McClure's Magazine December, 1895

eth Stuar

s Ajar," "The Madon

vated the strongest principles? If there be one such, among the possibilities to which a truly civilized career is liab

table; and do set my hand and seal, on this day of the recall of my dearest literary oath, i

charming series of personal re

rself to treat especially of your literary life; inclu

answer is faint; but the deed is

e steamers shriek from off the Point, as they feel their way at live of noon, groping as though it were dea

, doubtful, put about, an

r people's lives, and cared to read, and told one so, and made one believe in their kindness, and affection and fidelity for thirty years. And the hesitating heart calls out to them: Will you let me be sorry? Thirty years! It is a good while

cially in this: that they are either rebels to, or subjects of, their ancestry. The lives of

atter kin

t delight to be aware that one has not only created one's work, but the worker! What elation in the remembrance of the battle against a commercial, or a scientific, or a worldly and

ong ledger of life! To this exhilarating self-content I can lay no claim. For whatever measure of what is called success has fallen

worth mentioning" in my life is no affair of mine, but falls under the beautiful and terrib

ple who most influenced me." Of my grandfather, Moses Stuart, I have but two recollections; and these, taken together

r Hill which was built for him, and marked the creation of his department in the early days of the seminary history.

sly to the year-old baby, his namesake and grandson,

fin in the front hall; that he looked taller than he did before, but still imposing; that he had his be

ries he published, or how he introduced the first German lexicon into this country (as if a girl in short dr

ictionary. Sometimes the dictionary lay upon the coffin. Sometimes the baby spilled the milk out of the mug upon the

d railway of slavery days; how he sent the sharpest carving-knife in the house, concealed in a basket of food, to a hidden fugitive slave who had vowed never to be taken alive, and whose master had come North in search of him. It was a fine thing, that throbbi

ssion of which (like Wesley) this innocent and unimaginative country minister, who had

y to study what one had hardly then begun to call the "phenomena" at the parsonage at Stratford, Connecticut, hopped after the guests when they crossed the room; how the dishes at the table leaped, and the silver forks were bent by unseen hands, and cold turnips dropped from the solid ceiling; and ghastly images were found, composed of un

legacy of the written journal of these phenomena, as recorded by the victim from day

in to put an end to it-for either loan or copy of these records for the benefit of either personal or scientific curiosity. Both loaning and copying are now impossible, and have been

ER, AND HER INFANT BROTHER. AFTER

that I am so often asked if I am a spiritualist. I am sometimes tempted to reply in gr

none of o

the phenomena were facts, and facts explicable by no known natural law, he was forced, like others in similar positions, to be

ake it out, on the whole,

my talks with this very interesting grandfather gave m

r thumps on the head of my bed, or watched anxio

never been able to induce a chair to hop after me. No turnip has consented to drop from the ceiling for me. Planchette, in her day, wrote hundreds of lines for me, but never one that was of the slightest poss

tamed and yoked, and made to work for human happiness,-yet there seems to be something about me which these agencies do not find congenial. Though I have gone long

assed in alluding to it-made by a gipsy fortune-teller. She was young and pretty, the seventh child of a seventh

religious tale, or tract, after the manner of his day and profession; and it took to itself a circulation of two hundr

lisher said; "you come of a

little, private school, down by what were

cher. Her face turned very grave, and she came up to us quietly,

I remember perfectly that we were very gayly dressed. Our mother liked bright, almost barbaric colors on children. The little boy's coat was of red broadcloth, and my cape of a canary yel

to school at all; the red and yellow coats came off, and little black ones took their places. The new baby, in his haggard father's arms, was baptized at his mother's

always to distinguish between the effect produced upon me by her literary success as I have since un

, MASSACHUSETTS, THE HOUSE IN WHICH

pular heart. Her "Sunnyside" had already reached a circulation of one hundred thousand copies, and she was following it fast-too fast-by other books for which the critics and the publishers clamored. Her last book and her last baby came together, and killed her. She lived one of those rich and pite

ELPS, FATHER OF ELI

early ph

ren; and yet I have sometimes felt as if even the generation that knows her not would feel a certain degree of interest

is practical, indeed. One need not possess ge

nature was drawn against the grain of her times and of her circumstances; and where our feet find easy walking, hers were hedged. A child's memories go

write books because people would have and read them; but I cannot rem

urselves, never meant to go beyond that little public of two, and illustrated in colored crayons by her own pencil. For her g

ial adoration down, that these readings ended with some classic-

NDOVER, MAS

e world; but that the world had no business with her when we wanted her. In a word, she was a strong and l

salary is small, and a crushing economy was in those days one of the conditions of faculty life on Andover Hill. Now-for her practical ingenuity was unlimited-she is whittling little wooden feet to stretch the children's stockings on, to save them from shrinking; and now she is reading to us from the old, red copy of Hazlitt's "British Poets," by the register, upon a winter night. Now she i

ifferent d

the cloc

k the Wom

S, GRANDFATHER OF ELI

ife puts to-day to all women who think and feel, and who care for other women

at it was intelligent to say one's prayers, and that well-bred children never told a lie, I learned that a mother can be strong and still be sweet

rite. Rather, I should say, impossible to be their daugh

it can hardly be necessary for me to do more than to refer to the name of Austin Phelps

ember how widely this book has been known and loved, and h

ther, that I shall forbid myself, and spare my reader, too much repetition of a l

ildren, bears a burden which men shirk or stagger under;

hapter in my life of which he was not in some s

one responds to sunshine or oxygen. He was my climate. As soon as I began to think, I began to reverence thought and study and the hard work of a man devoted to the high ends of a scholar's life. His department was that of rhetoric,

holarly tastes, its high ideals, its scorn of worldliness and paltry a

and this one I connect directly with the reading to me by my father of the writings of De Quincey and the poems of Wordsworth. Every one who has ever heard him preach or lecture remembers the rare quality of Professor Phelps's voice. As a pul

human heart by

enderness, its

pened,' and which rises to the aching cry: 'Everlasting farewells!

t occurs to me that I ought to say that my father

n low-necked gingham dresses, I know, because I remember I had on one (of a purple shade, and incredibl

school teacher detracted from the importanc

t, and, obediently to law and

t the head of the stairs, where I was struggling to get into that gingham gown and present a tardy appearanc

undertaking, I cannot say; but I am sure about the low-necked gingham dress, and that it was during th

paper for a year; and my impression is that I wore high-necked dresses pretty soon thereafter, and was all

on," that oldest and most delightful of chi

B. loved

se whenever she walked out she co

ted her little brothers, and hence defeated the first object of existence in a woman-child. It was very proper, and very pious, and very much like what well-brought-up little girls were

, came to a sudden suspension. I have no recollection of having w

length of the seminary fence than writing rhymes or reading "solid reading." I know that I was once told by a queer old man in the street that little girls should not walk fences, and

tle contribution-a pious little contribution, like the first. Where it was written, or what it was about, or where it was printed, it is impossible to remember; but I know that

s and a half. It became my immediate purpose not to squander this wealth. I had no spending money in particular that I recall. Three cents a week was, I believe, for years the limit of my personal income, and I am compelled to own that this sum was

HE STUDY IN PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHEL

ble. From the hour that I received that check for "two-fifty," cream cakes began to wear a juvenile air, and turnovers seemed unworthy of my position in life. I remember begging to be allowed to invest the sum "in pictures," and that my father, gently

mes a wage-earner. The humorous side of it is the least of it-or was in my case. I

would agree with me in recalling the first ch

NDERS

bert

st of Alarms," "A Typ

assed along a narrow street leading into a main thoroughfare of London one night, just before the clock struck twelve, he would have beheld, in a dingy bac

taining paint and grease. Brushes were littered about, and a wig lay in a corner. Two mirrors stood at each end of the shelf, and beside them flared two gas jets

He was smoking a very black briar-root pipe, and perhaps his Majesty enjoyed the weed all the more that there was just above his he

than the king; for he sat astride the chair, with his chin resti

he will never be a Charles Kean or a Macready, then comes peace and the enjoyment of life. Now, with you it is different; you are, if I ma

d Cromwell, impatient

lifts itself up before you. You have mastered several languages, while I know but one, and that imperfectly. You have studied the foreign drama, while I have not even read all the plays of Shakespeare. I can do a hundr

am sick of the smell of the footlights and the whole atmosphere of the theatre. I am t

ook at the practical side of things. It costs a fortune to fi

from the lips of the king than did

e ago, I know several European languages, and if you will forgive what sounds like boasting, I may say that I have a gift for picking up tongues. I have money enough to fit my

CE THAT A WAN LIVING SKELETON STAGG

understand that sort of thing out there, and, besides, t

tend to learn the language of the different native tribes I meet, and if a chief opposes me, and will not allow me to

come of it all?" cried Cha

nthusiastically, flinging the chair fr

of a single native, won't that be something greater to h

t remember you are the only friend I have, and I have rea

an you not abandon this ghastly sham and come with me, as I asked you to at first? How can you hesitate when you think of th

om his pipe. He seemed to have some trouble in keeping i

your fame. I will from time to time drop appetizing little paragraphs into the papers about your wanderings, and when you are ready to come back to England, all England will be ready to listen to you. You know how interest is worked up in the theatrical business by judicious pu

inary dress of an Englishman, Mr. James Spence, while Cromwell, after a similar transformation, became Mr. Sidney Ormond; and thus, with nothing of royalty or dictatorship about them, the two strolled up the narrow street into the main thoroughfare, and entered their favorite midnight restaurant, where

Africa, sent to the coast by messenger. Although at the beginning of this letter Ormond said he had but faint hope of reaching his destination, he nevertheless gave a very complete account of his wanderings and his dealings with the natives; and up to that point his journey seemed to be most satisfactory. He enclosed several photographs, mostly very bad ones, which he h

n to look upon Ormond as an African Mrs. Harris, and the paragraphs, to Spence's deep regret, failed to appear. The journalists, who were a flippant lot, use

e had been ill and delirious with fever, and was now at last in his right mind, but felt the grip of death upon him. The natives had told him that no one ever recovered from the malady he had caught in the swamp, and his own feelings led him to believe that his

him the fame he had died to achieve, or it might not; but, he added, he left the whole conduct of the affair unreservedly to his friend, on whom he bestowed that love

of his friend, he broke the seal, but it was merely an intimation from the steamship company that half a dozen boxes remained at the southern terminu

im leaving that night, for he had not returned his salutation, which was most unusual. His friends had noticed that for a few days previous to his disappearance he had been apparently in deep dejection, and fears were entertained. One journalist said jestingly that probably Jimmy had gone to see wh

reach a port, and there took steamer homeward-bound for Southampton. The sea-breezes revived him somewhat, but it was evident to all the passengers that he had passed through a desperate illness. It was just a toss-up whether he could live until he saw

equently she seemed about to speak to him, but apparently hesitated about doing so, for the man took no notice of his fellow-passengers. At

moment. His dark mustache added to the pallor of his face, but did not conceal

u say?" he a

ought you might like to read it;" and the girl blushed very prettily as

long time since I have seen a book or a magazine. Won't you tell me the story? I would

could tell it-at any rate, not as well as the autho

t heard nothing from it for a long time, and at last it was returned to him. Then, on going to a first night at the theatre to see a new tragedy which this manager called his own, he was amazed to see his rejected pla

thing pertaining to the stage interests me, although it is years since I saw a theatre. It must be hard luck to work for fame and then be chea

e fashion so many of the profession adopt?" asked the

swered, "I was not at all noted. I acted only in minor parts and always unde

amazement, "not Sidney Orm

n face and large, melanchol

think I deserve the 'the,' you know. I don't imagine any one has

w lecturing in England to tremendous audiences all over the country. The Royal Geographical Society has given him medals or degrees, or something of that sort-but I believe it was Oxford that gave the degree. I am sorry I haven't his book

and his eyes again sought the horizon, and h

g just as she had left him, with his sad eyes on the sad sea. The girl had a volume in her hand. "There," she said, "I knew there would be a copy on board, but I am more b

at the girl with

ith truth, so il

od. You look ever so much bette

or the volume she held in her hand. He opened it a

m, and watched his face, gl

coincidence is becoming more and more striki

t, the only friend I had in England. I think I wrote him about getting together a book out of the materials I sent him, but I am not sure. I was very i

s reaping the reward that should have been yours, and so poses as the African traveller, the real Orm

his head sl

ould be, I think, easily explained, for I sent him all my notes of travel

a quick gestur

nnot be explained. You must

just now, in the face of this difficulty. Every thing seemed plain and simple before; but if Jimmy Spence has stepped into my shoes

ach England. Don't let this worry you now; there is plenty of time to think it all out before we arr

t tell how much this conversation has been to me. I am a lone man, with only one friend in the world; I am afraid I must add now, without even one friend

id: "You are not a wreck-far from it. You sit alone too much, and I am afraid that what I have thoughtlessly said has added to

d, with a little laugh; "but I'll come w

unsteadily, and

ian," she said, cheerfully, "and I sh

your charge," said Ormond, "but ma

never been introduced. She had regarded him as an invalid who needed a few words of cheerful encouragemen

Mary Radford

adford?" inq

Mary R

nd in England he had certainly found another on shipboard, to whom he was getting more and more attached as time went on. The only point of disagreement

ford stood together, leaning over the rail, conversin

d Miss Radford, "what then do you propose to do wh

d. "I will try to get something t

girl, "I have no

, "for if I could have made a living I i

l breathlessly, tur

ould have any cha

inquired the girl, aft

re, answer my question: Mary, do you think I would have any chance?"

withdraw her hand; she gazed down at the

that you are merely pretending ignorance to make it easier for me, becaus

was only that of a nurse in a somewhat backward patient. I was afraid that

at first-but it is far from

approach nearer to her, but t

ple besides ourselve

one on the ocean together and that there is no one else in the wide world but our two selves. I thought I went t

is waiting as anxiously for you to woo her as-as anoth

man shoo

me once. I won't give

ly into Southampton docks resolved

ing, and he was saddened by the thought that the telegram he had hoped to send to Jimmy Spence, exultingly announcing his arrival, would never be sent. In a newspaper he bought at the station he saw that the African traveller Sidney Ormond was to be received by the mayor and corporation of a midland town and pre

to her cheeks. Seeing how adverse her lover was to taking any action against his former friend, she had

o her that even the tones of the lecturer's voice were those of her lover. She paid little heed to the matter of his discourse, but allowed her mind to dwell more on the coming interview, wondering what excuses the fraudulent traveller would make for his perfidy. When the lecture was over, and the usual vote of thanks had been tendered and accepted, Mary Radford still sat there while the rest of the audience slowly filte

e to him if I write

see even the reporters," said the doorkeeper, as if that were final, and a

e of the real Sidney Ormond would like to see you for a few

s rudely shaken a few minutes later, when the messenger re

saw the double of her lover standing near the fire, her

closing the door, stood with her back

g. I never knew he was acquainted with

hat you are not the

course, if you were t

e his wife

low, is dead-dead in

you counted on his friendship for you, and thought that, even if he did return, he would not expose you. In

ble savage-and then he danced a jig that had done service in "Colleen Bawn." While the amazed girl watched these antics, Jimmy suddenly swooped down upon her, caught her round the waist, an

be true. Say it again, my girl; I can hardly bel

been v

cause, you see, I had disappeared. But Sid wouldn't know anything about that, and so he must be wondering what has become of me. I'll have a great story to tell him whe

Radf

dear; you see, I'm the only friend Sid has, and I'm old enough to be your father. I look young now, but you wait till

uch either," said

he room in great glee, laug

ures, you know. I don't believe Sid himself could have done as well, for he always was careless with money; he's often lent me the last

the room, and said the mayor a

d hastily: "No, don't do that. Just give them Jimmy-I mean Sidney Ormond's compliments, and tell hi

just he shouldn't get what he paid so dearly for. I gathered together what money I could, and went to Africa steerage. I found I couldn't do anything there about searching for Sid, so I resolved to be his understudy and bring fame to him, if it was possible. I sank my own identity, and made up as Sidney Ormond, took his boxes, and sailed for Southampton. I have been his understudy ever since; for, after all, I always had a hope he would come back some day, and then everything would be ready for him to take the principal role, and let the old understudy go back to

girl's eyes as she ros

ue a friend to his friend a

lucky girl like you. I missed that somehow when I was young, having my head full of Macready nonsense, and I missed being a Macready too. I've always been a sort of understudy; so you see the part comes easy to me. Now I must be off t

NE OF A F

ORY OF "ANN

k Pope

s fancy, or perhaps some Scotch peasant girl, like Highland Mary and m

the Cairn-Glencairn. Her home was in the heart of the most pastorally lovely of Scottish shires

orne upon the 16th day of December 1682 years, about six o'clock in

aurie, first baronet, and h

E, ANNIE LAURI

ht in 1611 by Stephen Laurie, the founder of the Laurie family. Stephen was a Du

E LA

now preserved at

of the castle. The picture shows the double windows of the tower. In places its walls are twelve feet thick. The lower room is the "gun-room," and the little room above, that in the next story, is always spoken

eet thick, which gives very deep window recesses. In this room hang the portraits of

latter. Whoever doctored the second verse of the original song-I heard it credited to "Mrs. Grundy" by a grandnephew of Bu

USON, ANNIE LA

now preserved at

t of Suckling's bride. A true Scotch face, of a type to be met any day in Edinburgh, or any other Sc

, with dark eyes and curling hair. His coat is brown, and his waistcoat blue,

evidence that fixes the authorship of the song upon Douglas of Fingland. Fingland is in the parish

ddington, when he was known as Sir Emilius Bayley. He took the name of Laurie when he succeeded to

d this letter contained the missing link. While the song has been generally credited to Do

e importa

a visit with his wife to some friends in Yorkshire. Mrs. B. was a somewhat famous singer of ballads. A few friends were invited to meet them one evening, and, af

of the ballad, and when Mrs. B. had finished, she spoke up: "Thank you, thank you very much! B

nal first stanza written out, dictating it to a grandniece. She had signed it with her

was desperately in love with Annie Laurie when he wrote

had said she died unmarried, while some had said she married Fer

thenticity of the lines

a' my life. My father often repeated them to m

n's banks

' clad ow

an' Anni

the barg

the barg

er forgot

onnie Ann

me down

nd na

"Clark

t 30,

version this

n's braes

rly fa's

here that

her pro

her pro

er forgot

onnie Ann

me down

re were but two stanzas,

kit like t

istit lik

p around

ye weel

ye weel

has a ro

onnie Ann

me down

e'e" has been changed, and wr

known; but no lover of the song

on the g

' o' her

er breeze

is low a

is low a

a' the w

onnie Ann

me down

y marriage of the present Duke of Buccleuch. The composer was only guessed a

ing, are inserted two marriage stones; the former that of Annie's father and mother, the latter of her grandfather and grandmother. These marriage stones are about two feet square. The initials of the bride and bridegroom, and the date of the

the house, they labo

axwelton, the chimneys of

to remove from her father's house to that of her hus

, than the Lauries. Fergusons of Craigdarrock were attached to

French gray. The delicate cotoneaster vine clings to the stones of it. There are pretty reaches of lawns and abundant shrubberies, and in one place Craigdarrock Water has been diverted to form a lake, spanned in one part by a high bridge. Sheep feed upon the hills topped with green pastures, at the south, and shaggy Hi

Captain Robert Ferguson, of the fourth gen

with peculiar ferocity. Her father, Sir Robert Laurie, was a bitter enemy of the Covenantry, an

e of Maxwelton, Caused Count

party, must have favored "compromise." Without doubt she must have worshipped with her husband in the old

with those hideous emblems which former generations seemed to delight in. But the burial-place of the Fergusons is singularly lacking in early monuments, and no stone

which I give. As a will, simply, it is of no special v

in health and sound judgement so to settle yr. worldly affairs that yrby all animosities betwixt friend and relatives may obviat and als

intromettor with my hail goods, gear, debts, and soams off money that shall pertain and belong to me the tyme of my decease, or shall be dew to me by bill, bond, or oyrway; with power to him to obtain himself confirmed and decreed exr. to me and to do everie thing for fixing and establishing the r

. La

lson, W

oat, Wi

. And it is pleasant to see that she had such entire trust in Alexander Fer

e Laurie I came upon others wholly different,

nto Scotland by a doughty Dane in the train of Anne, queen of James VI. He had won it in a drinking bout. It was a "challenge

y Burns. This final drinking bout took place October 16, 1790. The three champions were Sir Robert Laurie of Maxwelton, Alexander Ferguson of Craigdarrock-an eminent lawyer, and who must, I think, have been a grandson of Annie Laurie-and Captain

ed the fact that it is "Burns's whistle," together with the date of the contest. A silver

OF KNUCK

a Higg

' in of Old Mis' Lan

azzling sky overhead. The rain-drops still sparkled on the windows and on the green grass, and the last roses and chrysanthemums hung their beautiful heads heavily beneath the

e was a picture of dainty loveliness in a lavender gingham dress, made with a full skirt and

und her and kiss her. She was stirring something o

," he said, and sighed unconsciously. There

ine vivaciously. "Goin

Want an

shelf over the table and gave them to him. "Now, let me see." She commenced stirring again, with two little wrinkles between her brows. "A ha'f a pound o' citron; a ha'f a pound o' candied peel; two pounds o' cur'nts; two pounds o' raisins-git 'em stunned, Orville; a pound o' sooet-make 'em give you some that ain't all strings! A box o' No

ed the list. "You're a wonderfu

e. "Got a present for y

a black shawl down t' Charma

. Yuh-that is-I reckon yuh ain't picked out an

, with cold disti

rows. Two red spots came into her cheeks. "I hope the rain ain't spoilt the chrys

he said: "I expect my mother needs a black shawl, too. Seemed to m

said E

ne"-his voice broke; he came a step nearer-"it'll be t

He knew the look that flashed i

ur dinner with your mother 'f you want! I can get along alone. Are you goin' t

hat and went w

r eyelids trembled closer together. Her eyes held a far-sighted look. She saw a picture; but it was not the picture of the blue reaches of sky, and the green valley cleft by

in. She might just as well get ust to 't first as last. I wish she hadn't got to lookin' so old an' pitiful, though, a-settin' there in front o' us

y. "Say, Emarine!" She lowered her voice, although there was no one to hear. "Wh

id Orville stop by an'

he matter of h

I know o

Peterson children where the undertaker's a-g

I don't see 's he

n town says he looks so! I only h

d out Emarine, fiercely.

ort to; so I'll tell you. He's dyin' by inches

e. Sheet lightning

in' me on! Wa'n't she goin' to turn you out o' your own daughter's home? Wa'n't that what I turned her out fer? I didn't turn her out, anyhow! I only told

an' no account myself, as if I'd like to let all holts go, an' jest rest. I don't spunk up like I ust to. No, he didn't go to Peterson's-he's gawn

n with a si

and was gone. "Maybe if you'd go up in the an

Eliot herself! Run an' open the door

he loved. She was large and motherly. She wore a black dress and sh

ssed her. "I'm so glad to see you,"

doubt, if not of positive suspicion, but now it fairly beamed. She sh

e you're limpin' so. Oh, did you see the undertaker go up by he

with undertakers till I have to." She sat down and removed her black cotton gloves. "I'm gettin' to that age when

r had never said "dear" to her, and the sound of it on this old

ev'ry Christmas there. They most carry me on two chips. My son's wife, Sidonie, she nearly runs her feet off waitin' on me.

stood with her back to the older women; but her mot

ill," said Mrs

ut o' his sight. He humored her high an' low. That's jest the way Sidonie does with me. I'm gettin' cranky 's I get older, an' sometimes I'm reel cross an' sas

hand slipped, and she

emanded her m

silent, and

e? Why don't you

ntry, and presently returned with a narrow str

tion! Why don't you look what you're about? Now,

, Emarine? Never cry over spilt milk, Mrs. Endey; it makes a body get wrinkles

see why them cranberries don't come! I told Orville to hur

le's mother's as I

ned in a startled

t Orville's mother

O

?" asked

Vitus dance. She's failed harrable lately. Sh

Then Mrs. Endey said, "Wh

got to thinkin' about other Christmases. But I cheered her up. I told her what a good time I always had at my son's, an' h

led. "What she

alone. Poor old lady! she ain't got much spunk left. She's all broke down. But I cheered her up some. Sech a wishful look took holt o' her when I pictchered h

wn the path, Mrs. Endey said: "You

ad time to red

it. Where's y

on was here with all her childern, an' I had to hide up ev'rythin

egged her on to turnin' Orville's mother out o' doors, but who'd 'a' thought it 'u'd break her down so? She ain't told a soul either. I reckoned she'd talk somethin' offul about us, but she ain't told a soul. She's kep' a stiff upper lip an' told folks she al'ays expected to live alo

n. "I wonder what gran'ma Eliot 'u'd say if she

was at the table making ta

ry I egged you on, Emarine. I'm glad you t

f jelly into a golden ring of past

r daughter-'n-law Sidonie all she want

own affairs," sai

Here comes Orviile. Land

had gone home for the night, E

the fireplace, looking thou

e said briefly. "Yo

dark. Don't choo wan

keep the

ew from the way she set her heels dow

ed him from his mother. It was a hurt that had sunk deeper than even he realized. It lay heavy on his heart day and night. It took the blue out of th

ainly he never pitied himself. But he carried a heavy hea

e had made the promise deliberately, and he could no more have broken it than he could have changed the color of his eyes. When bitter feeling arises between two relatives by marriage, it

tween. He had built his own cross, and

he came to the small and poor house where her husband

ne paused and looked in. The sash was lifted six inches, for the night was

marine, resentfully, under

, an' reel plum puddin' with brandy poured over 't an' set afire, an' wine dip, an' nuts an' raisins, an' wine itself to wind up on. Ema

'll have to keep 'em till spring to git any kind o' price. I don't care much about Christmas, though"-her ch

Palmer arose slowly, grasping the back of he

to Christmas dinner. I was too busy all day to come sooner. I'm goin' to have a great dinner, an' I've cooked ev'ry single thing of it myself

er knees and put her arms around her son's wife, and sob out all her loneliness and heartache. But life is a stage; and Miss Presly was an audience not to be ignored.

were shining. "All right," she said; "an' I want that you sh'u

girl gits prettier ev'ry day o' her life. W

ty best dress and shawl. Mrs. Endey saw her coming. She ga

Emarine, calmly. "

mother-in-law, giving her mother a look of d

I just want to see his face when he comes in. Here's a new black shawl fer your Christmas. I got mother

ishly over the new shawl. She was in the old splint rocking-chair with the high back. "Mother!" he cried

to dinner o' herself! An' she give

't ever goin' back again. She's goin' to stay. I

, like a boy, in his mother's lap, and reached one strong but

o' loonatics!" she exclaimed. "Go an' burn all your Christmas dinner up, if I don't look after it! Turncoat

g in her eyes, too, th

UN'S

Rober

Geometry at Cambridge, England; fo

e retort was a just one; for the fact is, that those of us whose lot requires them to live beneath the clouds and in the gloom which so frequently brood over our Northern latitudes, have but little conception of the surpassing glory of the great orb of day as it appears to those who know it in the clear Eastern skies. The Persian recognizes in the sun not only the great source of light and of warmth

I will prove it. If the sun were a source of heat," said the rural philosopher, "then the closer you approached the sun the warmer you would find yourself. But this is not the case, for when you are climbing up a mountain you are approaching nearer to the sun all the time; but, as everybody knows, instead of feeling hotter and hotter as you ascend, y

KEN BY LEWIS M. RUTHERFURD IN

URE'S MAGAZINE, pronounces this "still the best phot

ams; it lets them pass in, but it will not let them escape. The temperature within the greenhouse is consequently raised, and thus the necessary warmth is maintained. The dwellers on this earth live in what is equivalent, in this respect, to a greenhouse. There is a copious atmosphere above our heads, and that atmosphere extends to us the same protection which the glass does to the plants in the greenhouse. The air lets the sunbeams through to the earth's surface, and then keeps

ever have kindled with all the resources of Babylon; let us think indeed of one of the most perfect of modern furnaces, in which even a substance so refractory as steel, having first attained a dazzling brilliance, can be melted so as to run like water; let us imagine the heat-dispensing power of that glittering liquid to be mu

OBERT

aph by Russel

be represented by a grain of mustard seed, then on the same scale the sun should be represented by a cocoanut. Perhaps, however, a more impressive conception of the dimensions of the great orb of day may be obtained in this way. Think of the moon, the queen of the night, which circles monthly around our heavens, pursuing, a

eat. It has indeed been estimated that if the heat which is incessantly flowing through any single square foot of the sun's exterior could be collected and applied beneath the boilers of an Atlantic l

at the sun actually pours forth. It would seem, indeed, very presumptuous for us to assume that the great sun has come into existence solely for the benefit of poor humanity. The heat and light daily lavished by that orb of incomparable splendor would suffice to warm and illuminate, quite as efficiently as the earth is warmed and lighted, mo

, if we are to suppose that all the solar heat is wasted save that minute fraction which is received by the earth. Out of every twenty million dollars' worth of heat issuing from the glorious orb of day, we on this earth barely secure the value of one single cent; and all but that insignificant trifle seems to be utterly squandered. We may say it certainly is s

illustrating the quantity of fuel which would be required, if indeed it were by successive additions of fuel that the sun's heat had to be sustained. Suppose that all the coal seams which underlie America were made to yield up their stores. Suppose that all the coal fields of England and Scotland, Australia, China, and elsewhere were compelled to contribute every combustible particle they contained. Suppose, in fact, that we extracted from this earth every ton of coal it possesses, in every island and in every continent. Suppose that this vast store of fuel, which is adequate to supply the wants of this earth for centuries, were to be accumulated in one stupendous pile. Suppose that an army of stokers, arrayed in numbers which we need

dawn of history; so it shone during those still remoter periods when great animals flourished which have now vanished forever; so it shone during that remarkable period in earth's history when the great coal forests flourished; so it shone in those remote ages many millions of years ago when life beg

the consequences of such awful prodigality been hitherto averted? How is it that the sun is still able to draw on its heat reserves from second to second, from century to century, from eon to eon, ever squandering two tho

d nor liquid, but is to a great extent gaseous. His theory of the subject has gained universal acceptance. Those who have taken the tro

CAL SU

een & Co., from "Old and New As

as to measure its diameter. We thus find that the width of the great luminary is ten inches smaller to-day than it was yesterday. Year in and year out the glorious orb of heaven is steadily diminishing at the same rate. For hundreds of years, aye, for hundreds of thousands of years, this incessant shrinking has gone on at about the same rate as it goes on at present. For hundreds of years, aye, for hundreds of thousands of years, the shrinking still will go on. As a sponge exudes moisture by continuous squeezing

L C

AND WORK, DERIVED

Harborou

o the public and to himself. It is on account of these facts that the story of his uneventful life and brilliant literary career is a highly interesting one. It shows how, by firmness of principle and a high respect of the public and himself, a

e, is Norse, and is common to this day in Iceland, from which the Norsemen came to Manxland. Caine, which means "a fighter with clubs," is Celtic. Hall Cain

GH, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE HALL

s son, Hall Caine's father, was for a living obliged to apprentice himself to a blacksmith at Ramsey. When he had learned his trade he removed, in the hopes of finding more remunerative employment, to Liverpool. Here, however, he found it so hard to support himself as a blacksmith that he set to work to learn the trade of ship's smith-a remunerative one in those days, when Liverpool was the centre of the ship-building trade. He became a skilled worker, and at the time of

graph by Bar

CRIPT, FROM "THE MANXMAN." AN A

hich glow, here yellow with the gorse, there purple with the heather. In the foreground is the beautiful old church of Ballaugh, in the cemetery of which many generations of Caines lie at rest; and between the old church and the village lies the curragh la

HALL

aph by Alfred

IN A MAN

tching his aunts cooking the oaten cake on the griddle, over a fire of turf from the curragh and gorse from the hills, or the bubbling cooking-pot slung on the slowrie. One of his earliest recollections is of his old grandmother, seated on her three-legged stool, bending over the fire, tongs in hand, renewing the fuel of gorse under the griddle. The walls of this room were covered with blue

INE'S L

otograph

ding low over the whirling yarn. "Hommybeg"-it was a pet name she had given to him-"Hommybeg," she would say, "I will tell you of the fairies." And the story that he liked best to listen to, though it so frightened him that he would run and hide his face in the folds of the blue Spanish cloak which Manx women have worn since two ships of the Great Armada were wrecked upon the island, was the

AN, WHERE MR. CAINE WROT

by Abel Lewis, Dou

was a bookish boy, wanting in boyishness, and never played games, but spent his time in reading, not boyish books, indeed, but books in which never boy before took interest-histories, theological works, and, in preference, parliamentary speeches of the great orators, which he would afterwards rewrite from memory. At a very early age he showed a great passion for poetry and was a great reader of Shakespeare. His talent for reading passages of Shakespeare aloud was such that at the school at Liverpool, where he was educated, his schoolmaster, George Gill, used to make him read aloud before all the boys. This caused him great nervous agony, he says, and he suffered horribly. He was a favorite pupil, and, in a school where corporal punishment was inflicted with great severity, was never once beaten. He left school at the age of fifteen and was apprenticed by his father to John Murray, architect and land-surveyor. The lad had no special facult

TLE, ISL

sed to see so small a lad in charge of the chainmen, and began to talk with him. He must have been impressed by the lad's conversation, for he patted his head and told him he would be a fine man yet. Mr. Gladstone has never forgotten this incident. Some time later, John Murray having failed in the meanwhile, an offer was made to Hall Caine, from the Gladstones, of the stewardship

THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT, IN THE ROW FRONTING ON THE WATE

INGS FOR T

abolition of Manx political institutions, and the boy threw himself into this discussion with characteristic ardor. His vehement articles in favor of the maintenance of the political independence, published each week in "Mona's Herald," were full of force. They attracted, howeve

flowers that are everywhere, the sea beyond, the tenderness, the color, the native poetry of it all. There are seasons, too, of strife and hurricane, of titanic forces battling in the air, when vehement and irresistible winds burst forth to make howling havoc on the bleakest heights-so they seem then-that man's foot ever trod. There are times when not one harebell nods its head in the calm air, not one seed

amiliarized him. Between the ages of sixteen and twenty this boy wrote learned leading articles on building, land-surveying, and architecture for "The Builder." George Godwin, the editor of this

. R.H.SHERARD

by George B. Cowen, Ramsey, Isle of Man. Mr. Morrison is

e schoolmaster, and for about six months kept a mixed school on the bleak headland. He is still remembered as a schoolmaster, and last year, when "The Manxman" was appearing

had not a most imperative letter from Richard Owens, which said that it was deplorable that he should be throwing his life away in such occupations, recalled him to Liverpool. To Liverpool accordingly he returned, to work as a draughtsman, and fired withal with a double ambition-for one thing to win fame as a poet, for another to succeed as a dramatist. Already in 1870 he had written a long poem, which was published in 1874 anonymously by an enterprising Liverpool publisher. About this poem George Gilfillan, to whom Hall Caine sent it in 1876, wrote that there was much in it that he admired, that it had the ring of genius, but that in parts it was spoiled by affectations of language which could, however, be remedied. Of the same poem, Rossetti, to whom it was also sent, wrote that it contained passages of genius. As

HE PRESENT FIRST DREMS

by J. E. Bruton, D

OCIATION WI

m. A meeting was arranged at the house of Henry Bright (the H.A.B, of Hawthorne); and the first thing that Lord Houghton, the biographer of Keats, said when Hall Caine came into the room was: "You have the head of Keats." He predicted that the young author would become a great critic. Another of Hall Caine's lectures, delivered durin

, "with both hands outstretched, and drew me into his

is house; at the same time-it may be to prepare him for their common life-he s

E DAN MYLREA IN "THE

hundred and fifty dollars) of money saved, to which he was afterwards able to add a sum of one hundred pounds, which Rossetti insisted on his accepting as his commission on the sale of Rossetti's picture, "Dante's Dream." It may be mentioned, to dispel certain misstatements, that this was the only financial transaction which took place between the two friends. His life in Rossetti's house was the life of a monk, seeing nobody except Burne-Jones (whom, as Ruskin will have it, he resembles closely), going nowhere and doing little. "I used to get up at noon," he says, "and usually spent my afternoon in walking about in the garden. I did not see Rossetti till dinner-time, but from that hour till three or four in the morning we were inseparable." It has been stated that Caine owed much of his suc

FIGURES IN "THE BONDM

im. I read Fielding and Smollett, Richardson, Radcliffe, 'Monk' Lewis, Thackeray, and Dickens, under a running fire of comment and criticism from Rossetti. It was terrible labor, this r

ms. It shows the extent of their friendship that, the bungalow being crowded that ni

NE'S FIR

sing him to become the novelist of Manxland. "There is a career there," he used to say, "for nothing is known about this land." The two friends had discussed Hall Caine's plot of "The Shadow of a Crime," which Rossetti had found "immensely powerful but unsympathetic," and it was with this novel that Hall Caine began his career as a writer of fiction. He had married in the meanwhile, and with forty pounds (two hundred dollars) in the bank and an assured income of a hundred (five hundred dollars) a year from the "Liverpool Mercury," he went with his wife to live in a small house in the Isle of Wight, to write his book. "I labored over it fearfully," he says, "but not so much as I do now over my books. At that time I on

at he calls the "literary statesmanship" which he has practised throughout his career, he will sometimes show the little book in which are entered the receipts from his various works.

PETE AND KATE WERE MAR

ETS OF LONDON IN

fered slights and humiliations; but these only strengthened his resolve. In this respect he reminds one of Zola, whom slights and humiliations only strengthened also; and in this connection it

ond novel, "A Son of Hagar." On the fly-leaf of his copy of the "Life of Coleridge" are written the words: "N.B-This book was begun October 8, 1886. It was not touched after that date until October 15th or 16th, and was finished down to last two chapters by N

nother." In the meanwhile he had decided to follow Rossetti's advice, to write a Manx novel; and having thought out the plot of "The Deemster," went to the Isle of Man to write it. It was written in six months, in one of the lodging-houses on the Esplanade at Douglas, in a fever of wounded pride. "I worked over it like a galley-slave; I poured all my memories into it," he says.

alive." "I was indifferent to its reception," he relates; "I said, that if the public did not take it, that

NING OF P

RKNEO, NEAR RAMSEY, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE LIVED "BLA

the next ten days in the Isaac Walton Inn, at Dovedale, near Derby, waiting for the fog to lift, and whilst so waiting wrote the first draft of the play, which he entitled "Ben-my-Chree," Barrett was enthusiastic about it, and "Ben-my-Chree" was duly produced for the first time at the Princess Theatre, on May 14, 1888, before a packed house, in which every literary celebrity in London was present. "The reception was enthusiastic; the next day I was a famous man." Notwithstanding its great success on the first night and the splendid eulogies of the press, "Ben-my-Chree"

OF KATE IN

hornet," and had written three acts of it, when such an outcry was made in the press against Irving's proposal to put "Mahomet" on the stage, to the certain offence of British Mohammedans, that Sir Henry telegraphed to him to say that the plan could not be carried out. He offered to compensate Hall Caine for his labor. "I refused, however, to accept one penny," says Caine, "and after relieving my feelings by spitting on my antagonists in an angry article in 'The Speaker,' I finished the play." It was accepted by Willard for production in America, but has not yet been played. "This was a great disappointment," says Caine, "and I had little heart for much work in 1890. I did nothing in that year beyond a hasty 'Life of Christ,'

go to Russia, to write about the persecutions of the Jews in that country, and in 1892 he started on this mission, which he fulfilled entirely at his own expense, declining all the offers of subsidies made to him by the Jewish Committee. He carried with him for protection against the Russian authorities, a letter from Lord Salisbury to

E "THE COTTAGE BY

broken out, numerous deaths took place every day, my own health was getting queer, and, to speak plainly, I was frightened. So we turned our faces back and returned home. On my return to London I delivered a lecture b

write the story which was to be called "The Jew," he found the task impossible. "I worked very hard at it, I turned it over in every direction in my mind, but I felt I

NG OF "TH

with the determination of fixing his residence there definitely. For the first six months he lived at Greeba Castle, a very pretty but

governor of his province in Russia; Pete, Cregeen, and Kate were to be Jews. I thought that the racial difference between the two riva

to show his little pocket-diary for 1893. Against each day during the

"that all those days I was wo

the house for an artist. As he has determined to make his home in the island, he is at present hesitating whether to purchase Greeba Castle, or to build himself a house on the Creg Malin he

ack Tom's cottage. But his warmest friends are amongst the peasants and fishermen, from one end of the island to the other. "They are such good fellows," he says, "and such excellent subjects fo

f the Haymarket Theatre. In this version Philip was the central figure. The version which has been played with much success both in America and in the provinces, was written by Wilson Barrett, with Pete as the central

most distinguished honor-in November of last year to open the Edinburgh Literary and Philosophical Institution for the winter session, his predecessors having been John Morley and Mr. Goschen. He is at this writing in America on behalf of the Authors' Society, in connection with the Canadian copyright

wife, and the two bonny lads-is noble in its simplicity, a life of high thinking, when, his

t to the fact that he has always

tuations I have in my books are not of my creation, but are taken from the Bible. 'The Deemster' is the story of the prodigal son. 'The Bondman' is the story of Esau and Jacob, though in my version sympathy attaches

he idea of justice, the idea of a Divine Justice, the idea that righteousness always works itself out, that out of hatred and malice comes Love. My theory is that a novel, a piece of imaginative writing, must end with a sense of justice, must leave the impression that justice is in

or in Hall Caine's house to find pens or ink. As a matter of fact, his wri

winter or summer, from five in the morning till breakfast time. I awake at five and lie in bed, thinking out the chapter that is to be written that day, composing it word for word. That usually takes me up till seven. From seven till eight I am engaged in mental revision of the chapter. I then get up and write it down from memory, as fast as ever the pen will flow. The rest of the morning I spend in lounging about, thinking, thinking, thinking of my book. For when I am working on a new book I think of nothing else; everything else comes to a standstill. In the afternoon I walk or ride, thinking, thinking. In the evenings, when it is dark, I walk up and down my room constructing my story. It is

ctly what I want to say. The mental strain is, of course, immense, and that forces you to go straight to your point

t of style. But-you remember the story of Gough and his diamond ring-I am determined not to let any diamond ring get between me and my audience. Writing should not get between the reader and the picture. I take a g

HBOR

ins Sha

me alone with our baby girl, the farm, an' t

n clouds; how they crept an' crawled an' squirmed through the wheat an' the corn an' the grass, bitin' an' chewin' every green thing, leavin' nothin' but black an' dry shreds, an' the earth more desolate than if a fire had swept over it. They were everywhere out-of-doors; they came into the house-down the chimney when they couldn't get in through the door-an' I've picked their bony bodies out of my pockets many a time, an' knocked 'em off the table so as I might put down a dish. I

sun a-fightin' the hoppers, an' tryin' to work when he wasn't fightin'; an' he came in with his h

ppers. They eat faster'n I can kill 'em, an' in a week the crops 'ull be about all gone. It looks as though when winter comes we won't

red in mind an' body the poor man was-an' fixed up a nice supper. When the table was all set, an' the food on it, an' everything as cheerful an' encouragin' as the hoppe

am an' fell beside him, knowin' nothin'. Yes, Micah was dead-gone to sleep

was no one but me an' the baby an' poor Micah's body; an' the hoppers a-creepin' an' a-crawlin' all through the house as if they were a-buyin' of it at auction, a-rustlin' their wings an' a-hustlin' their bodies until I thought theie was a cool wind instead of a hot, breathless m

ing a-standin' by me. "I was goin' up the road," he said, "an' thought I'd stop an'

p my hand an' pulled back the

back to a chair an' sat in it for five min

ch a thing," he cried at last, recoverin'

ory, or I should have gone crazy before it was told. He was silent for quite a spell, as if he was

you know; but I'll ride to town an' get an old lady, a friend of mine, to come out an' help you through. I'll see, too, that poor Micah has a coffin an' a minister. Be the brave little woman, Mrs.

up an' found myself alone. A-down the road was a line of dust, an' I heard

y him"-an' Micah dead only a few hours! I couldn't believe it, an' would stop an' listen for his whistle at the barn, his talk to the horses, his rattle at the pump, his footf

neighbor with motherly Mrs. Challen-an'-an'-it hurts me even now to tell it-the coffin for. Micah. In it

EN HELD ME

ow I got through those two terrible days. I can't remember distinctly. It's all dream-like, as if in a thin, grayish fog. I know that Mrs. Challen held me in her arms-for I was a fragile, girlish thing-like a mother; that the minister said words I never heard; that the strange faces of a few farm people from miles away looked at me; that the grasshoppers were under foot an' in the air an'

road, an' then to the back door, where I would call "Micah!" "Micah!"-just as I'd been used to callin' him to his meals, an' I'd listen, with my hand to my ear, to hear him answer. Last of all, worst of all, she said, I went staggerin' across the street, an', pushin' through the rough fence, threw myself upon the

hbor King was round bright an' ear

him a cheery voice, "what are we a-goin' to do now besi

relation I want to bother. Here's the place for me an' Hannah. The farm is paid for, an' all I have is here

UNERAL NEIGHBOR KING WAS

you. The hoppers won't leave much for this year; but what there is you shall have, an' I'll get my share for this year out of next year's crops. I'm glad that suits you. Now, you must not live here alone. One of my men has a sister in the village, a stout, healthy, willin' girl, who wants a home. She'll be glad to come here. I'll try to

NOT RIDE OVER THE LITTLE FARM

, sunken brown eyes. It always seemed to me as if he'd been constructed for a minister or a lawyer, an' stopped half way as a farmer. He was no half-acre farmer, but a worker of hundreds of acres; an' my little homestead was only a potato patch alongside of his. The queerest thing about his place was that there wasn't a woman on it. All the work, cookin' an' everything was done by men. Well, girls was scarce in those days an' those p

eaves. I b'lieve they'd 'a' eaten the green out of the sky if they could 'a' got at it. Why, the earth looked as if the devil had gone over it with a brush of brown pai

e the roadway of my life as pleasant as a country lane hedged in with sweet-smellin' flowers an' alive with birds nestlin' and twitterin' among the buds and blossoms. In this quiet, restful, peaceful way neighbor King came, in three years, to build his life into mine, until, thinkin' matters over, I realized that he was necessary to make that life pleasant. I didn't forget poor Micah-how could I? At the same time I felt that I could not go on alone the balance of my life with the hunger in my heart for some one to love an' to love me. An' he? Well, not a word out of line had been spoken; but I read the change in his eyes, his looks, his manners, in the tones of his

S HABIT, BUT CANTERED BY,

itself. I saw neighbor King comin' down the road from the village, on his pony. He didn't stop, as was his habit, but cantered by, head down and reins loose. Then, as if he'd forgotten somethin', he w

natures, makin' women different creatures-more bold, more forgetful of friends, less kindly to their sex, than those of the country; an' he said it all as slowly an' sof

of women folks that it seems odd to me that you never have a

s presence where I can see her. I would give all I am worth if I could take a good woman by the hand as my wife, an' go forth even to begin life over again. Hunger an' thirst are terrible; but they are easily borne in comparison with the hunger an' thirst for a woman's love that I have endured for years. No one can realize my lonesomeness, Mrs. Pyncheon;" an' reachin' out h

hands came away from his with a wrench, an' I drew away, feelin' hurt

sly insane for ten years. You buried Micah an' mourned for him, knowin' he was dead; I buried my wife alive, God knows whether I've grieved for her. She is in an insane asylum. For years I could not break away an' leave her; it seemed so heartless to desert one who had

hink of what you've done for me, an' how you've thought of me, all when the world was the

his face lightin' up in a way it was unused to, an' then he said, "Thank you, Mrs. Pyncheon; I think I understand. I shall not forget this

e I grieved for the poor man, chained, so to speak, to a crazy person, bearin' his unseen burden so uncomplainingly, an' doin' God-like work all the year round. But the more I thought over t

I expected as much for a time. Finally, one of the hired men said he'd gone away. Then I put my lips together in a dogged way an' settled down to a lonesome life, cheered a little by the prattle of little Hannah, an' kept from rust

HT ME A LETTER-THE FI

ong time before I opened it, wondering what strange news it had for me to know, why I should have it, an' what I should do with it now it had come. I knew the writin

August

ind that my wife h

ce K

g years, nobody but himself could know. Now that he was free, possibly he would sell his farm an' go back to the city to live, an' I, to whom he had been so good an' grand, would soon be forgotten. Ah! that was a bitin' thought. It almost crazed me, now that I knew how much I loved him, to think of being left alone to grow old an' wrinkled an' withered, an' no words of comfort to cheer me up along the path walked by nobody but myself. I knew he was too great a man to plough his talents into the soil or to hide the light of his intellect in the jungles of his fields of wheat or corn. That

be comin' back," I whisp

said, bendin' over an' kissin' me again. "Di

's all plain now, an' I'm so happy;" an' like a little fool was off to cr

the golden mornin' that brought such sweet relief an' rest. The thought troubles me now an' then, but I don't believe that Micah

y an' soul together; with few joys, an' but little else than sighin'; an' the great world made no more for me than a little farm, a little ho

THE DARD

y Wa

d-mile Ride on the E

appho, if

oat is dr

island, sp

, and if

island i

appho, sp

ppho, they

hair, a he

alo for

yes, I hav

tars. Oh, f

appho, sp

a. There is, to be sure, a projected railway out of the Sultan's city into the interior, but only completed to Angora, three hundred and sixty-five

GS, CONST

own, and then made an effort to secure from the office of the titled German who stands for the railway company, some

d asked them for some printed matter or photographs, or anything that would throw a little light along the line of their plague-stricken railwa

sert for a period of thirty nights, between the earth and the heavens, and found a better bed than was made by the ossified mattress and petrified pillows of the "Daphne." It was bad enough to breathe the foul air that came up from the camping pilgrims on the main deck; but the first day out we learned that these ugly Armenians, greasy Greeks, and buggy Bed

STATION AT CO

where the bird-seeds come from. The day broke beautifully, and the little sea was as calm as a summer lake. By ten o'

, at every landing-place kindly poi

where Byron swam the sea from Europe to Asia; and over there is where King Midas lived, whose touch turne

the day a most enjoyable one, and just at

er there? That was

rkish government, and splendid fellows-a Belgian, and the writer. We entered a café concert, where one man and five or six girls sat in a sort of balcony at one end of the building and played at "fiddle." The main hall was filled with small ta

eer with a Greek, sat this evening with a dark Egyptian, almost jet-black. The Greek-a hollow-chested, long-haired fellow-came in, and, the moment he saw the girl with the chalk-eyed Egyptian, turned red, then white, and then whipping out a pistol levelled

pho, hoisted anchor, and steamed away. On the whole, however, the day had been most delightful

Smyrna, the garden of Asia Minor. Here I went ashore wi

AILROAD IN

perintendent, showed us through the shops and buildings. One does not need to be told that this property is managed by an English company. I saw here the neatest, cleanest shops that I have ever seen in any co

he Greeks and Catholics about equally divided; otherwise, the faction in the majority would lord it over the weaker band to the

ross to Bagdad, though it is hinted by people not interested that the Sultan's government favors the sleepy German company,

, dreary, windy night, and the Turks fought hard for the ship's ladder; for we had on board a wise old priest from Paris, with a string of six or eight young priests, who were to unload a

e a little railway runs up to Tarsus. As we arrived at this place after sunset, which ends the Turkish day, we were obliged to lie here twen

ROM THE

sting lesson for the whale, for not one of his kind has been seen in the Mediterranean since. All day we watched them hoist crying sheep and mild-eyed cattle, with a derrick, from row-boats, up over the deck, by the feet, and drop th

rives to the hills of Lebanon, through the silk farms; the genial and obliging American consul, and the Americ

F JAFFA

the Holy Land. All day the Russian steamer, which we were to take, had been loading with deck or steerage passengers, poorer and sicker and hungrier, if possible,

rom Port Sa?d to Beyrout, unable to land. The good captain caused a canvas to be stretched over the shivering, suffering mob that covered the deck, but the pitiless rain beat in, and the wind moaned the rigging, and the ship rolled and pitched

storming a ship at Jaffa. Of course, the ladders are filled first, then those who have missed the ladders drive bang against the

SCENE IN

down into the broad boats that lay so thick at the ship's side as to hide the sea entirely. When

re-armed and bare-legged boatmen yelled and wrenched her hands from the chains. By the time the Mohammedans had shaken her loose, and the victim had crossed herself, the ladder was six or eight feet from the small boat; but it was too late to stay her now, even if the Arabs had wished to, but they did not. When she made the sign of the cross, that decided them, and they let her drop. Some waiting Turks made a feeble attempt to catch the sprawling woman, but not much

, and, before she could get up, three large women were dropped in her lap. Just then the boat, being full, pulled off, and

he Christians; "don't be af

ound for Jerusalem. It will be midnight when they arrive at the Holy City, and they will have no money and no place to sleep. Ah, I forgot. They will go to the Russian hospice, where they will find free board and lodging. It is kind and thoughtful in the Russian church people to care for those poor pil

USA

go first to the Mount of Olives, survey, and try to understand the country. It is easy to believe that this is the original mount. There, at your feet, is the Garden of Gethsemane, and beyond the gulch of Jehoshaphat (for it is

miles away, and four thousand feet below you, lies the deep Dead Sea, beyond which are the hills of Moab. If you have been lucky enough to come up here without a guide or dragoman with a bosom full of ivory-handled revolvers and long knives, you will sit for hours spellbound. The guide tries too hard to give you your money's worth. He will not allow you to muse over these

IN JE

d much since. The Turks are still on guard at the cradle and the grave of Christ, to try and keep the devout Christians from spattering up the walls with each other'

the valley of Jehoshaphat is a deep, ugly gulch, with scarcely enough water in it to wet a postage stamp: and the Tyropoeon Valley is an alley. Then you look at the unspeakable poverty, the dreariness, the miles of piles of hueless ro

eet we met two women wh

ing my photographic machine, I had the guide throw them some coin, and made a picture, but not a good one. I was surprised that the poor beggar near whose fe

ST PORTRAI

THE FRONTISPIECE OF T

Justice of the Supreme Court of Michigan, and the f

ICHIGAN, Oct

cCLURE, Ne

ately entered upon. And what particularly pleases me is that there is nothing about the picture to indicate the low vulgarity that some persons who knew Mr. Lincoln in his early career would have us believe belonged to him at that time. The face is very far from being a coarse or brutal or sensual face. It is as refined in appearance as it is kindly. It seems almost impossible to conceive of this as the face of a man to be at the head of affairs when one of the greatest wars known to history was in progress, and who could push unflinchingly the measures necessary to bring that war to a successful end. Had it been merely a war of conquest, I think we can see in this face qualities that would h

pectfull

S M.

rofessor of History in J

ITY, BALTIMORE, MARYL

, 30 Lafayette Pla

aracter, strength, insight, and humor of the man before the burdens of office and the sins of his people began to weigh upon him. The prospect of a new life of Lincoln, revealing the Man as well as the Statesman, is most pleasing. From the previous work of Miss Tarbell on Napoleon, and from her preliminary sketches of Lincoln's boyhood, I am c

ncerely

. A

d from oblivion the great "lost speech" made by Lincoln at Bloomington in 1856, at the first meeting for organ

SACHUSETTS, Oc

n was always a noble-looking-always a highly intellectual looking man-not handsome, but no one of any force ever thought of that. All pictures, as well as the living man, show manliness in its highest tension-this as emphatically as the rest. This picture was a surprise and pleasure to me. I doubt not it i

ur

C. W

Associate Justice of the Supre

N, Octobe

CLURE,

photographs of him while he was President. I think you were fortunate in securing the daguerreotype from which this was engraved, and it will form a very interesti

truly

. B

L, of the United Stat

N, Octobe

oy; after he became a public man I saw him but few times. This portrait is Lincoln as I knew him best: his sad, dreamy eye, his pensive smile, his sad and delicate face, his pyramidal shoulders, are the c

cord

POW

r of "The First Napoleon" and

STREET, BOSTON,

cCLURE

e expression, though serious and earnest, is devoid of the sadness which characterizes the later likenesses. There is an appearance of s

ewed tha

truly

. R

essor of Finance and Poli

W JERSEY, Oct

S. Mc

It seems to me both striking and singular. The fine brows and forehead, and the pensive sweetness of the clear eyes, give to the noble face a pe

ncerely

OW WI

R, editor of the

October

CLURE, E

our new Life of Lincoln. The portraits are of extraordinary interest, especially the "earliest" portrait, which I have ne

very