme when Trimalchio, sodden with
drink, hit upon a new sort of exhibition, and had hornblowers brought into
the dining-room. Then having been propped up on pillows, he sprawled
himself out upon the lowest couch and said:
"Imagine that I am dead. Play a nice tune over me."
The hornblowers blew a funeral march; and one of them, the slave of the
undertaker, who was really the most respectable man in the crowd, blew
such a tremendous blast that he roused up the whole neighborhood. The
police who were on duty in the vicinity, thinking that Trimalchio's house
was on fire, suddenly broke down the door and rushed in with axes and
water, as was their right. Seizing this very favorable opportunity, we
gave Agamemnon the slip, and made our escape as hastily as though we were
really fleeing from a conflagration.
The thoughts that come often unsought, and, as it were, drop
into the mind, are commonly the most valuable of any we
have, and therefore should be secured, because they seldom
return again.--=Locke.= (1632-1704.)
Little Glimpses of the 19th Century.
The Great Events in the History of the Last One Hundred Years, Assembled
so as to Present a Nutshell Record.
[_Continued from page 433._]
SIXTH DECADE.
1851
Revolutionary activities continue throughout the world. President Fillmore
warns American and foreign adventurers against developing plots or
enterprises in this country in connection with Cuba and Mexico.
Notwithstanding this, Lopez projects his second expedition against Cuba,
and meets with overwhelming defeat; his trial, conviction, and execution
follow. Slavery agitation becomes more and more marked; the question is
not yet the existence of slavery within the States, but its admission into
the Territories. The Federal enforcement of the unpopular Fugitive Slave
Law produces riots in the North. Work begun upon the extensive wings of
the National Capitol, the laying of the foundation stone being the
occasion of one of the last great patriotic orations of Daniel Webster,
Secretary of State.
Webster's tilt of the preceding year with Austrian diplomats in the matter
of our alleged "interference" in the struggle of Hungary for freedom had
further aroused American patriotism. It had also increased sympathy for
the brave people from whom success had been plucked by the intervention of
Russian arms in behalf of Austria. By authority of Congress, Louis
Kossuth, Hungarian patriot chief, is given an asylum on an American war
vessel. He visits England and later the United States, and is received
with great distinction and respect by the President and all officers of
the government, acting unofficially.
Founding of the Congressional Library at Washington, and of the University
of Wisconsin at Madison. United States begins soundings for an Atlantic
cable. The New York _Times_ and New York _Ledger_ appear. Death of J.F.
Cooper, American novelist, and J.J. Audubon, American naturalist.
In England, the year opens with great excitement due to the discovery of
gold in Australia. The first great World's Fair is opened in London, in
Hyde Park, and is a great success; exhibition building subsequently
removed to Sydenham, and known as the "Crystal Palace." American yacht
America wins international prize cup at the Cowes Regatta in a match
around the Isle of Wight. The English colonists wage fierce warfare with
Kafir and Hottentot natives in South Africa. France and England are
connected by telegraphic cable. Invention of the opthalmoscope by
Helmholtz. Death of Oersted, discoverer of relation between electricity
and magnetism.
In France, on the night between December 2 and 3, the president, Louis
Napoleon, successfully plans and executes his famous _coup d'état_, making
himself practically a dictator. Officers of the government and leaders
opposing him are quietly arrested and locked up; later many are banished,
including M. Thiers. The legislative assembly is dissolved and universal
suffrage proclaimed. Paris being declared in a state of siege, there are
barricades and sanguinary conflicts. On the 21st an election throughout
France confirms Napoleon as president of the republic for ten years. In
England, Lord Palmerston is dismissed from the ministry because of
official indiscretion in expressing congratulations over events in France
(see 1852). Death of Thomas Moore, Irish poet; in France, of Daguerre,
inventor of first photographic process.
=POPULATION--Washington, D.C., 40,001; Chicago, 29,963; New York, 515,547;
London, 2,362,236; United States (census of 1850), 23,191,876; Great
Britain and Ireland, 27,368,736.=
=RULERS--United States, Millard Fillmore, President; Great Britain,
Victoria; France, Louis Napoleon, President; Spain, Isabella II; Prussia,
Frederick William IV; Russia, Nicholas I; Austria, Francis Joseph; Pope,
Pius IX.=
1852
In France, on New Year's Day, the prince-president is installed with
impressive ceremony at Nôtre Dame, and takes up his official residence at
the Tuileries. He exiles opponents, reorganizes the National Guard,
promulgates a new constitution, and restores titles of nobility abolished
in the Revolution of 1848. The birthday of Napoleon I, August 15, is
proclaimed a fête day. Meanwhile public sentiment develops in favor of the
restoration of the empire and the Bonaparte dynasty. In November a
national election results overwhelmingly in favor of imperial government.
On December 2, anniversary of his _coup d'état_ and of the battle of
Austerlitz, Napoleon is crowned Emperor of the French under the title of
Napoleon III. English colonial conquest is extended in South Africa, and
in India the province of Pegu is wrested from the Burmese.
Death of the Duke of Wellington and his interment in St. Paul's Cathedral;
in Austria, of the premier, Prince Schwarzenberg; in America, of Daniel
Webster and Henry Clay.
In England, great uneasiness develops as to Napoleon's further designs,
despite his proclamation that "the empire is peace." To allay panic, the
government undertakes a bill to revive the militia--local only. Palmerston
proposes an amendment to constitute not a local but regular militia that
may be sent anywhere in any emergency. His success in carrying his
resolution to that effect is a defeat for the government. New government
is formed under Lord Derby, whose offer of a place to Palmerston is
declined; Disraeli becomes chancellor of the exchequer; the navy is
strengthened, and militia bill passed. This government is defeated in turn
on account of its protectionist principles. Lord Aberdeen forms a
coalition government out of the chiefs of the Whig party and followers of
Sir Robert Peel; Gladstone becomes chancellor of the exchequer, and
Palmerston home secretary. Free-trade principles gain rapid ascendency.
Some friction with America over the fisheries question.
In the United States, great excitement follows the publication of "Uncle
Tom's Cabin"; sales reach one million copies within a year. First
institution for the co-education of the sexes incorporated in Ohio (Yellow
Springs). Public library at Boston founded. The United States undertakes
the enterprise of breaking the historic isolation of Japan, and Commodore
M.C. Perry is entrusted with the mission (see 1853). Yellow fever virulent
in New Orleans, eleven thousand deaths occurring in two months. Five
hundred and seventy-six thousand Englishwomen, headed by the Duchess of
Sutherland, adopt an address to the "women of America" in reference to
slavery. Third National Woman's Rights Convention held at Syracuse, New
York; Susan B. Anthony's first public appearance.
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year, except that in France the
President becomes the Emperor Napoleon III.=
1853
Revolution in Mexico again establishes General Santa Anna as president of
the Mexican Republic (see 1855). In the United States, Franklin Pierce is
inaugurated as fourteenth President, and reiterates the Monroe Doctrine.
The expedition to Japan under Commodore Perry enters the Bay of Yeddo,
producing wild excitement and alarm (see 1854). Second Grinnell arctic
expedition, under the leadership of Dr. Kane, starts in search of Sir John
Franklin (see 1855). Congress debates the feasibility of a Pacific
railroad, and makes appropriation for exploration of possible routes.
Territorial expansion through acquisition of remainder of Arizona from
Mexico, under the Gadsden Purchase; sum paid, ten million dollars. The new
Territory of Washington organized in the far Northwest. Yellow fever
epidemic in Gulf States, and cholera in Europe. Controversy with Austria
over case of Martin Koszta, a Hungarian refugee who had taken out initial
papers of American citizenship; having been seized and imprisoned on an
Austrian brig in the harbor of Smyrna, he is summarily released under
menace of guns of an American war-ship. Another "foreign incident" is a
duel at Madrid between Pierre Soulé, American minister to Spain, and M.
Turgot; the latter crippled for life.
In France, Napoleon III marries the beautiful Countess Eugénie de Montijo,
daughter of a grandee of Spain. Czar Nicholas I proclaims protectorate
over the Greek Christians in Turkey; resistance of Turkey sustained by
England and France. Russia promptly invades the Danubian principalities of
Wallachia and Moldavia, whereupon Turkish troops move across the Danube,
the allied fleets sweep through the Dardanelles, and the great Crimean War
begins (1853-1855).
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year, except that Franklin Pierce
becomes President of the United States.=
1854
Commodore Perry concludes a commercial treaty between Japan and the United
States. England and other countries hasten to secure similar treaties, and
Japan joins the family of nations. The United States and Great Britain
effect a reciprocity treaty respecting Newfoundland fishing,
international trade, etc. Passage of the Kansas-Nebraska bill, which
abolishes the terms of the Missouri Compromise and gives these new
Territories the option of deciding whether they will have slavery or not;
alarm and dissatisfaction throughout the North; strengthening of forces
opposed to slavery. Republican party formed. Astor Library opened in New
York under bequest of John J. Astor.
Revolution started in Spain by O'Donnell; Espartero becomes prime
minister, and O'Donnell secretary of war; Queen Isabella's sovereignty is
unaffected.
A Russian army under Paskievitch crosses the Danube to invade Turkey,
whereupon France and Great Britain declare war against Russia (March 28).
A British and French expedition lands in the Crimea, defeats the Russians
at the Alma, and moves upon Sebastopol, the Czar's chief naval port and
fortress on the Black Sea. The battles of Balaklava--famous for the charge
of the Light Brigade--and Inkerman are fought without decisive result, and
the allies, suffering terribly from the severe climate and from their lack
of supplies, settle down to the siege of Sebastopol.
Meanwhile Paskievitch, having vainly attacked Silistria, retreats across
the Danube. The British and French fleets in the Baltic are equally
unsuccessful, and accomplish nothing by an ineffective bombardment of
Kronstadt.
In England, consent given for the establishment of the Orange River Free
State in South Africa. Cholera in London. Commander McClure arrives,
accomplishing the Northwest Passage after imprisonment in the ice for
three years.
In Brazil, the first railway opens. In the same month, April, San Salvador
is destroyed by an earthquake with property loss in one minute of four
million dollars; earthquakes in Japan result in great destruction and loss
of life. Slaves emancipated in Venezuela. The steamer San Francisco
founders, two hundred and forty United States troops being drowned.
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year.=
1855
In Kansas occur great election riots and bloodshed incidental to a bitter
struggle for supremacy between pro-slavery and anti-slavery partisans. War
with the Sioux and other Indian tribes. The Niagara Railway Suspension
Bridge is completed. Dissatisfaction over rapidly increasing immigration
develops the new "American" or "Know Nothing" party; riots and
disturbances occur. Relief expedition rescues Dr. Kane, the arctic
explorer.
In Nicaragua, General Walker's American filibustering expedition effects a
conquest, and a republic is established with Walker as president (see
1856). In Mexico, Santa Anna is finally overthrown by the party of Alvarez
and Comonfort, and goes into exile; Alvarez resigns government to
Comonfort. In Panama, a railway across the isthmus is opened.
In England, the mismanagement of the Crimean campaign brings a storm of
indignation upon the Aberdeen ministry. Anticipating a motion for a
committee of inquiry, Lord John Russell tenders his resignation, which is
followed by overwhelming defeat of the government. Lord Palmerston, now
over seventy years of age, is called upon to form a cabinet. Except for
one brief interval, Palmerston remains prime minister through the rest of
his life. Victor Emmanuel, King of Sardinia, joins in the war against
Russia; notable rise and influence of his great minister, Cavour (see
1859). Fall of Sebastopol, and negotiations for peace (see 1856). Great
international exhibition opened at Paris. Two attempts made upon life of
Napoleon. In England, Captain McClure receives a reward of five thousand
pounds and knighthood for discovering the Northwest Passage. Meanwhile, in
Africa, Livingstone is pushing steadily across the Dark Continent, and
discovers the Victoria Falls of the Zambesi. Severe earthquakes at Tokyo,
in Japan, and at Broussa, in Asiatic Turkey.
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year, except that Nicholas I is
succeeded by his son, Alexander II, as Czar of all the Russias.=
1856
THE Treaty of Paris terminates the Crimean War; terms, free navigation of
the Danube and neutrality of the Black Sea; guarantee of independence of
the Ottoman Empire; Russia renounces protectorate over the Danubian
principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia (now forming Rumania), and cedes
a portion of Bessarabia. Great Britain, France, and Austria form treaty
guaranteeing integrity of the Turkish Empire. Turkey places Christians on
equality with Moslems.
In France, great rejoicing and strengthening of Napoleonic dynasty owing
to birth of an imperial prince; amnesty granted to one thousand political
prisoners.
In England, Dr. Livingstone, African explorer, arrives on a visit and is
enthusiastically welcomed and honored. Beginning of second war with
Chinese as punishment for frequent attacks upon foreigners and persistent
violation of treaties. British and French cooperate in this war; Canton is
bombarded and partially destroyed. The Persians having taken Herat, the
"key to Afghanistan," in violation of treaty, and Afghanistan being
England's northwestern gate to India, war is declared against Persia;
British prevail, and Bushire taken. Lord Canning made Governor-General of
India. The annexation of Oude (northern India) completes British
subjugation of the Indian peninsula from Cape Comorin to the Himalaya
Mountains. Great Britain and France remonstrate against the tyrannical
policy of the King of Naples, and withdraw their ministers.
Heine, famous German poet; Hugh Miller, Scottish geologist; Sir W.
Hamilton, Scottish philosopher; Delaroche, French painter; Thierry, French
historian; and Schumann, German composer, died.
In Spain, Espartero is superseded by O'Donnell as prime minister;
insurrections occur in Madrid and Barcelona due to latter's dictatorial
measures; Narvaez in turn succeeds.
In Central America, war is waged against President Walker by confederation
of states led by Costa Rica; Walker defeats three thousand Costa Ricans at
Rivas. In Mexico, General Comonfort is elected president. In China, a
United States squadron destroys barrier forts near Canton because of an
attack on an American boat.
In the United States, civil war wages in Kansas; great political struggle
continues there between Free Soil and Slavery factions, and is reflected
in Congress; a speech of Senator Sumner, of Massachusetts, provokes
violent personal assault by Representative Brooks, of South Carolina. Nine
weeks' contest for Speaker of the House of Representatives. Resolution
against slave-trade passed by the House. Congress passes an act to aid in
the laying of the Atlantic cable. Dispute with England on the construction
of the Bulwer-Clayton Treaty and alleged violation of the neutrality laws.
Mr. Crampton, the British minister, receives his passports, and the
consuls at New York, Philadelphia, and Cincinnati are dismissed. Later in
the year the matter is satisfactorily adjusted and articles agreed upon
for settlement of Central American questions. American whalers, having
brought into port the British arctic relief-ship Resolute, a derelict,
Congress purchases it, refits it, and sends it to Queen Victoria as token
of American good-will.
First bridge over the Mississippi is built at Minneapolis. Beginning of
experiments with the Bessemer process for the production of steel.
Condensed milk is patented. James Buchanan, Democrat, elected President of
the United States, and J.C. Breckinridge, Vice-President; defeated
candidates: John C. Fremont, Republican, and Millard Fillmore, American or
"Know-Nothing."
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year.=
1857
In India, outbreak of mutiny among the Sepoys or native soldiers.
Rebellion spreads rapidly under Nana Sahib and other hostile chiefs.
Savage cruelties upon Europeans are perpetrated by Sepoys at Meerut,
Delhi, and particularly at Cawnpore, where four hundred and fifty men,
women, and children are massacred; all central India in revolt. Cawnpore
and Delhi recovered by British; garrison at Lucknow besieged and relieved
by Havelock, who in turn is besieged and relieved by Sir Colin Campbell.
British defeat Persians at Khooshab, and treaty of peace ends Persian War.
English, aided by French, continue punitive war against China. The Mont
Cenis tunnel through the Alps is begun. Napoleon III and Empress Eugénie
pay visit to Queen Victoria. Commercial panic in England.
Death of Douglas Jerrold, English novelist and dramatist; Comte, French
speculative philosopher; Eugène Sue, French novelist; and Béranger, French
poet.
In the United States, a great commercial panic occurs, commencing in New
York with suspension of the Ohio Life & Mutual Trust Co. Panic spreads
throughout the country, causing general suspension of banks; failures in
the United States and Canada, five thousand one hundred and twenty-three;
liabilities two hundred and ninety-nine million eight hundred thousand
dollars. Completion of the Atlantic cable; messages received from London;
public excitement and rejoicing in New York; cable fails after a few
messages. People of Oregon Territory adopt a constitution prohibiting
slavery.
The "Dred Scott" decision by the Supreme Court nullifies the terms of the
Missouri Compromise and similar measures, changing the status of the negro
in the free States, as well as denying him all civic rights. This excites
great indignation and consternation in the free States, further increasing
the feeling against slavery. In Utah Territory the Mormons rebel against
Federal authority; the President despatches troops under command of
Colonel A.S. Johnston to enforce authority; most of the supply-teams
attacked and destroyed by Brigham Young's Rangers, leaving the Federal
forces exposed to the desert winter (see 1858).
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year, except that in Prussia, the
Prince of Prussia (afterward William I), becomes regent during the
incapacity of Frederick William IV; and in the United States James
Buchanan is inaugurated as President.=
1858
In the United States, the Mormons submit to Federal authority and allow
Federal troops to be quartered in Utah Valley (withdrawn 1860). Minnesota
is admitted to statehood (free State). Valuable commercial treaty made
with China, by which travelers with passports are protected, foreign
ministers recognized, new ports opened, Christianity tolerated, and
missionaries protected. Discovery of gold at Pike's Peak, Colorado.
Massacre of emigrants at Mountain Meadows, Utah. Rising prominence of
Abraham Lincoln; he wins national reputation in struggle and debates with
Douglas in Illinois in contest for the Senate. Kansas finally rejects the
Lecompton Constitution, which had provided for safeguarding slavery.
In Mexico, Comonfort retires as president; the clerical and reactionary
party elects General Zuloaga. Juarez, Liberal, organizes a rival
provisional government (see 1859).
In France, a third attempt is made to assassinate the emperor--this time
by Orsini, an Italian; it appearing that the plot had been hatched in
England, great indignation prevails in France, and a remonstrance is
addressed to the British government, urging it to make stricter laws
against political refugees. Lord Palmerston introduces a bill for this
purpose, and upon its rejection by the House of Commons he tenders his
resignation. The Derby ministry is installed. The Livingstone expedition
sails from England for Africa. The Princess Royal is married to the Crown
Prince of Prussia, afterward Emperor Frederick III. Property qualification
of members of Parliament abolished. End of the Indian Mutiny; the
government of India transferred from the East India Company to the crown.
Death of Robert Owen, English philanthropist and social reformer.
Launching of the Great Eastern, largest steamship constructed prior to
the Celtic, 1901. John Speke, English explorer in Africa, discovers
Victoria Nyanza, a vast lake of nearly the area of Scotland, and principal
source of the White Nile. The Danubian principalities of Wallachia and
Moldavia effect a personal union (see 1861). The Italian astronomer,
Donati, discovers a comet surpassing in brilliancy all others seen since
1811. Passage of an act removing the disabilities of Jews in Great
Britain.
In Italy, violent eruption of Vesuvius. In China, the treaty of Tientsin
with Great Britain, France, Russia, and the United States checks the
allies' advance on Peking. However, owing to Chinese violation of treaty,
war is really not concluded until 1860 (see 1860). China cedes to Russia
the widely extended but sparsely populated Amur country.
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year.=
1859
In the United States, Oregon is admitted to the Union as a free State.
Petroleum oil obtained in Pennsylvania by method of boring wells. Silver
discovered in Nevada. Harper's Ferry, Virginia, and United States arsenal
captured by a force under leadership of John Brown, his purpose being to
hold the place as a refuge for fugitive slaves. Brown is besieged by
citizens, State militia, and Federal marines; makes stout defense, but is
captured, tried for treason, and executed. Sympathy mingled with
reprobation in the North and alarm in the South over John Brown's act; his
execution arouses indignation among the abolitionists and helps to
precipitate approaching national conflict over slavery.
Washington Irving, American author and diplomat, the first to win foreign
recognition for American literature; Prescott, American historian; Rufus
Choate, American lawyer and orator; and Horace Mann, American educator and
statesman, died.
In Europe, Austria, distrustful of the rapid strengthening of the Italian
kingdom of Sardinia, issues an ultimatum demanding its disarmament.
Sardinia promptly replies with a formal declaration of war; following
this, Austria receives a declaration of war from Napoleon III, who has
been secretly cooperating with Sardinia. Austrians defeated in battles of
Montebello, Palestro, Magenta, and Melegnano. The entry of Napoleon and
Victor Emmanuel into Milan is followed by the battle of Solferino, in
which the Austrians, being again defeated, are compelled to sue for
peace. Lombardy restored to Sardinia. Later in the year the Treaty of
Zürich was signed by Sardinia, France, and Austria. In this war splendid
service is rendered by the patriot Garibaldi and his "Chasseurs of the
Alps." In Naples, Ferdinand II ("Bomba"), notorious for his abuses, dies
and is succeeded by his son, Francis II. Death of the Austrian diplomatist
and statesman, Prince Metternich, and of Alexander von Humboldt, German
philosopher and traveler.
In England, the second Derby ministry resigns, and Lord Palmerston again
succeeds as prime minister, holding position during remainder of life.
Henry Hallam, historian and essayist; Leigh Hunt, poet, essayist, and
critic; Brunel and Stephenson, civil engineers; De Quincy, essayist; and
Lord Macaulay, historian, essayist, and poet, died. Publication of
Darwin's "Origin of Species."
In Spain, war is declared and waged successfully against Morocco for
attacking Spanish possessions on northern coast of Africa (see 1860).
Death of Ludwig Spohr, German musician. In Africa, Livingstone explores
Lake Nyassa. In Mexico, General Miramon defeats the Liberal party of
Juarez and assumes presidency. Miramon government borrows large sums in
France. Juarez declares confiscation of church property. In China, during
a river engagement between English and Chinese, the American Commodore
Tatnall assists the English, declaring that "blood is thicker than water."
Severe earthquakes at Quito, Ecuador, and at Erzeroum, Asia Minor.
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year.=
1860
In the United States, the year opens with great apprehension and tension,
owing to approaching Presidential nominations, campaign, and election. The
Prince of Wales, aged nineteen (afterward King Edward VII), visits the
United States. Central Park, in New York City, opened to the public. The
Great Eastern reaches New York on her maiden voyage.
Democratic convention in Charlestown develops irreconcilable conflict in
party; pro-slavery platform rejected; Southern delegations secede; regular
convention convenes in Baltimore, and after further secessions from ranks
nominates Stephen A. Douglas for Presidency. The seceding groups of
Democrats nominate John C. Breckinridge; the Constitutional Union
party--avoiding discussion of slavery and standing simply for preservation
of Union under the Constitution--meets at Baltimore, and nominates John
Bell. The Republican party convention at Chicago, while disavowing
intention to interfere with institutions in any State, renounces "new
dogma" in the Dred Scott decision, and demands immediate admission of
Kansas as a free State and the adoption of a protective tariff; Abraham
Lincoln, of Illinois, nominated on third ballot over William H. Seward and
Salmon P. Chase.
Election in November, with four Presidential candidates in the field;
every Northern State is carried by the Republicans except New Jersey, from
which, however, they gain four out of seven electoral votes. Douglas
secures only the electoral votes of Missouri and three from New Jersey;
Breckinridge carries the entire South, and Bell the Border States of
Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia. Lincoln's electoral votes 180 to 103
for all other candidates. State Legislative Convention meets in
Charlestown, South Carolina, December 20, and adopts articles of
secession. Year drawn to close with breach widening between North and
South and sectional hostility straining the ties of political union.
In Italy, revolution occurs in Tuscany, Parma, Modena, Sicily, Naples, and
the Papal States, and the people declare for annexation to Sardinia. With
exception of Venice (reserved to Austria by treaty of Zürich) and a small
territory around Rome still retained by the Pope, the King of Sardinia
becomes supreme over Italy. Garibaldi directs revolution of the Two
Sicilies, and defeats and deposes Francis II, the last King of Naples.
Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi enter Naples November 7. The kingdom of
Italy is proclaimed, with Cavour president of the council. Savoy and Nice
ceded to France in accordance with former treaty.
The Chinese having violated the late Treaty of Tientsin, France and
England send new expedition, which reduces the Taku forts and advances on
Peking. Chinese emperor's summer palace sacked and burned and the capital
invested. Chinese sue for peace, and Treaty of Peking ends war. In Mexico,
the Liberal party under Degollado triumphs; Miramon defeated.
Earthquake at Mendoza, Argentine Republic, destroys seven thousand lives.
Spectrum analysis established by Bunsen and Kirchoff. Theodore Parker,
noted American preacher and abolitionist; Sir William Napier, English
historian and soldier; Baron von Bunsen, German diplomatist, theologian,
and philologist; and Schopenhauer, German philosopher, died.
=RULERS--The same as in the previous year.=
The Beginnings of Stage Careers.
BY MATTHEW WHITE, JR.
A Series of Papers That Will Be Continued from Month to Month
and Will Include All Players of Note.
SHE BEGAN IN "1492."
Actress Who Will Have Stellar Rôle in
"The Little Cherub" First Saw Thespian
Light as a Chorus Girl.
When "The Little Cherub" is brought over from London to New York, in this
month of August, and installed at the Criterion Theater, on Broadway,
Hattie Williams's name will go up over the doorway in electric brilliancy
as the star of this musical comedy from the Prince of Wales's Theater. She
has won this distinction at the hands of Charles Frohman by the excellence
of her work in the support of Sam Bernard during the exploitation of "The
Girl from Kay's" and "The Rollicking Girl."
I called on Miss Williams the other afternoon and found her not in the
least exalted in mind over her approaching launch into stellar spaces.
Indeed, seldom have I encountered in the ranks of Thespis a more modest
young woman.
Although she has been in musical comedy almost continuously throughout her
career of thirteen years, she admits quite frankly that she cannot sing,
and that she has placed herself in the hands of a good master to learn
how. You see, she sets her standard of vocal attainments considerably
higher than do those who talk their songs in the musical plays.
At Fifteen Dollars a Week.
"Yes," she said, in answer to my reminder about her start, "I began in the
chorus of '1492,' at fifteen dollars a week. How did I get the job? Why, I
was simply stage-struck. I saw in the newspapers that Mr. Rice wanted
chorus-girls for his new production, so I went to the theater and asked
for him. He saw me at once, and engaged me.
"You see, I was a Boston girl, and knew something of the show, as it had
been given first by our crack regiment, the Boston Cadets. I remember
among the girls with me in that special chorus group, which afterward made
up the Daily Hints from Paris, were Grace Rutter (now Grace Elliston), who
is the _Mouse_ in 'The Lion and the Mouse,' and Minnie Ashley, who married
Mr. Chanler a while ago and left the stage.
"When the show was brought to New York, the management gave me, in
addition to my chorus specialty, the small part of the _Infanta_, and my
pay was advanced to thirty-five dollars. Then A.M. Palmer, in whose
theater we were having our long run, offered to make me the dancing girl
in 'Trilby,' and I accepted. After that I went into the Hoyt farces and
got up next to leading woman. And this reminds me of a funny
experience--funny now to look back on, but rather exasperating at the
time.
"I had been understudy to the lead in 'A Day and a Night' one season, and
was getting fifty dollars a week. The next year they wanted me to go out
as leading woman in the same piece, and offered me the same money. I
naturally thought that I ought to have more, and told them so.
Those Elusive Sleepers.
"'Look here, Hattie,' said the manager, 'I tell you what we'll do. I'll
make it fifty-five a week and your sleepers. How does that strike you?'
"I was delighted. With my sleeping-car berths settled for by the company,
I stood to save a good bit at every jump, which was just like putting so
much extra money in my pocket. I accepted, and, will you believe it, we
never used sleepers once during the whole tour, for we did all our
traveling by daylight. The joke was on me, all right, that time."
When "The Girl from Maxim's" exhausted its drawing power after a long run
in town and was sent on the road the lead was awarded to Miss Williams,
who acquitted herself so well that she was put into "The Rogers Brothers
at Harvard," and played for the first time as a real principal on
Broadway. Her imitations of different types, in this show were extremely
clever, and she was engaged again for the Washington experiences of the
Rogers Brothers the next season. In short, Hattie Williams had "arrived."
She has most peculiar views on applause.
"People come to the theater," she told me, "for relaxation and amusement.
I do not see why, after they have paid to be entertained, I should expect
them to go to the exertion of applause in tight gloves. If I have
satisfied them--made them feel that they have had their money's worth--I
should be content to let it go at that. Their being willing to come to see
me again is the real test of their good opinion."
HYMN GOT WOODRUFF ON.
The Future "Brown of Harvard" Landed
His First Engagement by Singing
"Onward, Christian Soldiers."
It was his singing of the hymn "Onward, Christian Soldiers" that obtained
for Henry Woodruff, the star in "Brown of Harvard," his first engagement.
The play was "H.M.S. Pinafore," by a juvenile company; the line, chorus
work; and the pay, two dollars a week. This was back in 1879, and Harry
was only nine years old at the time.
Just what led up to this decisive step I shall let Woodruff tell for
himself in a memorandum he sent me some years ago in response to a request
for information in regard to his start behind the footlights. The Park
Theater mentioned was in New York, at the corner of Broadway and
Twenty-Second Street (where Brooks Brothers now stands), and I saw it
destroyed by fire, as did Mrs. Langtry, who was watching from a window of
the Albemarle and wondering where she was going to make her American
début, for it had been arranged that she should appear at that theater on
that very night. Woodruff's memorandum is as follows:
"In 1879 'Baby' was given at the old Park Theater, with Edwin Thorne in
the cast. It was preceded by 'Old Love-Letters,' performed by Mrs. Agnes
Booth and Joseph Whitney. Doubtless neither the actors nor the audience
knew that the night was to prove itself an important one in dramatic
history, nor that the words which were spoken and listened to in the
careless fashion of every-day life were to inspire a young heart with an
ambition as boundless as it was sincere.
Chorus Boy In "Pinafore."
"In the center of the orchestra, by the side of a dignified, stolid
business man, sat a young boy whose golden hair, breathless face, and
ardent eyes attracted the attention of more than one careless spectator.
The boy was Henry Woodruff, nine years of age, spellbound at his first
glimpse of the actor's world. The man was his father.
"The flushed cheeks and the tingling soul were not the effects of a mere
holiday treat; no, they long outlasted the holiday time; they disturbed
his lessons. The memory of that one night filled his dreams, kept him
awake nights, sent him to the newspapers in the hope of finding he knew
not what, and finally riveted his eyes on a paragraph advertising for
children for the 'Pinafore' company at the Fourteenth Street Theater.
"Then the beating heart and the eager eyes realized their own purpose, and
silently, without assistance from friend or foe, the little man made his
plans, started from his home, asked his way patiently from Jersey City to
Chickering Hall, and finally stood inside beside the big manager, who was
examining a hundred or more children who had applied for the position. In
time he turned to the newcomer.
"'What can you sing, my little man?'
"With a horrible sense of misfitness he remembered he knew nothing but
Sunday-school hymns, but he answered bravely:
"'I can sing "Onward, Christian Soldiers."'
"'Try it,' said the man.
"They put him on the stage, and, fired by the great desire which had never
left him since he had seen those noble actors, the little fellow sang out
with all his soul."
How the Rungs Were Climbed.
He stayed in the chorus only three weeks, being promoted, first to the
part of the boatswain, then to that of _Ralph Rackstraw_, leading man, in
which capacity he went on the road. Daniel Bandmann then engaged him for
the page in his production of "Narcisse."
The next year young Woodruff was with Adelaide Neilson, in her last
engagement, presenting "Cymbeline." She took a great fancy to the little
fellow, and used to make up his face for him and give him the flowers her
admirers sent her. To the boy she seemed the wonder of the earth, and she
was continually talking about the sunshine of his hair and the earnestness
of his blue eyes.
After that, young Woodruff was for two seasons with Edwin Thorne, doing
_Ned_ in "The Black Flag"--the same Thorne who had inspired the boy with
his great ambition. His longest step forward was made in 1887, when he
joined the stock company maintained by the late A.M. Palmer, at the
Madison Square Theater, starting with _Jack Ralston_ in "Jim the Penman,"
and creating _Lathrop Page_ in Augustus Thomas's first great success,
"Alabama."
Afterward Mr. Thomas wrote for him the rôle of _Arthur Hubbard_ in
"Surrender," a war play which unhappily did not chance to hit the popular
taste.
SELWYN LOST JOB AS USHER.
Grit, Self-Assurance, and Impudence
Served Author-Playwright Faithfully
in Long Up-Hill Struggle.
"Although I began as an usher, it was failure to do myself credit in the
first part that I ever acted that determined me to take up the stage as a
career."
This bit of personal history was whispered to me by Edgar Selwyn, the
never-to-be-forgotten _Tony_ of "Arizona," who is now the head of the
prosperous play-broking firm of Selwyn & Co., the author of "It's All Your
Fault," and two new farces to be brought out by George Cohan.
I sought him out in his offices, the other day, to obtain from his own
lips for THE SCRAP BOOK the story of his start, and it certainly proved to
be one full of incident and bristling with disappointments. I will give it
here in his own words, prefacing the narrative with the remark that Mr.
Selwyn is dark and good-looking, with the white teeth and swarthy skin
that instantly suggest him for such rôles as _Tony_ and _José_, whose
"Pretty Sister," a few years since, was Maude Adams.
"I was born in California, but I always had an idea of getting to the city
where the money was--New York. During the World's Fair I had a job in a
store in Chicago, and afterward managed to get to New York, where I landed
with scarcely a cent in my clothes. Then I started in to tramp the streets
in search of a position. I went into store after store on a block, not
picking out the most likely places, but taking them all in. You see, my
need was desperate, and I wasn't taking any chances.
How a Job Was Captured.
"Well, one Saturday I went into a men's furnishing store on Fulton Street.
There wasn't anything doing there, they told me. But as I was going out a
fellow was bringing in some fresh stock, carrying a high-piled heap of
collar-boxes. He over-balanced them, and over they went on the sidewalk.
It was raining, and I made a quick dash and picked up the lot, carrying
them back into the store.
"Of course, the proprietor couldn't very well ignore this, and as I had
put in a very earnest plea for a job he now came forward and said that he
would give me two dollars if I cared to stay and help them through that
busy Saturday. On Monday morning I reported for duty again. The proprietor
wasn't there when I arrived, and his brother asked me if I had been
regularly engaged.
"'I think so, sir,' I said shamelessly.
"When the boss turned up, he looked at me in amazement.
"'I didn't hire you regularly,' he said.
"'But I need the job,' I told him.
"He looked at me hard for a minute, then he said: 'See here, Selwyn, I'll
tell you what I'll do. I'll give you five per cent on all the goods you
sell to-day.'
An Energetic Salesman.
"Well, I didn't need any more than that. I started in to work, and any man
who came in that store to buy a collar was lucky if he escaped from my
clutches without leaving a dollar or two behind him for several other
articles--shirts, neckties, any old thing. Whether he needed them or not
was all one to me, so long as I got my five per cent. When the day was
over, the proprietor found he owed me three dollars and eighty-five cents.
"Accordingly, he proceeded to make a new deal.
"'I engage you,' he said, 'at eight dollars a week.'
"He raised me later to ten dollars, and then to twelve. At length the firm
failed; but meantime I was getting into the theatrical atmosphere. That
came about in this way:
"Among the chaps I met where I boarded was one who knew somebody who knew
somebody else who was connected with the Herald Square Theater, which was
about to be opened. I needed the money, so I decided to put in a plea for
the job of usher in the new house. I got it, and used to linger after the
show to watch any rehearsals that might be put on.
"Then I took to imitating the actors for the benefit of my comrades on the
usher staff--and sometimes to the enjoyment of those higher up in the
government of the theater. I remember that once while Mansfield was
playing in the house I was doing a travesty on him for the edification of
the Slocum brothers, his managers at the time, when the mighty Richard
himself walked into the room and discovered me. What he said I don't
remember now, but it went home at the time all right, and it's a wonder I
didn't go there too.
"After Mansfield, 'Rob Roy,' the comic opera, held the boards at the
Herald Square for quite a time. Joe Herbert, one of the comedians, left
the cast, and Dave Warfield was picked to succeed him. But he couldn't
seem to remember the lines and business of the part. I was pat on it from
seeing the show every night from the front, so I remember one time after
the performance Warfield got me to coach him in a sort of parlor off to
the left of the auditorium.
A Series of Discouragements.
"Naturally, my imitations of other people suggested to some of the boys
that I might be able to act myself, and one fellow I had met got up a
performance in a town on Long Island. Well, I went on, and when I came off
they shipped me back to New York as the worst actor they had ever
seen--and it was a sort of amateur show at that. This touched my pride and
fired my determination, so when I lost my job as usher by 'grafting' on
seats, I made up my mind that I would be a regular actor and show my
critics that they had been mistaken.
"But how to get a chance? That was the mighty question. In this emergency
I turned to Ben Roeder, manager for David Belasco, whom I had met when
'The Heart of Maryland' was at the Herald Square. I went up to the
offices, which were then in Carnegie Hall, told Mr. Roeder that I was out
of a job and must get something as quickly as possible.
"After thinking a bit, he said that the only company not wholly filled, of
which he knew, was that being gathered for William Gillette in 'Secret
Service.' He gave me a card of introduction to the stage manager, and I
hustled down to the Garrick Theater.
"'Nothing doing,' I was told. Everything was filled, even to the extra
men.
How Selwyn Held Up Gillette.
"Then what do you think I did? I was desperate, you see. The fifty cents a
performance I had been getting at the Herald Square as usher did not
enable me to pile up a very big sum against a rainy day such as had now
overtaken me. I determined to see Mr. Gillette himself. I found out that
he was staying at the Plaza Hotel. I went up there, wrote on a card,
'Edgar Selwyn. Important,' and sent it up to him.
"Pretty soon the message came down that he would see me.
"'Well,' he said, when I appeared, 'what do you want?'
"'I want a job,' I answered.
"He was so taken aback at this that he hardly knew what to say for a
minute. Then he told me that everything in the company was taken.
"'Oh, I don't want a regular part,' I explained. 'Just a chance to go on
and work my way up.'
"'Oh, an extra man,' he said. 'I haven't anything to do with engaging
those. You will have to see my stage manager about that.'
"I kept mum as an oyster about having already had an interview with that
gentleman, and never turned a hair while Mr. Gillette took out his card
and wrote on it an introduction to this individual for me. With this I
went back to the Garrick, and handed it in with a lordly air; the stage
manager thought it meant an order from Gillette to put me on, and he
forthwith proceeded to dismiss some poor duffer he had already engaged,
and put me on in his place at eight dollars a week.
Selwyn's Varied Make-Ups.
"Of course I had nothing to say, for I merely marched on as one of the
soldiers. I used to amuse myself, though, by making up differently each
night, sometimes as an old man, till I got a calling down for exceeding
the age limit in the army. After a while I was made assistant stage
manager, which meant that I had to ring up the curtain and look after the
stage properties; but all the same my salary stuck at that little eight
dollars a week. I thought I deserved more, but I didn't like to ask for
it.
"One night I heard Gillette say to somebody that he wished Miss Busby and
Odette Tyler, the two leading women in the cast, wouldn't delay him by
talking to him as he came off. He was always in a hurry to get to his
dressing-room to work on some plot of a play he had in hand.
"'Send somebody to me with a request that I am wanted,' he added.
"I made a mental note of the thing, and the next time I saw the ladies
halt Gillette in the wings I made a bolt for him and blurted out: 'Oh, Mr.
Gillette, I want to see you about something very particularly.'
"'Well, what is it?' he demanded when I had drawn him off to one side. He
appeared to have forgotten all about his request of the stage manager, and
I was up against it for a second. What should I tell him? Suddenly I had
an inspiration.
"'Mr. Gillette,' I said very soberly, 'don't you think I am getting too
little money?'
"'Well, I don't know,' he replied, when he recovered his breath.
"But the next pay-day I received a raise of four dollars.
The Turning of the Long Lane.
"The season approached its end, and then came the announcement that the
whole company was to go to London. I went about on air for a while, just
before the keenest disappointment of my life. One night I was told that it
had been discovered that there was one too many in the party, and I was
_it_. I was to be left behind.
"Well, of course I couldn't help myself any by kicking. I just had to grin
and bear it, and hustle for another job. But this was mighty hard to find
at that time of the year. I hunted the papers for ads of the summer snaps.
Finally I landed on one from Louisville, which stated that the Cummings
stock company wanted a juvenile man. I sat down and wrote to them at once,
enclosing my picture and putting my salary at twenty-five dollars per
week. And I had an answer telling me to come on.
"You ought to have seen that manager's face when he saw me! But he let me
go on. I couldn't be discharged, because they weren't making enough to pay
salaries. We finally went to Washington, by some hook or crook, where we
didn't do any better. I was only getting my board and lodging, but after
we shifted to Rochester we struck it big, and the manager nearly paralyzed
me one day by paying me eight weeks' salary in advance. He also put on my
first play--a one-act affair, 'A Night in Havana.'
Stranded in Chicago.
"From the Cummings stock company I went with Sothern in 'The King's
Musketeer.' I didn't care for the company, and began writing more plays. I
got a man named Isham interested in my 'Rough Rider Romance,' and left the
company to go to Chicago, where it was to be put on. I had just five
dollars in my pocket when I arrived, to be greeted by the telegram: 'Isham
committed to insane asylum.'
"There I was, stranded in the Windy City, with a fiver. I went to my
friend, Edwin Arden.
"'What shall I do, Ed?' I said.
"'I'll lend you twenty-five to get back to New York on,' he replied.
"I took the money, calling blessings down on his head. 'Arizona' was
playing in Chicago at the time, and passing the theater that evening I
handed in my card at the box-office, and they passed me in. Vincent
Serrano was _Tony_, and as I watched him I told myself that that was the
part for me. I found out that Kirk La Shelle, the manager of the show, was
in New York, and I was for starting East by the first train to see him;
but for some reason I didn't, and I found out later that the train was
wrecked.
"But there was more luck than that in my delayed departure, for when I
finally walked into La Shelle's office in the Knickerbocker Theater
Building, and said abruptly, 'I want to play _Tony_ in "Arizona,"' he
looked up with a funny smile on his face, and waved a telegram toward me.
"'That's queer,' he said. 'This message has only this instant arrived from
my Chicago manager: 'Serrano wants more money. What shall I do?'
Striking the Iron While It Was Hot.
"You see, if I had turned up earlier he would simply have told me that he
had a man for _Tony_, and there was nothing doing. As it was, he looked at
me, and then asked:
"'Are you a Spaniard?'
"'No,' I answered, 'I am a Jew.'
"'Can you sing?' he went on.
"'Oh, yes,' I replied easily.
"Then he told me that Gus Thomas, the author of the play, had a big finger
in picking out the people for it, and that I would have to see him.
"'Where is he?' I inquired.
"'In New Rochelle.'
"I left Mr. La Shelle and went straight down to the telegraph office in
the same building, and wrote out this message to Augustus Thomas:
"'Be at office ten-thirty to-morrow. Important.'
"And I signed it boldly, 'Kirke La Shelle.'
"Well, the next day, a few minutes after ten-thirty, I turned up at the La
Shelle offices, and there, sure enough, was Gus Thomas, with one of his
boys in tow. I was introduced to him, he looked me over, and finally he
and La Shelle agreed between them that if I was willing to go out to
Chicago at my own risk and give a performance of _Tony_, they would
promise to engage me for the part if I made good in it.
"'That's fair, Selwyn, I am sure,' added Mr. La Shelle.
"'Ye-e-s,' I answered hesitatingly. One of my hands was in my pocket; then
I drew it out and deposited about twenty-three cents in silver on the
desk.
"'That,' I announced, 'is my sole cash capital, gentlemen.'
"They saw the point and finally arranged to give me transportation to
Chicago, declaring that it would do no good for me to give a reading of
the part there in the office, which I wanted to do.
A Staggering Blow.
"I hurried back to Chicago by the first train, with a letter of
introduction to Mr. Hammond, resident manager there. Rushing into the
lobby of the Grand Opera House, I plumped the letter in front of him,
breathlessly asking him when I could have my try-out.
"'But, my dear Mr. Selwyn,' was his reply, 'you have come too late. I am
sorry to say that I have just engaged Mr. Perry for the part.'
"This was the last straw. I had gone through so much that this rebuff,
just when my hopes were at their highest, was more than I could stand.
Grown man that I was, then and there I began to cry, and hardly knowing
where to go, and certainly not caring, I turned and went back into the
lobby again, only to run up against Mr. Thomas, who must have come to
Chicago by another road.
"'Why, my boy,' he said, after one look at me, 'what is the matter?'
"I seized him as a drowning man would clutch at a straw, and between my
sobs I told him the dreadful truth. He settled matters, fixed it up with
Perry, I had my trial, made good, and played _Tony_ for three years. And
seven years from the time I was getting eight dollars a week with Gillette
in 'Secret Service' he was paying me one hundred and fifty to play a part
in 'Sherlock Holmes.'
"I mustn't forget to add that Bleiman, who brought out my 'Rough Rider's
Romance,' was the same man who dismissed me as an usher at the Herald
Square."
LOVE.
A SONNET FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being an Ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise;
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith;
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Chops the Dwarf.
By CHARLES DICKENS.
When Charles Dickens visited the United States in 1867 and
gave the course of public readings which netted him two
hundred and fifty thousand dollars in a few months, he
prepared special versions of his popular stories for
platform use. All these versions are more dramatic and more
pointed than the originals, containing as they do more
dialogue and less description. Among them was the tale of
"Chops the Dwarf," first written as a Christmas story. In it
Dickens dwells upon a kind of life which seems greatly to
have attracted him--the career of the traveling showman,
with its oddities, its careless Bohemianism, and its
happy-go-lucky, hand-to-mouth existence.
In "Chops the Dwarf," humor and pathos are reinforced by a
touch of satire, which is directed against the emptiness and
the restraints of fashionable life. For some reason or other
this tale has been overlooked by many of the students and
editors of Dickens. It is not contained in some of the
editions of his works which profess to be complete, and
several of the standard reference-books do not mention it.
At one period of its reverses, the House to Let fell into the hands of a
showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish books of
the time when he rented the House; there was therefore no need of any clew
to his name. But he himself was less easy to find, for he had led a
wandering life, and settled people had lost sight of him, and people who
plumed themselves on being respectable were shy of admitting that they had
ever known him.
At last among the marsh lands near the river's level, that lie about
Deptford and the neighboring market-gardens, a grizzled personage in
velveteen, with a face so cut up by varieties of weather that he looked as
if he had been tattooed, was found smoking a pipe at the door of a wooden
house on wheels.
The wooden house was laid up in ordinary for the winter near the mouth of
a muddy creek; and everything near it--the foggy river, the misty marshes,
and the steaming market-gardens--smoked in company with the grizzled man.
In the midst of the smoking party, the funnel-chimney of the wooden house
on wheels was not remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in a
companionable manner.
On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let,
Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name was
Magsman. That was it, Toby Magsman--which was lawfully christened Robert;
but called in the line, from an infant, Toby. There was nothing agin Toby
Magsman, he believed? If there was suspicion of such, mention it!
There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But some inquiries
were making about that house, and would he object to say why he left it?
Not at all; why should he? He left it along of a dwarf.
Along of a dwarf?
Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, "Along of a dwarf."
Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman's inclination and convenience to
enter, as a favor, into a few particulars?
Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars:
It was a long time ago to begin with--afore lotteries and a deal more was
done away with. Mr. Magsman was looking around for a good pitch, and he
see that house, and he says to himself, "I'll have you if you are to be
had. If money'll get you, I'll have you."
The neighbors cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman don't
know what they all would have had. It was a lovely thing.
First of all, there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Giant
in Spanish trunks and a ruff, who was half the height of the house, and
was run up with a line and pulley to a pole of the roof, so that his Ed
was coeval with the parapet.
Then there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Albina lady,
showin' her white 'air to the Army and Navy in correct uniform.
Then there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Wild Indian
scalpin' a member of some foreign nation.
Similarly, there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Wild Ass
of the Prairies--not that we never had no wild asses, nor wouldn't have
had 'em as a gift.
Last there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Dwarf, and like
him too (considerin'), with George the Fourth in such a state of
astonishment at him as his Majesty couldn't with his utmost politeness and
stoutness express.
The front of the House was so covered with canvases that there wasn't a
spark of daylight ever visible on that side. "MAGSMAN'S AMUSEMENTS,"
fifteen foot long by two foot high, ran over the front door and parlor
winders. The passage was a arbor of green baize and garden stuff. A
barrel-organ performed there unceasing. And as to respectability--if
threepence ain't respectable, what is?
But the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth money.
He was wrote up as "Major Tpschoffki, of the Imperial Bulgraderian
Brigade." Nobody couldn't pronounce the name, and it never was intended
anybody should. The public always turned it, as a regular rule, into
Chopski. In the line he was called Chops; partly on that account, and
partly because his real name, if he ever had any real name (which was very
dubious), was Stakes.
He was an uncommon small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he
was made out to be, but where's your dwarf as is? He was a most uncommon
small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and what he had inside that Ed
nobody never knowed but himself; even supposin' himself to have ever took
stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for him to do. The
kindest little man as never growed! You never heard him give a ill name to
a giant. He did allow himself to break out into strong language respectin'
the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art; and when a
man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv' to a
Indian, he ain't master of his actions.
He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And
he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowed the dwarf as
could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the curiosities
they are.
One sing'lar idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant
something, or it wouldn't have been there. It was always his opinion that
he was entitled to property. He never put his name to anything. He had
been taught to write by a young man without any arms, who got his living
with his toes (quite a writing-master _he_ was, and taught scores in the
line), but Chops would have starved to death afore he'd gained a bit of
bread by putting his hand to a paper.
This is the more curious to bear in mind, because he had no property,
except his house and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean the box,
painted and got up outside like a reg'ler six-roomer, that he used to
creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his
forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the public believed to be
the drawing-room winder.
And when I say a sarser, I mean a Cheney sarser in which he made a
collection for himself at the end of every entertainment. His cue for that
he took from me:
"Ladies and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the
Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."
He had what I consider a fine mind--a poetic mind. His ideas respectin'
his property never come upon him so strong as when he sat upon a
barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run
through him a little time, he would screech out:
"Toby, I feel my property coming--grind away! I'm counting my guineas by
thousands, Toby--grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun'! I feel the
mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the Bank of
England!"
Such is the influence of music on the poetic mind. Not that he was partial
to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrairy, he hated it.
He had a kind of everlasting grudge agin the public; which is a thing you
may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled
him most in the nater of his occupation was that it kep' him out of
society. He was continiwally sayin':
"Toby, my ambition is to go into society. The curse of my position towards
the public is that it keeps me hout of society. This don't signify to a
low beast of a Indian; he ain't formed for society. This don't signify to
a Spotted Baby; _he_ ain't formed for society--I am."
Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had a good
salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came round, besides
having the run of his teeth--and he was a woodpecker to eat--but all
dwarfs are. The sarser was a little income, bringing him in so many
half-pence that he'd carry 'em for a week together, tied up in a
pocket-handkercher.
And yet he never had money. And it couldn't be the Fat Lady from Norfolk,
as was once supposed; because it stands to reason that when you have a
animosity towards a Indian which makes you grind your teeth at him to his
face, and which can hardly hold you from goosing him audible when he's
going through his war-dance--it stands to reason you wouldn't under them
circumstances deprive yourself to support that Indian in the lap of
luxury.
Most unexpected, the mystery came out one day at Egham races. The public
was shy of bein' pulled in, and Chops was ringin' his little bell out of
his drawin'-room winder, and was snarlin' to me over his shoulder as he
kneeled down with his legs out at the back door--for he couldn't be shoved
into his house without kneeling down, and the premises wouldn't
accommodate his legs--was snarlin':
"Here's a precious public for you; why the devil don't they tumble up?"
when a man in the crowd holds up a carrier-pigeon and cries out:
"If there's any person here as has got a ticket, the Lottery's just
draw'd, and the number as has come up for the great prize is three, seven,
forty-two! Three, seven, forty-two!"
I was givin' the man to the furies myself, for calling of the public's
attention--for the public will turn away, at any time, to look at anything
in preference to the thing showed 'em; and if you doubt it, get 'em
together for any individual purpose on the face of the earth, and send
only two people in late and see if the whole company ain't far more
interested in taking particular notice of them two than you--I say I
wasn't best pleased with the man for callin' out, wasn't blessin' him in
my own mind, when I see Chops's little bell fly out of the winder at a old
lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, exposin' the whole secret,
and he catches hold of the calves of my legs and he says to me:
"Carry me into the wan, Toby, and throw a pail of water over me, or I'm a
dead man, for I'm come into my property!"
Twelve thousand odd hundred pounds was Chops's winnins. He had bought a
half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and it had come up. The
first use he made of his property was to offer to fight the Wild Indian
for five hundred pound a side, him with a poisoned darnin'-needle and the
Indian with a club; but the Indian being in want of backers to that
amount, it went no further.
Arter he had been mad for a week--in a state of mind, in short, in which,
if I had let him sit on the organ for only two minutes, I believe he would
have bust--but we kept the organ from him--Mr. Chops come round and
behaved liberal and beautiful to all.
He then sent for a young man he knowed, as had a wery genteel appearance
and was a Bonnet at a gaming-booth (most respectable brought up, father
havin' been imminent in the livery-stable line, but unfortunate in a
commercial crisis through paintin' a old gray, ginger-bay, and sellin' him
with a pedigree), and Mr. Chops said this to Bonnet, who said his name was
Normandy, which it wasn't:
"Normandy, I'm going into society. Will you go with me?"
Says Normandy: "Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate that the 'ole
of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?"
"Correct," says Mr. Chops. "And you shall have a princely allowance too."
The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair to shake hands with him, and
replied in poetry, his eyes seemingly full of tears:
My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea,
And I do not ask for more,
But I'll go--along with thee.
They went into society, in a chaise and four grays, with silk jackets.
They took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away.
In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the autumn
of next year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk-white cords and
tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one evening app'inted. The
gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and Mr. Chops's eyes was more
fixed in that Ed of his than I thought good for him.
There was three of 'em (in company, I mean), and I knowed the third well.
When last met, he had on a white Roman shirt, and a bishop's miter covered
with leopard-skin, and played the clarionet all wrong, in a band, at a
wild-beast show.
This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said:
"Gentlemen, this is an old friend of former days"; and Normandy looked at
me through a eyeglass, and said, "Magsman, glad to see ye!" which I'll
take my oath, he wasn't.
Mr. Chops, to get him convenient to the table, had his chair on a
throne, much of the form of George Fourth's in the canvas, but he hardly
appeared to me to be King there in any p'int of view, for his two
gentlemen ordered about like emperors. They was all dressed like
May-day--gorgeous!--and as to wine, they swam in all sorts.
I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had done it),
and then tried two of 'em as half-and-half, then t'other two. Altogether,
I passed a pleasant evenin', but with a tendency to feel muddled, until I
considered it good manners to get up and say:
"Mr. Chops, the best of friends must part. I thank you for the wariety of
foreign drains you have stood so 'ansome. I looks towards you in red wine,
and I takes my leave."
Mr. Chops replied:
"If you'll just hitch me out of this over your right arm, Magsman, and
carry me down-stairs, I'll see you out."
I said I couldn't think of such a thing, but he would have it, so I lifted
him off his throne. He smelt strong of Madeary, and I couldn't help
thinking, as I carried him down, that it was like carrying a large bottle
full of wine, with a rayther ugly stopper, a good deal out of proportion.
When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kept me close to him by
holding on to my coat-collar, and he whispers:
"I ain't 'appy, Magsman."
"What's on your mind, Mr. Chops?"
"They don't use me well. They ain't grateful to me. They puts me on the
mantel-piece when I won't have in more Champagne-wine, and they locks me
in the sideboard when I won't give up my property."
"Get rid of 'em, Mr. Chops."
"I can't. We're in society together, and what would society say?"
"Come out of society," says I.
"I can't. You don't know what you're talking about. When you have once got
into society, you mustn't come out of it."
"Then, if you'll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops," was my remark, shaking my
Ed grave, "I think it's a pity you ever went in."
Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his to a surprisin' extent, and slapped it
half a dozen times with his hand, and with more wice than I thought were
in him. Then he says:
"You're a good feller, but you don't understand. Good night, go long.
Magsman, the little man will now walk three times around the Cairawan, and
retire behind the curtain."
The last I see of him on that occasion was his tryin', on the extremest
verge of insensibility, to climb up the stairs, one by one, with his hands
and knees. They'd have been much too steep for him if he had been sober;
but he wouldn't be helped.
It warn't long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. Chops's
being presented at court. It was printed:
"It will be recollected"--and I've noticed in my life that it is sure to
be printed that it _will_ be recollected whenever it won't--"that Mr.
Chops is the individual of small stature whose brilliant success in the
last State Lottery attracted so much attention."
"Well," I said to myself, "such is life! He has done it in earnest at
last! He has astonished George the Fourth!"
On account of which I had that canvas new painted, him with a bag of money
in his hand, a presentin' it to George the Fourth, and a lady in ostrich
feathers fallin' in love with him in a bagwig, sword, and buckles correct.
I took the house as is the subject of present inquiries--though not the
honor of being acquainted--and I run Magsman's Amusements in it thirteen
months--sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin'
particular, but always all the canvases outside. One night, when we had
played the last company out, which was a shy company through its raining
heavens hard, I was takin' a pipe in the one pair back, along with the
young man with the toes, which I had taken on for a month (though he never
drawed--except on paper), and I heard a kickin' at the street door.
"Halloa!" I says to the young man, "what's up?"
He rubs his eye-brows with his toes, and he says:
"I can't imagine, Mr. Magsman"--which he never could imagine nothin', and
was monotonous company.
The noise not leavin' off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle,
and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street; but
nothin' could I see, and nothin' was I aware of, until I turned round
quick, because some creeter run between my legs into the passage.
There was Mr. Chops!
"Magsman," he says, "take me on the hold terms, and you've got me; if it's
done, say done!"
I was all of a maze, but I said, "Done, sir."
"Done to your done, and double done!" says he. "Have you got a bit of
supper in the house?"
Bearin' in mind them sparklin' warieties of foreign drains as we'd guzzled
away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassages and
gin-and-water; but he took 'em both and took 'em free; havin' a chair for
his table, and sittin' down at it on a stool, like hold times--I all of a
maze all the while.
It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and to the
best of my calculations two pounds and a quarter), that the wisdom as was
in that little man began to come out of him like perspiration.
"Magsman," he says, "look upon me?--You see afore you one as has both gone
into society, and come out."
"O, you _are_ out of it, Mr. Chops? How did you get out, sir?"
"SOLD OUT!" says he. You never saw the like of the wisdom as his Ed
expressed, when he made use of them two words. "My friend Magsman, I'll
impart to you a discovery I've made. It's wallable; it's cost twelve
thousand five hundred pound; it may do you good in life. The secret of
this matter is, that it ain't so much that a person goes into society, as
that society goes into a person."
Not exactly keeping up with his meanin', I shook my Ed, put on a deep
look, and said, "You're right there, Mr. Chops."
"Magsman," he says, twitchin' me by the leg, "society has gone into me to
the tune of every penny of my property."
I felt that I went pale, and though not naturally a bold speaker, I
couldn't hardly say, "Where's Normandy?"
"Bolted--with the plate," said Mr. Chops.
"And t'other one?"--meaning him as formerly wore the bishop's miter.
"Bolted--with the jewels," said Mr. Chops.
I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me.
"Magsman," he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got
hoarser, "society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of Saint
James they was all a doin' my bisness--all a goin' three times round the
Cairawan, in the hold Court suits and properties. Elsewhere, they was most
of 'em ringing their little bells out of makebelieves. Everywheres, the
sarser was a goin' round--Magsman, the sarser is the universal
institution!"
I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortuns, and I
felt for Mr. Chops.
"As to Fat Ladies," says he, giving his Ed a tremendous one ag'in the
wall, "there's lots of _them_ in society, and worse than the original.
_Hers_ was a outrage upon taste--simply a outrage upon taste--carryin' its
own punishment in the form of a Indian!"
Here he giv' himself another tremendious one.
"But _theirs_, Magsman, _theirs_ is mercenary outrages. Lay in Cashmere
shawls, buy bracelets, strew 'em and a lot of 'andsome fans and things
about your rooms, let it be known that you give away like water to all as
come to admire, and the Fat Ladies that don't exhibit for so much down
upon the drum will come from all the p'ints of the compass to flock about
you, whatever you are. They'll drill holes in your 'art, Magsman, like a
cullender. And when you've no more left to give, they'll laugh at you to
your face, and leave you to have your bones picked dry by wulturs, like
the dead Wild Ass of the Prayries that you deserve to be!"
Here he giv' himself the most tremendious one of all, and dropped.
I thought he was gone. His Ed was so heavy, and he knocked it so hard, and
he fell so stony, and the sassagereal disturbance in him must have been so
immense, that I thought he was gone. But he soon come round with care, and
he sat up on the floor, and he said to me, with wisdom comin' out of his
eyes, if ever it come:
"Magsman! The most material difference between the two states of existence
through which your un'appy friend has passed"--he reached out his poor
little hand, and his tears dropped down on the mustache which it was a
credit to him to have done his best to grow, but it is not in mortals to
command success--"the difference is this: When I was out of society, I was
paid light for being seen. When I went into society, I paid heavy for
being seen. I prefer the former, even if I wasn't forced upon it. Give me
out through the trumpet, in the hold way, to-morrow."
After that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had been iled all
over. But the organ was kep' from him, and no allusions was ever made,
when a company was in, to his property. He got wiser every day; his views
of society and the public was luminous, bewilderin', awful; and his Ed got
bigger and bigger as his wisdom expanded it.
He took well, and pulled 'em in most excellent for nine weeks. At the
expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed one
evening, the last company havin' been turned out, and the doors shut, a
wish to have a little music.
"Mr. Chops," I said (I never dropped the "Mr." with him; the world might
do it, but not me)--"Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in a state of mind
and body to sit upon the organ?"
His answer was this:
"Toby, when next met with on the tramp, I forgive her and the Indian. And
I am."
It was with fear and tremblin' that I began to turn the handle; but he sat
like a lamb. It will be my belief to my dying day, that I see his Ed
expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great his thoughts was. He
sat out all the changes, and then he come off.
"Toby," he says with a quiet smile, "the little man will now walk three
times round the Cairawan, and then retire behind the curtain."
When we called him in the mornin' we found he had gone into much better
society than mine or Pall Mall's. I give Mr. Chops as comfortable a
funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as chief, and had the George
the Fourth canvas carried first, in the form of a banner. But the house
was so dismal afterwards, that I give it up, and took to the wan again.
Royal Visitors in America.
Attempts to Strengthen a Spirit of International Good-Feeling Have Been
Responsible for the Coming of Some Princely Guests--Others Have
Found an Asylum Here During Periods of Exile.
_An original article written for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.
Many royalties have visited the United States since the first princeling
landed here in 1782. Such visits were not very frequent in the early days,
but they have so increased in number that now we might almost say that we
welcome the coming even while we speed the parting royal guest.
The first royal visitor to the United States was William IV, son of George
III, who came to us in 1782 as midshipman in a British line-of-battle
ship, one of Admiral Digby's fleet sent over to conquer us as a rebellious
colony. An attempt was made by Colonel Ogden, of the First New Jersey
Regiment, to capture him while his vessel was lying off New York, but the
scheme failed, and the prince lived to become King of Great Britain and
uncle of Queen Victoria, who succeeded him in 1837.
Queen Victoria's father, the Duke of Kent, was a hasty guest of this
country a little later on, while he was on his way to join his regiment,
then stationed in Canada. He subsequently became Governor of Nova Scotia,
and commander-in-chief of the British forces in North America. It was in
his honor that St. John's Island changed its name, and has since been
known as Prince Edward Island.
The Visit of Louis Philippe.
In 1796, Louis Philippe, accompanied by his two brothers, the Duc de
Montpensier and Comte de Beaujolais, landed in Philadelphia, bearing
letters of introduction from Gouverneur Morris, then American minister to
France. He traveled very extensively over the country, and sailed for
Havana, whence he intended sailing to Spain to see his exiled mother, but
by orders from the Court of Madrid he was detained there some time.
He returned to the United States, whence he sailed for England in 1800,
became the "citizen king" of France, and died in England two years after
the revolution of 1848.
The Brothers of Napoleon.
In 1803, Jerome Bonaparte, nineteen years of age, arrived in New York.
Visiting Baltimore, he fell in love with Miss Elizabeth Patterson, and was
accepted by her, and married with great ceremony by the Catholic bishop of
the diocese.
In 1805 he started for France, leaving his wife to follow. An order of the
emperor prohibited her entering France at any place, and she saw her
husband only once after his departure.
The First Consul had their marriage annulled by his council of state, and
forced Jerome, who was his youngest brother, to marry the daughter of the
King of Würtemberg. Six days after the ceremony the young prince was made
King of Westphalia.
Joseph Bonaparte, a brother, one year older than the emperor, was by him
invited--or, rather, compelled--to accept the kingdom of Naples in 1806,
and the kingdom of Spain two years later.
After Wellington's victory at Waterloo, Joseph, with leave of his brother,
quitted France, and coming to the United States as the Comte de
Survilliers, he purchased an estate of fifteen hundred acres of land in
Bordentown, New Jersey, and settled down to the life of an opulent
gentleman and philosophical student. He also established a summer
residence at Lake Bonaparte, in the Adirondacks. In 1832 he returned to
France to aid in sustaining the pretensions of his nephew, Louis Napoleon,
to the throne, and failing in this he went to Florence, where he died in
1844.
Three other Bonaparte princes who crossed the Atlantic were Charles
Lucien, Pierre, and Antoine, sons of Lucien Bonaparte, Prince of Canino,
and nephews of the great emperor. Pierre--best remembered, perhaps, as the
man who shot Victor Noir in a duel--and his brother Antoine were mere
transient visitors, but Charles Lucien lived in Philadelphia for half a
dozen years. He was a man of quiet tastes, and an enthusiastic student of
bird-life. He devoted most of his time to the preparation of a revised and
enlarged edition of Alexander Wilson's "American Ornithology." The work
appeared in three volumes, from 1825 to 1833, with both Wilson's name and
that of Charles Lucien Bonaparte upon its title pages. Before the third
volume was issued the prince had returned to Europe, where the rest of his
life was spent.
The Two Sons of Murat.
Two sons of Joachim Murat, who married the first Napoleon's sister,
Caroline, and was proclaimed King of the Two Sicilies in 1808, settled in
Florida a few years after their father was shot by the Neapolitans.
Napoleon Murat was of a scientific turn of mind, and took great interest
in our educational institutions. He married a grandniece of George
Washington, and died in Tallahassee in 1847.
His brother, Napoleon Lucien Charles, came to America in 1825, and married
a Miss Frazer, of Bordentown, New Jersey. He went to France in 1848, and
received the title of a prince of the imperial family.
In 1836, Charles Louis Napoleon, the late Emperor of the French, was
banished to the United States for attempting to gain the throne of his
uncle, the first emperor, by revolutionary means. He landed at Norfolk in
March, 1837, and then came to New York, where he remained until May, when
he sailed for Switzerland to see his dying mother.
Two visits to this country were made by the Prince de Joinville, third
son of Louis Philippe, and brother-in-law of the late Dom Pedro, Emperor
of Brazil. On the first he arrived in New York in 1842, where he met with
a reception due the son of a king of France, who had also been the
custodian of the remains of the great emperor when they were brought from
St. Helena to Paris.
On the second visit, made in 1861, the Prince de Joinville was accompanied
by his son, the Duc de Penthièvre, and his nephews, the Comte de Paris and
the Duc de Chartres. He placed his son in the naval service, and accepted
for himself and nephews commissions on General McClellan's staff, as the
Army of the Potomac was about to resume the march upon Richmond. After the
removal of "Little Mac" the prince returned to France.
The Prince of Wales's Tour.
In September, 1860, the Prince of Wales, traveling as Baron Renfrew, with
his tutor, the Duke of Newcastle, arrived at Detroit, after a tour through
Canada. He received a most generous series of ovations in the United
States, going as far west as Illinois, and while in Washington he was the
special guest of President Buchanan.
Shortly after the departure of the Prince of Wales we had a visit from
Prince Napoleon and his bride, the Princess Clothilde, daughter of Victor
Emmanuel II, and aunt of the present King of Italy. This prince was a son
of Jerome Bonaparte and his second wife, Catharine of Würtemberg. The
couple made many friends during their brief sojourn.
Queen Emma, widow of a former king of the Sandwich Islands, landed at San
Francisco in 1866, and, after making a thorough inspection of our
religious and educational systems, she went to England via New York.
On January 21, 1870, Prince Arthur, third son of Queen Victoria, who is
now the Duke of Connaught, arrived in New York from Montreal, whither he
had been ordered on military service. Three days later he was introduced
to President Grant by the British minister, and was honored with a grand
ball in the Masonic Temple in Washington.
Early on the morning of November 19, 1871, the Grand Duke Alexis, son of
the Czar Alexander II of Russia, appeared in his flagship in the lower bay
of New York Harbor. His reception was of a dual character: first as an
officer of the Russian navy, and then as the son of an imperial father.
Kings and Princes From Many Lands.
Kalakaua, King of the Hawaiian Islands, stepped ashore at San Francisco,
in November, 1874, visited our chief ports, examined our industrial
resources and capabilities, and endeavored to hasten the negotiation of a
commercial treaty between his government and that of the United States.
The Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro, visited the United States in 1876,
during the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia.
Queen Liliuokalani came to plead her cause after she was deposed from the
Hawaiian throne, during President Cleveland's second administration.
The Comte de Paris, accompanied by his son, the present Duc d'Orleans,
again came to the United States in 1890 to visit the grave of General
McClellan, on whose staff he had served during our Civil War.
In 1893 the Princess Eulalia, daughter of the late Queen Isabella of
Spain, and aunt of the present king, came to the United States as the
official representative of the queen regent at the time of the World's
Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago.
The Crown Prince of Siam, Somdetch Chowfa Maha Vajiravudh, with his
brother, who is next in succession to the throne, visited this country on
his way home from his ten years' college life in England, in 1902. In that
same year the Grand Duke Boris, of Russia, cousin of the Czar, and Prince
Henry of Prussia, brother of the German Kaiser, also visited us.
His Highness the Maharajah Gaekwar of Baroda, Hindu prince of the first
rank, came to the United States in May of this year. He was chosen ruler
when a boy of twelve, and he began at once the careful study of the needs
of his state and people. Under his rule the slovenly Hindu town of Baroda
became a fine modern city with colleges for men and women, and a technical
school.
THE AGE OF THE EARTH.
On this Subject Our Planet Is as Secretive as a Woman, and Inquisitive
Scientists Can Do Nothing More Than Guess at It.
The earth is almost as secretive on the subject of its age as is a woman
who has passed the thirty mark. Several years ago Richard A. Proctor, the
celebrated astronomer, addressed himself to an investigation of the
subject, and then wrote as follows:
The age of the earth is placed by some at five hundred millions of years;
by others, one hundred million years; and still others, of later time,
among them the Duke of Argyll, place it at ten million years. None place
it lower than ten millions, knowing what processes have been gone through.
Other planets go through the same process. The reason that other planets
differ so much from the earth is that they are in so much earlier or later
stages of existence. The earth must become old. Newton surmised that it
would lose all its water and become perfectly dry. Since then other
scientists have confirmed his opinion.
As the earth keeps cooling, it will become porous, and great cavities will
be formed in the interior, which will take in the water. It is estimated
that this process is now in progress, so far that the water diminishes at
the rate of the thickness of a sheet of paper each year.
At this rate, in six million years the water will have sunk a mile, and in
fifteen million the water will have disappeared from the face of the
globe.
The nitrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere are also diminishing all the
time. It is in an inappreciable degree, but the time will come when the
air will be so thin that no creature we know could breathe it and live;
the time will come when the world cannot support life. That will be the
period of old age, and then will come death.
AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE LINKS.
Flowers of History, Philosophy, and Mendacity Culled by Caddies to the
Muse Whose Metrical Feet Have Wandered Into the Debatable Territory
That Lies Between Fiction and Fact.
THE FANTOM OF THE LINKS.
By Jessie Pope.
When morning crowns the distant downs
With veil of azure gossam;
When black bat wheels, and twilight steals
The blush from every blossom--
Hist! to a sudden mysterious click,
The caddie shudders and shrinks,
The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick--
'Tis the fantom of the links.
The first was he on the family tree
Of canny professional laddies,
In Pluto's halls he hungers for balls--
They say he's a weakness for caddies.
Hist! when you feel a thrill in the breeze,
A whisper that rises and sinks,
When there looms a shape by the misty trees--
'Tis the fantom of the links.
Then fly the green tho' fit and keen
To drive like soaring rocket,
You'll search till dark for balls you mark--
They're in his intangible pocket.
Back from the cliff and the shimmering bay,
The dune and the pebble-strewn brinks,
Mortal, you'll get the worst of the play
With the fantom of the links.
When through the gray the dawning day
Slants over gorse and heather,
When sun has set and grass is wet.
And mist-wreaths twine together--
List to a sudden mysterious click,
The caddie shudders and shrinks,
The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick--
'Tis the fantom of the links.
_London Queen._
THE LOST BALL.
Standing one day on the golf-links,
I was weary and ill at ease;
And I baffled and foozled idly
Over the whins and tees.
I know not what I was dreaming,
Or where I was rubbering then;
But I swiped that ball, of a sudden,
With the force of two score men.
It sped through the crimson twilight
Like a shot from a ten-inch gun;
And it passed from my fevered vision
To the realm of the vanished sun;
It chasséed over the bunker,
It caromed hazard and hill;
It went like a thing infernal--
I suppose it is going still.
It shied each perplexing stymie
With infinite nerve and ease;
And bored right on through the landscape
As if it were loath to cease.
I have sought--but I seek it vainly--
That ball of the strenuous pace,
That went from the sole of my niblick
And entered into space.
It may be some blooming caddie
Can sooner or later explain;
It may be that only in heaven
I shall find that ball again.
_Smart Set._
GOLF IN CACTUS CENTER.
We were propped against the 'dobe of that joint o' Poker Bill's,
When a tenderfoot was spotted, actin' queerlike in the hills;
He'd a ball of gutta-percha, and was puttin' in his licks,
Jest a-knockin' it to glory with a bunch o' crooked sticks.
Well, we went up there quite cur'us, and we watched him paste the ball,
'Til a itchin fer to try it seemed to get a holt of all.
And at last Packsaddle Stevens asked to give the thing a swat,
And we gathered round to see him show the stranger what was what.
Well, the golfer stuck the speroid on a little pile o' dirt,
And Packsaddle swiped and swatted, but he didn't do no hurt.
He barked his shins terrific, and he broke his little stick,
And when he heard a snicker his guns came out too quick.
We dropped behind the cactus, with some holes clipped in our clothes,
While the golfer for the sky-line wagged his checker-boarded hose;
And when we took home Stevens and three others that was hurt
The golf-ball still was settin' on its little pile o' dirt.
So we ain't no new St. Andrews, and we hope no golfer thinks
He can cut loose here in Cactus with a set of oatmeal links;
We go in fer games that's quiet, and stir up no blood and fuss,
And down in Cactus Center poker's good enough for us.
_From an Old Scrap Book._
WHEN MACLAREN FOOZLED OUT.
The links were bright and bonny wi' the tartan and the plaid
When the pride o' Skibo village met the best St. Andrews had;
The play was fast and furious, and sair the ball was thwacked,
And in the final test o' skill one point Maclaren lacked.
The caddies stood wi' bated breath, and every face was set,
For not a man was in the crowd but had his siller bet;
And one lad cried, as wi' his stick Maclaren loomed up tall:
"Hoot, mon! now show 'em hoo Old Skibo kills the ball!"
The gowlfer lookit at the sky, and then doon at the dirt,
And cannily he weighed his stock and loosed his plaided shirt;
He slowly planted both his feet, and then replanted each,
And dinna doot he swung his arms as high as he could reach.
Grim death at just that moment would have been Maclaren's wish,
For the atmosphere resounded to that mighty empty swish;
His stick flew like a rocket, but, alas! the wo decreed!
The ball rolled two feet sickly, when it just lay doon and deed.
Oh, somewhere in our bonny land the pipes skirl all the day,
And somewhere lads and lassies shout, and men are passing gay;
But we are dour in Skibo, and no joy is hereabout,
Since the day when, like one Casey, our Maclaren foozled out.
_Denver Republican._
THE LOST GRIP.
It was a joy to be alive,
When I could always see
My golf-ball, from a slashing drive,
Go soaring off the tee;
When, as my lowered handicap
Fell ever nearer scratch,
I held my own with any chap
In medal play and match.
Then foozles never made me groan;
Then, gripping like a vise,
I swung my club; then all unknown
Were top and pull and slice;
Then all my deft approaches sped
Directly to their goal;
Then all my longest putts lay dead,
Or fell into the hole.
Oh! cruel Fate that bade me look,
On one ill-omened day,
Upon the pictures in the book
Of Vardon's hints on play!
For, though I quickly laid it by,
That one unlucky dip
Into its pages made me try
The overlapping grip.
Now all my fingers are like thumbs,
My club turns round and round;
And divots, as it downward comes,
Fly upward from the ground.
My golf-ball skips to right or left
A few short yards and stops;
Or, with its surface deeply cleft,
Into a bunker drops.
And though I swear and fume and fret,
My efforts are in vain;
And, what is worse, I cannot get
The old style back again.
So now with sighs and tears and frowns
I curse the diagrams
That cost me numberless half-crowns,
And ah! so many--regrettable comments.
_Punch._
THE WORLD'S GREAT OPERAS.
Wagner's Rienzi--No. 1.
This is the first of a series of articles upon the great operas of the
world offered to the readers of THE SCRAP BOOK. To the out-of-town
devotees the echoes from stageland sound only remotely as they are given
forth by the press. Moreover, the critics deal with the specific
production, not with the opera itself in relation to the history of music,
or the conceptions of the composers. It is our purpose in these articles
to look at the opera from a different point of view, and to glimpse the
minds of the great men who have developed the art of the music drama. Even
those familiar with the subject may find new light here.
Rienzi.
The fourth opera written by Wagner. The first three, "The Wedding," "The
Fairies," and "The Novice of Palermo" are scarcely known to-day. The music
of "The Wedding" was never completed; "The Fairies," although finished in
1833, was first produced in 1888, five years after Wagner's death, when
the theater at Munich obtained sole rights for its production. During the
tour season it is still frequently placed on the boards of that theater,
with all the scenic appurtenances of an operetta. Neither Wagner himself
nor the admirers of his later work could claim for it any strong
originality or power.
"The Novice of Palermo" had only one performance. That was conducted
under Wagner's own direction, in 1836, in Magdeburg. The best comment
upon this occasion was made by the succeeding performance, when the
audience consisted of three persons--Wagner's housekeeper, her husband,
and one Polish Jew!
After this discouraging event, Wagner abandoned Germany for Paris, and
there wrote his five-act opera, "Rienzi," which was shortly afterward
accepted by the Dresden Theater. Its success was immediate and brilliant,
and this notwithstanding the fact that its performance lasted six hours.
The opera is still occasionally produced in Germany, but it is practically
unknown to the lyric stage in the English-speaking countries.
Wagner.
Born in Leipsic, in 1813. He was a child of tastes and enthusiasms, but of
no apparent genius. He loved philology, history, and mythology; but, most
of all, he loved the drama. His early associations were musical, and at
the age of sixteen he resolved to become a musician.
During his period of apprenticeship he wrote a few concert pieces, but his
love of drama led almost at once to his real vocation--the opera. In 1836
he married an actress, Minna Planer, who, despite beauty and a talent for
her art, and despite a faithful nature, failed to comprehend Wagner's
genius, or to make him happy.
For twenty-five years they struggled to appreciate each other, then
separated. Wagner subsequently married Cosima, daughter of Liszt, and
divorced wife of Von Bülow. The union was one of ideal happiness.
Argument.
The scene is laid in Rome of the fourteenth century, when the patriot,
_Rienzi_, is leading his insurrection against the nobles. The first act
represents a street riot, occasioned by the patricians, under _Orsini_,
who have scaled _Rienzi's_ house by a ladder and are seeking to abduct his
sister, _Irene_.
While _Irene_ struggles for freedom, a rival faction of patricians
arrives, led by _Colonna_, whose son, _Adriano_, is in love with _Irene_.
_Adriano_ fights his way to her side and protects her. Then, in the midst
of the disturbance, _Rienzi_ appears and the crowd scatters.
A prelate, _Cardinal Raimondo_, asks _Rienzi_ how soon he is going to
begin his warfare upon the nobles, and _Rienzi_ replies that when he hears
a long trumpet-note sound across the city the hour will have come. He
turns to _Adriano Colonna_, and fervently beseeches him to forsake his
party and to join the popular cause of Roman freedom. Remembering _Irene_,
_Adriano_ pledges his loyalty to _Rienzi_.
He is then left alone with the beautiful girl, and they sink into the
tender ecstasies of love, till they are roused by the ominous sound of the
trumpet-call which heralds the uprising. The day dawns, and within the
church the organ and chorus simultaneously break out to greet it.
Borne in by the populace, _Rienzi_ arrives. The people seek to crown him
king of Rome, but the only title he will accept is that of tribune. A
great composite voice rises from the piazza, swearing vengeance on the
nobles.
_Rienzi's_ cause triumphs, and in the hall of the capitol the patricians
are forced to do homage to the victor. Goaded by wounded pride, _Orsini_
forms a conspiracy to stab _Rienzi_ during the festivities which are in
preparation.
_Adriano_ hears the plot, and warns _Rienzi_, who consequently wears, when
he appears at the festa, a steel breastplate.
This scene commences in an abandon of joyousness. The crowd cheers a
pantomime, and knights fight in tourney.
Suddenly _Orsini_ presses his way to _Rienzi's_ side, and draws his knife.
But _Rienzi_ is saved by his breastplate. He sentences all the nobles to
death, and the festa ends in tragedy. But _Adriano_ pleads for his
father's life, and finally _Rienzi_ pardons all the conspirators on their
oath of submission.
The third act is ushered in by alarm-bells. The nobles are again in
insurrection; the people clamor for _Rienzi_, who appears, swearing to
exterminate the faithless patricians. He goes out to victory, and
presently the body of _Colonna_ is borne past his son, _Adriano_, who
forthwith deserts _Rienzi's_ cause.
_Adriano_ finds his opportunity for revenge in confirming a story which
gains credence with the fickle Roman populace; he declares that _Rienzi_
is a traitor to his country, and meant himself to become a noble through
the marriage of his sister with _Adriano_.
_Rienzi_ appears in a procession, marching toward church. As he places his
foot on the steps, a malediction sounds from within the sanctuary.
_Cardinal Raimondo_ steps to the door and pronounces upon him the ban of
excommunication. The nobles have won victory for their cause by an
alliance with the Church.
In the hall of the capitol, _Rienzi_ prays that his work for freedom may
not be undone. _Irene_ and _Adriano_ enter, and _Rienzi_ begs them to flee
together from danger. But _Irene_ refuses to desert her brother's cause.
The noise outside the besieged capitol increases.
The scene shifts to the open square, where the populace, deaf to _Rienzi_,
who from a balcony seeks to address them, sets fire to the capitol.
_Adriano_, darting in and out among the mob, sees _Irene_ arm in arm with
her brother, within a huge flower of flame which curls about them.
Through the fire he rushes toward her; at that moment the capitol
collapses, and he is caught with _Rienzi_ and _Irene_ in its ruins. The
nobles turn upon the people, and with drawn swords cut them down like
blades of grass.
WHERE ROOSEVELT USED THE PHRASE "THE STRENUOUS LIFE."
In speaking to you, men of the greatest city of the West, men of the State
which gave to the country Lincoln and Grant, men who preeminently and
distinctly embody all that is most American in the American character, I
wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of =the
strenuous life=--the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to
preach that highest form of success which comes, not to the man who
desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger,
from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid
ultimate triumph.
Theodore Roosevelt in a speech delivered before the Hamilton Club of
Chicago, April 10, 1899.
SYMBOLISM OF PLAYING-CARDS.
Soldier Arrested for Shuffling the Pasteboards in Church During Divine
Service Won His Liberty by Convincing Magistrate That They May Be
Utilized as Pages of a Prayer-Book.
If the devil invented playing-cards, as more than once has been asserted,
he was a very cosmopolitan devil; for cards have been used in every
country whose people were intelligent enough to play with them. There is
evidence that the Egyptians played cards in the days of Joseph. Later, the
Hebrews brought cards into Palestine when they returned from the
Babylonian exile. The Chinese played cards at a period when western Europe
was a wilderness inhabited by wild beasts and prowling barbarians. In
India the pack contained ten suits, each being symbolic of an incarnation
of Vishnu.
Europe got its cards, apparently, from the Orient, in the days of the
Crusades--for your Crusader was a great gambler. In the European history
of the pack we find that the cards have frequently been used as symbols,
political or social. But no more remarkable card symbolism has ever been
evolved than that which is described in the following brief narrative:
A private soldier by the name of Richard Doe was taken
before a magistrate charged with playing cards during divine
service.
It appears that a sergeant commanded the soldiers at the
church, and when the parson had read the prayers, he took
the text.
Those who had Bibles took them out, but this soldier had
neither Bible nor Book of Common Prayer. Pulling out a pack
of cards, he spread them before him.
The sergeant of the company saw him, and said:
"Richard, put up the cards; this is no place for them."
"Never mind that," said Richard.
When the service was over, a constable took Richard before a
magistrate.
"Well," asked the magistrate, "what have you brought the
soldier here for?"
"For playing cards in church."
"Prisoner, what have you to say?"
"I have been," said the soldier, "about six weeks on the
march. I have neither Bible nor Book of Common Prayer. I
have nothing but a pack of cards, and I'll satisfy your
worship of the purity of my intentions."
And, spreading the cards before the magistrate, he began
with the ace:
"When I see the ace, it reminds me there is but one God.
When I see the deuce, it reminds me of Father and Son. When
I see the tray, it reminds me of the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost. When I see the four-spot, it reminds me of the four
evangelists--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
"When I meet the five, it reminds me of the five wise
virgins that trimmed their lamps--there were ten, but only
five were wise, while five were foolish and were shut out.
"When I see the six, it reminds me that in six days the Lord
made heaven and earth. When I see the seven, it reminds me
that on the seventh day He rested from the great work He had
created, and hallowed it.
"When I see the eight, it reminds me of the eight righteous
persons that were saved when God destroyed the
world--namely, Noah and his wife, with his three sons and
their wives. When I see the nine, it reminds me of the nine
lepers that were cleansed by our Saviour; there were nine
out of ten who never returned thanks.
"When I see the ten, it reminds me of the Ten Commandments
which God handed down to Moses on tables of stone. When I
see the king, it reminds me of the King of Heaven, which is
God Almighty.
"When I see the queen, it reminds me of the Queen of Sheba,
who visited Solomon, for she was as wise a woman as he was a
man. She brought with her fifty boys and fifty girls, all
dressed in boys' apparel, for King Solomon to tell which
were boys and which were girls. King Solomon sent for water
for them to wash; the girls washed to the elbows and the
boys to the wrists, so King Solomon told by that."
"Well," said the magistrate, "you have given a good
description of all the cards but one."
"What is that?"
"The knave," said the magistrate.
"I will give your honor a description of that, too, if you
will not be angry."
"I will not," said the magistrate, "if you do not term me to
be the knave."
"Well," said the soldier, "the greatest knave that I know of
is the constable that brought me here."
"I do not know," said the magistrate, "if he is the greatest
knave, but I begin to think that he must have been a fool to
arrest so devout a man."
"When I count the number of cards in a pack," continued the
soldier, "I find there are fifty-two, the number of weeks in
a year; and I find four suits, the number of weeks in a
month. I find there are twelve picture cards in a pack,
representing the number of months in a year; and on counting
the tricks, I find thirteen, the number of weeks in a
quarter. So, you see, a pack of cards serves for a Bible,
almanac, and prayer-book."
THE BATTLE OF THE "YATCHES."
The Rhythmical Lamentation of a British Tar On the Occasion of the Famous
Victory of the Yankee Yacht America in English Waters.
In no branch of sport is there a trophy more valuable or highly cherished
than that which is so dear to the hearts of American yachtsmen--the
America's Cup. While the original cost of this celebrated piece of
silverware was only about five hundred dollars, the expenses of fitting
out challengers and defenders and maintaining them while in commission
have aggregated many millions of dollars.
The cup was originally offered by the Royal Yacht Club and was won on
August 22, 1851, by the American schooner-yacht America, which had as
competitors no less than fourteen British yachts. The Yankee boat won by
eighteen minutes, and her victory inspired a general feeling of chagrin
among the owners and crews of the British boats who had regarded their
nation as invincible in the yachting world. The following verses,
published shortly after the America's victory, are said to have been
written by a sailor on a British ship of war from which a view of the race
had been obtained:
Oh, weep, ye British sailors true,
Above or under hatches,
Here's Yankee Doodle's been and come,
And beat our crackest yatches!
They started all to run a race,
And wor well timed with watches;
But oh! they never had no chance,
Had any of our yatches.
The Yankee she delayed at first,
Says they, "She'll never catch us,"
And flung up their tarpaulin hats--
The owners of the yatches!
But presently she walked along;
"Oh, dear," says they, "she'll match us!"
And stuck on their tarpaulin hats,
The builder of our yatches.
Then deep we plows along the sea,
The Yankee scarcely scratches;
And cracks on every stitch of sail
Upon our staggering yatches.
But one by one she passes us,
While bitterly we watches,
And utters imprecations on
The builder of our yatches.
And now she's quite hull down a-head,
Her sails like little patches,
For sand-barges and colliers we
May sell our boasted yatches.
We faintly hear the club-house gun--
The silver cup she snatches--
And all the English clubs are done,
The English clubs of yatches!
They say she didn't go by wind,
But wheels, and springs, and satches;
And that's the way she weathered on
Our quickest-going yatches.
But them's all lies, I'm bound to say--
Although they're told by batches--
'Twas bulk of hull, and cut of sail,
That did for all our yatches.
But novelty, I hear them say,
Fresh novelty still hatches!
The Yankee yatch the keels will lay
Of many new club yatches.
And then we'll challenge Yankee land,
From Boston Bay to Natchez,
To run their crackest craft agin
Our spick-and-span new yatches.
Wit and Cruelty as Allies.
The Temptation to be Clever at Another's Expense is so Irresistible That
Whenever We Find a Modern Bon Mot We See a Victim
Picking Up Pieces of His Shattered Egotism.
It is almost a proverb that a witty person is also a cruel one. True wit
does not need to be caustic; but it is so much easier to be clever at some
one's expense than in any other way, that the person with a reputation to
sustain for saying witty things will fall into the habit of sarcasm very
readily if his heart is not particularly kind.
The Parson's Suggestion.
It is related of a famous English clergyman that when presiding at a
meeting where the necessity of wood-paving a street in his parish was
under discussion he became greatly disgusted at the want of intelligence
displayed by many of those present. Finally, unable to control the
annoyance which a more than usually frivolous objection occasioned him, he
said:
"Gentlemen, do not let us discuss the matter further. You have only to put
your heads together and the thing is done at once."
Lamb's Unkind Thrust.
Charles Lamb, than whom no gentler or kinder-hearted wit ever breathed, at
times found it impossible to restrain himself from the personal; as, for
instance, when he covered a friend with shame at a whist-party by blurting
out:
"Gad, James, if--if dirt were t-t-trumps, what a hand you would have!"
A Weighty Politician.
A personal _bon mot_, perpetrated at the expense of the late Sir William
Harcourt, is harmless enough:
"You must admit that he is a most weighty politician," insisted one of his
admirers.
"A weighty politician!" said an irreverent one. "I should think so! When
he moves to the east the west tips up."
Religiously Personal.
"Sir," said a little blustering man to a religious opponent--"I say, sir,
do you know to what sect I belong?"
"Well, I don't exactly know," was the answer, "but to judge from your
make, shape, and size, I should say you belong to a class called the
in-sect."
A Beggar's Benison.
An Irish beggarwoman, following a gentleman who had had the misfortune to
lose his nose, kept exclaiming:
"Heaven preserve your honor's eyesight!"
The gentleman was at last annoyed at her importunity, and said:
"Why do you wish my eyesight to be preserved? Nothing ails my eyesight,
nor is likely to."
"No, your honor," said the Irishwoman, "but it will be a sad thing if it
does, for you will have nothing to rest your spectacles upon."
Hard Hit by Napoleon.
When Napoleon was only an officer of artillery a Prussian officer said in
his presence, with much pride:
"My countrymen fight only for glory, but Frenchmen for money."
"You are right," replied Napoleon; "each of them fights for what he is
most in want of."
A Triumph for Billingsgate.
The Rev. Matthew Wilkes, a celebrated London preacher, was caught in a
shower in the famous Billingsgate Market, where the profanity of the women
who sell fish there is proverbial. As he stopped under a shed among them,
he felt called upon to at least give his testimony against their
wickedness.
"Don't you think," said he, speaking with the greatest deliberation and
solemnity, "I shall appear as a swift witness against you in the day of
judgment?"
"I presume so," said one, "for the biggest rogue always turns state's
evidence."
David vs. Goliath.
Lord Roberts once found himself among new friends in a London club. There
was a very tall man present, who, evidently believing himself to shine as
a wit, seized every opportunity of raising a laugh at other people's
expense.
On being introduced to Lord Roberts, the wit bent down patronizingly to
his lordship and remarked:
"I have often heard of you, but"--shading his eyes with one hand as though
the famous general, being so small, could be seen only with difficulty--"I
have never seen you."
To this Lord Roberts promptly replied:
"I have often seen you, sir, but I have never heard of you."
An American Woman's Retort.
Lord Sackville was never much of a lover of America, and what love he ever
had was considerably affected by his dismissal in disgrace as British
ambassador in President Cleveland's administration.
Some time after his return he was a guest of honor at a dinner which was
also attended by Lady Randolph Churchill, now Mrs. Cornwallis West, who is
an American. His lordship did not air his personal grievances, but he lost
no opportunity of decrying everything American. He was especially severe
upon American table manners.
"Do you know," he remarked, "that I have seen Americans eating with their
knives and spilling their soup on the table-cloth?"
Lady Randolph's eyes had flashed several times during the dinner, but this
was a little too much. She leaned quietly toward the distinguished
diplomat and remarked, in her cool, sarcastic voice:
"What poor letters of recommendation you must have had, my lord!"
Silencing the Surgeon.
At a certain dinner-table with General Miles, one night, was a
distinguished Washington surgeon, who listened with a certain air of
superiority to some of the soldier's reminiscences of various experiences
during the Civil War.
"And how do you feel, general," he finally asked, with just a touch of
sarcasm, "after you've professionally killed a man?"
"Oh," replied General Miles, "I dare say I don't mind doing that any more
than you do."
Thomas Lawson's Sharp Tongue.
A Marblehead fisherman reports hearing, while out one day in the bay, this
bit of repartee between Thomas Lawson and a young woman, evidently no
respecter of persons.
As Mr. Lawson, in a naphtha launch, passed the rowboat containing the
girl, she called out:
"Hullo, Tom, how's copper?"
Instantly came the retort: "First-rate. How's brass?"
The Deacon Smelled Sulfur.
Old Deacon Morse was as good at repartee as any man living. One time he
was taking a vessel down New York Harbor. Another vessel collided with
his, and the two drifted on together.
"Cut loose! Cut loose!" called the other captain.
Morse couldn't, but demanded that the other do so. This the stranger
wouldn't do, but he warned Morse that if he didn't they would soon reach
Hell Gate.
"Well," replied Morse, "you won't stop at the gate if you don't cut loose
from us in about two minutes!"
Laying Up Treasure for Heaven.
Francis Baylies, an historian of note, on returning from a church meeting
one Thanksgiving Day, met Nicholas Tillinghast, one of the most humorous
and also one of the most eloquent of the members of the Bristol County
bar, in the sitting-room of an hotel.
In the course of the conversation which ensued Mr. Baylies said to Mr.
Tillinghast:
"I have deposited a ten-cent piece in the contribution-box, to be placed
on interest until I reach heaven."
Mr. Tillinghast replied:
"Ah, yes! That will amount to a very large sum before you will be admitted
there."
Tact of Disraeli.
When it was more expedient to evade a question than to give a definite
answer, Disraeli could do so with consummate tact. A story illustrative of
this is told in the "Memoirs of Mary Duchess of Teck."
The great statesman was very fond of the princess, and admired her grasp
of political problems; but he never allowed himself to be charmed into
telling cabinet secrets.
One evening at dinner, during a crisis in foreign affairs, Princess Mary,
who was puzzled at the inaction of the government, turned to him and said:
"What are we waiting for, Mr. Disraeli?"
The prime minister paused for a moment to take up the menu, and, looking
at the princess, gravely replied:
"Mutton and potatoes, madam."
A HOROSCOPE OF THE MONTHS.
BY MARION Y. BUNNER.
What the Astrological Traditions Have to Say of the Characteristics and
the Destiny of Those Born Under the Sign "Leo."
_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.
LEO: THE LION.
JULY 24 to AUGUST 23.
CUSP: RUNS JULY 22 to JULY 28.
The constellation Leo--the fifth sign of the zodiac, and the middle point
of the magnet of the Fire Triplicity--is a masculine, fiery, changeable,
northern sign, governing the heart and blood of life. The higher
attributes are belief and self-control.
Persons born under this sign are kind-hearted, sympathetic, and jovial.
The willpower is firm, and is combined with enterprise and perseverance.
Their bearing is perfectly natural and without self-consciousness. They
are animated and convincing talkers, and excel in repartee. They always
make a point, and never fail to see one.
Leo gives to those born under its influence a lofty mind, a spirit of fair
play, an unbending dignity, and a generous heart. While they have a great
respect for law and authority, their imperious and independent nature
causes them to feel resentment when commanded.
The special aptitudes of the subject will be of a martial character. They
make many friends to whom they are devotedly attached, and who frequently
impose upon them. Their actions are guided by their impulses and emotions.
Leo people are steadfast, virile, proud, and liberal, with great
brilliancy that may render them egotistical and presumptuous. The temper
is kindly though firm, courageous, and magnanimous.
Those born under this sign are likely to have strong, wiry bodies, round
heads, light complexions, keen perceptive faculties, deep, mellow voices,
and friendly expressions of the eyes. They walk with a quick, buoyant
step.
Their physical temperament will be nervous-sanguine, with remarkably fine
health and a long life.
They will find their most congenial friends, first, among Sagittarius
people; next, among those born under Libra and Aries.
The faults of these persons are trickery in business affairs,
prevarication, and laziness. They are chronic borrowers. They are
hot-headed, impetuous, fiery, and passionate. Leo is the only sign
governed by the sun, and to this solar influence is ascribed the passion
and impetuosity of its subjects.
A union with a person born in Sagittarius or in Aries is likely to be most
happy and to produce the strongest offspring. Leo children are quick to
observe any duplicity or inconsistency on the part of those around them,
and will meet it with corresponding hypocrisy and a deep cunning.
The gems are the ruby, diamond, and sardonyx. The astral colors are red
and green. The flower is the morning-glory, the one which responds most
readily to the influence of the sun. The lucky months for a Leo subject
are January and October. Sunday is traditionally the most fortunate day of
the week.
The ancient Hebrew tribe over which Leo has rule is that of Joseph. The
ruling angel of the sign is Verchiel.
August, originally Sextilis, the sixth month in the pre-Julian Roman year,
received its present name from the Emperor Augustus, in the year 8 B.C.
August was selected, not as being his natal month, but because in it his
greatest good fortune had come to him, and it is a rather curious example
of the irony of fate that he should have died August 29, 14 A.D.
As July contained thirty-one days, and August only thirty, another day was
added, in order that Augustus might not be in any respect inferior to
Julius Cæsar, his predecessor, in whose honor the month of July was named.
Napoleon Bonaparte, Sir Walter Scott, General Ballington Booth, and Mrs.
Grover Cleveland were born under Leo, and are good examples of the
soldierly, commanding characteristics, and the ability to make friends, of
the sign.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Scrap Book, Volume 1, No. 6, by Various
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