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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jersey Street and Jersey Lane, by H. C. Bunner
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Jersey Street and Jersey Lane
+       Urban and Suburban Sketches
+
+Author: H. C. Bunner
+
+Illustrator: A. B. Frost
+             B. West Clinedinst
+             Irving R. Wiles
+             Kenneth Frazier
+
+Release Date: May 24, 2007 [EBook #21597]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JERSEY STREET AND JERSEY LANE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Janet Blenkinship and The Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  JERSEY STREET
+  AND JERSEY LANE
+
+  URBAN AND SUBURBAN SKETCHES
+
+
+  BY
+  H. C. BUNNER
+
+
+  ILLUSTRATED BY
+  A. B. FROST, B. WEST CLINEDINST, IRVING R. WILES
+  AND KENNETH FRAZIER
+
+  [Illustration: A TANGLED PATH]
+
+
+  NEW YORK
+  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+  1896
+
+  COPYRIGHT, 1893, 1894, 1895, 1896, BY
+  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+
+  Press of J. J. Little & Co.
+  Astor Place, New York
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  TO
+
+  A. L. B.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+
+  JERSEY AND MULBERRY                                                  1
+
+  TIEMANN'S TO TUBBY HOOK                                             33
+
+  THE BOWERY AND BOHEMIA                                              67
+
+  THE STORY OF A PATH                                                 99
+
+  THE LOST CHILD                                                     135
+
+  A LETTER TO TOWN                                                   175
+
+
+
+
+  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  "_A tangled path_"                                        FRONTISPIECE
+
+  "_The old lady sat down and wrote that letter_"                      6
+
+  "_Sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head * * * exchanges
+      a few words with him_"                                           9
+
+  "_And down in the big, red chair big sister plunks little sister_"  12
+
+  "_Then there is Mamie, the pretty girl in the window_"              14
+
+  "_And plays on the Italian bagpipes_"                               16
+
+  "_A Jewish sweater with coats on his shoulder_"                     20
+
+  "_Glass-put-in man_"                                                21
+
+  "_Poor woman with market-basket_"                                   21
+
+  "_A Chinaman who stalks on with no expression at all_"              24
+
+  "_The children are dancing_"                                        25
+
+  "_The girl you loved was * * * really grown up and too old for you_"  36
+
+  "_A few of the old family estates were kept up after a fashion_"    40
+
+  "_A random goat of poverty_"                                        41
+
+  "_The paint works that had paid for its building_"                  45
+
+  "_A mansion imposing still in spite of age_"                        49
+
+  "_She wound the great, tall, white columns with these strips_"      53
+
+  "_Here also was a certain dell_"                                    57
+
+  "_The railroad embankment beyond which lay the pretty, blue Hudson_"  59
+
+  "_The wreck of the woods where I used to scramble_"                 60
+
+  "_A little enclosure that is called a park_"                        63
+
+  "_It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door_"             64
+
+  "_An old gentleman from Rondout-on-the-Hudson_"                     70
+
+  "_Young gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon_"             72
+
+  "_A gentleman permanently in temporary difficulties_"               74
+
+  "_A jackal is a man generally of good address_"                     81
+
+  "_The Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the world_"     85
+
+  "_More and stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of_"        89
+
+  "_Probably the edibles are in the majority_"                        91
+
+  "_The Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens_"          93
+
+  "_The Anarchist Russians_"                                          94
+
+  "_The Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs_"      96
+
+  "_Through the rich man's country_"                                 108
+
+  "_A convenient way through the woods_"                             112
+
+  "_The lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that mountain_"          114
+
+  "_Malvina Dodd * * * took the winding track that her husband
+     had laid out_"                                                  118
+
+  "_Here the old man would sit down and wait_"                       120
+
+  "_He did a little grading with a mattock_"                         121
+
+  "_The laborers found it and took it_"                              125
+
+  "_The tinkers * * * and the rest of the old-time gentry of
+      the road_"                                                     128
+
+  "_I used to go down that path on the dead run_"                    131
+
+  "_'I'm Latimer,' said the man on the horse_"                       139
+
+  "_That boy of Penrhyn's--the little one with the yellow hair_"     143
+
+  "_Lanterns and hand lamps dimly lit up faces_"                     149
+
+  "_The river, the river,--oh, my boy_!"                             152
+
+  "_The father leaned forward and clutched the arms of his chair_"   155
+
+  "_They had just met after a long beat_"                            164
+
+  "_Half a dozen men naked to the waist scrubbing themselves_"       167
+
+  "_The mother knew that her lost child was found_"                  173
+
+  "_The desperate young men of the bachelor apartments_"             180
+
+  "_The hot, lifeless days of summer in your town house_"            183
+
+  "_'That's no Johnny-jumper!'_"                                     185
+
+  "_Other local troubles_"                                           189
+
+  "_You send for Pat Brannigan_"                                     192
+
+  "_A little plain strip of paper headed 'Memorandum of sale'_"      200
+
+
+
+
+JERSEY AND MULBERRY
+
+
+I found this letter and comment in an evening paper, some time ago, and
+I cut the slip out and kept it for its cruelty:
+
+     TO THE EDITOR OF THE EVENING ----.
+
+     SIR: In yesterday's issue you took occasion to speak of the
+     organ-grinding nuisance, about which I hope you will let me ask you
+     the following questions: Why must decent people all over town
+     suffer these pestilential beggars to go about torturing our senses,
+     and practically blackmailing the listeners into paying them to go
+     away? Is it not a most ridiculous excuse on the part of the police,
+     when ordered to arrest these vagrants, to tell a citizen that the
+     city license exempts these public nuisances from arrest? Let me
+     ask, Can the city by any means legalize a common-law misdemeanor?
+     If not, how can the city authorities grant exemption to these
+     sturdy beggars and vagrants by their paying for a license? The
+     Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure, it seems, provide
+     for the punishment of gamblers, dive-keepers, and other disorderly
+     persons, among whom organ-grinders fall, as being people who beg,
+     and exhibit for money, and create disorder. If this is so, why can
+     the police not be forced to intervene and forbid them their
+     outrageous behavior?--for these fellows do not only not know or
+     care for the observance of the city ordinance, which certainly is
+     binding on them, but, relying on a fellow-feeling of vulgarity with
+     the mob, resist all attempts made to remove them from the exercise
+     of their most fearful beggary, which is not even tolerated any
+     longer at Naples.
+                                                           R.
+
+       NEW YORK, _February_ 20th.
+
+     [Our correspondent's appeal should be addressed to the Board of
+     Aldermen and the Mayor. They consented to the licensing of the
+     grinders in the face of a popular protest.--ED. EVENING ----.]
+
+Now certainly that was not a good letter to write, and is not a pleasant
+letter to read; but the worst of it is, I am afraid that you can never
+make the writer of it understand why it is unfair and unwise and
+downright cruel.
+
+For I think we can figure out the personality of that writer pretty
+easily. She is a nice old or middle-aged lady, unmarried, of course;
+well-to-do, and likely to leave a very comfortable fortune behind her
+when she leaves all worldly things; and accustomed to a great deal of
+deference from her nephews and nieces. She is occasionally subject to
+nervous headaches, and she wrote this letter while she had one of her
+headaches. She had been lying down and trying to get a wink of sleep
+when the organ-grinder came under the window. It was a new organ and
+very loud, and its organ-grinder was proud of it and ground it with all
+his might, and it was certainly a very annoying instrument to delicate
+ears and sensitive nerves.
+
+Now, she might have got rid of the nuisance at once by a very simple
+expedient. If she had sent Abigail, her maid, down to the street, with a
+dime, and told her to say: "Sicka lady, no playa," poor Pedro would have
+swung his box of whistles over his shoulder and trudged contentedly on.
+But, instead, she sent Abigail down without the dime, and with
+instructions to threaten the man with immediate arrest and imprisonment.
+And Abigail went down and scolded the man with the more vigor that she
+herself had been scolded all day on account of the headache. And so
+Pedro just grinned at her in his exasperating furrin way, and played on
+until he got good and ready to go. Then he went, and the old lady sat
+down and wrote that letter, and gave it to Abigail to post.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Later in the afternoon the old lady drove out, and the fresh air did her
+a world of good, and she stopped at a toy store and bought some trifles
+for sister Mary's little girl, who had the measles. Then she came home,
+and after dinner she read Mr. Jacob Riis's book, "How the Other Half
+Lives;" and she shuddered at the picture of the Jersey Street slums on
+the title page, and shuddered more as she read of the fourteen people
+packed in one room, and of the suffering and squalor and misery of it
+all. And then she made a memorandum to give a larger check to the
+charitable society next time. Then she went to bed, not forgetting first
+to read her nightly chapter in the gospel of the carpenter's son of
+Nazareth. And she had quite forgotten all about the coarse and
+unchristian words she had written in the letter that was by that time
+passing through the hands of the weary night-shift of mail-clerks down
+in the General Post-office. And when she did read it in print, she was
+so pleased and proud of the fluency of her own diction, and so many of
+her nephews and nieces said so many admiring things about what she might
+have done if she had only gone in for literature, that it really never
+occurred to her at all to think whether she had been any more just and
+charitable than the poor ignorant man who had annoyed her.
+
+She was especially pleased with the part that had the legal phraseology
+in it, and with the scornful rebuke of the police for their
+unwillingness to disobey municipal ordinances. That was founded partly
+on something that she had heard nephew John say once, and partly on a
+general idea she has that the present administration has forcibly
+usurped the city government.
+
+Now, I have no doubt that when that organ-grinder went home at night, he
+and his large family laid themselves down to rest in a back room of the
+Jersey Street slum, and if it be so, I may sometimes see him when I look
+out of a certain window of the great red-brick building where my office
+is, for it lies on Mulberry Street, between Jersey and Houston. My own
+personal and private window looks out on Mulberry Street. It is in a
+little den at the end of a long string of low-partitioned offices
+stretching along the Mulberry Street side; and we who tenant them have
+looked out of the windows for so many years that we have got to know, at
+least by sight, a great many of the dwellers thereabouts. We are almost
+in the very heart of that "mob" on whose "fellow-feeling of vulgarity"
+the fellows who grind the organ rely to sustain them in their outrageous
+behavior. And, do you know, as we look out of those windows, year after
+year, we find ourselves growing to have a fellow-feeling of vulgarity
+with that same mob.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The figure and form which we know best are those of old Judge
+Phoenix--for so the office-jester named him when we first moved in,
+and we have known him by that name ever since. He is a fat old Irishman,
+with a clean-shaven face, who stands summer and winter in the side
+doorway that opens, next to the little grocery opposite, on the
+alley-way to the rear tenement. Summer and winter he is buttoned to his
+chin in a faded old black overcoat. Alone he stands for the most part,
+smoking his black pipe and teetering gently from one foot to the other.
+But sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head comes out of the
+alley-way and exchanges a few words with him before she goes to the
+little grocery to get a loaf of bread, or a half-pint of milk, or to
+make that favorite purchase of the poor--three potatoes, one turnip,
+one carrot, four onions, and the handful of kale--a "b'ilin'." And
+there is also another old man, a small and bent old man, who has some
+strange job that occupies odd hours of the day, who stops on his way to
+and from work to talk with the Judge. For hours and hours they talk
+together, till one wonders how in the course of years they have not come
+to talk themselves out. What can they have left to talk about? If they
+had been Mezzofanti and Macaulay, talking in all known languages on all
+known topics, they ought certainly to have exhausted the resources of
+conversation long before this time.
+
+Judge Phoenix must be a man of independent fortune, for he toils not,
+neither does he spin, and the lilies of the field could not lead a more
+simple vegetable life, nor stay more contentedly in one place. Perhaps
+he owns the rear tenement. I suspect so, for he must have been at one
+time in the labor-contract business. This, of course, is a mere guess,
+founded upon the fact that we once found the Judge away from his post
+and at work. It was at the time they were repaving Broadway with the
+great pavement. We discovered the Judge at the corner of Bleecker Street
+perched on a pile of dirt, doing duty as sub-section boss. He was
+talking to the drivers of the vehicles that went past him, through the
+half-blockaded thoroughfare, and he was addressing them, after the true
+professional contractor's style, by the names of their loads.
+
+"Hi there, sand," he would cry, "git along lively! Stone, it's you the
+boss wants on the other side of the street! Dhry-goods, there's no place
+for ye here; take the next turn!" It was a proud day for the old Judge,
+and I have no doubt that he talks it over still with his little bent old
+crony, and boasts of vain deeds that grow in the telling.
+
+Judge Phoenix is not, however, without mute company. Fair days and
+foul are all one to the Judge, but on fair days his companion is brought
+out. In front of the grocery is a box with a sloping top, on which are
+little bins for vegetables. In front of this box, again, on days when it
+is not raining or snowing, a little girl of five or six comes out of the
+grocery and sets a little red chair. Then she brings out a smaller girl
+yet, who may be two or three, a plump and puggy little thing; and down
+in the red chair big sister plunks little sister, and there till next
+mealtime little sister sits and never so much as offers to move. She
+must have been trained to this unchildlike self-imprisonment, for she is
+lusty and strong enough. Big sister works in the shop, and once in a
+while she comes out and settles little sister more comfortably in her
+red chair; and then little sister has the sole moment of relief from a
+monotonous existence. She hammers on big sister's face with her fat
+little hands, and with such skill and force does she direct the blows
+that big sister often has to wipe her streaming eyes. But big sister
+always takes it in good part, and little sister evidently does it, not
+from any lack of affection, but in the way of healthy exercise. Then big
+sister wipes little sister's nose and goes back into the shop. I suppose
+there is some compact between them.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Of course there is plenty of child life all up and down the sidewalk on
+both sides, although little sister never joins in it. My side of the
+street swarms with Italian children, most of them from Jersey Street,
+which is really not a street, but an alley. Judge Phoenix's side is
+peopled with small Germans and Irish. I have noticed one peculiar thing
+about these children: they never change sides. They play together most
+amicably in the middle of the street or in the gutter, but neither
+ventures beyond its neutral ground.
+
+Judge Phoenix and little sister are by far the most interesting
+figures to be seen from my windows, but there are many others whom we
+know. There is the Italian barber whose brother dropped dead while
+shaving a customer. You would never imagine, to see the simple and
+unaffected way in which he comes out to take the air once in a while,
+standing on the steps of his basement, and twirling his tin-backed comb
+in idle thought, that he had had such a distinguished death in his
+family. But I don't let him shave me.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then there is Mamie, the pretty girl in the window with the
+lace-curtains, and there is her epileptic brother. He is insane, but
+harmless, and amusing, although rather trying to the nerves. He comes
+out of the house in a hurry, walks quickly up the street for twenty or
+thirty feet, then turns suddenly, as if he had forgotten something, and
+hurries back, to reappear two minutes later from the basement door, only
+to hasten wildly in another direction, turn back again, plunge into the
+basement door, emerge from the upper door, get half way down the block,
+forget it again, and go back to make a new combination of doors and
+exits. Sometimes he is ten or twenty minutes in the house at one time.
+Then we suppose he is having a fit. Now, it seems to me that that
+modest retirement shows consideration and thoughtfulness on his part.
+
+In the window next to Mamie's is a little, putty-colored face, and a
+still smaller white face, that just peeps over the sill. One belongs to
+the mulatto woman's youngster. Her mother goes out scrubbing, and the
+little girl is alone all day. She is so much alone, that the sage-green
+old bachelor in the second den from mine could not stand it, last
+Christmas time, so he sent her a doll on the sly. That's the other face.
+
+Then there is the grocer, who is a groceress, and the groceress's
+husband. I wish that man to understand, if his eye ever falls upon this
+page--for wrapping purposes, we will say--that, in the language of
+Mulberry Street, I am on to him. He has got a job recently, driving a
+bakery wagon, and he times his route so that he can tie up in front of
+his wife's grocery every day at twelve o'clock, and he puts in a solid
+hour of his employer's time helping his wife through the noonday rush.
+But he need not fear. In the interests of the higher morality I suppose
+I ought to go and tell his employer about it. But I won't. My morals
+are not that high.
+
+Of course we have many across-the-street friends, but I cannot tell you
+of them all. I will only mention the plump widow who keeps the
+lunch-room and bakery on the Houston Street corner, where the boys go
+for their luncheon. It is through her that many interesting details of
+personal gossip find their way into this office.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Jersey Street, or at least the rear of it, seems to be given up wholly
+to the Italians. The most charming tenant of Jersey Street is the lovely
+Italian girl, who looks like a Jewess, whose mission in life seems to be
+to hang all day long out of her window and watch the doings in the
+little stone-flagged courts below her. In one of these an old man
+sometimes comes out, sits him down in a shady corner, and plays on the
+Italian bagpipes, which are really more painful than any hand-organ
+that ever was made. After a while his wife opens hostilities with him
+from her window. I suppose she is reproaching him for an idle devotion
+to art, but I cannot follow the conversation, although it is quite loud
+enough on both sides. But the handsome Italian girl up at the window
+follows the changes of the strife with the light of the joy of battle in
+her beautiful dark eyes, and I can tell from her face exactly which of
+the old folk is getting the better of it.
+
+But though the life of Jersey and Mulberry Streets may be mildly
+interesting to outside spectators who happen to have a fellow-feeling of
+vulgarity with the mob, the mob must find it rather monotonous. Jersey
+Street is not only a blind alley, but a dead one, so far as outside life
+is concerned, and Judge Phoenix and little sister see pretty much the
+same old two-and-sixpence every day. The bustle and clamor of Mulberry
+Bend are only a few blocks below them, but the Bend is an exclusive
+slum; and Police Headquarters--the Central Office--is a block above, but
+the Central Office deals only with the refinements of artistic crime,
+and is not half so interesting as an ordinary police station. The
+priests go by from the school below, in their black robes and tall silk
+hats, always two by two, marching with brisk, business-like tread. An
+occasional drunken man or woman wavers along, but generally their faces
+and their conditions are both familiar. Sometimes two men hurry by,
+pressing side by side. If you have seen that peculiar walk before you
+know what it means. Two light steel rings link their wrists together.
+The old man idly watches them until they disappear in the white marble
+building on the next block. And then, of course, there is always a thin
+stream of working folk going to and fro upon their business.
+
+In spring and in fall things brighten a little. Those are the seasons of
+processions and religious festivals. Almost every day then, and
+sometimes half a dozen times in a day, the Judge and the baby may see
+some Italian society parading through the street. Fourteen proud sons of
+Italy, clad in magnificent new uniforms, bearing aloft huge silk
+banners, strut magnificently in the rear of a German band of
+twenty-four pieces, and a drum-corps of a dozen more. Then, too, come
+the religious processions, when the little girls are taken to their
+first communion. Six sturdy Italians struggle along under the weight of
+a mighty temple or pavilion, all made of colored candles--not the dainty
+little pink trifles with rosy shades of perforated paper, that light our
+old lady's dining-table--but the great big candles of the Romish Church
+(a church which, you may remember, is much affected of the mob,
+especially in times of suffering, sickness, or death); mighty candles,
+six and eight feet tall, and as thick as your wrist, of red and blue and
+green and yellow, arranged in artistic combinations around a statue of
+the Virgin. From this splendid structure silken ribbons stream in all
+directions, and at the end of each ribbon is a little girl--generally a
+pretty little girl--in a white dress bedecked with green bows. And each
+little girl leads by the hand one smaller than herself, sometimes a
+toddler so tiny that you marvel that it can walk at all. Some of the
+little ones are bare-headed, but most of them wear the square head-cloth
+of the Italian peasant, such as their mothers and grandmothers wore in
+Italy. At each side of the girls marches an escort of proud parents,
+very much mixed up with the boys of the families, who generally appear
+in their usual street dress, some of them showing through it in
+conspicuous places. And before and behind them are bands and drum-corps,
+and societies with banners, and it is all a blare of martial music and
+primary colors the whole length of the street.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But these are Mulberry Street's brief carnival seasons, and when their
+splendor is departed the block relapses into workaday dulness, and the
+procession that marches and counter-marches before Judge Phoenix and
+little sister in any one of the long hours between eight and twelve and
+one and six is something like this:
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  UP.                          DOWN.
+
+  Detective taking
+    prisoner to
+    Central Office.
+                               Chinaman.
+  Messenger boy.               Two house-painters.
+  Two priests.                 Boy with basket.
+  Jewish sweater,              Boy with tin
+    with coats on                beer-pails on a
+    his shoulder.                stick.
+  Carpenter.
+  Another Chinaman.
+  Drunken woman
+    (a regular).
+  Glass-put-in
+    man.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  UP.                          DOWN.
+
+  Washer woman
+    with clothes.
+  Poor woman
+    with market-basket.
+                               Drunken man.
+  Undertaker's
+    man carrying
+    trestles.
+  Butcher's boy.
+  Two priests.                 Detective
+                                 coming back
+                                 from Central
+                                 Office
+                                 alone.
+
+Such is the daily march of the mob in Mulberry Street near the mouth of
+Jersey's blind alley, and such is its outrageous behavior as observed by
+a presumably decent person from the windows of the big red-brick
+building across the way.
+
+Suddenly there is an explosion of sound under the decent person's
+window, and a hand-organ starts off with a jerk like a freight train on
+a down grade, that joggles a whole string of crashing notes. Then it
+gets down to work, and its harsh, high-pitched, metallic drone makes the
+street ring for a moment. Then it is temporarily drowned by a chorus of
+shrill, small voices. The person--I am afraid his decency begins to drop
+off him here--leans on his broad window-sill and looks out. The street
+is filled with children of every age, size, and nationality; dirty
+children, clean children, well-dressed children, and children in rags,
+and for every one of these last two classes put together a dozen
+children who are neatly and cleanly but humbly clad--the children of the
+self-respecting poor. I do not know where they have all swarmed from.
+There were only three or four in sight just before the organ came; now
+there are several dozen in the crowd, and the crowd is growing. See, the
+women are coming out in the rear tenements. Some male passers-by line up
+on the edge of the sidewalk and look on with a superior air. The Italian
+barber has come all the way up his steps, and is sitting on the rail.
+Judge Phoenix has teetered forward at least half a yard, and stands
+looking at the show over the heads of a little knot of women hooded with
+red plaid shawls. The epileptic boy comes out on his stoop and stays
+there at least three minutes before the area-way swallows him. Up above
+there is a head in almost every casement. Mamie is at her window, and
+the little mulatto child at hers. There are only two people who do not
+stop and look on and listen. One is a Chinaman, who stalks on with no
+expression at all on his blank face; the other is the boy from the
+printing-office with a dozen foaming cans of beer on his long stick. But
+he does not leave because he wants to. He lingers as long as he can, in
+his passage through the throng, and disappears in the printing-house
+doorway with his head screwed half way around on his shoulders. He would
+linger yet, but the big foreman would call him "Spitzbube!" and would
+cuff his ears.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The children are dancing. The organ is playing "On the Blue Alsatian
+Mountains," and the little heads are bobbing up and down to it in time
+as true as ever was kept. Watch the little things! They are really
+waltzing. There is a young one of four years old. See her little worn
+shoes take the step and keep it! Dodworth or DeGarmo could not have
+taught her better. I wonder if either of them ever had so young a pupil.
+And she is dancing with a girl twice her size. Look at that ring of
+children--all girls--waltzing round hand in hand! How is that for a
+ladies' chain? Well, well, the heart grows young to see them. And now
+look over to the grocery. Big sister has come out and climbed on the
+vegetable-stand, and is sitting in the potatoes with little sister in
+her lap. Little sister waves her fat, red arms in the air and shrieks in
+babyish delight. The old women with the shawls over their heads are
+talking together, crooning over the spectacle in their Irish way:
+
+[Illustration: THE CHILDREN ARE DANCING. THE ORGAN IS PLAYING "ON THE
+BLUE ALSATIAN MOUNTAINS"]
+
+"Thot's me Mary Ann, I was tellin' ye about, Mrs. Rafferty, dancin' wid
+the little one in the green apron."
+
+"It's a foine sthring o' childher ye have, Mrs. Finn!" says Mrs.
+Rafferty, nodding her head as though it were balanced on wires. And so
+the dance goes on.
+
+In the centre of it all stands the organ-grinder, swarthy and
+black-haired. He has a small, clear space so that he can move the one
+leg of his organ about, as he turns from side to side, gazing up at the
+windows of the brick building where the great wrought-iron griffins
+stare back at him from their lofty perches. His anxious black eyes rove
+from window to window. The poor he has always with him, but what will
+the folk who mould public opinion in great griffin-decorated buildings
+do for him?
+
+I think we will throw him down a few nickels. Let us tear off a scrap of
+newspaper. Here is a bit from the society column of the _Evening_ ----.
+That will do excellently well. We will screw the money up in that, and
+there it goes, _chink_! on the pavement below. There, look at that grin!
+Wasn't it cheap at the price?
+
+I wish he might have had a monkey to come up and get the nickels. We
+shall never see the organ-grinder's monkey in the streets of New York
+again. I see him, though. He comes out and visits me where I live among
+the trees, whenever the weather is not too cold to permit him to travel
+with his master. Sometimes he comes in a bag, on chilly days; and my own
+babies, who seem to be born with the fellow-feeling of vulgarity with
+the mob, invite him in and show him how to warm his cold little black
+hands in front of the kitchen range.
+
+I do not suppose, even if it were possible to get our good old maiden
+lady to come down to Mulberry Street and sit at my window when the
+organ-grinder comes along, she could ever learn to look at the mob with
+friendly, or at least kindly, eyes; but I think she would learn--and she
+is cordially invited to come--that it is not a mob that rejoices in
+"outrageous behavior," as some other mobs that we read of have
+rejoiced--notably one that gave a great deal of trouble to some very
+"decent people" in Paris toward the end of the last century. And I think
+that she even might be induced to see that the organ-grinder is
+following an honest trade, pitiful as it be, and not exercising a
+"fearful beggary." He cannot be called a beggar who gives something that
+to him, and to thousands of others, is something valuable, in return for
+the money he asks of you. Our organ-grinder is no more a beggar than is
+my good friend Mr. Henry Abbey, the honestest and best of operatic
+impresarios. Mr. Abbey can take the American opera house and hire Mr.
+Seidl and Mr. ---- to conduct grand opera for your delight and mine, and
+when we can afford it we go and listen to his perfect music, and, as
+our poor contributions cannot pay for it all, the rich of the land meet
+the deficit. But this poor, foot-sore child of fortune has only his
+heavy box of tunes and a human being's easement in the public highway.
+Let us not shut him out of that poor right because once in a while he
+wanders in front of our doors and offers wares that offend our finer
+taste. It is easy enough to get him to betake himself elsewhere, and, if
+it costs us a few cents, let us not ransack our law-books and our moral
+philosophies to find out if we cannot indict him for constructive
+blackmail, but consider the nickel or the dime a little tribute to the
+uncounted weary souls who love his strains and welcome his coming.
+
+For the editor of the _Evening_ ---- was wrong when he said that the
+Board of Aldermen and the Mayor consented to the licensing of the
+organ-grinder "in the face of a popular protest." There was a protest,
+but it was not a popular protest, and it came face to face with a demand
+that _was_ popular. And the Mayor and the Board of Aldermen did rightly,
+and did as should be done in this American land of ours, when they
+granted the demand of the majority of the people, and refused to heed
+the protest of a minority. For the people who said YEA on this question
+were as scores of thousands or hundreds of thousands to the thousands of
+people who said NAY; and the vexation of the few hangs light in the
+balance against even the poor scrap of joy which was spared to
+innumerable barren lives.
+
+And so permit me to renew my invitation to the old lady.
+
+
+
+
+TIEMANN'S TO TUBBY HOOK
+
+
+If you ever were a decent, healthy boy, or if you can make believe that
+you once were such a boy, you must remember that you were once in love
+with a girl a great deal older than yourself. I am not speaking of the
+big school-girl with whom you thought you were in love, for one little
+while--just because she wouldn't look at you, and treated you like a
+little boy. _She_ had, after all, but a tuppenny temporary superiority
+to you; and, after all, in the bottom of your irritated little soul, you
+knew it. You knew that, proud beauty that she was, she might have to
+lower her colors to her little sister before that young minx got into
+the first class and--comparatively--long dresses.
+
+No, I am talking of the girl you loved who was not only really grown up
+and too old for you, but grown up almost into old-maidhood, and too old
+perhaps for anyone. She was not, of course, quite an old maid, but she
+was so nearly an old maid as to be out of all active competition with
+her juniors--which permitted her to be her natural, simple self, and to
+show you the real charm of her womanhood. Neglected by the men, not yet
+old enough to take to coddling young girls after the manner of motherly
+old maids, she found a hearty and genuine pleasure in your boyish
+friendship, and you--you adored her. You saw, of course, as others saw,
+the faded dulness of her complexion; you saw the wee crow's-feet that
+gathered in the corners of her eyes when she laughed; you saw the faint
+touches of white among the crisp little curls over her temples; you saw
+that the keenest wind of Fall brought the red to her cheeks only in two
+bright spots, and that no soft Spring air would ever bring her back the
+rosy, pink flush of girlhood: you saw these things as others saw
+them--no, indeed, you did not; you saw them as others could not, and
+they only made her the more dear to you. And you were having one of the
+best and most valuable experiences of your boyhood, to which you may
+look back now, whatever life has brought you, with a smile that has in
+it nothing of regret, of derision, or of bitterness.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Suppose that this all happened long ago--that you had left a couple of
+quarter-posts of your course of three-score-years-and-ten between that
+young lover and your present self; and suppose that the idea came to you
+to seek out and revisit this dear faded memory. And suppose that you
+were foolish enough to act upon the idea, and went in search of her and
+found her--not the wholesome, autumn-nipped comrade that you remembered,
+a shade or two at most frostily touched by the winter of old age--but a
+berouged, beraddled, bedizened old make-believe, with wrinkles plastered
+thick, and skinny shoulders dusted white with powder--ah me, how you
+would wish you had not gone!
+
+And just so I wished that I had not gone, when, the other day, I was
+tempted back to revisit the best beloved of all the homes of my nomadic
+boyhood.
+
+I remembered four pleasant years of early youth when my lot was cast in
+a region that was singularly delightful and grateful and lovable,
+although the finger of death had already touched its prosperity and
+beauty beyond all requickening.
+
+It was a fair countryside of upland and plateau, lying between a
+majestic hill-bordered river and an idle, wandering, marshy, salt creek
+that flowed almost side by side with its nobler companion for several
+miles before they came together at the base of a steep, rocky height,
+crowned with thick woods. This whole country was my playground, a strip
+some four or five miles long, and for the most of the way a mile wide
+between the two rivers, with the rocky, wooded eminence for its northern
+boundary.
+
+In the days when the broad road that led from the great city was a
+famous highway, it had run through a country of comfortable farm-houses
+and substantial old-fashioned mansions standing in spacious grounds of
+woodland and meadow. These latter occupied the heights along the great
+river, like a lofty breastwork of aristocracy, guarding the humbler
+tillers of the soil in the more sheltered plains and hollows behind
+them. The extreme north of my playground had been, within my father's
+easy remembering, a woodland wild enough to shelter deer; and even in my
+boyhood there remained patches of forest where once in a while the
+sharp-eyed picked up gun-flints and brass buttons that had been dropped
+among those very trees by the marauding soldiery of King George III. of
+tyrannical memory. There was no deer there when I was a boy. Deer go
+naturally with a hardy peasantry, and not naturally, perhaps, but
+artificially, with the rich and great. But deer cannot coexist with a
+population composed of what we call "People of Moderate Means." It is
+not in the eternal fitness of things that they should.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+For, as I first knew our neighborhood, it was a suburb as a physical
+fact only. As a body politic, we were a part of the great city, and
+those twain demons of encroachment, Taxes and Assessments, had
+definitively won in their battle with both the farmers and the
+country-house gentry. To the south, the farms had been wholly routed out
+of existence. A few of the old family estates were kept up after a
+fashion, but it was only as the officers of a defeated garrison are
+allowed to take their own time about leaving their quarters. Along the
+broad highway some of them lingered, keeping up a poor pretence of
+disregarding new grades and levels, and of not seeing the little
+shanties that squatted under their very windows, or the more offensive
+habitations of a more pretentious poverty that began to range themselves
+here and there in serried blocks.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Poor people of moderate means! Nobody wants you, except the real estate
+speculator, and he wants you only to empty your light pockets for you,
+and to leave you to die of cheap plumbing in the poor little sham of a
+house that he builds to suit your moderate means and his immoderate
+greed. Nowhere are you welcome, except where contractors are digging new
+roads and blasting rocks and filling sunken lots with ashes and tin
+cans. The random goat of poverty browses on the very confines of the
+scanty, small settlement of cheap gentility where you and your
+neighbors--people of moderate means like yourself--huddle together in
+your endless, unceasing struggle for a home and self-respect. You know
+that your smug, mean little house, tricked out with machine-made
+scroll-work, and insufficiently clad in two coats of ready-mixed paint,
+is an eyesore to the poor old gentleman who has sold you a corner of his
+father's estate to build it on. But there it is--the whole hard business
+of life for the poor--for the big poor and the little poor, and the
+unhappiest of all, the moderately poor. _He_ must sell strip after strip
+of the grounds his father laid out with such loving and far-looking
+pride. _You_ must buy your narrow strip from him, and raise thereon your
+tawdry little house, calculating the cost of every inch of construction
+in hungry anxiety of mind. And then you must sit down in your narrow
+front-room to stare at the squalid shanty of the poor man who has
+squatted right in your sight, on the land condemned for the new avenue;
+to wish that the street might be cut through and the unsightly hovel
+taken away--and then to groan in spirit as you think of the assessment
+you must pay when the street _is_ cut through.
+
+And yet you must live, oh, people of moderate means! You have your loves
+and your cares, your tastes and your ambitions, your hopes and your
+fears, your griefs and your joys, just like the people whom you envy and
+the people who envy you. As much as any of them, you have the capacity
+for pain and for pleasure, for loving and for being loved, that gives
+human beings a right to turn the leaves of the book of life and spell
+out its lesson for themselves. I know this; I know it well; I was
+beginning to find it out when I first came to that outpost suburb of New
+York, in the trail of your weary army.
+
+But I was a boy then, and no moderateness of earthly means could rob me
+of my inheritance in the sky and the woods and the fields, in the sun
+and the snow and the rain and the wind, and in every day's weather, of
+which there never was any kind made that has not some delight in it to a
+healthful body and heart. And on this inheritance I drew such great,
+big, liberal, whacking drafts that, I declare, to this very day, some
+odd silver pieces of the resultant spending-money keep turning up, now
+and then, in forgotten pockets of my mind.
+
+The field of my boyish activity was practically limited by the existing
+conditions of the city's growth. With each year there was less and less
+temptation to extend that field southward. The Bloomingdale Road, with
+its great arching willows, its hospitable old road-houses withdrawn from
+the street and hidden far down shady lanes that led riverward--the
+splendid old highway retained something of its charm; but day by day the
+gridiron system of streets encroached upon it, and day by day the
+shanties and the cheap villas crowded in along its sides, between the
+old farmsteads and the country-places. And then it led only to the raw
+and unfinished Central Park, and to the bare waste and dreary fag-end of
+a New York that still looked upon Union Square as an uptown quarter.
+Besides that, the lone scion of respectability who wandered too freely
+about the region just below Manhattanville, was apt to get his head
+most beautifully punched at the hands of some predatory gang of
+embryonic toughs from the shanties on the line of the aqueduct.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+That is how our range--mine and the other boys'--was from Tiemann's to
+Tubby Hook; that is, from where ex-Mayor Tiemann's fine old house, with
+its long conservatories, sat on the edge of the Manhattanville bluff and
+looked down into the black mouths of the chimneys of the paint-works
+that had paid for its building, up to the little inn near the junction
+of Spuyten Duyvil Creek and the Hudson River. Occasionally, of course,
+the delight of the river front tempted us farther down. There was an
+iron-mill down there (if that is the proper name for a place where they
+make pig-iron), whose operations were a perpetual joy to boyhood's
+heart. The benevolent lovers of the picturesque who owned this mill had
+a most entrancing way of making their castings late in the afternoon, so
+as to give a boy a chance to coast or skate, an hour after school
+closed, before it was time to slip down to the grimy building on the
+river's bank, and peer through the arched doorway into the great, dark,
+mysterious cavern with its floor of sand marked out in a pattern of
+trenches that looked as if they had been made by some gigantic
+double-toothed comb--a sort of right-angled herring-bone pattern. The
+darkness gathered outside, and deepened still faster within that gloomy,
+smoke-blackened hollow. The workmen, with long iron rods in their hands,
+moved about with the cautious, expectant manner of men whose duty brings
+them in contact with a daily danger. They stepped carefully about,
+fearful of injuring the regular impressions in the smooth sand, and
+their looks turned ever with a certain anxiety to the great black
+furnace at the northern end of the room, where every now and then, at
+the foreman's order, a fiery eye would open itself for inspection and
+close sullenly, making everything seem more dark than it was before. At
+last--sometimes it was long to wait--the eye would open, and the
+foreman, looking into it, would nod; and then a thrill of excitement ran
+through the workmen at their stations and the boys in the big doorway;
+and suddenly a huge red mouth opened beneath the eye, and out poured the
+mighty flood of molten iron, glowing with a terrible, wonderful,
+dazzling color that was neither white nor red, nor rose nor yellow, but
+that seemed to partake of them all, and yet to be strangely different
+from any hue that men can classify or name. Down it flowed upon the
+sanded floor, first into the broad trench in front of the furnace, then
+down the long dorsals of the rectangular herring-bones, spreading out as
+it went into the depressions to right and left, until the mighty pattern
+of fire shone in its full length and breadth on the flood of sand; and
+the workmen, who had been coaxing the sluggish, lava-like flood along
+with their iron rods, rested from their labors and wiped their hot
+brows, while a thin cloud of steamy vapor floated up to the begrimed
+rafters. Standing in the doorway we could watch the familiar
+pattern--the sow and pigs, it was called--die down to a dull rose red,
+and then we would hurry away before blackness came upon it and wiped it
+clean out of memory and imagination.
+
+Below the foundry, too, there was a point of land whereon were certain
+elevations and depressions of turf-covered earth that were by many, and
+most certainly by me, supposed to be the ruins of a Revolutionary fort.
+I have heard long and warm discussions of the nature and history of
+these mounds and trenches, and I believe the weight of authority was
+against the theory that they were earthworks thrown up to oppose the
+passage of a British fleet. But they were good enough earthworks for a
+boy.
+
+Just above Tiemann's, on the lofty, protrudent corner made by the
+dropping of the high-road into the curious transverse valley, or swale,
+which at 125th Street crosses Manhattan Island from east to west, stood,
+at the top of a steep lawn, a mansion imposing still in spite of age,
+decay, and sorry days. The great Ionic columns of the portico, which
+stood the whole height and breadth of the front, were cracked in their
+length, and rotten in base and capital. The white and yellow paint was
+faded and blistered. Below the broad flight of crazy front-steps the
+grass grew rank in the gravel walk, and died out in brown, withered
+patches on the lawn, where only plantain and sorrel throve. It was a sad
+and shabby old house enough, but even the patches of newspaper here and
+there on its broken window-panes could not take away a certain simple,
+old-fashioned dignity from its weather-beaten face.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Here, the boys used to say, the Crazy Woman lived; but she was not
+crazy. I knew the old lady well, and at one time we were very good
+friends. She was the last daughter of an old, once prosperous family; a
+woman of bright, even brilliant mind, unhinged by misfortune,
+disappointment, loneliness, and the horrible fascination which an
+inherited load of litigation exercised upon her. The one diversion of
+her declining years was to let various parts and portions of her
+premises, on any ridiculous terms that might suggest themselves, to any
+tenants that might offer; and then to eject the lessee, either on a nice
+point of law or on general principles, precisely as she saw fit. She was
+almost invariably successful in this curious game, and when she was not,
+she promptly made friends with her victorious tenant, and he usually
+ended by liking her very much.
+
+Her family, if I remember rightly, had distinguished itself in public
+service. It was one of those good old American houses where the
+men-children are born with politics in their veins--that is, with an
+inherited sense of citizenship, and a conscious pride in bearing their
+share in the civic burden. The young man just out of college, who has
+got a job at writing editorials on the Purification of Politics, is very
+fond of alluding to such men as "indurated professional
+office-holders." But the good old gentleman who pays the young
+ex-collegian's bills sometimes takes a great deal of pleasure--in his
+stupid, old-fashioned way--in uniting with his fellow-merchants of the
+Swamp or Hanover Square, to subscribe to a testimonial to some one of
+the best abused of these "indurated" sinners, in honor of his
+distinguished services in lowering some tax-rate, in suppressing some
+nuisance, in establishing some new municipal safeguard to life or
+property. This blood in her may, in some measure, account for the vigor
+and enthusiasm with which this old lady expressed her sense of the loss
+the community had sustained in the death of President Lincoln, in April
+of 1865.
+
+Summoning two or three of us youngsters, and a dazed Irish maid fresh
+from Castle Garden and a three weeks' voyage in the steerage of an ocean
+steamer, she led us up to the top of the house, to one of those vast
+old-time garrets that might have been--and in country inns occasionally
+were--turned into ballrooms, with the aid of a few lights and sconces.
+Here was stored the accumulated garmenture of the household for
+generation upon generation; and as far as I could discover, every member
+of that family had been born into a profound mourning that had continued
+unto his or her latest day, unmitigated save for white shirts and
+petticoats. These we bore down by great armfuls to the front portico,
+and I remember that the operation took nearly an hour. When at length we
+had covered the shaky warped floor of the long porch with the strange
+heaps of black and white--linens, cottons, silks, bombazines, alpacas,
+ginghams, every conceivable fabric, in fashion or out of fashion, that
+could be bleached white or dyed black--the old lady arranged us in
+working order, and, acting at once as directress and chief worker, with
+incredible quickness and dexterity she rent these varied and multiform
+pieces of raiment into broad strips, which she ingeniously twisted, two
+or three together, stitching them at the ends to other sets of strips,
+until she had formed immensely long rolls of black and white. Mounting a
+tall ladder, with the help of the strongest and oldest of her
+assistants, she wound the great tall white columns with these strips,
+fastening them in huge spirals from top to bottom, black and white
+entwined. Then she hung ample festoons between the pillars, and
+contrived something painfully ambitious in the way of rosettes for the
+cornice and frieze.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then we all went out in the street and gazed at the work of our hands.
+The rosettes were a failure, and the old lady admitted it. I have
+forgotten whether she said they looked "mangy," or "measly," or "peaky;"
+but she conveyed her idea in some such graphic phrase. But I must ask
+you to believe me when I tell you that, from the distant street, that
+poor, weather-worn old front seemed to have taken on the very grandeur
+of mourning, with its great, clean, strong columns simply wreathed in
+black and snowy white, that sparkled a little here and there in the
+fitful, cold, spring sunlight. Of course, when you drew near to it, it
+resolved itself into a bewildering and somewhat indecent confusion of
+black petticoats, and starched shirts, and drawers, and skirts, and
+baby-clothes, and chemises, and dickies, and neck-cloths, and
+handkerchiefs, all twisted up into the most fantastic trappings of woe
+that ever decked a genuine and patriotic grief. But I am glad, for
+myself, that I can look at it all now from even a greater distance than
+the highway at the foot of the lawn.
+
+I must admit that, even in my day, the shops and houses of the Moderate
+Means colony had so fringed the broad highway with their trivial,
+common-place, weakly pretentious architecture, that very little of the
+distinctive character of the old road was left. Certainly, from
+Tiemann's to the Deaf and Dumb Asylum--about two miles of straight
+road--there was little that had any saving grace of honorable age,
+except here and there where some pioneer shanty had squatted itself long
+enough ago to have acquired a pleasant look of faded shabbiness. The
+tavern and the stage-office, it is true, kept enough of their old
+appearance to make a link between those days and the days when swarms of
+red-faced drovers, with big woollen comfortables about their big necks,
+and with fat, greasy, leather wallets stuffed full of bank-notes,
+gathered noisily there, as it was their wont to gather at all the
+"Bull's Head Taverns" in and around New York. The omnibuses that crawled
+out from New York were comparatively modern--that is, a Broadway 'bus
+rarely got ten or fifteen years beyond the period of positive
+decrepitude without being shifted to the Washington Heights line. But
+under the big shed around the corner still stood the great old George
+Washington coach--a structure about the size and shape of a small
+canal-boat, with the most beautiful patriotic pictures all over it, of
+which I only remember Lord Cornwallis surrendering his sword in the
+politest and most theatrical manner imaginable, although the poignancy
+of his feelings had apparently turned his scarlet uniform to a pale
+orange. This magnificent equipage was a trifle rheumaticky about its
+underpinning, but, drawn by four, six, or eight horses, it still took
+the road on holidays; and in winter, when the sleighing was unusually
+fine, with its wheels transformed into sectional runners like a gigantic
+bob-sled, it swept majestically out upon the road, where it towered
+above the flock of flying cutters whose bells set the air a-jingle from
+Bloomingdale to King's Bridge.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But if the beauty of Broadway as a country high-road had been marred by
+its adaptation to the exigencies of a suburb of moderate means, we boys
+felt the deprivation but little. To right and to left, as we wandered
+northward, five minutes' walk would take us into a country of green
+lanes and meadows and marshland and woodland; where houses and streets
+were as yet too few to frighten away that kindly old Dame Nature who was
+always so glad to see us. If you turned to the right--to the east, that
+is--you found the laurel-bordered fields where we played baseball--I
+don't mean that the fields sprouted with laurels for us boys in those
+old days of 29 to 34 scores, but that the _Kalmia latifolia_ crowned the
+gray rocks that cropped out all around. Farther up was the wonderful and
+mysterious old house of Madame Jumel--Aaron Burr's Madame Jumel--set
+apart from all other houses by its associations with the fierce,
+vindictive passions of that strange old woman, whom, it seems to me, I
+can still vaguely remember, seated very stiff and upright in her great
+old family carriage. At the foot of the heights, on this side, the
+Harlem River flowed between its marshy margins to join Spuyten Duyvil
+Creek--the Harlem with its floats and boats and bridges and ramshackle
+docks, and all the countless delights of a boating river. Here also was
+a certain dell, halfway up the heights overlooking McComb's Dam Bridge,
+where countless violets grew around a little spring, and where there was
+a real cave, in which, if real pirates had not left their treasure, at
+least real tramps had slept and left a real smell. And on top of the
+cave there was a stone which was supposed to retain the footprint of a
+pre-historic Indian. From what I remember of that footprint I am
+inclined to think that it must have been made by the foot of a derrick,
+and not by that of an Indian.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But it was on the other side of the Island, between the Deaf and Dumb
+Asylum and Tubby Hook, and between the Ridge and the River, that I most
+loved to ramble. Here was the slope of a woodland height running down to
+a broad low strip, whose westernmost boundary was the railroad
+embankment, beyond which lay the broad blue Hudson, with Fort Lee and
+the first up-springing of the Palisades, to be seen by glimpses through
+the tree-trunks. This was, I think, the prettiest piece of
+flower-spangled wildwood that I have ever seen. For centuries it had
+drained the richness of that long and lofty ridge. The life of lawns and
+gardens had gone into it; the dark wood-soil had been washed from out
+the rocks on the brow of the hill; and down below there, where a vagrom
+brooklet chirped its way between green stones, the wholesome soil
+bloomed forth in grateful luxuriance. From the first coming of the
+anemone and the hepatica, to the time of the asters, there was always
+something growing there to delight the scent or the sight; and most of
+all do I remember the huge clumps of Dutchman's-breeches--the purple
+and the waxy white as well as the honey-tipped scarlet.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There were little sunlit clearings here, and I well recall the day when,
+looking across one of these, I saw something that stood awkwardly and
+conspicuously out of the young wood-grass--a raw stake of pine wood,
+and beyond that, another stake, and another; and parallel with these
+another row, marking out two straight lines, until the bushes hid them.
+The surveyors had begun to lay out the line of the new Boulevard, on
+which you may now roll in your carriage to Inwood, through the wreck of
+the woods where I used to scramble over rock and tree-trunk, going
+toward Tubby Hook.
+
+It was on the grayest of gray November days last year that I had the
+unhappy thought of revisiting this love of my youth. I followed
+familiar trails, guided by landmarks I could not forget--although they
+had somehow grown incredibly poor and mean and shabby, and had entirely
+lost a certain dignity that they had until then kept quite clearly in my
+remembrance. And behold, they were no longer landmarks except to me. A
+change had come over the face of this old playground of mine. It had
+forgotten the withered, modest grace of the time when it was
+middle-aged, and when I was a boy. It was checkered and gridironed with
+pavements and electric lights. The Elevated Railroad roared at its doors
+behind clouds of smoke and steam. Great, cheerless, hideously ornate
+flat buildings reared their zinc-tipped fronts toward the gray heaven,
+to show the highest aspirations of that demoralized suburb in the way of
+domestic architecture. To right, to left, every way I turned, I saw a
+cheap, tawdry, slipshod imitation of the real city--or perhaps I should
+say, of all that is ugliest and vulgarest, least desirable, and least
+calculated to endure, in the troubled face of city life. I was glad to
+get away; glad that the gray mist that rolled up from the Hudson River
+hid from my sight within its fleecy bosom some details of that vulgar
+and pitiful degradation. One place alone I found as I had hoped to find
+it. Ex-Mayor Tiemann's house was gone, his conservatory was a crumbling
+ruin; the house we decked for Lincoln's death was a filthy tenement with
+a tumble-down gallery where the old portico had stood, and I found very
+little on my upward pilgrimage that had not experienced some change--for
+the worse, as it seemed to me. The very cemetery that belongs to old
+Trinity had dandified itself with a wonderful wall and a still more
+wonderful bridge to its annex--or appendix, or extension, or whatever
+you call it. But just above it is a little enclosure that is called a
+park--a place where a few people of modest, old-fashioned, domestic
+tastes had built their houses together to join in a common resistance
+against the encroachments of the speculator and the nomad house-hunter.
+I found this little settlement undisturbed, uninvaded, save by a sort of
+gentle decay that did it no ill-service, in my eyes. The pale dust was a
+little deeper in the roadways that had once been paved with limestone,
+a few more brown autumn leaves had fallen in the corners of the fences,
+the clustered wooden houses all looked a little more rustily respectable
+in their reserved and sleepy silence--a little bit more, I thought, as
+if they sheltered a colony of old maids. Otherwise it looked pretty much
+as it did when I first saw it, well nigh thirty years ago.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+To see if there were anything alive in that misty, dusty, faded little
+abode of respectability, I rang at the door of one house, and found
+some inquiries to make concerning another one that seemed to be
+untenanted.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door for me, with such
+shining dark eyes and with so bright a red in her cheeks, that you felt
+that she could not have been long in that dull, old-time spot, where
+life seemed to be all one neutral color. She answered my questions
+kindly, and then, with something in her manner which told me that
+strangers did not often wander in there, she said that it was a very
+nice place to live in. I told her that I knew it _had_ been a very nice
+place to live in.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOWERY AND BOHEMIA
+
+
+One day a good many years ago an old gentleman from
+Rondout-on-the-Hudson--then plain Rondout--was walking up Broadway
+seeing the sights. He had not been in New York in ten or twelve years,
+and although he was an old gentleman who always had a cask of good ale
+in his cellar in the winter-time, yet he had never tasted the strange
+German beverage called lager-beer, which he had heard and read about. So
+when he saw its name on a sign he went in and drank a mug, sipping it
+slowly and thoughtfully, as he would have sipped his old ale. He found
+it refreshing--peculiar--and, well, on the whole, very refreshing
+indeed, as he considerately told the proprietor.
+
+But what interested him more than the beer was the sight of a group of
+young men seated around a table drinking beer, reading--and--yes,
+actually writing verses, and bandying very lively jests among
+themselves. The old gentleman could not help hearing their conversation,
+and when he went out into the street he shook his head thoughtfully.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I wonder what my father would have said to that?" he reflected. "Young
+gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon and turning verses like so
+many ballad-mongers! Well, well, well, if those are the ways of
+lager-beer drinkers, I'll stick to my good old ale!"
+
+And greatly surprised would that honest old gentleman have been to know
+that the presence of that little group of poets and humorists attracted
+as much custom to good Mr. Pfaff's beer-saloon as did his fresh, cool
+lager; and that young men, and, for the matter of that, men not so
+young, stole in there to listen to their contests of wit, and to wish
+and yearn and aspire to be of their goodly company. For the old
+gentleman little dreamed, as he went on his course up Broadway, that he
+had seen the first Bohemians of New York, and that these young men would
+be written about and talked about and versified about for generations to
+come. Unconscious of this honor he went on to Fourteenth Street to see
+the new square they were laying out there.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Perhaps nothing better marks the place where the city of New York got
+clean and clear out of provincial pettiness into metropolitan tolerance
+than the advent of the Bohemians. Twenty-five years earlier they would
+have been a scandal and a reproach to the town. Not for their
+literature, or for their wit, or for their hard drinking, or even for
+their poverty; but for their brotherhood, and for their calm
+indifference to all the rest of the world whom they did not care to
+receive into their kingdom of Bohemia. There is human nature in this;
+more human nature than there is in most provincialism. Take a community
+of one hundred people and let any ten of its members join themselves
+together and dictate the terms on which an eleventh may be admitted to
+their band. The whole remaining eighty-nine will quarrel for the twelfth
+place. But take a community of a thousand, and let ten such internal
+groups be formed, and every group will have to canvass more or less hard
+to increase its number. For the other nine hundred people, being able to
+pick and choose, are likely to feel a deep indifference to the question
+of joining any segregation at all. If group No. 2 says, "Come into my
+crowd, I understand they don't want you in No. 1," the individual
+replies: "What the deuce do I care about No. 1 or you either? Here are
+Nos. 4, 5, 6, and 7 all begging for me. If you and No. 1 keep on in your
+conceit you'll find yourselves left out in the cold."
+
+And as it frequently happens to turn out that way, the dweller in a
+great city soon learns, in the first place, that he is less important
+than he thought he was; in the second place, that he is less unimportant
+than some people would like to have him think himself. All of which goes
+to show that when New Yorkers looked with easy tolerance, and some of
+them with open admiration, upon the Bohemians at Pfaff's saloon, they
+had come to be citizens of no mean city, and were making metropolitan
+growth.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A Bohemian may be defined as the only kind of gentleman permanently in
+temporary difficulties who is neither a sponge nor a cheat. He is a type
+that has existed in all ages and always will exist. He is a man who
+lacks certain elements necessary to success in this world, and who
+manages to keep fairly even with the world, by dint of ingenious shift
+and expedient; never fully succeeding, never wholly failing. He is a
+man, in fact, who can't swim, but can tread water. But he never, never,
+never calls himself a Bohemian--at least, in a somewhat wide experience,
+I have known only two that ever did, and one of these was a baronet. As
+a rule, if you overhear a man approach his acquaintance with the
+formula, "As one Bohemian to another," you may make up your mind that
+that man means an assault upon the other man's pocket-book, and that if
+the assault is successful the damages will never be repaired. That man
+is not a Bohemian; he is a beat. Your true Bohemian always calls himself
+by some euphemistic name. He is always a gentleman at odds with fortune,
+who rolled in wealth yesterday and will to-morrow, but who at present is
+willing to do any work that he is sure will make him immortal, and that
+he thinks may get him the price of a supper. And very often he lends
+more largely than he borrows.
+
+Now the crowd which the old gentleman saw in the saloon--and he saw
+George Arnold, Fitz-James O'Brien, and perhaps N. P. Shepard--was a
+crowd of Bohemians rather by its own christening than by any ordinary
+application of the word. They were all young men of ability, recognized
+in their profession. Of those who have died, two at least have honor and
+literary consideration to-day; of those who lived, some have obtained
+celebrity, and all a reasonable measure of success. Mürger's Bohemians
+would have called them Philistines. But they have started a tradition
+that will survive from generation unto generation; a tradition of
+delusion so long as the glamour of poetry, romance, and adventure hang
+around the mysteriously attractive personality of a Bohemian. Ever since
+then New York has had, and always will have, the posing Bohemian and his
+worshippers.
+
+Ten or fifteen years ago the "French Quarter" got its literary
+introduction to New York, and the fact was revealed that it was the
+resort of real Bohemians--young men who actually lived by their wit and
+their wits, and who talked brilliantly over fifty-cent table-d'hôte
+dinners. This was the signal for the would-be Bohemian to emerge from
+his dainty flat or his oak-panelled studio in Washington Square, hasten
+down to Bleecker or Houston Street, there to eat chicken badly _braisé_,
+fried chuck-steak, and soggy spaghetti, and to drink thin blue wine and
+chicory-coffee that he might listen to the feast of witticism and flow
+of soul that he expected to find at the next table. If he found it at
+all, he lost it at once. If he made the acquaintance of the young men at
+the next table, he found them to be young men of his own sort--agreeable
+young boys just from Columbia and Harvard, who were painting
+impressionless pictures for the love of Art for Art's sake, and living
+very comfortably on their paternal allowances. Any one of the crowd
+would think the world was coming to pieces if he woke up in the morning
+to wonder where he could get his breakfast on credit, and wonder where
+he could earn enough money to buy his dinner. Yet these innocent
+youngsters continue to pervade "The Quarter," as they call it; and as
+time goes on, by much drinking of ponies of brandy and smoking of
+cigarettes, they get to fancy that they themselves are Bohemians. And
+when they get tired of it all and want something good to eat, they go up
+to Delmonico's and get it.
+
+And their Bohemian predecessors, who sought the French fifty-cent
+restaurants as _their_ highest attainable luxury--what has become of
+them? They have fled before that incursion as a flock of birds before a
+whirlwind. They leave behind them, perhaps, a few of the more
+mean-spirited among them, who are willing to degenerate into fawners on
+the rich, and habitual borrowers of trifling sums. But the true
+Bohemians, the men who have the real blood in their veins, they must
+seek some other meeting-place where they can pitch their never-abiding
+tents, and sit at their humble feasts to recount to each other, amid
+appreciative laughter, the tricks and devices and pitiful petty schemes
+for the gaining of daily bread that make up for them the game and comedy
+of life. Tell me not that Ishmael does not enjoy the wilderness. The
+Lord made him for it, and he would not be happy anywhere else.
+
+There was one such child of fortune once, who brought his blue eyes
+over from Ireland. His harmless and gentle life closed after too many
+years in direst misfortune. But as long as he wandered in the depths of
+poverty there was one strange and mysterious thing about him. His
+clothes, always well brushed and well carried on a gallant form, often
+showed cruel signs of wear, especially when he went for a winter without
+an overcoat. But shabby as his garments might grow, empty as his pockets
+might be, his linen was always spotless, stiff, and fresh. Now everybody
+who has ever had occasion to consider the matter knows that by the aid
+of a pair of scissors the life of a collar or of a pair of cuffs can be
+prolonged almost indefinitely--apparent miracles had been performed in
+this way. But no pair of scissors will pay a laundry bill; and finally a
+committee of the curious waited upon this student of economics and asked
+him to say how he did it. He was proud and delighted to tell them.
+
+"I-I-I'll tell ye, boys," he said, in his pleasant Dublin brogue, "but
+'twas I that thought it out. I wash them, of course, in the
+basin--that's easy enough; but you'd think I'd be put to it to iron
+them, wouldn't ye, now? Well, I've invinted a substischoot for
+ironing--it's me big books. Through all me vicissichoods, boys, I kept
+me Bible and me dictionary, and I lay the collars and cuffs in the
+undher one and get the leg of the bureau on top of them both--and you'd
+be surprised at the artistic effect."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There is no class in society where the sponge, the toady, the man who is
+willing to receive socially without giving in return, is more quickly
+found out or more heartily disowned than among the genuine Bohemians. He
+is to them a traitor, he is one who plays the game unfairly, one who is
+willing to fill his belly by means to which they will not resort, lax
+and fantastic as is their social code. Do you know, for instance, what
+"Jackaling" is in New York? A Jackal is a man generally of good address,
+and capable of a display of good fellowship combined with much knowledge
+of literature and art, and a vast and intimate acquaintance with
+writers, musicians, and managers. He makes it his business to haunt
+hotels, theatrical agencies, and managers' offices, and to know
+whenever, in his language, "a new jay comes to town." The jay he is
+after is some man generally from the smaller provincial cities, who has
+artistic or theatrical aspirations and a pocketful of money. It is the
+Jackal's mission to turn this jay into an "angel." Has the gentleman
+from Lockport come with the score of a comic opera under his arm, and
+two thousand dollars in his pocket? Two thousand dollars will not go
+far toward the production of a comic opera in these days, and the jay
+finds that out later; but not until after the Jackal has made him
+intimately acquainted with a very gentlemanly and experienced manager
+who thinks that it can be done for that price with strict economy. Has
+the young man of pronounced theatrical talent arrived from Keokuk with
+gold and a thirst for fame? The Jackal knows just the dramatist who will
+write him the play that he ought to star in. Does the wealthy and
+important person from Podunk desire to back something absolutely safe
+and sure in the line of theatrical speculation? The Jackal has the very
+thing for which he is looking. And in all these, and in all similar
+contingencies, it is a poor Jackal who does not get his commission at
+both ends.
+
+The Jackal may do all these things, but he may not, if he is treated,
+fail to treat in return. I do not mean to say at all that Jackaling is a
+business highly esteemed, even in darkest Bohemia, but it is considered
+legitimate, and I hope that no gentleman doing business in Wall Street,
+or on the Consolidated Exchange, will feel too deeply grieved when he
+learns the fact.
+
+But where have the real Bohemians fled to from the presence of the
+too-well-disposed and too-wealthy children of the Benedick and the
+Holbein? Not where they are likely to find him, you may be sure. The
+true Bohemian does not carry his true address on his card. In fact, he
+is delicate to the point of sensitiveness about allowing any publicity
+to attach to his address. He communicates it confidentially to those
+with whom he has business dealings, but he carefully conceals it from
+the prying world. As soon as the world knows it he moves. I once asked a
+chief of the Bohemian tribe whose residence was the world, but whose
+temporary address was sometimes Paris, why he had moved from the
+Quartier Latin to a place in Montmartre.
+
+"Had to, my dear fellow," he answered, with dignity; "why if you live
+over on that side of the river they'll call you a _Bohemian_!"
+
+In Paris the home of wit in poverty has been moved across the Seine to
+the south side of the hill up which people climb to make pilgrimages to
+the Moulin Rouge and the church of St. Pierre de Montmartre. In New York
+it has been moved not only across that river of human intercourse that
+we call Broadway--a river with a tidal ebb and flow of travel and
+traffic--but across a wilder, stranger, and more turbulent flood called
+the Bowery, to a region of which the well-fed and prosperous New Yorker
+knows very, very little.
+
+As more foreigners walk on the Bowery than walk on any other street in
+New York; and as more different nationalities are represented there than
+are represented in any other street in New York; and as the foreigners
+all say that the Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the
+world, I think we are justified in assuming that there is little reason
+to doubt that the foreigners are entirely right in the matter,
+especially as their opinion coincides with that of every American who
+has ever made even a casual attempt to size up the Bowery.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+No one man can thoroughly know a great city. People say that Dickens
+knew London, but I am sure that Dickens would never have said it. He
+knew enough of London to know that no one human mind, no one mortal life
+can take in the complex intensity of a metropolis. Try to count a
+million, and then try to form a conception of the impossibility of
+learning all the ins and outs of the domicile of a million men, women,
+and children. I have met men who thought they knew New York, but I have
+never met a man--except a man from a remote rural district--who thought
+he knew the Bowery. There are agriculturists, however, all over this
+broad land who have entertained that supposition and acted on it--but
+never twice. The sense of humor is the saving grace of the American
+people.
+
+I first made acquaintance with the Bowery as a boy through some
+lithographic prints. I was interested in them, for I was looking forward
+to learning to shoot, and my father had told me that there used to be
+pretty good shooting at the upper end of the Bowery, though, of course,
+not so good as there was farther up near the Block House, or in the wood
+beyond. Besides, the pictures showed a very pretty country road with big
+trees on both sides of it, and comfortable farm-houses, and, I suppose,
+an inn with a swinging sign. I was disappointed at first, when I heard
+it had been all built up, but I was consoled when the glories of the
+real Bowery were unfolded to my youthful mind, and I heard of the
+butcher-boy and his red sleigh; of the Bowery Theatre and peanut
+gallery, and the gods, and Mr. Eddy, and the war-cry they made of his
+name--and a glorious old war-cry it is, better than any college cries
+ever invented: "_Hi_, Eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy!" of
+Mose and his silk locks; of the fire-engine fights, and Big Six, and
+"Wash-her-down!" of the pump at Houston Street; of what happened to Mr.
+Thackeray when he talked to the tough; of many other delightful things
+that made the Bowery, to my young imagination, one long avenue of
+romance, mystery, and thrilling adventure. And the first time I went in
+the flesh to the Bowery was to go with an elderly lady to an optician's
+shop.
+
+  "And is this--Yarrow?--_This_ the stream
+  Of which my fancy cherished,
+  So faithfully, a waking dream?
+  An image that hath perished!
+  O that some minstrel's harp were near,
+  To utter notes of gladness,
+  And chase this silence from the air,
+  That fills my heart with sadness!"
+
+But the study of the Bowery that I began that day has gone on with
+interruption for a good many years, and I think now that I am arriving
+at the point where I have some faint glimmerings of the littleness of my
+knowledge of it as compared with what there is to be known. I do not
+mean to say that I can begin to size the disproportion up with any
+accuracy, but I think I have accomplished a good deal in getting as far
+as I have.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Bowery is not a large place, for I think that, properly speaking, it
+is a place rather than a street or avenue. It is an irregularly shaped
+ellipse, of notable width in its widest part. It begins at Chatham
+Square, which lies on the parallel of the sixth Broadway block above
+City Hall, and loses its identity at the Cooper Union where Third and
+Fourth Avenues begin, so that it is a scant mile in all. But it is the
+alivest mile on the face of the earth. And it either bounds or bisects
+that square mile that the statisticians say is the most densely
+populated square mile on the face of the globe. This is the heart of the
+New York tenement district. As the Bowery is the Broadway of the East
+Side, the street of its pleasures, it would be interesting enough if it
+opened up only this one densely populated district. But there is much
+more to contribute to its infinite variety. It serves the same purpose
+for the Chinese colony in Mott, Pell, and Doyers Streets, and for the
+Italian swarms in Mulberry Bend, the most picturesque and interesting
+slum I have ever seen, and I am an ardent collector of slums. I have
+missed art galleries and palaces and theatres and cathedrals (cathedrals
+particularly) in various and sundry cities, but I don't think I ever
+missed a slum. Mulberry Bend is a narrow bend in Mulberry Street, a
+tortuous ravine of tall tenement houses, and it is so full of people
+that the throngs going and coming spread off the sidewalk nearly to the
+middle of the street. There they leave a little lane for the babies to
+play in. No, they never get run over. There is a perfect understanding
+between the babies and the peddlers who drive their wagons in Mulberry
+Bend. The crowds are in the street partly because much of the sidewalk
+and all of the gutter is taken up with venders' stands, which give its
+characteristic feature to Mulberry Bend. There are displayed more and
+stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of. Probably the edibles
+are in the majority, certainly they are the queerest part of the show.
+There are trays and bins there in the Bend, containing dozens and dozens
+of things that you would never guess were meant to eat if you didn't
+happen to see a ham or a string of sausages or some other familiar
+object among them. But the color of the Bend--and its color is its
+strong point--comes from its display of wearing apparel and candy. A
+lady can go out in Mulberry Bend and purchase every article of apparel,
+external or private and personal, that she ever heard of, and some that
+she never heard of, and she can get them of any shade or hue. If she
+likes what they call "Liberty" colors--soft, neutral tones--she can get
+them from the second-hand dealers whose goods have all the softest of
+shades that age and exposure can give them. But if she likes, as I do,
+bright, cheerful colors, she can get tints in Mulberry Bend that you
+could warm your hands on. Reds, greens, and yellows preponderate, and
+Nature herself would own that the Italians could give her points on
+inventing green and not exert themselves to do it. The pure arsenical
+tones are preferred in the Bend, and, by the bye, anybody who remembers
+the days when ladies wore magenta and solferino, and wants to have those
+dear old colors set his teeth on edge again, can go to the Bend and find
+them there. The same dye-stuffs that are popular in the dress-goods are
+equally popular in the candy, and candy is a chief product of Mulberry
+Bend. It is piled up in reckless profusion on scores of stands, here,
+there, and everywhere, and to call the general effect festal, would be
+to speak slightingly of it. The stranger who enters Mulberry Bend and
+sees the dress-goods and the candies is sure to think that the place has
+been decorated to receive him. No, nobody will hurt you if you go down
+there and are polite, and mind your own business, and do not step on the
+babies. But if you stare about and make comments, I think those people
+will be justified in suspecting that the people uptown don't always know
+how to behave themselves like ladies and gentlemen, so do not bring
+disgrace on your neighborhood, and do not go in a cab. You will not
+bother the babies, but you will find it trying to your own nerves.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There is a good deal of money in Mulberry Street, and some of it
+overflows into the Bowery. From this street also the Baxter Street
+variety of Jews find their way into the Bowery. These are the Jew
+toughs, and there is no other type of Jew at all like them in all New
+York's assortment of Hebrew types, which cannot be called meagre. Of the
+Jewish types New York has, as the printers say, "a full case."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But it is on the other side of the Bowery that there lies a world to
+which the world north of Fourteenth Street is a select family party. I
+could not give even a partial list of its elements. Here dwell the
+Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens. The police raid
+those back-yards with ready assiduity, but the yards are always promptly
+replenished. It is the police against a religion, and the odds are
+against the police. The Jew will die for it, if needs be, but his
+chickens must be killed _kosher_ way and not Christian way, but that is
+only the way of the Jews: the Hungarians, the Bohemians, the Anarchist
+Russians, the Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs,
+the Irish, who are there, as everywhere, the Portuguese Jews, and all
+the rest of them who help to form that city within a city--have they
+not, all of them, ways of their own? I speak of this Babylon only to say
+that here and there on its borders, and, once in a way, in its very
+heart, are rows or blocks of plain brick houses, homely, decent,
+respectable relics of the days when the sturdy, steady tradesfolk of New
+York built here the homes that they hoped to leave to their children.
+They are boarding-and lodging-houses now, poor enough, but proud in
+their respectability of the past, although the tide of ignorance,
+poverty, vice, filth, and misery is surging to their doors and their
+back-yard fences. And here, in hall bedrooms, in third-story backs and
+fronts, and in half-story attics, live the Bohemians of to-day, and with
+them those other strugglers of poverty who are destined to become
+"successful men" in various branches of art, literature, science, trade,
+or finance. Of these latter our children will speak with hushed respect,
+as men who rose from small beginnings; and they will go into the
+school-readers of our grandchildren along with Benjamin Franklin and
+that contemptible wretch who got to be a great banker because he picked
+up a pin, as examples of what perseverance and industry can accomplish.
+From what I remember I foresee that those children will hate them.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I am not going to give you the addresses of the cheap restaurants where
+these poor, cheerful children of adversity are now eating _goulasch_ and
+_Kartoffelsalad_ instead of the spaghetti and _tripe à la mode de Caen_
+of their old haunts. I do not know them, and if I did, I should not hand
+them over to the mercies of the intrusive young men from the studios and
+the bachelors' chambers. I wish them good digestion of their goulasch:
+for those that are to climb, I wish that they may keep the generous and
+faithful spirit of friendly poverty; for those that are to go on to the
+end in fruitless struggle and in futile hope, I wish for them that that
+end may come in some gentle and happier region lying to the westward of
+that black tide that ebbs and flows by night and day along the Bowery
+Way.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF A PATH
+
+
+In one of his engaging essays Mr. John Burroughs tells of meeting an
+English lady in Holyoke, Mass., who complained to him that there were no
+foot-paths for her to walk on, whereupon the poet-naturalist was moved
+to an eloquent expression of his grief over America's inferiority in the
+foot-path line to the "mellow England" which in one brief month had won
+him for her own. Now I know very little of Holyoke, Mass., of my own
+knowledge. As a lecture-town I can say of it that its people are polite,
+but extremely undemonstrative, and that the lecturer is expected to
+furnish the refreshments. It is quite likely that the English lady was
+right, and that there are no foot-paths there.
+
+I wish to say, however, that I know the English lady. I know her--many,
+many of her--and I have met her a-many times. I know the enchanted
+fairyland in which her wistful memory loves to linger. Often and often
+have I watched her father's wardian-case grow into "papa's hot-houses;"
+the plain brick house that he leases, out Notting Hill way, swell into
+"our family mansion," and the cottage that her family once occupied at
+Stoke Wigglesworth change itself into "the country place that papa had
+to give up because it took so much of his time to see that it was
+properly kept up." And long experience in this direction enables me to
+take that little remark about the foot-paths, and to derive from it a
+large amount of knowledge about Holyoke and its surroundings that I
+should not have had of my own getting, for I have never seen Holyoke
+except by night, nor am I like to see it again.
+
+From that brief remark I know these things about Holyoke: It is
+surrounded by a beautiful country, with rolling hills and a generally
+diversified landscape. There are beautiful green fields, I am sure.
+There is a fine river somewhere about, and I think there must be
+water-falls and a pretty little creek. The timber must be very fine, and
+probably there are some superb New England elms. The roads must be good,
+uncommonly good; and there must be unusual facilities for getting around
+and picnicking and finding charming views and all that sort of thing.
+
+Nor does it require much art to learn all this from that pathetic plaint
+about the foot-paths. For the game of the Briton in a foreign land is
+ever the same. It changes not from generation unto generation. Bid him
+to the feast and set before him all your wealth of cellar and garner.
+Spread before him the meat, heap up for him the fruits of the season.
+Weigh down the board with every vegetable that the gardener's art can
+bring to perfection in or out of its time--white-potatoes,
+sweet-potatoes, lima-beans, string-beans, fresh peas, sweet-corn,
+lettuce, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, tomatoes, musk-melons and
+water-melons--all you will--no word will you hear from him till he has
+looked over the whole assortment and discovered that you have not the
+vegetable marrow, and that you do not raise it. Then will he break
+forth and cry out for his vegetable marrow. All these things are naught
+to him if he cannot have his vegetable marrow, and he will tell you
+about the exceeding goodness and rarity of the vegetable marrow, until
+you will figure it in your mind like unto the famous mangosteen fruit of
+the Malay Peninsula, he who once eats whereof tastes never again any
+other fruit of the earth, finding them all as dust and ashes by the side
+of the mangosteen.
+
+That is to say, this will happen unless you have eaten of the vegetable
+marrow, and have the presence of mind to recall to the Briton's memory
+the fact that it is nothing but a second-choice summer squash; after
+which the meal will proceed in silence. Just so might Mr. Burroughs have
+brought about a sudden change in the topic of conversation by telling
+the English lady that where the American treads out a path he builds a
+road by the side of it.
+
+To tell the truth, I think that the English foot-path is something
+pathetic beyond description. The better it is, the older, the better
+worn, the more it speaks with a sad significance of the long established
+inequalities of old-world society. It means too often the one poor,
+pitiful right of a poor man, the man who must walk all his life, to go
+hither and thither through the rich man's country. The lady may walk it
+for pleasure if she likes, but the man who walks it because he must,
+turns up a little by-path leading from it to a cottage that no industry
+or thrift will make his own; and for him to aspire to a roadway to his
+front-door would be a gross piece of impertinence in a man of his
+station. It is the remembrance of just such right-of-way foot-paths as
+the English lady's sad heart yearned after that reconciles me to a great
+many hundreds of houses that have recently been built in the State of
+New Jersey after designs out of books that cost all the way from
+twenty-five cents to a dollar. Architecturally these are very much
+inferior to the English cottager's home, and they occasionally waken
+thoughts of incendiarism. But the people who live in them are people who
+insist on having roads right to their front-doors, and I have heard
+them do some mighty interesting talking in town-meeting about the way
+those roads shall be laid and who shall do the laying.
+
+As I have before remarked, I am quite willing to believe that Holyoke is
+a pathless wilderness, in the English lady's sense. But when Mr.
+Burroughs makes the generalization that there are no foot-paths in this
+country, it seems to me he must be letting his boyhood get too far away
+from him.
+
+For there are foot-paths enough, certainly. Of course an old foot-path
+in this country always serves to mark the line of a new road when the
+people who had worn it take to keeping horses. But there are thousands
+of miles of paths criss-crossing the countryside in all of our older
+States that will never see the dirt-cart or the stone-crusher in the
+lifetime of any man alive to-day.
+
+[Illustration: "THROUGH THE RICH MAN'S COUNTRY"]
+
+Mr. Burroughs--especially when he is published in the dainty little
+Douglas duodecimos--is one of the authors whose books a busy man
+reserves for a pocket-luxury of travel. So it was that, a belated
+reader, I came across his lament over our pathlessness, some years
+after my having had a hand--or a foot, as you might say--in the making
+of a certain cross-lots foot-way which led me to study the windings and
+turnings of the longer countryside walks until I got the idea of writing
+"The Story of a Path." I am sorry to contradict Mr. Burroughs, but, if
+there are no foot-paths in America, what becomes of the many good golden
+hours that I have spent in well-tracked woodland ways and in narrow
+foot-lanes through the wind-swept meadow grass? I cannot give these up;
+I can only wish that Mr. Burroughs had been my companion in them.
+
+A foot-path is the most human thing in inanimate nature. Even as the
+print of his thumb reveals the old offender to the detectives, so the
+path tells you the sort of feet that wore it. Like the human nature that
+created it, it starts out to go straight when strength and determination
+shape its course, and it goes crooked when weakness lays it out. Until
+you begin to study them you can have no notion of the differences of
+character that exist among foot-paths. One line of trodden earth seems
+to you the same as another. But look! Is the path you are walking on
+fairly straight from point to point, yet deflected to avoid short rises
+and falls, _and is it worn to grade_? That is, does it plough a deep way
+through little humps and hillocks something as a street is cut down to
+grade? If you see this path before you, you maybe sure that it is made
+by the heavy shuffle of workingmen's feet. A path that wavers from side
+to side, especially if the turns be from one bush to another, and that
+is only a light trail making an even line of wear over the inequalities
+of the ground--that is a path that children make. The path made by the
+business man--the man who is anxious to get to his work at one end of
+the day, and anxious to get to his home at the other--is generally a
+good piece of engineering. This type of man makes more paths in this
+country than he does in any other. He carries his intelligence and his
+energy into every act of life, and even in the half-unconscious business
+of making his own private trail he generally manages to find the line of
+least resistance in getting from one given point to another.
+
+This is the story of a path:
+
+It is called Reub Levi's Path, because Reuben Levi Dodd is supposed to
+have made it, some time in 1830 or thereabout, when he built his house
+on the hill. But it is much older than Reuben Levi. He probably thought
+he was telling the truth when, forty years ago, he swore to having
+broken the path himself twenty years before, through the Jacobus woods,
+down the hill and across the flat lands that then belonged to the
+Onderdoncks, and again through the Ogden woods to the county road; but
+he forgot that on the bright June day when he first started to find a
+convenient way through the woods and over the broad lowland fields from
+his own front-door to that of his father-in-law, Evert Ogden, and then
+through Mr. Ogden's patch of woods to the little town on the bank of the
+Passaic--he forgot that for a little part of the way he had had the help
+of a man whose feet had long before done with walking the paths of
+earth.
+
+The forest, for it was a forest then, was full of heavy underwood and
+brush, and he had no choice but to dodge his way between the clumps.
+But when he got out to the broad open space on the brow of the hill,
+where no trees had ever grown, he found an almost tropical growth of
+wild grass and azalea, with bull-brier twining over everything in every
+direction. He found it worse than the dense woods.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Drat the pesky stuff," he said to himself; "ain't there no way through
+it?" Then as he looked about he spied a line no broader than his hand at
+the bottom, that opened clean through the bull-brier and the bushes
+across the open to where the trees began again on the down-slope of the
+hill. Grass was growing in it, but he knew it for an old trail.
+
+"'Twas Pelatiah Jinks made that, I'll bet a shilling," he said to
+himself, remembering the lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that
+mountain in his father's time. He had once seen old man Jinks's
+powder-horn, with its elaborate carving, done in the long solitary hours
+when the old man sat weather-bound in his lofty hermitage.
+
+"Jest like the old critter to make a bee-line track like that. But what
+in thunder did he want to go that way across the clearing for? I'm much
+obleeged to him for his trail, but it ain't headed right for town."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+No, it was not. But young Dodd did not remember that the trees whose
+tops he saw just peeping over the hill were young things of forty years'
+growth that had taken the place of a line of ninety-year-old chestnuts
+that had died down from the top and been broken down by the wind shortly
+after old Pelatiah died. The line that the old man had made for himself
+took him straight to the one little hillock where he could look over
+this tall screen and get his bearings afresh by the glint of the
+Passaic's water in the woody valley below, for at no other spot along
+that ridge was the Passaic visible.
+
+Now in this one act of Reuben Levi Dodd you can see the human nature
+that lies at the bottom of all path-making. He turned aside from his
+straight course to walk in the easy way made by another man, and then
+fetched a compass, as they used to say in the Apostle Paul's time, to
+get back to his straight bearings. Old Pelatiah had a good reason for
+deviating from his straight line to the town; young Dodd had none,
+except that it was wiser to go two yards around than to go one yard
+straight through the bull-brier. Young Dodd had a powder-horn slung from
+his shoulder that morning, and the powder-horn had some carving on it,
+but it was not like the carving on old Pelatiah's horn. There was a
+letter R, cut with many flourishes, a letter L cut but wanting most of
+its flourishes, and a letter D half finished, and crooked at that, and
+without the first trace of a flourish. That was the way his powder-horn
+looked that day, for that was the way it looked when he died, and his
+son sold it to a dealer in antiquities.
+
+Young Dodd and his wife found it lonely living up there on the hilltop.
+They were the first who had pushed so far back from the river and the
+town. Mrs. Dodd, who had an active and ambitious spirit in her, often
+reproached her husband for his neglect to make their home more
+accessible to her old friends in the distant town.
+
+"If you'd take a bill-hook," she would say, "and clean up that
+snake-fence path of yours a little, may be folks would climb up here to
+see us once in a blue moon. It's all well enough for you with your
+breeches, but how are women folks to trail their frocks through that
+brush?"
+
+Reub Levi would promise and promise, and once he did take his hook and
+chop out a hundred yards or so. But things did not mend until Big Bill
+Turnbull, known all over the county as the Hard Job Man, married a widow
+with five children, bought a little patch of five or six acres next to
+Dodd's big farm, built a log-cabin for himself and his family, and
+settled down there.
+
+Now Turnbull's log-cabin was so situated that the line of old Pelatiah's
+path through the bull-brier, extended about an eighth of a mile, would
+just reach the front-door. Turnbull saw this, and it was at that point
+that he tapped Reub Levi's foot-path to the town. But he did his tapping
+after his own fashion. He took his wife's red flannel petticoat and tied
+it to a sapling on the top of the mound that the old hunter used to
+climb, and then with bill-hook and axe he cut a straight swath through
+the woods. He even cut down through the roots and took out the larger
+stones.
+
+"That's what you'd ought to have done long ago, Reuben Levi Dodd," said
+his wife, as she watched this manifestation of energy.
+
+"Guess I didn't lose much by waiting," Reub Levi answered, with a smile
+that did not look as self-satisfied as he tried to make it. "I'd a-had
+to do it myself, and now the other fellow's done it for me."
+
+And thereafter he took Bill Turnbull's path just where it touched the
+corner of his own cleared land. But Malvina Dodd, to the day of her
+death, never once walked that way, but, going and coming, took the
+winding track that her husband had laid out for her when their home was
+built.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The next maker of the path was a boy not ten years old. His name was
+Philip Wessler, and he was a charity boy of German parentage, who had
+been adopted by an eccentric old man in the town, an herb-doctor. This
+calling was in more repute in those days than it is now. Old Doctor Van
+Wagener was growing feeble, and he relied on the boy, who was grateful
+and faithful, to search for his stock of simples. When the weather was
+favorable they would go together through the Ogden woods, and across the
+meadows to where the other woods began at the bottom of the hill. Here
+the old man would sit down and wait, while the boy climbed the steep
+hillside, and ranged hither and thither in his search for sassafras and
+liverwort, and a hundred and one plants, flowers, and herbs, in which
+the doctor found virtue. When he had collected his bundle he came
+running down the path to where the doctor sat, and left them for the old
+man to pick and choose from, while he darted off after another load.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+He did a boy's work with the path. Steep grades were only a delight to
+him, and so in the course of a year or two he trod out, or jumped out,
+a series of break-neck short-cuts. William Turnbull--people called him
+William now, since he had built a clap-board house, and was using the
+log-cabin for a barn--William Turnbull, observing these short-cuts,
+approved of their purpose, but not of their method. He went through the
+woods once or twice on odd days after his hay was in, and did a little
+grading with a mattock. Here and there he made steps out of flat stones.
+He told his wife he thought it would be some handier for her, and she
+told him--they were both from Connecticut--that it was quite some
+handier, and that it was real thoughtful of him; and that she didn't
+want to speak no ill of the dead, but if her first man had been that
+considerate he wouldn't never have got himself drowned going pickerel
+fishing in March, when the ice was so soft you'd suppose rational folks
+would keep off of it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+This path was a path of slow formation. It was a path that was never
+destined to become a road. It is only in mathematics that a straight
+line is the shortest distance between two points. The grade through the
+Jacobus woods was so steep that no wagon could have been hauled up it
+over the mud roads of that day and generation. Lumber, groceries, and
+all heavy truck were taken around by the road, that made a clean sweep
+around the hill, and was connected with the Dodd and Turnbull farms by a
+steep but short lane which the workmen had made when they built the Dodd
+house. The road was six miles to the path's three, but the drive was
+shorter than the walk.
+
+There was a time when it looked as though the path might really develop
+into a road. That was the time when the township, having outgrown the
+county roads, began to build roads for itself. But, curiously enough,
+two subjects of Great Britain settled the fate of that New Jersey path.
+The controversy between Telford and Macadam was settled so long ago in
+Macadam's favor, that few remember the point of difference between those
+two noted engineers. Briefly stated, it was this: Mr. Telford said it
+_was_, and Mr. Macadam said it was _not_, necessary to put a foundation
+of large flat stones, set on end, under a broken-stone road. Reuben
+Levi's township, like many other New Jersey townships, sided with Mr.
+Telford, and made a mistake that cost thousands of dollars directly, and
+millions indirectly. To-day New Jersey can show the way to all her
+sister States in road-building and road-keeping. But the money she
+wasted on costly Telford pavements is only just beginning to come back
+to her, as she spreads out mile after mile of the economical Macadam.
+Reuben Levi's township squandered money on a few miles of Telford,
+raised the tax-rate higher than it had ever been before, and opened not
+one inch of new road for fifteen years thereafter. And within that
+fifteen years the canal came up on one side, opening a way to the great
+manufacturing town, ten miles down the river; and then the town at the
+end of the path was no longer the sole base of supplies. Then the
+railroad came around on the other side of the hill, and put a
+flag-station just at the bottom of what had come to be known as Dodd's
+Lane. And thus by the magic of nineteenth-century science New York and
+Newark were brought nearer to the hillside farm than the town three
+miles away.
+
+But year by year new feet trod the path. The laborers who cut the canal
+found it and took it when they left their shanty camp to go to town for
+Saturday-night frolics. Then William Turnbull, who had enlarged his own
+farm as far as he found it paid, took to buying land and building houses
+in the valley beyond. Reub Levi laughed at him, but he prospered after a
+way he had, and built up a thriving little settlement just over the
+canal. The people of this little settlement soon made a path that
+connected with Reuben Levi's, by way of William Turnbull's, and whenever
+business or old association took them to town they helped to make the
+path longer and broader.
+
+[Illustration: "THE LABORERS ... FOUND IT AND TOOK IT"]
+
+By and by the regular wayfarers found it out--the peddlers, the
+colporteurs, the wandering portrait-painters, the tinkers and
+clock-menders, the runaway apprentices, and all the rest of the old-time
+gentry of the road. And they carried the path on still farther--down the
+river to Newark.
+
+It is not wholly to be told, "The Story of the Path." So many people had
+to do with its making in so many ways that no chronicle could tell all
+the meanings of its twists and turns and straight lines. There is one
+little jog in its course to-day, where it went around a tree, the stump
+of which rotted down into the ground a quarter of a century ago. Why do
+we walk around that useless bend to-day? Because it is a path, and
+because we walk in the way of human nature.
+
+The life of a tree may be a hundred years or two hundred years and yet
+be long life. But the days of the age of a man are threescore and ten,
+and though some be so strong that they come to fourscore, yet the strong
+man may be stricken down in the flower of his strength, if it be the
+will of the Lord.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+When William Turnbull came to die he was but twoscore years and five,
+but for all he was so young the people of the township gathered from far
+and near, for he had been a helpful man all his days, and those whom he
+had helped remembered that he would help them no more. Four men and
+four women sat up with the dead, twice as many as the old custom called
+for. One of the men was a Judge, two had been Chosen Freeholders, and
+the fourth was his hired man. There was no cemetery in the township, and
+his tomb had been built at the bottom of the hill, looking out on the
+meadows which he had just made his own--the last purchase of his life.
+
+There were two other pall-bearers to carry him on their shoulders to the
+place beyond which no man goes. These two, when they left the house on
+the night before the funeral, walked slowly and thoughtfully down the
+path together. They looked over every step of the way with to-morrow's
+slow and toilsome march in their minds. When they came to the turn by
+Pelatiah's mound they paused.
+
+"We can't never get him round that bend," said one. "That ain't no way
+to start down the hill. Best is I come here first thing in the morning
+and cut a way through this bull-brier straight across the angle, then we
+can see ahead where we're going. Put them two light men behind, and you
+and me at the head, and we can manage it. My! what a man _he_ was,
+though! Why, I seen him take the head of a coffin all by himself once."
+
+This man was a near neighbor of the Turnbulls, for now they had a number
+of neighbors; Reuben Levi Dodd had been selling small farms off his big
+farm--somehow he had never made the big farm a success. There are many
+services of men to man that country neighbors make little of, though to
+the dwellers in great cities they might seem strange burdens. At five
+o'clock the next morning Warren Freeman, the pall-bearer, went out and
+mowed and hacked a path through the tangled field from midway of old
+Pelatiah's trail down to a shortcut made by the doctor's charity boy,
+who was to-day a Judge. This Judge came out of the silent house,
+released by the waking hour, from his vigil with the dead. He watched
+his fellow pall-bearer at work.
+
+[Illustration: "I USED TO GO DOWN THAT PATH ON THE DEAD RUN"]
+
+"I used to go down that path on the dead run twenty years ago," said he,
+"when I was working for Dr. Van Wagener and he used to send me up here
+gathering herbs."
+
+"You'll go down it on the dead walk to-morrow, Jedge," said the other,
+pausing in his work, "and you want to step mighty careful, or one fun'l
+will breed another."
+
+Life, death, wedlock, the lingering of lovers, the waywardness of
+childish feet, the tread of weary toil, the slow, swaying walk of the
+mother, with her babe in her arms, the measured steps of the bearer of
+the dead, the light march of youth and strength and health--all, all
+have helped to beat out the strange, wandering line of the old path; and
+to me, who love to find and to tread its turns, the current of their
+human life flows still along its course, in the dim spaces under the
+trees, or out where the sunshine and the wind are at play upon the
+broad, bright meadows.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST CHILD
+
+
+The best of life in a great city is that it breeds a broad and tolerant
+catholicity of spirit: the best of country life is that it breeds the
+spirit of helpful, homely, kindly neighborliness. The suburban-dweller,
+who shares in both lives, is perhaps a little too ready to pride himself
+in having learned the lesson of the great metropolis, but the other and
+homelier lesson is taught so gradually and so unobtrusively, that he
+often learns it quite unconsciously; and goes back, perhaps, to his old
+existence in the city, only to realize that a certain charm has gone out
+of life which he misses without knowing just what he has lost. He
+thinks, perhaps, it is exercise he lacks. And it is, indeed--the
+exercise of certain gentle sympathies, that thrive as poorly in the
+town's crowded life as the country wild-flowers thrive in the
+flower-pots of tenement-house windows.
+
+It was between three and four o'clock of an August night--a dark, warm,
+hazy night, breathless, heavy and full of the smell of grass and trees
+and dew-moistened earth, when a man galloped up one of those long
+suburban streets, where the houses stand at wide intervals, each behind
+its trim lawn, or old-fashioned flower-garden, relieved, even in the
+darkness, against a great rear-wood screen of lofty trees. Up the
+driveway of one of these he turned, his horse's hoof-beats dropping
+clear and sharp on the hard macadam. He reined up at the house and
+rapped a loud tattoo with the stock of his whip on a pillar of the
+veranda.
+
+It was a minute or two before the noise, loud as it was, had reached the
+ears of two sleepers in the bedroom, just above his head. A much less
+startling sound would have awakened a whole city household; but slumber
+in the country has a slumber of its own: in summer time a slumber born
+of night-air, laden with the odors of vegetation, and silent except for
+the drowsy chirp of birds that stir in vine and tree. The wife awoke
+first, listened for a second, and aroused her husband, who went to the
+window. He raised the screen and looked out.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Who is it?" he said, without nervousness or surprise, though ten years
+before in his city home such a summons might have shaken his spirit with
+anxious dread.
+
+"I'm Latimer," said the man on the horse, briefly. "That boy of
+Penrhyn's--the little one with the yellow hair--is lost. He got up and
+slipped out the house, somehow, about an hour ago, they think, and
+they've found one of his playthings nearly half a mile down the
+Romneytown Road."
+
+"Where shall I meet you?" asked the man at the window.
+
+"At the Gun-Club grounds on the hill," replied Latimer; "we've sent a
+barrel of oil up there for the lanterns. So long, Halford. Is Dirck at
+home?"
+
+"Yes," said Halford; and without another word Latimer galloped into the
+darkness, and in a minute the sound of his tattoo was heard on the
+hollow pillars of the veranda of the house next door.
+
+This was the summons--a bare announcement of an event without appeal,
+request, suggestion, or advice. None of these things was needed. Enough
+had been said between the two men, though they knew each other only as
+distant neighbors. Each knew well what that summons meant, and what duty
+it involved.
+
+The rat-tat of Latimer's crop had hardly sounded before a cheery young
+voice rang out on the air.
+
+"All right, old man! I heard you at Halford's. Go ahead."
+
+It was Dirck's voice. Dirck had another name, a good long, Holland-Dutch
+one, but everybody, even the children, called him by his Christian name,
+and as he had lived to thirty without getting one day older than
+eighteen, we will consider the other Dutch name unnecessary. Dirck
+and Halford were close friends and close neighbors. They were two
+men who had reached a point of perfect community of tastes and
+inclinations, though they came together in two widely different
+starting-places--though they were so little alike to outward seeming
+that they were known among their friends as "the mismates." Though one
+was forty and the other but thirty, each had closed a career, and was
+somewhat idly seeking a new one. As Dirck expressed it, "We two fellows
+had played our games out, and were waiting till we strike another that
+was high enough for our style. We ain't playing limit games."
+
+Two very different games they had been, but neither had been a small
+one. Dirck had started in with a fortune to "do" the world--the whole
+world, nothing else would suit him. He had been all over the globe. He
+had lived among all manner of peoples. He had ridden everything ridable,
+shot everything shootable, climbed everything climbable, and satisfied
+himself, as he said, that the world was too small for any particular
+use. At the end of his travels he had a little of his fortune left, a
+vast amount of experience, the constitution of a red Indian, and a
+vocabulary so vast and so peculiar that it stunned and fascinated the
+stranger. Halford was a New York lawyer, gray, clean-shaven, and sharp
+of feature. His "game" had made him famous and might have made him
+wealthy, but he cared neither for fame nor wealth. For twenty years he
+had fought a host of great corporations to establish one single point of
+law. His antagonists had vainly tried to bribe him, and as vainly to
+bully him. He had been assaulted, his life had been threatened, and
+altogether, as he admitted, the game had been lively enough to keep him
+interested; but having once won the game he tired of that style of play
+altogether. He picked out a small but choice practice which permitted
+him to work or be idle pretty much as the fancy took him. These were two
+odd chums to meet in a small suburban town, there to lead quiet and
+uneventful lives, and yet they were the two most contented men in the
+place.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Halford was getting into his clothes, but really with a speed and
+precision which got the job over before his impetuous next-door neighbor
+had got one leg of his riding-breeches on. Mrs. Halford sat up in bed
+and expressed her feeling to her husband, who had never been known to
+express his.
+
+"Oh, Jack," she said, "isn't it awful? Would you ever have thought of
+such a thing! They must have been awfully careless! Oh, Jack, you will
+find him, won't you? Jack, if such a thing happened to one of our
+children I should go wild; I'll never get over it myself if he isn't
+found. Oh, you don't know how thankful I am that we didn't lose our
+Richard that way! Oh, Jack, dear, isn't it too horrible for anything!"
+
+Jack simply responded, with no trace of emotion in his voice:
+
+"It's the hell!"
+
+And yet in those three words Jack Halford expressed, in his own way,
+quite as much as his wife had expressed in hers. More, even, for there
+was a grim promise in his tone that comforted her heart.
+
+Mrs. Halford's feelings being expressed and in some measure relieved,
+she promptly became practical.
+
+"I'll fill your flask, of course, dear. Brandy, I suppose? And what
+shall we women take up to the Gun Club besides blankets and clean
+clothes?"
+
+Mrs. Halford's husband always thought before he spoke, and she was not
+at all surprised that he filled his tobacco-pouch before he answered.
+When he did speak he knew what he had to say.
+
+"First something to put in my pocket for Dirck and me to eat. We can't
+fool with coming home to breakfast. Second, tell the girls to send up
+milk to the Gun Club, and something for you women to eat."
+
+"Oh, I sha'n't want anything to eat," cried Mrs. Halford.
+
+"You must eat," said her husband, simply, "and you must make the rest of
+them eat. You might do all right without it, but I wouldn't trust the
+rest of them. You may need all the nerve you've got."
+
+"Yes, dear," said his wife, submissively. She had been with her husband
+in times of danger, and she knew he was a leader to be followed. "I'll
+have sandwiches and coffee and tea; I can make them drink tea, anyway."
+
+"Third," went on Jack Halford, as if he had not been interrupted, "bring
+my field-glass with you. Dirck and I will range together along the
+river. If I put up a white handkerchief anywhere down there, you stay
+where you are and we will come to you. If I put up this red one, come
+right down with blankets and brandy in the first carriage you can get
+hold of. Get on the north edge of the hill and you can keep a line on us
+almost anywhere."
+
+"Couldn't you give us some signal, dear, to tell us if--if--if it's all
+right?"
+
+"If it was all wrong," replied the husband, "you wouldn't want the
+mother to learn it that way. I'll signal to you privately, however. If
+it's all right, I'll wave the handkerchief; if I move it up and down,
+you'll understand."
+
+Two minutes later he bade her good-by at the door.
+
+"Now remember," he said, "white means wait, red means ride."
+
+And having delivered himself of this simple mnemonic device, he passed
+out into the darkness.
+
+At the next gate he met Dirck and the two swung into step together, and
+walked up the street with the steady stretching tread of men accustomed
+to walking long distances. They said "Hello!" as they met, and their
+further conversation was brief.
+
+"River," said Halford; "what do you think?"
+
+"River, sure," said the other; "a lot of those younger boys have been
+taking the youngsters down there lately. I saw that kid down there last
+week, and I'll bet a dollar his mother would swear that he'd never seen
+the river."
+
+"Then we won't say anything about it to her," said Halford, and they
+reached along in silence.
+
+Before them, when they came to the end of the road, rose a hill with a
+broad plateau on its stomach. Here through the dull haze of the morning
+they saw smoky-orange lights beginning to flicker uncertainly as the
+wind that heralds the sunrise came fitfully up. The soft wet grass under
+their feet was flecked with little grayish-silver cobwebs, and here and
+there they heard the morning chirp of ground-nesting birds. As they went
+farther up the hill a hum of voices came from above; the voices of
+people, men and women, mingled and consonant like the voices of the
+birds, but with a certain tone of trouble and expectancy. Every now and
+then one individual voice or another would dominate the general murmur,
+and would be followed by a quick flutter of sound denoting acquiescence
+or disagreement. From this they knew that most of their neighbors had
+arrived before them, having been summoned earlier in the journey of the
+messengers sent out from the distant home of the lost child.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+On the crown of the hill stood a curious structure, actually small, but
+looming large in the grayness. The main body of the building was
+elevated upon posts, and was smaller at the bottom than where the
+spreading walls met the peaked roof. This roof spread out on both sides
+into broad verandas, and under these two wing-like shelters some three
+or four score of people were clustered in little groups. Lanterns and
+hand-lamps dimly lit up faces that showed strange in the unfamiliar
+illumination. There were women with shawls over their shoulders and
+women with shawls over their heads. Some of the men were in their
+shirt-sleeves, some wore shooting-coats, and a few had overcoats, though
+the night was warm. But no stranger arriving on the scene could have
+taken it for a promiscuous or accidental assemblage. There was a
+movement in unison, a sympathetic stir throughout the little crowd that
+created a common interest and a common purpose. The arrival of the two
+men was hailed with that curious sound with which such a gathering
+greets a desired and attended accession--not quite the sigh of relief,
+but the quick, nervous expulsion of the breath that tallies the coming
+of the expected. These were two of the men to be counted on, and they
+were there.
+
+Every little community such as this knows its leaders, and now that
+their number was complete, the women drew together by themselves save
+for two or three who clearly took equal direction with the men; and a
+dozen in all, perhaps, gathered in a rough circle to discuss the
+organization of the search.
+
+It was a brief discussion. A majority of the members of the group had
+formed decided opinions as to the course taken by the wandering child,
+and thus a division into sub-groups came about at once. This left
+various stretchings of territory uncovered, and these were assigned to
+those of the more decided minority who were best acquainted with the
+particular localities. When the division of labor was completed, the men
+had arranged to start out in such directions as would enable them to
+range and view the whole countryside for the extreme distance of radius
+to which it was supposed the boy could possibly have travelled. The
+assignment of Halford and Dirck to the river course was prompt, for it
+was known that they habitually hunted and fished along that line. The
+father of the boy, who stood by, was reminded of this fact, for a
+curious and doubtful look came into his face when he heard two of the
+most active and energetic men in the town set aside to search a region
+where he had no idea that his boy could have strayed. Some excuse was
+given also for the detailing of two other men of equal ability to take
+the range immediately above the river bank, and within hailing distance
+of those in the marshes by the shore. Had his mind not been in the daze
+of mortal grief and perplexity, he would have grasped the sinister
+significance of this precaution; but he accepted it in dull and hopeless
+confidence. When after they had set forth he told his wife of the
+arrangements made, and she heard the names of the four men who had been
+appointed to work near the riverside, she pulled the faded old Paisley
+shawl (that the child's nurse had wrapped about her) across her swollen
+eyes, and moaned, "The river, the river--oh, my boy, my boy!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Perhaps the men heard her, for being all in place to take their several
+directions, they made a certain broken start and were off into the
+darkness at the base of the hill, before the two or three of their sex
+who were left in charge of the women had fairly given the word. The
+tramp of men's feet and horses' hoofs died down into the shadowy
+distance. The women went inside the spacious old corn-crib that had been
+turned into a gun-club shooting-box, and there the mother laid her face
+on the breast of her best friend, and clung to her without a sound, only
+shuddering once and again, and holding her with a convulsive grip. The
+other women moved around, and busied themselves with little offices,
+like the making of tea and the trimming of lamps, and talked among each
+other in a quiet way with the odd little upward inflections with which
+women simulate cheerfulness and hope, telling tales of children who had
+been lost and had been found again all safe and unscathed, and praising
+the sagacity and persistence of certain of the men engaged in the
+search. Mr. Latimer, they said, was almost like a detective, he had such
+an instinct for finding things and people. Mr. Brown knew every field
+and hollow on the Brookfield Road. Mr. MacDonald could see just as well
+in the darkness as in the daytime; and all the talk that reached the
+mother's ears was of this man's skill of woodcraft, of that man's
+knowledge of the country, or of another's unfailing cleverness or
+tirelessness.
+
+Outside, the two or three men in charge stood by the father in their own
+way. It had been agreed that he should wait at the hilltop to learn if a
+trail had been found. He was a good fellow, but not helpful or capable;
+and it was their work to "jolly" him, as they called it; to keep his
+hope up with cheering suggestions, and with occasional judicious doses
+of whiskey from their flasks. For themselves, they did not drink; though
+their voices were low and steady they were more nervous than the poor
+sufferer they guarded, numbed and childish in his awful grief and
+apprehension. They were waiting for the sounds of the beginning of the
+search far below, and presently these sounds came, or rather one sound,
+a hollow noise, changeful, uneven, yet of a cruel monotony. It was a cry
+of "Willy! Willy! Willy!" rising out of that gray-black depth, a cry of
+many voices, a cry that came from far and near, a cry at which the women
+huddled closer together and pressed each other's hands, and looked
+speechless love and pity at the woman who lay upon her best friend's
+breast, clutching it tighter and tighter. Of the men outside, the father
+leaned forward and clutched the arm of his chair. The others saw the
+great drops of sweat roll from his brow, and they turned their faces
+away from him and swore inaudibly.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then, as the deep below began to be alive with a faint dim light
+reflected from the half awakened heaven, the voices died away in the
+distance, and in their place the leaves of the great trees rustled and
+the birds twittered to the coming morn.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The day broke with the dull red that prophesies heat. As the hours wore
+on the prophecy was fulfilled. The moisture of the dew and the river
+mist rose toward the hot sky and vanished, but the dry haze remained and
+the low sun shone through it with a peculiar diffusion of coppery light.
+Even when it reached the zenith, the warm, faintly yellow dimness still
+rose high above the horizon, throwing its soft spell upon all objects
+far or near, and melting through the dim blue on the distant hilltop
+into the hot azure of the great dome above.
+
+For an hour the watchers on the hill remained undisturbed, talking in
+undertones. For the most part, they speculated on the significance of
+the faint sounds that came up from below. Sometimes they could trace the
+crash of a horse through dry underbrush; sometimes a tumultuous clamor
+of commanding voices would tell them that a flat boat was being worked
+across a broad creek or a pond; sometimes a hardly audible whirr, and
+the metallic clinking of a bicycle bell would tell them that the
+wheelmen were speeding on the search. But for the best part of the time
+only nature's harmony of sounds came up through the ever-lightening
+gloom.
+
+But with the first of daylight came the neighbors who had not been
+summoned, and they, of course, came running. It was also noticeable of
+this contingent that their attire was somewhat studied, and showed more
+or less elaborate preparation for starting on the already started hunt.
+Noticeable also it was, that after much sagacious questioning and
+profoundly wise discussion, the most of the new-comers either hung about
+peering out into the dawn and making startling discoveries at various
+points, or else went back to their houses to get bicycles, or horses, or
+forgotten suspenders. The little world of a suburban town sorts itself
+out pretty quickly and pretty surely. There are the men who do and the
+men who don't; and very few of the men who _did_, in that particular
+town, were in bed half an hour after the loss of that child was known.
+
+But, after all, the late arrivals were useful in their way, and their
+wives, who came along later, were still more useful. The men were
+fertile in suggestions for tempting and practicable breakfasts; and the
+women actually brought the food along; and by the time that the world
+was well alight, the early risers were bustling about and serving coffee
+and tea, and biscuits and fruit, and keeping up that semblance of
+activity and employment that alone can carry poor humanity through long
+periods of suspense and anxiety. And the first on the field were the
+last to eat and the least critical of their fare.
+
+It was eight o'clock when the first party of searchers returned to the
+hill. There were eight of them. They stopped a little below the crib and
+beckoned to Penrhyn to come down to them. He went, white-faced and a
+little unsteady on his feet; his guardians followed him and joined with
+the group in a busy serious talk that lasted perhaps five minutes--but
+vastly longer to the women who watched them from above. Then Penrhyn and
+two men went hastily down the hill, and the others came up to the crib
+and eagerly accepted the offer of a hasty breakfast.
+
+They had little to tell, and that little only served to deepen the doubt
+and trouble of the hour. Of all the complication of unkind chance the
+searchers had to face the worst and the most puzzling. As in many towns
+of old settlement a road ran around the town, roughly circumscribing it,
+much as the boulevards of Paris anciently circumscribed the old
+fortifications of the city. It was little more than a haphazard
+connection of roads, lanes, and avenues, each one of which had come into
+existence to serve some particular end, and the connection had ended in
+forming a circuit that practically defined the town limits. It had been
+made certain that the boy had wandered this whole round, and that he had
+not left it by any one of the converging roads which he must have
+crossed. Nor could the direction of his wandering be ascertained. The
+hard, dry macadam road, washed clean by a recent rainfall, showed no
+trace of his light, infantile footprints. But sure it was that he had
+been on the road not one hour, but two or three at least, and that he
+had started out with an armful of his tiny belongings. Here they had
+found his small pocket-handkerchief, there a gray giraffe from his
+Noah's ark; in another place a noseless doll that had descended to him
+from his eldest sister; then a top had been found--a top that he could
+not have spun for years to come. Would the years ever come when that
+lost boy should spin tops?
+
+There were other little signs which attested his passage around the
+circle--freshly broken stalks of milkweed, shreds of his brightly
+figured cotton dress on the thorns of the wayside blackberries, and even
+in one place the clear print of a muddy and bloody little hand on a
+white gate-post.
+
+There is no search more difficult than a search for a lost child five or
+six years of age. We are apt to think of these wee ones as feeble
+creatures, and we forget that their physical strength is proportionally
+much greater than that of grown-up people. We forget also that the child
+has not learned to attribute sensations of physical discomfort to their
+proper sources. The child knows that it suffers, but it does not know
+why. It is conscious of a something wrong, but the little brain is often
+unable to tell whether that something be weariness or hunger. If the
+wandering spirit be upon it, it wanders to the last limit of physical
+power, and it is surprising indeed to find how long it is before that
+limit is reached. A healthy, muscular infant of this age has been known
+to walk nearly eight or ten miles before becoming utterly exhausted. And
+when exhaustion comes, and the tiny form falls in its tracks, how small
+an object it is to detect in the great world of outdoors! A little
+bundle of dusty garments in a ditch, in a wayside hollow, in tall grass,
+or among the tufts and hummocks of a marsh--how easy it is for so
+inconspicuous an object to escape the eye of the most zealous searcher!
+A young animal lost cries incessantly; the lost child cries out his
+pitiful little cry, finds itself lifted to no tender bosom, soothed by
+no gentle voice, and in the end wanders and suffers in helpless,
+hopeless silence.
+
+As the morning wore on Dirck and Halford beat the swampy lands of the
+riverside with a thoroughness that showed their understanding of the
+difficulty of their work, and their conviction that the child had taken
+that direction. This conviction deepened with every hour, for the rest
+of the countryside was fairly open and well populated, and there the
+search should have been, for such a search, comparatively easy. Yet the
+sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, and no sound of guns fired in
+glad signal reached their ears. Hither and thither they went through the
+hot lowlands, meeting and parting again, with appointments to come
+together in spots known to them both, or separating without a word, each
+knowing well where their courses would bring them together. From time to
+time they caught glimpses of their companions on the hills above, who,
+from their height, could see the place of meeting on the still higher
+hill, and each time they signalled the news and got back the despairing
+sign that meant "None yet!"
+
+News enough there was, but not _the_ news. Mrs. Penrhyn still stayed,
+for her own house was so situated that the child could not possibly
+return to it, if he had taken the direction that now seemed certain,
+without passing through the crowd of searchers, and intelligence of his
+discovery must reach her soonest at that point. Perhaps there was
+another reason, too. Perhaps she could not bear to return to that
+silent house, where every room held some reminder of her loss. Certainly
+she remained at the Club, and perhaps she got some unreasoning comfort
+out of the rumors and reports that came to that spot from every side. It
+was but the idle talk that springs up and flies about on such occasions,
+but now and then it served as a straw for her drowning hope to clutch
+at. Word would come of a farmer who had seen a strange child in his
+neighbor's wagon. Then would come a story of an inn-keeper who had
+driven into town to ask if anybody had lost a boy. Then somebody would
+bring a report at third or fourth hand of a child rescued alive from the
+river. Of course story after story, report after report, came to
+nothing. The child seen in the wagon was a girl of fourteen. The
+inn-keeper had come to town to ask about the lost child, but it was only
+because he had heard the report and was curious. A child indeed had been
+rescued from the river, but the story was a week old. And so it went,
+and the hot sun rose to the zenith and declined, and the coppery haze
+grew dim, and the shadows lengthened, and the late afternoon was come
+with its awful threat of impending night.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Dirck and Halford, down in the riverside marsh, saw that dreaded change
+fall upon the landscape, and they paused in their search and looked at
+one another silently. They had been ceaselessly at work all day, and the
+work had left its marks on them. Their faces were burnt to a fiery red,
+they were torn and scratched in the brambles, their clothes were soaked
+in mud and water to the waist, and they had been bitten and stung by
+insects until they looked as though some strange fever had broken out on
+them.
+
+They had just met after a long beat, each having described the half of a
+circle around a piece of open water, and had sunk down in utter
+weariness on a little patch of dry ground, and for a minute looked at
+each other in silence. Then the younger man spoke.
+
+"Hal," he said, "he never came this far."
+
+By way of answer the other drew from his pocket a child's shoe, worn and
+wet, and held it up.
+
+"Where did you find it?" asked Dirck.
+
+"Right over there," said Halford, "near that old wagon-trail."
+
+Dirck looked at him with a question in his eyes, which found its answer
+in the grave inclination of the elder's head. Then Dirck shook his own
+head and whistled--one long, low, significant whistle.
+
+"Well," he said, "I thought so. Any trail?"
+
+"Not the least," replied Halford. "There's a strip of thick salt grass
+there, over two yards wide, and I found the shoe right in the middle of
+it. It was lying on its side when I found it, not caught in the grass."
+
+"Then they were carrying him, sure," said Dirck, decisively. "Now then,
+the question is, which way."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The two men went over to the abandoned roadway, a mere trail of ruts,
+where, in years before, ox-teams had hauled salt hay. Up and down the
+long strip of narrow grass that bordered it, they went backward and
+forward, hunting for traces of men's feet, for they knew by this time,
+almost beyond doubt, that the child was in the hands of tramps. The
+"tramp-hole" is an institution in all suburban regions which are
+bordered by stretches of wild and unfrequented country. These
+tramp-holes or camps are the headquarters of bands of wanderers who come
+year after year to dwell sometimes for a week, sometimes for months. The
+same spot is always occupied, and there seems to be an understanding
+among all the bands that the original territory shall not be exceeded.
+The tramps who establish these "holes" are invariably professionals,
+and never casual vagabonds; and apparently they make it a point of honor
+to conduct themselves with a certain propriety while they are in camp.
+Curiously enough, too, they seem to come to the tramp-hole, mainly for
+the purpose of doing what it is supposed that a tramp never does,
+namely: washing themselves and their clothes. I have seen on a chill
+November day, in one of these places, half a dozen men, naked to the
+waist, scrubbing themselves, or drying their wet shirts before the
+fire. I have always found them perfectly peaceable, and I have never
+known them to accost lonely passers-by, or women or children. If a
+shooting or fishing party comes along, however, large enough to put any
+accusation of terrorism out of the question, it is not uncommon for the
+"hoboes" to make a polite suggestion that the poor man would be the
+better for his beer; and so well is the reputation of these queer camps
+established that the applicant generally receives such a collection of
+five-cent pieces as will enable him to get a few quarts for himself and
+his companions.
+
+Still, in spite of the mysterious system of government that sways these
+banded wanderers on the face of the earth, it happens occasionally that
+the tramp of uncontrollable instincts finds his way into the tramp-hole,
+and there, if his companions are not numerous or strong enough to
+withstand him, commits some outrage that excites popular indignation and
+leads to the utter abolition of one of the few poor out-door homes that
+the tramp can call his own, by the grace and indulgence of the world of
+workers. That such a thing had happened now the two searchers for the
+lost child feared with an unspeakable fear.
+
+Dirck straightened himself up after a careful inspection of the strip of
+salt grass turf, and looking up at the ridge, blew a loud, shrill
+whistle on his two fingers. There was no answer. They had gone a full
+mile beyond call of their followers.
+
+"I'll tell you what, old man," said Dirck, with the light of battle
+coming into his young eyes, "we'll do this thing ourselves." His senior
+smiled, but even as he smiled he knit his brows.
+
+"I'll go you, my boy," he said, "so far as to look them up at the
+canal-boats. If they are not there we've got to go back and start the
+rest off. It may be a question of horses, and it may be a question of
+telegraphing."
+
+"Well, let's have one go at them, anyway," said Dirck. He was no less
+tender-hearted than his companion; he wanted to find the child, but also
+he wanted, being young and strong and full of fight, to hunt tramps.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were three tramp-holes by the riverside, but two were sheltered
+hollows used only in the winter-time. The third was a collection of
+abandoned canal-boats on the muddy strand of the river. Most of them
+were hopeless wrecks; in three or four a few patches of deck remained,
+enough to afford lodgment and shelter to the reckless wayfarers who made
+nothing of sleeping close to the polluted waters that permeated the
+rotten hulks with foul stains and fouler smells.
+
+From the largest of these long, clumsy carcasses of boats came a sound
+of muffled laughter. The two searchers crept softly up, climbed
+noiselessly to the deck and looked down the hatchway. The low, red sun
+poured in through a window below them, leaving them in shadow and making
+a picture in red light and black shades of the strange group below.
+
+Surrounded by ten tramps; ten dirty, uncouth, unshaven men of the road,
+sat the little Penrhyn boy, his little night-shirt much travel-stained
+and torn, his fat legs scratched and bruised, his soiled cheeks showing
+the traces of tears, his lips dyed with the juices of the berries he
+had eaten on his way, but happy, happy, happy--happier perhaps than he
+had ever been in his life before; for in his hand he held a clay pipe
+which he made persistent efforts to smoke, while one of the men, a big
+black-bearded animal who wore three coats, one on top of the other,
+gently withdrew it from his lips each time that the smoke grew
+dangerously thick. And the whole ten of them, sitting around him in
+their rags and dirt, cheered him and petted him and praised him, even as
+no polite assemblage had ever worshipped him before. No food, no drink
+could have been so acceptable to that delicately nurtured child of the
+house of Penrhyn as the rough admiration of those ten tramps. Whatever
+terrors, sufferings, or privations he had been through were all
+forgotten, and he crowed and shrieked with hysterical laughter. And when
+his two rescuers dropped down into the hole, instead of welcoming them
+with joy, he grabbed one of the collars of the big brute with the three
+coats and wept in dire disappointment and affright.
+
+"Fore God, boss!" said the spokesman of the gang, the sweat standing out
+on his brow, "we didn't mean him no harm, and we wouldn't have done him
+no harm neither. We found de little blokey over der in the ma'sh yonder,
+and we tuk him in and fed him de best we could. We was goin' to take him
+up to the man what keeps the gin-mill up the river there, for we hadn't
+no knowledge where he come from, and we didn't want to get none of you
+folks down on us. I know we oughter have took him up two hours ago, but
+he was foolin' that funny-like that we all got kinder stuck on it, see,
+and we kinder didn't want to shake him. That's all there was to it,
+boss. God in heaven be my judge, I ain't lyin', and that's the truth!"
+
+The faces of the ten tramps could not turn white, but they did show an
+ashen fear under their eyes--a deadly fear of the two men for whom any
+one of them would have been more than a match, but who represented the
+world from which they were outcasts, the world of Home, of whose most
+precious sweetness they had stolen an hour's enjoyment--the world so
+strong and terrible to avenge a wrong to its best beloved.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then the silence was broken by the voice of the child, wailing
+piteously:
+
+"I don't want to be tooken away from the raggedty gentlemen!"
+
+Dirck still looked suspicious as he took the weeping child, but Halford
+smiled grimly, thoughtfully and sadly, as he put his hand in his pocket
+and said: "I guess it's all right, boys, but I think you'd better get
+away for the present. Take this and get over the river and out of the
+county. The people have been searching for this baby all day, and I
+don't know whether they'll listen to my friend and me."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The level red light had left the valleys and low places, and lit alone
+the hilltop where the mother was watching, when a great shout came out
+of the darkness, spreading from voice to voice through the great expanse
+below, and echoed wildly from above, thrilling men's blood and making
+hearts stand still; and as it rose and swelled and grew toward her out
+of the darkness, the mother knew that her lost child was found.
+
+
+
+
+A LETTER TO TOWN
+
+                                           FERNSEED STATION.
+                                           ATLANTIS CO., NEW ----
+                                          _February 30, 189-._
+
+MY DEAR MODESTUS:--You write me that circumstances have decided you to
+move your household from New York to some inexpensively pleasant town,
+village, or hamlet in the immediate neighborhood, and you ask me the
+old, old innocent question:
+
+"Shall I like suburban life?"
+
+This question I can answer most frankly and positively:
+
+"No, certainly not. You will not like it at all."
+
+There is no such thing as _liking_ a country life--for I take it that
+you mean to remove to the real suburban countryside, and not to one of
+those abominable and abhorrent deserts of paved streets laid out at
+right angles, and all supplied with sewers and electric light wires and
+water-mains before the first lonely house escapes from the house-pattern
+books to tempt the city dweller out to that dreary, soulless waste which
+has all the modern improvements and not one tree. I take it, I say, that
+you are going to no such cheap back-extension of a great city, but that
+you are really going among the trees and the water-courses, severing all
+ties with the town, save the railway's glittering lines of steel--or,
+since I have thought of it, I might as well say the railway ties.
+
+If that is what your intent is, and you carry it out firmly, you are
+going to a life which you can never like, but which you may learn to
+love.
+
+How should it be possible that you should enjoy taking up a new life,
+with new surroundings, new anxieties, new responsibilities, new duties,
+new diversions, new social connections--new conditions of every
+kind--after living half a lifetime in New York? It is true that, being
+a born New Yorker, you know very little indeed of the great city you
+live in. You know the narrow path you tread, coming and going, from your
+house to your office, and from your office to your house. It follows, as
+closely as it may, the line of Broadway and Fifth Avenue. The elevated
+railroads bound it downtown; and uptown fashion has drawn a line a few
+hundred yards on either side, which you have only to cross, to east or
+to west, to find a strange exposition of nearsightedness come upon your
+friends. Here and there you do, perhaps, know some little by-path that
+leads to a club or a restaurant, or to a place of amusement. After a
+number of books have been written at you, you have ventured timorously
+and feebly into such unknown lands as Greenwich Village; or that poor,
+shabby, elbowing stretch of territory that used to be interesting, in a
+simple way, when it was called the French Quarter. It is now supposed to
+be the Bohemian Quarter, and rising young artists invite parties of
+society-ladies to go down to its table d'hôte restaurants, and see the
+desperate young men of the bachelor-apartments smoke cigarettes and
+drink California claret without a sign of trepidation.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+As I say, that is pretty near all you know of the great, marvellous,
+multitudinous town you live in--a city full of strange people, of
+strange occupations, of strange habits of life, of strange contrasts of
+wealth and poverty; of a new life of an indescribable crudity, and of
+an old life that breeds to-day the very atmosphere of the historic
+past. Your feet have never strayed in the side paths where you might
+have learned something of the infinite and curious strangeness of this
+strange city.
+
+But, after all, this is neither here nor there. You have accustomed
+yourself to the narrow dorsal strip that is all New York to you. Therein
+are contained the means of meeting your every need, and of gratifying
+your every taste. There are your shops, your clubs, your libraries, your
+schools, your theatres, your art-galleries, and the houses of all your
+friends, except a few who have ventured a block or so outside of that
+magic line that I spoke of a little while ago. And now you are not only
+going to cross that line yourself, but to pass the fatal river beyond
+it, to burn your boats behind you, and to settle in the very wilderness.
+And you ask me if you will like it!
+
+No, Modestus, you will not. You have made up your mind, of course, to
+the tedium of the two railway journeys every weekday, and when you have
+made friends with your fellow-commuters, you will get to like it, for
+your morning trip in will take the place with you of your present
+afternoon call at your club. And you are pretty sure to enjoy the
+novelty of the first few months. You have moved out in the spring, and,
+dulled as your perceptions are by years of city life, you cannot fail to
+be astonished and thrilled, and perhaps a little bit awed, at the wonder
+of that green awakening. And when you see how the first faint, seemingly
+half-doubtful promise of perfect growth is fulfilled by the procession
+of the months, you yourself will be moved with the desire to work this
+miracle, and to make plants and flowers grow at your own will. You will
+begin to talk of what you are going to do next year--for you have taken
+a three years' lease, I trust--if only as an evidence of good faith. You
+will lay out a tract for your flower garden and your vegetable garden,
+and you will borrow your neighbor's seed-catalogue, and you will plan
+out such a garden as never blossomed since Eden.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+And in your leisure days, of course, you _will_ enjoy it more or less.
+You will sit on your broad veranda in the pleasant mornings and listen
+to the wind softly brushing the tree-tops to and fro, and look at the
+blue sky through the leaf-framed spaces in the cool, green canopy above
+you; and as you remember the cruel, hot, lifeless days of summer in your
+town house, when you dragged through the weeks of work that separated
+you from the wife and children at the sea-side or in the
+mountains--then, Modestus, you must look upon what is before you, and
+say: it is good.
+
+It is true that you can't get quite used to the sensation of wearing
+your tennis flannels at your own domestic breakfast table, and you
+cannot help feeling as if somebody had stolen your clothes, and you were
+going around in your pajamas. But presently your friend--for of course
+you have followed the trail of a friend, in choosing your new
+abode--your friend drops in clad likewise, and you take the children and
+start off for a stroll. As the pajama-feeling wears off, you become
+quite enthusiastic. You tell your friend that this is the life that you
+always wanted to lead; that a man doesn't really live in the city, but
+only exists; that it is a luxury to breathe such air, and enjoy the
+peaceful calm and perfect silence. Away inside of you something says
+that this is humbug, for, the fact is, the perfect silence strikes you
+as somewhat lonesome, and it even scares you a little. Then your
+children keep running up to you with strange plants and flowers, and
+asking you what they are; and you find it trying on the nerves to keep
+up the pretence of parental omniscience, and yet avoid the too-ready
+corrections of your friend.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Johnny-jumper!" he says, scornfully, when you have hazarded a guess out
+of your meagre botanical vocabulary: "Why, man, that's no Johnny-jumper,
+that's a wild geranium." Then he addresses himself to the other
+inquiring youngster: "No, my boy, that's not a chestnut; that's an
+acorn. You won't get chestnuts till the fall, and then you'll get them
+off the chestnut trees. That's an oak."
+
+And so the walk is not altogether pleasant for you, and you find it
+safest to confine your remarks on country life to generalizations
+concerning the air and the silence.
+
+No, Modestus, do not think for a moment that I am making game of you.
+Your friend would be no more at home at the uptown end of your little
+New York path than you are here in his little town; and he does not look
+on your ignorance of nature as sternly as you would look upon his
+unfamiliarity with your familiar landmarks. For his knowledge has grown
+upon him so naturally and unconsciously, that he hardly esteems it of
+any value.
+
+But you can have no idea of the tragico-comical disadvantage at which
+you will find yourself placed during your first year in the
+country--that is, the suburban country. You know, of course, when you
+move into a new neighborhood in the city you must expect to find the
+local butcher and baker and candlestick-maker ready to fall upon you,
+and to tear the very raiment from your back, until they are assured that
+you are a solvent permanency--and you have learned how to meet and repel
+their attacks. When you find that the same thing is done in the country,
+only in a different way, which you don't in the least understand, you
+will begin to experience a certain feeling of discouragement. Then, the
+humorous papers have taught you to look upon the Suburban Furnace as
+part of the machinery or property of a merry jest; and you will be
+shocked to discover that to the new-comer it is a stern and cold
+reality. I use the latter adjective deliberately and advisedly. There
+will surely come an awful night when you will get home from New York
+with Mrs. Modestus in the midnight train, too tired for anything but a
+drowsy chat by the lingering embers of the library fire over the
+festivities of the evening. You will open your broad hospitable door,
+and enter an abode of chill and darkness. Your long-slumbering
+household has let fires and lights go out; the thermometer in the
+children's room stands at forty-five degrees, and there is nothing for
+you to do but to descend to the cellar, arrayed in your wedding
+garments, and try your unskilful best to coax into feeble circulation a
+small, faintly throbbing heart of fire that yet glows far down in the
+fire-pot's darksome internals. Then, when you have done what you can at
+the unwonted and unwelcome task, you will see, by the feeble
+candle-light, that your black dress-coat is gray with fine cinder dust,
+and that your hands are red and raw from the handling of heavy
+implements of toil. And then you will think of city home-comings after
+the theatre or the ball; of the quiet half-hour in front of the dying
+cannel; of the short cigar and the little nightcap, and of the gentle
+passage bedward, so easy in that warm and slumberous atmosphere that you
+hardly know how you have passed from weariness to peaceful dreams. And
+there will come to your spirit a sudden passion of humiliation and
+revolt that will make you say to yourself: This is the end!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But you know perfectly well that it is _not_ the end, however ardently
+you may wish that it was. There still remain two years of your
+un-subletable lease; and you set yourself, courageously and firmly, to
+serving out the rest of your time. You resolve, as a good prisoner, to
+make the best of it. You set to work to apply a little plain
+common-sense to the problem of the furnace--and find it not so difficult
+of partial solution after all. You face your other local troubles with a
+determination to minimize them at least. You resolve to check your too
+open expressions of dissatisfaction with the life you are leading. You
+hardly know why you do this, but you have, half-unconsciously, read a
+gentle hint in the faces of your neighbors; and as you see those kindly
+faces gathering oftener and oftener about your fire as the winter nights
+go on, it may, perhaps, dawn upon your mind that the existence you were
+so quick to condemn has grown dear to some of them.
+
+But, whether you know it or not, that second year in the suburban house
+is a crisis and turning-point in your life, for it will make of you
+either a city man or a suburban, and it will surely save you from being,
+for all the rest of your days, that hideous betwixt-and-between thing,
+that uncanny creation of modern days of rapid transit, who fluctuates
+helplessly between one town and another; between town and city, and
+between town and city again, seeking an impossible and unattainable
+perfection, and scattering remonstrant servant-maids and disputed bills
+for repairs along his cheerless track.
+
+You have learned that the miseries of country life are not dealt out to
+you individually, but that they belong to the life, just as the
+troubles you fled from belong to the life of a great city. Of course,
+the realization of this fact only serves to make you see that you erred
+in making so radical a change in the current of your life. You perceive
+only the more clearly that as soon as your appointed time is up, you
+must reëstablish yourself in urban conditions. There is no question
+about it; whatever its merits may be--and you are willing to concede
+that they are many--it is obvious that country life does not suit you,
+or that you do not suit country life, one or the other. And yet--somehow
+incomprehensibly--the understanding that you have only shifted the
+burden you bore among your old neighbors has put a strangely new face on
+things, and has made you so readily tolerant that you are really a
+little surprised at yourself.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The winter goes by; the ever welcome glory of the spring comes back, and
+with it comes the natural human longing to make a garden, which is
+really, although we treat it lightly, a sort of humble first-cousin to
+the love of children. In your own breast you repress this weakness. Why
+taste of a pleasure which in another short year you mean to put
+permanently out of your reach? But there is no resisting the entreaties
+of your children, nor your wife's ready interest in their schemes, and
+you send for Pat Brannigan, and order a garden made. Of course, it is
+only for the children, but it is strange how readily a desire to please
+the little ones spreads into a broader benevolence. When you look over
+your wife's list of plants and seeds, you are surprised to find how many
+of them are perennials. "They will please the next tenants here," says
+your wife; "think how nice it would have been for us to find some
+flowers all already for us, when we came here!" This may possibly lead
+you to reflecting that there might have been something, after all, in
+your original idea of suppressing the gardening instinct.
+
+But there, after a while, is the garden--for these stories of suburban
+gardens where nothing grows, are all nonsense. True, the clematis and
+the moonflower obstinately refuse to clothe your cot with beauty; the
+tigridia bulbs rot in the ground, and your beautiful collection of
+irises produces a pitiful pennyworth of bloom to an intolerable quantity
+of leaves. But the petunias and the sweet-williams, and the balsams, and
+all the other ill-bred and obtrusive flowers leap promptly into life and
+vigor, and fight each other for the ownership of the beds. And the
+ever-faithful and friendly nasturtium comes early and stays late, and
+the limp morning-glory may always be counted upon to slouch familiarly
+over everything in sight, window-blinds preferred. But, bless you dear
+urban soul, what do _you_ know about the relative values of flowers?
+When Mrs. Overtheway brings your wife a bunch of her superbest gladioli,
+you complacently return the compliment with a half-bushel of magenta
+petunias, and you wonder that she does not show more enthusiasm over the
+gift.
+
+In fact, during the course of the summer you have grown so friendly with
+your garden that, as you wander about its tangled paths in the late fall
+days, you cannot help feeling a twinge of yearning pain that makes you
+tremble to think what weakness you might have been guilty of had you not
+already burned your bridges behind you, and told the house agent that
+nothing would induce you to renew the lease next spring. You remember
+how fully and carefully you explained to him your position in the
+matter. With a glow of modest pride you recall the fact that you stated
+your case to him so convincingly, that he had to agree with you that a
+city life was the only life you and your family could possibly lead. He
+understood fully how much you liked the place and the people, and how,
+if this were only so, and that were only the other way, you would
+certainly stay. And you feel if the house agent agrees with you against
+his own interest, you must be right in your decision. Ah, dear Modestus!
+You know little enough about flowers; but oh, how little, little, little
+you know about suburban house agents!
+
+Let us pass lightly over the third winter. It is a period of hesitation,
+perplexity, expectancy, and general awkwardness. You are, and you are
+not. You belong nowhere, and to no one. You have renounced your new
+allegiance, and you really do not know when, how, or at what point you
+are going to take up the old one again. And, in point of fact, you do
+not regard this particular prospect with feelings of complete
+satisfaction. You remember, with a troubled conscience, the long list of
+social connections which you have found it too troublesome to keep up at
+long range. I say you, for I am quite sure that Mrs. Modestus will
+certify me that it was You and not She, who first declared that it was
+practically impossible to keep on going to the Smith's dinners or the
+Brown's receptions. You don't know this, my dear Modestus, but I assure
+you that you may take it for granted. You remember also that your return
+must carry with it the suggestion of the ignominy of defeat, and you
+know exactly the tone of kindly contemptuous, mildly assumed superiority
+with which your friends will welcome you back. And the approaching
+severance of your newer ties troubles your mind in another way. Your new
+friends do not try to dissuade you from going (they are too wise in a
+suburban way for that), but they say, and show in a hundred ways, that
+they are sorry to think of losing you. And this forbearance, so
+different from what you have to expect at the other end of your moving,
+reproaches and pains while it touches your heart. These people were all
+strangers to you two years and a half ago; they are chance rather than
+chosen companions. And yet, in this brief space of time--filled with
+little neighborly offices, with faithful services and tender sympathies
+in hours of sickness, and perhaps of death, with simple, informal
+companionship--you have grown into a closer and heartier friendship with
+them than you have ever known before, save with the one or two old
+comrades with whose love your life is bound up. When you learned to
+leave your broad house-door open to the summer airs, you opened,
+unconsciously, another door; and these friends have entered in.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is a sunny Saturday afternoon in early April, but not exactly an
+April afternoon, rather one of those precocious days of delicious warmth
+and full, summer-like sunshine, that come to remind us that May and June
+are close behind the spring showers. You and Mrs. Modestus sit on the
+top step of your front veranda, just as you sat there on such a day,
+nearly three years ago. As on that day, you are talking of the future;
+but you are in a very different frame of mind to-day. In a few short
+weeks you will be adrift upon a sea of domestic uncertainty. For weeks
+you have visited the noisy city, hunting the proud and lofty mansion and
+the tortuous and humiliating flat, and it has all come to this--a
+steam-heated "family-hotel," until such time when you can find summer
+quarters; and then, with the fall, a new beginning of the weary search.
+And then--and then----
+
+Coming and going along the street, your friends and neighbors give you
+cheery greeting, to which you respond somewhat absent-mindedly. You can
+hear the voices of your children and their little neighbor-friends
+playing in the empty garden plot. Your talk flags. You do not know just
+what you are thinking about; still less do you know what your wife is
+thinking about--but you know that you wish the children would stop
+laughing, and that the people would stop going by and nodding
+pleasantly.
+
+And now comes one who does not go by. He turns in at the gate and walks
+up the gravel path. He smiles and bows at you as if the whole world were
+sunshine--a trim little figure, dressed with such artistic care that
+there is cheerfulness in the crease of his trousers and suavity in his
+very shirt-front. He greets Mrs. Modestus with a world of courtesy, and
+then he sits confidentially down by your side and says: "My dear sir, I
+am come to talk a little business with you."
+
+No, you will not talk business. Your mind is firmly made up. Nothing
+will induce you to renew the lease.
+
+"But, my dear sir," he says, with an enthusiasm that would be as
+boisterous as an ocean wave, if it had not so much oil on its surface:
+"I don't want you to renew the lease. I have a much better plan than
+that! I want you to _buy the house_!"
+
+And then he goes on to tell you all about it; how the estate must be
+closed up; how the house may be had for a song; and he names a figure so
+small that it gives you two separate mental shocks; first, to realize
+that it is within your means; second, to find that he is telling the
+truth.
+
+He goes on talking softly, suggestively, telling you what a bargain it
+is, telling you all the things you have put out of your mind for many
+months; telling you--telling you nothing, and well he knows it. Three
+years of life under that roof have done his pleading for him.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then your wife suddenly reaches out her hand and touches you furtively.
+
+"Oh, buy it," she whispers, huskily, "if you can." And then she gathers
+up her skirts and hurries into the house.
+
+Then a little later you are all in the library, and you have signed a
+little plain strip of paper, headed "Memorandum of Sale." And then you
+and the agent have drunk a glass of wine to bind the bargain, and then
+the agent is gone, and you and your wife are left standing there,
+looking at each other with misty eyes and questioning smiles, happy and
+yet doubtful if you have done right or wrong.
+
+But what does it matter, my dear Modestus?
+
+For you could not help yourselves.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Jersey Street and Jersey Lane, by H. C. Bunner
+
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+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jersey Street and Jersey Lane, by H. C. Bunner.
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jersey Street and Jersey Lane, by H. C. Bunner
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Jersey Street and Jersey Lane
+       Urban and Suburban Sketches
+
+Author: H. C. Bunner
+
+Illustrator: A. B. Frost
+             B. West Clinedinst
+             Irving R. Wiles
+             Kenneth Frazier
+
+Release Date: May 24, 2007 [EBook #21597]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JERSEY STREET AND JERSEY LANE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Janet Blenkinship and The Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<p><a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img001.jpg" width="429" height="600"
+             alt="A TANGLED PATH" /><br />
+         <b>"A TANGLED PATH"</b>
+    </div>
+
+
+
+  <h1><br /><br />JERSEY STREET<br />
+  AND JERSEY LANE</h1>
+
+  <h3>URBAN AND SUBURBAN SKETCHES<br /><br /></h3>
+
+
+  <h4>BY</h4>
+  <h2>H. C. BUNNER<br /><br /></h2>
+
+
+
+  <h3>ILLUSTRATED BY<br />
+  A. B. FROST, B. WEST CLINEDINST, IRVING R. WILES<br />
+  AND KENNETH FRAZIER</h3>
+
+  <p class="center">NEW YORK<br />
+  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br />
+  1896<br /><br />
+
+  Copyright, 1893, 1894, 1895, 1896, by<br />
+  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br /><br />
+
+  Press of J. J. Little &amp; Co.<br />
+  Astor Place, New York</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h4><br /><br />TO</h4>
+
+<h2>A. L. B.<br /><br /></h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='centered'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="80%" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS">
+<tr><td align='left'>JERSEY AND MULBERRY</td><td align='right'><a href='#JERSEY_AND_MULBERRY'><b>1</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>TIEMANN'S TO TUBBY HOOK</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_33'><b>33</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE BOWERY AND BOHEMIA</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_67'><b>67</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE STORY OF A PATH</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_99'><b>99</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE LOST CHILD</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_135'><b>135</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>A LETTER TO TOWN</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_175'><b>175</b></a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='centered'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="80%" cellspacing="0" summary="LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS">
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A tangled path</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#frontis'><b>Frontispiece</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The old lady sat down and wrote that letter</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_6'><b>6</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head * * * exchanges a few words with him</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_9'><b>9</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>And down in the big, red chair big sister plunks little sister</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_12'><b>12</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Then there is Mamie, the pretty girl in the window</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_14'><b>14</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>And plays on the Italian bagpipes</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_16'><b>16</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A Jewish sweater with coats on his shoulder</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_20'><b>20</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Glass-put-in man</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_21'><b>21</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Poor woman with market-basket</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_21'><b>21</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A Chinaman who stalks on with no expression at all</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Chinaman'><b>24</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The children are dancing</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_25'><b>25</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The girl you loved was * * * really grown up and too old for you</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_36'><b>36</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A few of the old family estates were kept up after a fashion</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_40'><b>40</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A random goat of poverty</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_41'><b>41</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The paint works that had paid for its building</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_45'><b>45</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A mansion imposing still in spite of age</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_49'><b>49</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>She wound the great, tall, white columns with these strips</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_53'><b>53</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Here also was a certain dell</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#certain_dell'><b>57</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The railroad embankment beyond which lay the pretty, blue Hudson</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#hudson'><b>59</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The wreck of the woods where I used to scramble</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_60'><b>60</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A little enclosure that is called a park</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_63'><b>63</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_64'><b>64</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>An old gentleman from Rondout-on-the-Hudson</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_70'><b>70</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Young gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_72'><b>72</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A gentleman permanently in temporary difficulties</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_74'><b>74</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A jackal is a man generally of good address</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#jackal'><b>81</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the world</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Bowery'><b>85</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>More and stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_89'><b>89</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Probably the edibles are in the majority</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#edibles'><b>91</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_93'><b>93</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The Anarchist Russians</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_94'><b>94</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_96'><b>96</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Through the rich man's country</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_108'><b>108</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A convenient way through the woods</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_112'><b>112</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that mountain</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_114'><b>114</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Malvina Dodd * * * took the winding track that her husband had laid out</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_118'><b>118</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Here the old man would sit down and wait</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_120'><b>120</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>He did a little grading with a mattock</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_121'><b>121</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The laborers found it and took it</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_125'><b>125</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The tinkers * * * and the rest of the old-time gentry of the road</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_128'><b>128</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>I used to go down that path on the dead run</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_131'><b>131</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>'I'm Latimer,' said the man on the horse</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_139'><b>139</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>That boy of Penrhyn's&mdash;the little one with the yellow hair</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_143'><b>143</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Lanterns and hand lamps dimly lit up faces</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_149'><b>149</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The river, the river,&mdash;oh, my boy</i>!"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_152'><b>152</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The father leaned forward and clutched the arms of his chair</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_155'><b>155</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>They had just met after a long beat</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_164'><b>164</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Half a dozen men naked to the waist scrubbing themselves</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_167'><b>167</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The mother knew that her lost child was found</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_173'><b>173</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The desperate young men of the bachelor apartments</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_180'><b>180</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>The hot, lifeless days of summer in your town house</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_183'><b>183</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>'That's no Johnny-jumper!'</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_185'><b>185</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>Other local troubles</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_189'><b>189</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>You send for Pat Brannigan</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_192'><b>192</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<i>A little plain strip of paper headed 'Memorandum of sale'</i>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_200'><b>200</b></a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="JERSEY_AND_MULBERRY" id="JERSEY_AND_MULBERRY"></a>JERSEY AND MULBERRY</h2>
+
+
+<p>I found this letter and comment in an evening paper, some time ago, and
+I cut the slip out and kept it for its cruelty:<br /><br /></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p>
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">To the Editor of the Evening</span> &mdash;&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>: In yesterday's issue you took occasion to speak of the
+organ-grinding nuisance, about which I hope you will let me ask you
+the following questions: Why must decent people all over town
+suffer these pestilential beggars to go about torturing our senses,
+and practically blackmailing the listeners into paying them to go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>
+away? Is it not a most ridiculous excuse on the part of the police,
+when ordered to arrest these vagrants, to tell a citizen that the
+city license exempts these public nuisances from arrest? Let me
+ask, Can the city by any means legalize a common-law misdemeanor?
+If not, how can the city authorities grant exemption to these
+sturdy beggars and vagrants by their paying for a license? The
+Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure, it seems, provide
+for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> punishment of gamblers, dive-keepers, and other disorderly
+persons, among whom organ-grinders fall, as being people who beg,
+and exhibit for money, and create disorder. If this is so, why can
+the police not be forced to intervene and forbid them their
+outrageous behavior?&mdash;for these fellows do not only not know or
+care for the observance of the city ordinance, which certainly is
+binding on them, but, relying on a fellow-feeling of vulgarity with
+the mob, resist all attempts made to remove them from the exercise
+of their most fearful beggary, which is not even tolerated any
+longer at Naples.</p>
+
+<p class="author">
+R.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 1em;">New York</span>, <i>February</i> 20th.
+</p>
+
+<p>[Our correspondent's appeal should be addressed to the Board of
+Aldermen and the Mayor. They consented to the licensing of the
+grinders in the face of a popular protest.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Ed. Evening</span> &mdash;&mdash;.]</p></div>
+
+<p><br /><br />Now certainly that was not a good letter to write, and is not a pleasant
+letter to read; but the worst of it is, I am afraid that you can never
+make the writer of it understand why it is unfair and unwise and
+downright cruel.</p>
+
+<p>For I think we can figure out the personality of that writer pretty
+easily. She is a nice old or middle-aged lady, unmarried, of course;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
+well-to-do, and likely to leave a very comfortable fortune behind her
+when she leaves all worldly things; and accustomed to a great deal of
+deference from her nephews and nieces. She is occasionally subject to
+nervous headaches, and she wrote this letter while she had one of her
+headaches. She had been lying down and trying to get a wink of sleep
+when the organ-grinder came under the window. It was a new organ and
+very loud, and its organ-grinder was proud of it and ground it with all
+his might, and it was certainly a very annoying instrument to delicate
+ears and sensitive nerves.</p>
+
+<p>Now, she might have got rid of the nuisance at once by a very simple
+expedient. If she had sent Abigail, her maid, down to the street, with a
+dime, and told her to say: "Sicka lady, no playa," poor Pedro would have
+swung his box of whistles over his shoulder and trudged contentedly on.
+But, instead, she sent Abigail down without the dime, and with
+instructions to threaten the man with immediate arrest and imprisonment.
+And Abigail went down and scolded the man with the more vigor that she
+herself had been scolded all day on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> account of the headache. And so
+Pedro just grinned at her in his exasperating furrin way, and played on
+until he got good and ready to go. Then he went, and the old lady sat
+down and wrote that letter, and gave it to Abigail to post.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img017.jpg" width="333" height="400"
+             alt="The old lady sat down and wrote that letter" /><br />
+             </div>
+
+
+<p>Later in the afternoon the old lady drove out, and the fresh air did her
+a world of good, and she stopped at a toy store and bought some trifles
+for sister Mary's little girl, who had the measles. Then she came home,
+and after dinner she read Mr. Jacob Riis's book, "How the Other Half
+Lives;" and she shuddered at the picture of the Jersey Street slums on
+the title page, and shuddered more as she read of the fourteen people
+packed in one room, and of the suffering and squalor and misery of it
+all. And then she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> made a memorandum to give a larger check to the
+charitable society next time. Then she went to bed, not forgetting first
+to read her nightly chapter in the gospel of the carpenter's son of
+Nazareth. And she had quite forgotten all about the coarse and
+unchristian words she had written in the letter that was by that time
+passing through the hands of the weary night-shift of mail-clerks down
+in the General Post-office. And when she did read it in print, she was
+so pleased and proud of the fluency of her own diction, and so many of
+her nephews and nieces said so many admiring things about what she might
+have done if she had only gone in for literature, that it really never
+occurred to her at all to think whether she had been any more just and
+charitable than the poor ignorant man who had annoyed her.</p>
+
+<p>She was especially pleased with the part that had the legal phraseology
+in it, and with the scornful rebuke of the police for their
+unwillingness to disobey municipal ordinances. That was founded partly
+on something that she had heard nephew John say once, and partly on a
+general idea she has that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> present administration has forcibly
+usurped the city government.</p>
+
+<p>Now, I have no doubt that when that organ-grinder went home at night, he
+and his large family laid themselves down to rest in a back room of the
+Jersey Street slum, and if it be so, I may sometimes see him when I look
+out of a certain window of the great red-brick building where my office
+is, for it lies on Mulberry Street, between Jersey and Houston. My own
+personal and private window looks out on Mulberry Street. It is in a
+little den at the end of a long string of low-partitioned offices
+stretching along the Mulberry Street side; and we who tenant them have
+looked out of the windows for so many years that we have got to know, at
+least by sight, a great many of the dwellers thereabouts. We are almost
+in the very heart of that "mob" on whose "fellow-feeling of vulgarity"
+the fellows who grind the organ rely to sustain them in their outrageous
+behavior. And, do you know, as we look out of those windows, year after
+year, we find ourselves growing to have a fellow-feeling of vulgarity
+with that same mob.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img020.jpg" width="237" height="400"
+             alt="Sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head ... exchanges a few words with him" /><br />
+             </div>
+
+<p>The figure and form which we know best are those of old Judge
+Ph&oelig;nix&mdash;for so the office-jester named him when we first moved in,
+and we have known him by that name ever since. He is a fat old Irishman,
+with a clean-shaven face, who stands summer and winter in the side
+doorway that opens, next to the little grocery opposite, on the
+alley-way to the rear tenement. Summer and winter he is buttoned to his
+chin in a faded old black overcoat. Alone he stands for the most part,
+smoking his black pipe and teetering gently from one foot to the other.
+But sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head comes out of the
+alley-way and exchanges a few words with him before she goes to the
+little grocery to get a loaf of bread, or a half-pint of milk, or to
+make that favorite purchase of the poor&mdash;three potatoes, one turnip,
+one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> carrot, four onions, and the handful of kale&mdash;a "b'ilin'." And
+there is also another old man, a small and bent old man, who has some
+strange job that occupies odd hours of the day, who stops on his way to
+and from work to talk with the Judge. For hours and hours they talk
+together, till one wonders how in the course of years they have not come
+to talk themselves out. What can they have left to talk about? If they
+had been Mezzofanti and Macaulay, talking in all known languages on all
+known topics, they ought certainly to have exhausted the resources of
+conversation long before this time.</p>
+
+<p>Judge Ph&oelig;nix must be a man of independent fortune, for he toils not,
+neither does he spin, and the lilies of the field could not lead a more
+simple vegetable life, nor stay more contentedly in one place. Perhaps
+he owns the rear tenement. I suspect so, for he must have been at one
+time in the labor-contract business. This, of course, is a mere guess,
+founded upon the fact that we once found the Judge away from his post
+and at work. It was at the time they were repaving Broadway<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> with the
+great pavement. We discovered the Judge at the corner of Bleecker Street
+perched on a pile of dirt, doing duty as sub-section boss. He was
+talking to the drivers of the vehicles that went past him, through the
+half-blockaded thoroughfare, and he was addressing them, after the true
+professional contractor's style, by the names of their loads.</p>
+
+<p>"Hi there, sand," he would cry, "git along lively! Stone, it's you the
+boss wants on the other side of the street! Dhry-goods, there's no place
+for ye here; take the next turn!" It was a proud day for the old Judge,
+and I have no doubt that he talks it over still with his little bent old
+crony, and boasts of vain deeds that grow in the telling.</p>
+
+<p>Judge Ph&oelig;nix is not, however, without mute company. Fair days and
+foul are all one to the Judge, but on fair days his companion is brought
+out. In front of the grocery is a box with a sloping top, on which are
+little bins for vegetables. In front of this box, again, on days when it
+is not raining or snowing, a little girl of five or six comes out of the
+grocery and sets a little red chair. Then she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> brings out a smaller girl
+yet, who may be two or three, a plump and puggy little thing; and down
+in the red chair big sister plunks little sister, and there till next
+mealtime little sister sits and never so much as offers to move. She
+must have been trained to this unchildlike self-imprisonment, for she is
+lusty and strong enough. Big sister works in the shop, and once in a
+while she comes out and settles little sister more comfortably in her
+red chair; and then little sister has the sole moment of relief from a
+monotonous existence. She hammers on big sister's face with her fat
+little hands, and with such skill and force does she direct the blows
+that big sister often has to wipe her streaming eyes. But big sister
+always takes it in good part, and little sister evidently does it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> not
+from any lack of affection, but in the way of healthy exercise. Then big
+sister wipes little sister's nose and goes back into the shop. I suppose
+there is some compact between them.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img023.jpg" width="332" height="400"
+             alt="And down in the big, red chair big sister plunks little sister" /><br />
+             </div>
+
+<p>Of course there is plenty of child life all up and down the sidewalk on
+both sides, although little sister never joins in it. My side of the
+street swarms with Italian children, most of them from Jersey Street,
+which is really not a street, but an alley. Judge Ph&oelig;nix's side is
+peopled with small Germans and Irish. I have noticed one peculiar thing
+about these children: they never change sides. They play together most
+amicably in the middle of the street or in the gutter, but neither
+ventures beyond its neutral ground.</p>
+
+<p>Judge Ph&oelig;nix and little sister are by far the most interesting
+figures to be seen from my windows, but there are many others whom we
+know. There is the Italian barber whose brother dropped dead while
+shaving a customer. You would never imagine, to see the simple and
+unaffected way in which he comes out to take the air once in a while,
+standing on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> the steps of his basement, and twirling his tin-backed comb
+in idle thought, that he had had such a distinguished death in his
+family. But I don't let him shave me.</p>
+
+
+<p>Then there is Mamie, the pretty girl in the window with the
+lace-curtains, and there is her epileptic brother. He is insane, but
+harmless, and amusing, although rather trying to the nerves. He comes
+out of the house in a hurry, walks quickly up the street for twenty or
+thirty feet, then turns suddenly, as if he had forgotten something, and
+hurries back, to reappear two minutes later from the basement door, only
+to hasten wildly in another direction, turn back again, plunge into the
+basement door, emerge from the upper door, get half way down the block,
+forget it again, and go back to make a new combination of doors and
+exits. Sometimes he is ten or twenty minutes in the house at one time.
+Then we suppose he is having a fit. Now, it seems to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> me that that
+modest retirement shows consideration and thoughtfulness on his part.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img025.jpg" width="163" height="350"
+             alt="Then there is Mamie, the pretty girl in the window" /><br />
+             </div>
+<p>In the window next to Mamie's is a little, putty-colored face, and a
+still smaller white face, that just peeps over the sill. One belongs to
+the mulatto woman's youngster. Her mother goes out scrubbing, and the
+little girl is alone all day. She is so much alone, that the sage-green
+old bachelor in the second den from mine could not stand it, last
+Christmas time, so he sent her a doll on the sly. That's the other face.</p>
+
+<p>Then there is the grocer, who is a groceress, and the groceress's
+husband. I wish that man to understand, if his eye ever falls upon this
+page&mdash;for wrapping purposes, we will say&mdash;that, in the language of
+Mulberry Street, I am on to him. He has got a job recently, driving a
+bakery wagon, and he times his route so that he can tie up in front of
+his wife's grocery every day at twelve o'clock, and he puts in a solid
+hour of his employer's time helping his wife through the noonday rush.
+But he need not fear. In the interests of the higher morality I suppose
+I ought to go and tell his em<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>ployer about it. But I won't. My morals
+are not that high.</p>
+
+<p>Of course we have many across-the-street friends, but I cannot tell you
+of them all. I will only mention the plump widow who keeps the
+lunch-room and bakery on the Houston Street corner, where the boys go
+for their luncheon. It is through her that many interesting details of
+personal gossip find their way into this office.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img027.jpg" width="264" height="350"
+             alt="And plays on the Italian bagpipes" /><br />
+             </div>
+
+<p>Jersey Street, or at least the rear of it, seems to be given up wholly
+to the Italians. The most charming tenant of Jersey Street is the lovely
+Italian girl, who looks like a Jewess, whose mission in life seems to be
+to hang all day long out of her window and watch the doings in the
+little stone-flagged courts below her. In one of these an old man
+sometimes comes out, sits him down in a shady corner, and plays on the
+Italian bagpipes, which are really more painful than any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> hand-organ
+that ever was made. After a while his wife opens hostilities with him
+from her window. I suppose she is reproaching him for an idle devotion
+to art, but I cannot follow the conversation, although it is quite loud
+enough on both sides. But the handsome Italian girl up at the window
+follows the changes of the strife with the light of the joy of battle in
+her beautiful dark eyes, and I can tell from her face exactly which of
+the old folk is getting the better of it.</p>
+
+<p>But though the life of Jersey and Mulberry Streets may be mildly
+interesting to outside spectators who happen to have a fellow-feeling of
+vulgarity with the mob, the mob must find it rather monotonous. Jersey
+Street is not only a blind alley, but a dead one, so far as outside life
+is concerned, and Judge Ph&oelig;nix and little sister see pretty much the
+same old two-and-sixpence every day. The bustle and clamor of Mulberry
+Bend are only a few blocks below them, but the Bend is an exclusive
+slum; and Police Headquarters&mdash;the Central Office&mdash;is a block above, but
+the Central Office deals only with the refinements of artistic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> crime,
+and is not half so interesting as an ordinary police station. The
+priests go by from the school below, in their black robes and tall silk
+hats, always two by two, marching with brisk, business-like tread. An
+occasional drunken man or woman wavers along, but generally their faces
+and their conditions are both familiar. Sometimes two men hurry by,
+pressing side by side. If you have seen that peculiar walk before you
+know what it means. Two light steel rings link their wrists together.
+The old man idly watches them until they disappear in the white marble
+building on the next block. And then, of course, there is always a thin
+stream of working folk going to and fro upon their business.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img031.jpg" width="262" height="400"
+             alt="A Jewish sweater with coats on his shoulder" /><br />
+             </div>
+
+<p>In spring and in fall things brighten a little. Those are the seasons of
+processions and religious festivals. Almost every day then, and
+sometimes half a dozen times in a day, the Judge and the baby may see
+some Italian society parading through the street. Fourteen proud sons of
+Italy, clad in magnificent new uniforms, bearing aloft huge silk
+banners, strut magnificently in the rear of a German<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> band of
+twenty-four pieces, and a drum-corps of a dozen more. Then, too, come
+the religious processions, when the little girls are taken to their
+first communion. Six sturdy Italians struggle along under the weight of
+a mighty temple or pavilion, all made of colored candles&mdash;not the dainty
+little pink trifles with rosy shades of perforated paper, that light our
+old lady's dining-table&mdash;but the great big candles of the Romish Church
+(a church which, you may remember, is much affected of the mob,
+especially in times of suffering, sickness, or death); mighty candles,
+six and eight feet tall, and as thick as your wrist, of red and blue and
+green and yellow, arranged in artistic combinations around a statue of
+the Virgin. From this splendid structure silken ribbons stream in all
+directions, and at the end of each ribbon is a little girl&mdash;generally a
+pretty little girl&mdash;in a white dress bedecked with green bows. And each
+little girl leads by the hand one smaller than herself, sometimes a
+toddler so tiny that you marvel that it can walk at all. Some of the
+little ones are bare-headed, but most of them wear the square head-cloth
+of the Italian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> peasant, such as their mothers and grandmothers wore in
+Italy. At each side of the girls marches an escort of proud parents,
+very much mixed up with the boys of the families, who generally appear
+in their usual street dress, some of them showing through it in
+conspicuous places. And before and behind them are bands and drum-corps,
+and societies with banners, and it is all a blare of martial music and
+primary colors the whole length of the street.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<p>But these are Mulberry Street's brief carnival seasons, and when their
+splendor is departed the block relapses into workaday dulness, and the
+procession that marches and counter-marches before Judge Ph&oelig;nix and
+little sister in any one of the long hours between eight and twelve and
+one and six is something like this:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='centered'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="100%" cellspacing="0" summary="Up. Down.">
+
+<tr>
+<td align="center"><img src="images/img032s.jpg" width="283" height="350"
+             alt="Poor woman with market-basket" title="Poor woman with market-basket" />
+</td>
+
+<td><b>Up.</b><br /><br />Detective taking prisoner to Central Office.<br />
+Messenger boy.<br />Two priests.<br />Jewish sweater, with coats on his shoulder.<br />
+Carpenter.<br />Another Chinaman.<br />Drunken woman (a regular).<br />Glass-put-in man. </td>
+<td><b>Down.</b><br /><br />Chinaman.<br />Two house-painters.<br />Boy with basket.<br />
+Boy with tin beer-pails on a stick.</td>
+<td></td>
+</tr>
+
+
+</table></div>
+
+<div class='centered'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="100%" cellspacing="0" summary="Up. Down.">
+
+<tr>
+<td><b>Up.</b><br /><br />Washer woman with clothes.<br />Poor woman with market-basket.<br />
+Undertaker's man carrying trestles.<br />Butcher's boy.<br />Two priests.</td>
+
+<td><b>Down.</b><br /><br />Drunken man.<br />Detective coming back from Central Office alone.</td>
+
+<td align="center"><img src="images/img032-2.jpg" width="236" height="350"
+             alt="Glass-put-in man"
+title="Glass-put-in man" />
+</td>
+
+</tr>
+
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Such is the daily march of the mob in Mulberry Street near the mouth of
+Jersey's blind alley, and such is its outrageous behavior as observed by
+a presumably decent person from the windows of the big red-brick
+building across the way.</p>
+
+<p><a name="Chinaman" id="Chinaman"></a></p>
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img035.jpg" width="380" height="400"
+             alt="A Chinaman who stalks on with no expression at all"
+         title="A Chinaman who stalks on with no expression at all" />
+    </div>
+<p>Suddenly there is an explosion of sound under the decent person's
+window, and a hand-organ starts off with a jerk like a freight train on
+a down grade, that joggles a whole string of crashing notes. Then it
+gets down to work, and its harsh, high-pitched, metallic drone makes the
+street ring for a moment. Then it is temporarily drowned by a chorus of
+shrill, small voices. The person&mdash;I am afraid his decency begins to drop
+off him here&mdash;leans on his broad window-sill and looks out. The street
+is filled with children of every age, size, and nationality; dirty
+children, clean children, well-dressed children, and children in rags,
+and for every one of these last two classes put together a dozen
+children who are neatly and cleanly but humbly clad&mdash;the children of the
+self-respecting poor. I do not know where they have all swarmed from.
+There were only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> three or four in sight just before the organ came; now
+there are several dozen in the crowd, and the crowd is growing. See, the
+women are coming out in the rear tenements. Some male passers-by line up
+on the edge of the sidewalk and look on with a superior air. The Italian
+barber has come all the way up his steps, and is sitting on the rail.
+Judge Ph&oelig;nix has teetered forward at least half a yard, and stands
+looking at the show over the heads of a little knot of women hooded with
+red plaid shawls. The epileptic boy comes out on his stoop and stays
+there at least three minutes before the area-way swallows him. Up above
+there is a head in almost every casement. Mamie is at her window, and
+the little mulatto child at hers. There are only two people who do not
+stop and look on and listen. One is a Chinaman, who stalks on with no
+expression at all on his blank face; the other is the boy from the
+printing-office with a dozen foaming cans of beer on his long stick. But
+he does not leave because he wants to. He lingers as long as he can, in
+his passage through the throng, and disappears in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> printing-house
+doorway with his head screwed half way around on his shoulders. He would
+linger yet, but the big foreman would call him "Spitzbube!" and would
+cuff his ears.</p>
+
+
+<p>The children are dancing. The organ is playing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> "On the Blue Alsatian
+Mountains," and the little heads are bobbing up and down to it in time
+as true as ever was kept. Watch the little things! They are really
+waltzing. There is a young one of four years old. See her little worn
+shoes take the step and keep it! Dodworth or DeGarmo could not have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+taught her better. I wonder if either of them ever had so young a pupil.
+And she is dancing with a girl twice her size. Look at that ring of
+children&mdash;all girls&mdash;waltzing round hand in hand! How is that for a
+ladies' chain? Well,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> well, the heart grows young to see them. And now
+look over to the grocery. Big sister has come out and climbed on the
+vegetable-stand, and is sitting in the potatoes with little sister in
+her lap. Little sister waves her fat, red arms in the air and shrieks in
+babyish delight. The old women with the shawls over their heads are
+talking together, crooning over the spectacle in their Irish way:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img036.jpg" width="446" height="600"
+             alt="THE CHILDREN ARE DANCING. THE ORGAN IS PLAYING ON THE
+BLUE ALSATIAN MOUNTAINS" /><br />
+         <b>THE CHILDREN ARE DANCING. THE ORGAN IS PLAYING ON THE
+BLUE ALSATIAN MOUNTAINS</b>
+    </div>
+
+
+
+
+<p>"Thot's me Mary Ann, I was tellin' ye about, Mrs. Rafferty, dancin' wid
+the little one in the green apron."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a foine sthring o' childher ye have, Mrs. Finn!" says Mrs.
+Rafferty, nodding her head as though it were balanced on wires. And so
+the dance goes on.</p>
+
+<p>In the centre of it all stands the organ-grinder, swarthy and
+black-haired. He has a small, clear space so that he can move the one
+leg of his organ about, as he turns from side to side, gazing up at the
+windows of the brick building where the great wrought-iron griffins
+stare back at him from their lofty perches. His anxious black eyes rove
+from window to window. The poor he has always with him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> but what will
+the folk who mould public opinion in great griffin-decorated buildings
+do for him?</p>
+
+<p>I think we will throw him down a few nickels. Let us tear off a scrap of
+newspaper. Here is a bit from the society column of the <i>Evening</i> &mdash;&mdash;.
+That will do excellently well. We will screw the money up in that, and
+there it goes, <i>chink</i>! on the pavement below. There, look at that grin!
+Wasn't it cheap at the price?</p>
+
+<p>I wish he might have had a monkey to come up and get the nickels. We
+shall never see the organ-grinder's monkey in the streets of New York
+again. I see him, though. He comes out and visits me where I live among
+the trees, whenever the weather is not too cold to permit him to travel
+with his master. Sometimes he comes in a bag, on chilly days; and my own
+babies, who seem to be born with the fellow-feeling of vulgarity with
+the mob, invite him in and show him how to warm his cold little black
+hands in front of the kitchen range.</p>
+
+<p>I do not suppose, even if it were possible to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> get our good old maiden
+lady to come down to Mulberry Street and sit at my window when the
+organ-grinder comes along, she could ever learn to look at the mob with
+friendly, or at least kindly, eyes; but I think she would learn&mdash;and she
+is cordially invited to come&mdash;that it is not a mob that rejoices in
+"outrageous behavior," as some other mobs that we read of have
+rejoiced&mdash;notably one that gave a great deal of trouble to some very
+"decent people" in Paris toward the end of the last century. And I think
+that she even might be induced to see that the organ-grinder is
+following an honest trade, pitiful as it be, and not exercising a
+"fearful beggary." He cannot be called a beggar who gives something that
+to him, and to thousands of others, is something valuable, in return for
+the money he asks of you. Our organ-grinder is no more a beggar than is
+my good friend Mr. Henry Abbey, the honestest and best of operatic
+impresarios. Mr. Abbey can take the American opera house and hire Mr.
+Seidl and Mr. &mdash;&mdash; to conduct grand opera for your delight and mine, and
+when we can afford it we go and listen to his perfect music,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> and, as
+our poor contributions cannot pay for it all, the rich of the land meet
+the deficit. But this poor, foot-sore child of fortune has only his
+heavy box of tunes and a human being's easement in the public highway.
+Let us not shut him out of that poor right because once in a while he
+wanders in front of our doors and offers wares that offend our finer
+taste. It is easy enough to get him to betake himself elsewhere, and, if
+it costs us a few cents, let us not ransack our law-books and our moral
+philosophies to find out if we cannot indict him for constructive
+blackmail, but consider the nickel or the dime a little tribute to the
+uncounted weary souls who love his strains and welcome his coming.</p>
+
+<p>For the editor of the <i>Evening</i> &mdash;&mdash; was wrong when he said that the
+Board of Aldermen and the Mayor consented to the licensing of the
+organ-grinder "in the face of a popular protest." There was a protest,
+but it was not a popular protest, and it came face to face with a demand
+that <i>was</i> popular. And the Mayor and the Board of Aldermen did rightly,
+and did as should be done in this American<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> land of ours, when they
+granted the demand of the majority of the people, and refused to heed
+the protest of a minority. For the people who said <span class="smcap">YEA</span> on this question
+were as scores of thousands or hundreds of thousands to the thousands of
+people who said <span class="smcap">NAY</span>; and the vexation of the few hangs light in the
+balance against even the poor scrap of joy which was spared to
+innumerable barren lives.</p>
+
+<p>And so permit me to renew my invitation to the old lady.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TIEMANNS_TO_TUBBY_HOOK" id="TIEMANNS_TO_TUBBY_HOOK"></a>TIEMANN'S TO TUBBY HOOK</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>If you ever were a decent, healthy boy, or if you can make believe that
+you once were such a boy, you must remember that you were once in love
+with a girl a great deal older than yourself. I am not speaking of the
+big school-girl with whom you thought you were in love, for one little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+while&mdash;just because she wouldn't look at you, and treated you like a
+little boy. <i>She</i> had, after all, but a tuppenny temporary superiority
+to you; and, after all, in the bottom of your irritated little soul, you
+knew it. You knew that, proud beauty that she was, she might have to
+lower her colors to her little sister before that young minx got into
+the first class and&mdash;comparatively&mdash;long dresses.</p>
+
+<p>No, I am talking of the girl you loved who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> was not only really grown up
+and too old for you, but grown up almost into old-maidhood, and too old
+perhaps for anyone. She was not, of course, quite an old maid, but she
+was so nearly an old maid as to be out of all active competition with
+her juniors&mdash;which permitted her to be her natural, simple self, and to
+show you the real charm of her womanhood. Neglected by the men, not yet
+old enough to take to coddling young girls after the manner of motherly
+old maids, she found a hearty and genuine pleasure in your boyish
+friendship, and you&mdash;you adored her. You saw, of course, as others saw,
+the faded dulness of her complexion; you saw the wee crow's-feet that
+gathered in the corners of her eyes when she laughed; you saw the faint
+touches of white among the crisp little curls over her temples; you saw
+that the keenest wind of Fall brought the red to her cheeks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> only in two
+bright spots, and that no soft Spring air would ever bring her back the
+rosy, pink flush of girlhood: you saw these things as others saw
+them&mdash;no, indeed, you did not; you saw them as others could not, and
+they only made her the more dear to you. And you were having one of the
+best and most valuable experiences of your boyhood, to which you may
+look back now, whatever life has brought you, with a smile that has in
+it nothing of regret, of derision, or of bitterness.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img047.jpg" width="400" height="250"
+             alt="The girl you loved was * * * really grown up and too old for you"
+         title="The girl you loved was * * * really grown up and too old for you" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Suppose that this all happened long ago&mdash;that you had left a couple of
+quarter-posts of your course of three-score-years-and-ten between that
+young lover and your present self; and suppose that the idea came to you
+to seek out and revisit this dear faded memory. And suppose that you
+were foolish enough to act upon the idea, and went in search of her and
+found her&mdash;not the wholesome, autumn-nipped comrade that you remembered,
+a shade or two at most frostily touched by the winter of old age&mdash;but a
+berouged, beraddled, bedizened old make-believe, with wrinkles plastered
+thick, and skinny shoulders dusted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> white with powder&mdash;ah me, how you
+would wish you had not gone!</p>
+
+<p>And just so I wished that I had not gone, when, the other day, I was
+tempted back to revisit the best beloved of all the homes of my nomadic
+boyhood.</p>
+
+<p>I remembered four pleasant years of early youth when my lot was cast in
+a region that was singularly delightful and grateful and lovable,
+although the finger of death had already touched its prosperity and
+beauty beyond all requickening.</p>
+
+<p>It was a fair countryside of upland and plateau, lying between a
+majestic hill-bordered river and an idle, wandering, marshy, salt creek
+that flowed almost side by side with its nobler companion for several
+miles before they came together at the base of a steep, rocky height,
+crowned with thick woods. This whole country was my playground, a strip
+some four or five miles long, and for the most of the way a mile wide
+between the two rivers, with the rocky, wooded eminence for its northern
+boundary.</p>
+
+<p>In the days when the broad road that led<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> from the great city was a
+famous highway, it had run through a country of comfortable farm-houses
+and substantial old-fashioned mansions standing in spacious grounds of
+woodland and meadow. These latter occupied the heights along the great
+river, like a lofty breastwork of aristocracy, guarding the humbler
+tillers of the soil in the more sheltered plains and hollows behind
+them. The extreme north of my playground had been, within my father's
+easy remembering, a woodland wild enough to shelter deer; and even in my
+boyhood there remained patches of forest where once in a while the
+sharp-eyed picked up gun-flints and brass buttons that had been dropped
+among those very trees by the marauding soldiery of King George III. of
+tyrannical memory. There was no deer there when I was a boy. Deer go
+naturally with a hardy peasantry, and not naturally, perhaps, but
+artificially, with the rich and great. But deer cannot coexist with a
+population composed of what we call "People of Moderate Means." It is
+not in the eternal fitness of things that they should.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img051.jpg" width="530" height="600"
+             alt="A few of the old family estates were kept up after a fashion"
+         title="A few of the old family estates were kept up after a fashion" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>For, as I first knew our neighborhood, it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> was a suburb as a physical
+fact only. As a body politic, we were a part of the great city, and
+those twain demons of encroachment, Taxes and Assessments, had
+definitively won in their battle with both the farmers and the
+country-house gentry. To the south, the farms had been wholly routed out
+of existence. A few of the old family estates were kept up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> after a
+fashion, but it was only as the officers of a defeated garrison are
+allowed to take their own time about leaving their quarters. Along the
+broad highway some of them lingered, keeping up a poor pretence of
+disregarding new grades and levels, and of not seeing the little
+shanties that squatted under their very windows, or the more offensive
+habitations of a more pretentious poverty that began to range themselves
+here and there in serried blocks.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img052.jpg" width="300" height="266"
+             alt="A random goat of poverty"
+         title="A random goat of poverty" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Poor people of moderate means! Nobody wants you, except the real estate
+speculator, and he wants you only to empty your light pockets for you,
+and to leave you to die of cheap plumbing in the poor little sham of a
+house that he builds to suit your moderate means and his immoderate
+greed. Nowhere are you welcome, except where contractors are digging new
+roads and blasting rocks and filling sunken lots with ashes and tin
+cans. The random goat of poverty browses on the very confines of the
+scanty, small settlement<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> of cheap gentility where you and your
+neighbors&mdash;people of moderate means like yourself&mdash;huddle together in
+your endless, unceasing struggle for a home and self-respect. You know
+that your smug, mean little house, tricked out with machine-made
+scroll-work, and insufficiently clad in two coats of ready-mixed paint,
+is an eyesore to the poor old gentleman who has sold you a corner of his
+father's estate to build it on. But there it is&mdash;the whole hard business
+of life for the poor&mdash;for the big poor and the little poor, and the
+unhappiest of all, the moderately poor. <i>He</i> must sell strip after strip
+of the grounds his father laid out with such loving and far-looking
+pride. <i>You</i> must buy your narrow strip from him, and raise thereon your
+tawdry little house, calculating the cost of every inch of construction
+in hungry anxiety of mind. And then you must sit down in your narrow
+front-room to stare at the squalid shanty of the poor man who has
+squatted right in your sight, on the land condemned for the new avenue;
+to wish that the street might be cut through and the unsightly hovel
+taken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> away&mdash;and then to groan in spirit as you think of the assessment
+you must pay when the street <i>is</i> cut through.</p>
+
+<p>And yet you must live, oh, people of moderate means! You have your loves
+and your cares, your tastes and your ambitions, your hopes and your
+fears, your griefs and your joys, just like the people whom you envy and
+the people who envy you. As much as any of them, you have the capacity
+for pain and for pleasure, for loving and for being loved, that gives
+human beings a right to turn the leaves of the book of life and spell
+out its lesson for themselves. I know this; I know it well; I was
+beginning to find it out when I first came to that outpost suburb of New
+York, in the trail of your weary army.</p>
+
+<p>But I was a boy then, and no moderateness of earthly means could rob me
+of my inheritance in the sky and the woods and the fields, in the sun
+and the snow and the rain and the wind, and in every day's weather, of
+which there never was any kind made that has not some delight in it to a
+healthful body and heart. And on this inheritance I drew such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> great,
+big, liberal, whacking drafts that, I declare, to this very day, some
+odd silver pieces of the resultant spending-money keep turning up, now
+and then, in forgotten pockets of my mind.</p>
+
+<p>The field of my boyish activity was practically limited by the existing
+conditions of the city's growth. With each year there was less and less
+temptation to extend that field southward. The Bloomingdale Road, with
+its great arching willows, its hospitable old road-houses withdrawn from
+the street and hidden far down shady lanes that led riverward&mdash;the
+splendid old highway retained something of its charm; but day by day the
+gridiron system of streets encroached upon it, and day by day the
+shanties and the cheap villas crowded in along its sides, between the
+old farmsteads and the country-places. And then it led only to the raw
+and unfinished Central Park, and to the bare waste and dreary fag-end of
+a New York that still looked upon Union Square as an uptown quarter.
+Besides that, the lone scion of respectability who wandered too freely
+about the region just below Manhattanville,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> was apt to get his head
+most beautifully punched at the hands of some predatory gang of
+embryonic toughs from the shanties on the line of the aqueduct.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img056.jpg" width="600" height="272"
+             alt="The paint works that had paid for its building"
+         title="The paint works that had paid for its building" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>That is how our range&mdash;mine and the other boys'&mdash;was from Tiemann's to
+Tubby Hook; that is, from where ex-Mayor Tiemann's fine old house, with
+its long conservatories, sat on the edge of the Manhattanville bluff and
+looked down into the black mouths of the chimneys of the paint-works
+that had paid for its building, up to the little inn near the junction
+of Spuyten Duyvil Creek and the Hudson River. Occasionally, of course,
+the delight of the river front tempted us farther down. There was an
+iron-mill down there (if that is the proper name for a place where they
+make pig-iron), whose operations were a perpetual joy to boy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>hood's
+heart. The benevolent lovers of the picturesque who owned this mill had
+a most entrancing way of making their castings late in the afternoon, so
+as to give a boy a chance to coast or skate, an hour after school
+closed, before it was time to slip down to the grimy building on the
+river's bank, and peer through the arched doorway into the great, dark,
+mysterious cavern with its floor of sand marked out in a pattern of
+trenches that looked as if they had been made by some gigantic
+double-toothed comb&mdash;a sort of right-angled herring-bone pattern. The
+darkness gathered outside, and deepened still faster within that gloomy,
+smoke-blackened hollow. The workmen, with long iron rods in their hands,
+moved about with the cautious, expectant manner of men whose duty brings
+them in contact with a daily danger. They stepped carefully about,
+fearful of injuring the regular impressions in the smooth sand, and
+their looks turned ever with a certain anxiety to the great black
+furnace at the northern end of the room, where every now and then, at
+the foreman's order, a fiery eye would open itself for inspection and
+close<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> sullenly, making everything seem more dark than it was before. At
+last&mdash;sometimes it was long to wait&mdash;the eye would open, and the
+foreman, looking into it, would nod; and then a thrill of excitement ran
+through the workmen at their stations and the boys in the big doorway;
+and suddenly a huge red mouth opened beneath the eye, and out poured the
+mighty flood of molten iron, glowing with a terrible, wonderful,
+dazzling color that was neither white nor red, nor rose nor yellow, but
+that seemed to partake of them all, and yet to be strangely different
+from any hue that men can classify or name. Down it flowed upon the
+sanded floor, first into the broad trench in front of the furnace, then
+down the long dorsals of the rectangular herring-bones, spreading out as
+it went into the depressions to right and left, until the mighty pattern
+of fire shone in its full length and breadth on the flood of sand; and
+the workmen, who had been coaxing the sluggish, lava-like flood along
+with their iron rods, rested from their labors and wiped their hot
+brows, while a thin cloud of steamy vapor floated up to the begrimed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+rafters. Standing in the doorway we could watch the familiar
+pattern&mdash;the sow and pigs, it was called&mdash;die down to a dull rose red,
+and then we would hurry away before blackness came upon it and wiped it
+clean out of memory and imagination.</p>
+
+<p>Below the foundry, too, there was a point of land whereon were certain
+elevations and depressions of turf-covered earth that were by many, and
+most certainly by me, supposed to be the ruins of a Revolutionary fort.
+I have heard long and warm discussions of the nature and history of
+these mounds and trenches, and I believe the weight of authority was
+against the theory that they were earthworks thrown up to oppose the
+passage of a British fleet. But they were good enough earthworks for a
+boy.</p>
+
+<p>Just above Tiemann's, on the lofty, protrudent corner made by the
+dropping of the high-road into the curious transverse valley, or swale,
+which at 125th Street crosses Manhattan Island from east to west, stood,
+at the top of a steep lawn, a mansion imposing still in spite of age,
+decay, and sorry days. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> great Ionic columns of the portico, which
+stood the whole height and breadth of the front, were cracked in their
+length, and rotten in base and capital. The white and yellow paint was
+faded and blistered. Below the broad flight of crazy front-steps the
+grass grew rank in the gravel walk, and died out in brown, withered
+patches on the lawn, where only plantain and sorrel throve. It was a sad
+and shabby old house enough, but even the patches of newspaper here and
+there on its broken window-panes could not take away a certain simple,
+old-fashioned dignity from its weather-beaten face.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img060.jpg" width="315" height="400"
+             alt="A mansion imposing still in spite of age"
+         title="A mansion imposing still in spite of age" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Here, the boys used to say, the Crazy Woman lived; but she was not
+crazy. I knew the old lady well, and at one time we were very good
+friends. She was the last daughter of an old, once prosperous family; a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+woman of bright, even brilliant mind, unhinged by misfortune,
+disappointment, loneliness, and the horrible fascination which an
+inherited load of litigation exercised upon her. The one diversion of
+her declining years was to let various parts and portions of her
+premises, on any ridiculous terms that might suggest themselves, to any
+tenants that might offer; and then to eject the lessee, either on a nice
+point of law or on general principles, precisely as she saw fit. She was
+almost invariably successful in this curious game, and when she was not,
+she promptly made friends with her victorious tenant, and he usually
+ended by liking her very much.</p>
+
+<p>Her family, if I remember rightly, had distinguished itself in public
+service. It was one of those good old American houses where the
+men-children are born with politics in their veins&mdash;that is, with an
+inherited sense of citizenship, and a conscious pride in bearing their
+share in the civic burden. The young man just out of college, who has
+got a job at writing editorials on the Purification of Politics, is very
+fond of alluding to such men as "indu<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>rated professional
+office-holders." But the good old gentleman who pays the young
+ex-collegian's bills sometimes takes a great deal of pleasure&mdash;in his
+stupid, old-fashioned way&mdash;in uniting with his fellow-merchants of the
+Swamp or Hanover Square, to subscribe to a testimonial to some one of
+the best abused of these "indurated" sinners, in honor of his
+distinguished services in lowering some tax-rate, in suppressing some
+nuisance, in establishing some new municipal safeguard to life or
+property. This blood in her may, in some measure, account for the vigor
+and enthusiasm with which this old lady expressed her sense of the loss
+the community had sustained in the death of President Lincoln, in April
+of 1865.</p>
+
+<p>Summoning two or three of us youngsters, and a dazed Irish maid fresh
+from Castle Garden and a three weeks' voyage in the steerage of an ocean
+steamer, she led us up to the top of the house, to one of those vast
+old-time garrets that might have been&mdash;and in country inns occasionally
+were&mdash;turned into ballrooms, with the aid of a few lights and sconces.
+Here was stored the accumulated garmenture<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> of the household for
+generation upon generation; and as far as I could discover, every member
+of that family had been born into a profound mourning that had continued
+unto his or her latest day, unmitigated save for white shirts and
+petticoats. These we bore down by great armfuls to the front portico,
+and I remember that the operation took nearly an hour. When at length we
+had covered the shaky warped floor of the long porch with the strange
+heaps of black and white&mdash;linens, cottons, silks, bombazines, alpacas,
+ginghams, every conceivable fabric, in fashion or out of fashion, that
+could be bleached white or dyed black&mdash;the old lady arranged us in
+working order, and, acting at once as directress and chief worker, with
+incredible quickness and dexterity she rent these varied and multiform
+pieces of raiment into broad strips, which she ingeniously twisted, two
+or three together, stitching them at the ends to other sets of strips,
+until she had formed immensely long rolls of black and white. Mounting a
+tall ladder, with the help of the strongest and oldest of her
+assistants, she wound the great tall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> white columns with these strips,
+fastening them in huge spirals from top to bottom, black and white
+entwined. Then she hung ample festoons between the pillars, and
+contrived something painfully ambitious in the way of rosettes for the
+cornice and frieze.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img064.jpg" width="257" height="450"
+             alt="She wound the great, tall, white columns with these strips"
+         title="She wound the great, tall, white columns with these strips" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Then we all went out in the street and gazed at the work of our hands.
+The rosettes were a failure, and the old lady admitted it. I have
+forgotten whether she said they looked "mangy," or "measly," or "peaky;"
+but she conveyed her idea in some such graphic phrase. But I must ask
+you to believe me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> when I tell you that, from the distant street, that
+poor, weather-worn old front seemed to have taken on the very grandeur
+of mourning, with its great, clean, strong columns simply wreathed in
+black and snowy white, that sparkled a little here and there in the
+fitful, cold, spring sunlight. Of course, when you drew near to it, it
+resolved itself into a bewildering and somewhat indecent confusion of
+black petticoats, and starched shirts, and drawers, and skirts, and
+baby-clothes, and chemises, and dickies, and neck-cloths, and
+handkerchiefs, all twisted up into the most fantastic trappings of woe
+that ever decked a genuine and patriotic grief. But I am glad, for
+myself, that I can look at it all now from even a greater distance than
+the highway at the foot of the lawn.</p>
+
+<p>I must admit that, even in my day, the shops and houses of the Moderate
+Means colony had so fringed the broad highway with their trivial,
+common-place, weakly pretentious architecture, that very little of the
+distinctive character of the old road was left. Certainly, from
+Tiemann's to the Deaf and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> Dumb Asylum&mdash;about two miles of straight
+road&mdash;there was little that had any saving grace of honorable age,
+except here and there where some pioneer shanty had squatted itself long
+enough ago to have acquired a pleasant look of faded shabbiness. The
+tavern and the stage-office, it is true, kept enough of their old
+appearance to make a link between those days and the days when swarms of
+red-faced drovers, with big woollen comfortables about their big necks,
+and with fat, greasy, leather wallets stuffed full of bank-notes,
+gathered noisily there, as it was their wont to gather at all the
+"Bull's Head Taverns" in and around New York. The omnibuses that crawled
+out from New York were comparatively modern&mdash;that is, a Broadway 'bus
+rarely got ten or fifteen years beyond the period of positive
+decrepitude without being shifted to the Washington Heights line. But
+under the big shed around the corner still stood the great old George
+Washington coach&mdash;a structure about the size and shape of a small
+canal-boat, with the most beautiful patriotic pictures all over it, of
+which I only remember Lord Cornwallis sur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>rendering his sword in the
+politest and most theatrical manner imaginable, although the poignancy
+of his feelings had apparently turned his scarlet uniform to a pale
+orange. This magnificent equipage was a trifle rheumaticky about its
+underpinning, but, drawn by four, six, or eight horses, it still took
+the road on holidays; and in winter, when the sleighing was unusually
+fine, with its wheels transformed into sectional runners like a gigantic
+bob-sled, it swept majestically out upon the road, where it towered
+above the flock of flying cutters whose bells set the air a-jingle from
+Bloomingdale to King's Bridge.</p>
+
+<p><a name="certain_dell" id="certain_dell"></a></p>
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img068.jpg" width="293" height="400"
+             alt="Here also was a certain dell"
+         title="Here also was a certain dell" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>But if the beauty of Broadway as a country high-road had been marred by
+its adaptation to the exigencies of a suburb of moderate means, we boys
+felt the deprivation but little. To right and to left, as we wandered
+northward, five minutes' walk would take us into a country of green
+lanes and meadows and marshland and woodland; where houses and streets
+were as yet too few to frighten away that kindly old Dame Nature who was
+always so glad to see us. If you turned to the right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>&mdash;to the east, that
+is&mdash;you found the laurel-bordered fields where we played baseball&mdash;I
+don't mean that the fields sprouted with laurels for us boys in those
+old days of 29 to 34 scores, but that the <i>Kalmia latifolia</i> crowned the
+gray rocks that cropped out all around. Farther up was the wonderful and
+mysterious old house of Madame Jumel&mdash;Aaron Burr's Madame Jumel&mdash;set
+apart from all other houses by its associations with the fierce,
+vindictive passions of that strange old woman, whom, it seems to me, I
+can still vaguely remember, seated very stiff and upright in her great
+old family carriage. At the foot of the heights, on this side, the
+Harlem River flowed between its marshy margins to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> join Spuyten Duyvil
+Creek&mdash;the Harlem with its floats and boats and bridges and ramshackle
+docks, and all the countless delights of a boating river. Here also was
+a certain dell, halfway up the heights overlooking McComb's Dam Bridge,
+where countless violets grew around a little spring, and where there was
+a real cave, in which, if real pirates had not left their treasure, at
+least real tramps had slept and left a real smell. And on top of the
+cave there was a stone which was supposed to retain the footprint of a
+pre-historic Indian. From what I remember of that footprint I am
+inclined to think that it must have been made by the foot of a derrick,
+and not by that of an Indian.</p>
+
+
+<p><a name="hudson" id="hudson"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img070.jpg" width="600" height="457"
+             alt="The railroad embankment beyond which lay the pretty, blue Hudson"
+         title="The railroad embankment beyond which lay the pretty, blue Hudson" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>But it was on the other side of the Island, between the Deaf and Dumb
+Asylum and Tubby Hook, and between the Ridge and the River, that I most
+loved to ramble. Here was the slope of a woodland height running down to
+a broad low strip, whose westernmost boundary was the railroad
+embankment, beyond which lay the broad blue Hudson, with Fort Lee and
+the first up-springing of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> Palisades, to be seen by glimpses through
+the tree-trunks. This was, I think, the prettiest piece of
+flower-spangled wildwood that I have ever seen. For centuries it had
+drained the richness of that long and lofty ridge. The life of lawns and
+gardens had gone into it; the dark wood-soil had been washed from out
+the rocks on the brow of the hill; and down below there, where a vagrom
+brooklet chirped its way between green stones, the wholesome soil
+bloomed forth in grateful luxuriance. From the first coming of the
+anemone and the hepatica, to the time of the asters, there was always
+something growing there to delight the scent or the sight; and most of
+all do I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> remember the huge clumps of Dutchman's-breeches&mdash;the purple
+and the waxy white as well as the honey-tipped scarlet.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img071.jpg" width="400" height="334"
+             alt="The wreck of the woods where I used to scramble"
+         title="The wreck of the woods where I used to scramble" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>There were little sunlit clearings here, and I well recall the day when,
+looking across one of these, I saw something that stood awkwardly and
+conspicuously out of the young wood-grass&mdash;a raw stake of pine wood,
+and beyond that, another stake, and another; and parallel with these
+another row, marking out two straight lines, until the bushes hid them.
+The surveyors had begun to lay out the line of the new Boulevard, on
+which you may now roll in your carriage to Inwood, through the wreck of
+the woods where I used to scramble over rock and tree-trunk, going
+toward Tubby Hook.</p>
+
+<p>It was on the grayest of gray November days last year that I had the
+unhappy thought of revisiting this love of my youth. I fol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>lowed
+familiar trails, guided by landmarks I could not forget&mdash;although they
+had somehow grown incredibly poor and mean and shabby, and had entirely
+lost a certain dignity that they had until then kept quite clearly in my
+remembrance. And behold, they were no longer landmarks except to me. A
+change had come over the face of this old playground of mine. It had
+forgotten the withered, modest grace of the time when it was
+middle-aged, and when I was a boy. It was checkered and gridironed with
+pavements and electric lights. The Elevated Railroad roared at its doors
+behind clouds of smoke and steam. Great, cheerless, hideously ornate
+flat buildings reared their zinc-tipped fronts toward the gray heaven,
+to show the highest aspirations of that demoralized suburb in the way of
+domestic architecture. To right, to left, every way I turned, I saw a
+cheap, tawdry, slipshod imitation of the real city&mdash;or perhaps I should
+say, of all that is ugliest and vulgarest, least desirable, and least
+calculated to endure, in the troubled face of city life. I was glad to
+get away; glad that the gray mist that rolled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> up from the Hudson River
+hid from my sight within its fleecy bosom some details of that vulgar
+and pitiful degradation. One place alone I found as I had hoped to find
+it. Ex-Mayor Tiemann's house was gone, his conservatory was a crumbling
+ruin; the house we decked for Lincoln's death was a filthy tenement with
+a tumble-down gallery where the old portico had stood, and I found very
+little on my upward pilgrimage that had not experienced some change&mdash;for
+the worse, as it seemed to me. The very cemetery that belongs to old
+Trinity had dandified itself with a wonderful wall and a still more
+wonderful bridge to its annex&mdash;or appendix, or extension, or whatever
+you call it. But just above it is a little enclosure that is called a
+park&mdash;a place where a few people of modest, old-fashioned, domestic
+tastes had built their houses together to join in a common resistance
+against the encroachments of the speculator and the nomad house-hunter.
+I found this little settlement undisturbed, uninvaded, save by a sort of
+gentle decay that did it no ill-service, in my eyes. The pale dust was a
+little deeper in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> roadways that had once been paved with limestone,
+a few more brown autumn leaves had fallen in the corners of the fences,
+the clustered wooden houses all looked a little more rustily respectable
+in their reserved and sleepy silence&mdash;a little bit more, I thought, as
+if they sheltered a colony of old maids. Otherwise it looked pretty much
+as it did when I first saw it, well nigh thirty years ago.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img074.jpg" width="550" height="521"
+             alt="A little enclosure that is called a park"
+         title="A little enclosure that is called a park" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>To see if there were anything alive in that misty, dusty, faded little
+abode of respectabil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>ity, I rang at the door of one house, and found
+some inquiries to make concerning another one that seemed to be
+untenanted.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img075.jpg" width="372" height="500"
+             alt="It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door"
+         title="It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door for me, with such
+shining dark eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> and with so bright a red in her cheeks, that you felt
+that she could not have been long in that dull, old-time spot, where
+life seemed to be all one neutral color. She answered my questions
+kindly, and then, with something in her manner which told me that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
+strangers did not often wander in there, she said that it was a very
+nice place to live in. I told her that I knew it <i>had</i> been a very nice
+place to live in.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_BOWERY_AND_BOHEMIA" id="THE_BOWERY_AND_BOHEMIA"></a>THE BOWERY AND BOHEMIA</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>One day a good many years ago an old gentleman from
+Rondout-on-the-Hudson&mdash;then plain Rondout&mdash;was walking up Broadway
+seeing the sights. He had not been in New York in ten or twelve years,
+and although he was an old gentleman who always had a cask of good ale
+in his cellar in the winter-time, yet he had never tasted the strange
+German beverage called lager-beer, which he had heard and read about.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> So
+when he saw its name on a sign he went in and drank a mug, sipping it
+slowly and thoughtfully, as he would have sipped his old ale. He found
+it refreshing&mdash;peculiar&mdash;and, well, on the whole, very refreshing
+indeed, as he considerately told the proprietor.</p>
+
+<p>But what interested him more than the beer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> was the sight of a group of
+young men seated around a table drinking beer, reading&mdash;and&mdash;yes,
+actually writing verses, and bandying very lively jests among
+themselves. The old gentleman could not help hearing their conversation,
+and when he went out into the street he shook his head thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img081.jpg" width="421" height="550"
+             alt="An old gentleman from Rondout-on-the-Hudson"
+         title="An old gentleman from Rondout-on-the-Hudson" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>"I wonder what my father would have said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> to that?" he reflected. "Young
+gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon and turning verses like so
+many ballad-mongers! Well, well, well, if those are the ways of
+lager-beer drinkers, I'll stick to my good old ale!"</p>
+
+<p>And greatly surprised would that honest old gentleman have been to know
+that the presence of that little group of poets and humorists attracted
+as much custom to good Mr. Pfaff's beer-saloon as did his fresh, cool
+lager; and that young men, and, for the matter of that, men not so
+young, stole in there to listen to their contests of wit, and to wish
+and yearn and aspire to be of their goodly company. For the old
+gentleman little dreamed, as he went on his course up Broadway, that he
+had seen the first Bohemians of New York, and that these young men would
+be written about and talked about and versified about for generations to
+come. Unconscious of this honor he went on to Fourteenth Street to see
+the new square they were laying out there.</p>
+
+
+<p>Perhaps nothing better marks the place where the city of New York got
+clean and clear out of provincial pettiness into metro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>politan tolerance
+than the advent of the Bohemians. Twenty-five years earlier they would
+have been a scandal and a reproach to the town. Not for their
+literature, or for their wit, or for their hard drinking, or even for
+their poverty; but for their brotherhood, and for their calm
+indifference to all the rest of the world whom they did not care to
+receive into their kingdom of Bohemia. There is human nature in this;
+more human nature than there is in most provincialism. Take a community
+of one hundred people and let any ten of its members join themselves
+together and dictate the terms on which an eleventh may be ad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>mitted to
+their band. The whole remaining eighty-nine will quarrel for the twelfth
+place. But take a community of a thousand, and let ten such internal
+groups be formed, and every group will have to canvass more or less hard
+to increase its number. For the other nine hundred people, being able to
+pick and choose, are likely to feel a deep indifference to the question
+of joining any segregation at all. If group No. 2 says, "Come into my
+crowd, I understand they don't want you in No. 1," the individual
+replies: "What the deuce do I care about No. 1 or you either? Here are
+Nos. 4, 5, 6, and 7 all begging for me. If you and No. 1 keep on in your
+conceit you'll find yourselves left out in the cold."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img083.jpg" width="600" height="433"
+             alt="Young gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon"
+         title="Young gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>And as it frequently happens to turn out that way, the dweller in a
+great city soon learns, in the first place, that he is less important
+than he thought he was; in the second place, that he is less unimportant
+than some people would like to have him think himself. All of which goes
+to show that when New Yorkers looked with easy tolerance, and some of
+them with open admiration, upon the Bohe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>mians at Pfaff's saloon, they
+had come to be citizens of no mean city, and were making metropolitan
+growth.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img085.jpg" width="398" height="550"
+             alt="A gentleman permanently in temporary difficulties"
+         title="A gentleman permanently in temporary difficulties" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>A Bohemian may be defined as the only kind of gentleman permanently in
+temporary difficulties who is neither a sponge nor a cheat. He is a type
+that has existed in all ages and always will exist. He is a man who
+lacks certain elements necessary to success in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> world, and who
+manages to keep fairly even with the world, by dint of ingenious shift
+and expedient; never fully succeeding, never wholly failing. He is a
+man, in fact, who can't swim, but can tread water. But he never, never,
+never calls himself a Bohemian&mdash;at least, in a somewhat wide experience,
+I have known only two that ever did, and one of these was a baronet. As
+a rule, if you overhear a man approach his acquaintance with the
+formula, "As one Bohemian to another," you may make up your mind that
+that man means an assault upon the other man's pocket-book, and that if
+the assault is successful the damages will never be repaired. That man
+is not a Bohemian; he is a beat. Your true Bohemian always calls himself
+by some euphemistic name. He is always a gentleman at odds with fortune,
+who rolled in wealth yesterday and will to-morrow, but who at present is
+willing to do any work that he is sure will make him immortal, and that
+he thinks may get him the price of a supper. And very often he lends
+more largely than he borrows.</p>
+
+<p>Now the crowd which the old gentleman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> saw in the saloon&mdash;and he saw
+George Arnold, Fitz-James O'Brien, and perhaps N. P. Shepard&mdash;was a
+crowd of Bohemians rather by its own christening than by any ordinary
+application of the word. They were all young men of ability, recognized
+in their profession. Of those who have died, two at least have honor and
+literary consideration to-day; of those who lived, some have obtained
+celebrity, and all a reasonable measure of success. M&uuml;rger's Bohemians
+would have called them Philistines. But they have started a tradition
+that will survive from generation unto generation; a tradition of
+delusion so long as the glamour of poetry, romance, and adventure hang
+around the mysteriously attractive personality of a Bohemian. Ever since
+then New York has had, and always will have, the posing Bohemian and his
+worshippers.</p>
+
+<p>Ten or fifteen years ago the "French Quarter" got its literary
+introduction to New York, and the fact was revealed that it was the
+resort of real Bohemians&mdash;young men who actually lived by their wit and
+their wits, and who talked brilliantly over fifty-cent table-d'h&ocirc;te<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+dinners. This was the signal for the would-be Bohemian to emerge from
+his dainty flat or his oak-panelled studio in Washington Square, hasten
+down to Bleecker or Houston Street, there to eat chicken badly <i>brais&eacute;</i>,
+fried chuck-steak, and soggy spaghetti, and to drink thin blue wine and
+chicory-coffee that he might listen to the feast of witticism and flow
+of soul that he expected to find at the next table. If he found it at
+all, he lost it at once. If he made the acquaintance of the young men at
+the next table, he found them to be young men of his own sort&mdash;agreeable
+young boys just from Columbia and Harvard, who were painting
+impressionless pictures for the love of Art for Art's sake, and living
+very comfortably on their paternal allowances. Any one of the crowd
+would think the world was coming to pieces if he woke up in the morning
+to wonder where he could get his breakfast on credit, and wonder where
+he could earn enough money to buy his dinner. Yet these innocent
+youngsters continue to pervade "The Quarter," as they call it; and as
+time goes on, by much drinking of ponies of brandy and smoking of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
+cigarettes, they get to fancy that they themselves are Bohemians. And
+when they get tired of it all and want something good to eat, they go up
+to Delmonico's and get it.</p>
+
+<p>And their Bohemian predecessors, who sought the French fifty-cent
+restaurants as <i>their</i> highest attainable luxury&mdash;what has become of
+them? They have fled before that incursion as a flock of birds before a
+whirlwind. They leave behind them, perhaps, a few of the more
+mean-spirited among them, who are willing to degenerate into fawners on
+the rich, and habitual borrowers of trifling sums. But the true
+Bohemians, the men who have the real blood in their veins, they must
+seek some other meeting-place where they can pitch their never-abiding
+tents, and sit at their humble feasts to recount to each other, amid
+appreciative laughter, the tricks and devices and pitiful petty schemes
+for the gaining of daily bread that make up for them the game and comedy
+of life. Tell me not that Ishmael does not enjoy the wilderness. The
+Lord made him for it, and he would not be happy anywhere else.</p>
+
+<p>There was one such child of fortune once,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> who brought his blue eyes
+over from Ireland. His harmless and gentle life closed after too many
+years in direst misfortune. But as long as he wandered in the depths of
+poverty there was one strange and mysterious thing about him. His
+clothes, always well brushed and well carried on a gallant form, often
+showed cruel signs of wear, especially when he went for a winter without
+an overcoat. But shabby as his garments might grow, empty as his pockets
+might be, his linen was always spotless, stiff, and fresh. Now everybody
+who has ever had occasion to consider the matter knows that by the aid
+of a pair of scissors the life of a collar or of a pair of cuffs can be
+prolonged almost indefinitely&mdash;apparent miracles had been performed in
+this way. But no pair of scissors will pay a laundry bill; and finally a
+committee of the curious waited upon this student of economics and asked
+him to say how he did it. He was proud and delighted to tell them.</p>
+
+<p>"I-I-I'll tell ye, boys," he said, in his pleasant Dublin brogue, "but
+'twas I that thought it out. I wash them, of course, in the
+basin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>&mdash;that's easy enough; but you'd think I'd be put to it to iron
+them, wouldn't ye, now? Well, I've invinted a substischoot for
+ironing&mdash;it's me big books. Through all me vicissichoods, boys, I kept
+me Bible and me dictionary, and I lay the collars and cuffs in the
+undher one and get the leg of the bureau on top of them both&mdash;and you'd
+be surprised at the artistic effect."</p>
+
+
+<p>There is no class in society where the sponge, the toady, the man who is
+willing to receive socially without giving in return, is more quickly
+found out or more heartily disowned than among the genuine Bohemians. He
+is to them a traitor, he is one who plays the game unfairly, one who is
+willing to fill his belly by means to which they will not resort, lax
+and fantastic as is their social code. Do you know, for instance, what
+"Jackaling" is in New York? A Jackal is a man generally of good address,
+and capable of a display of good fellowship combined with much knowledge
+of literature and art, and a vast and intimate acquaintance with
+writers, musicians, and managers. He makes it his business to haunt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
+hotels, theatrical agencies, and managers' offices, and to know
+whenever, in his language, "a new jay comes to town." The jay he is
+after is some man generally from the smaller provincial cities, who has
+artistic or theatrical aspirations and a pocketful of money. It is the
+Jackal's mission to turn this jay into an "angel." Has the gentleman
+from Lockport come with the score of a comic opera under his arm, and
+two thousand dollars in his pocket? Two thousand dollars will not go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
+far toward the production of a comic opera in these days, and the jay
+finds that out later; but not until after the Jackal has made him
+intimately acquainted with a very gentlemanly and experienced manager
+who thinks that it can be done for that price with strict economy. Has
+the young man of pronounced theatrical talent arrived from Keokuk with
+gold and a thirst for fame? The Jackal knows just the dramatist who will
+write him the play that he ought to star in. Does the wealthy and
+important person from Podunk desire to back something absolutely safe
+and sure in the line of theatrical speculation? The Jackal has the very
+thing for which he is looking. And in all these, and in all similar
+contingencies, it is a poor Jackal who does not get his commission at
+both ends.</p>
+
+<p><a name="jackal" id="jackal"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img092.jpg" width="469" height="550"
+             alt="A jackal is a man generally of good address"
+         title="A jackal is a man generally of good address" />
+    </div>
+
+
+<p>The Jackal may do all these things, but he may not, if he is treated,
+fail to treat in return. I do not mean to say at all that Jackaling is a
+business highly esteemed, even in darkest Bohemia, but it is considered
+legitimate, and I hope that no gentleman doing business in Wall Street,
+or on the Consolidated Exchange, will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> feel too deeply grieved when he
+learns the fact.</p>
+
+<p>But where have the real Bohemians fled to from the presence of the
+too-well-disposed and too-wealthy children of the Benedick and the
+Holbein? Not where they are likely to find him, you may be sure. The
+true Bohemian does not carry his true address on his card. In fact, he
+is delicate to the point of sensitiveness about allowing any publicity
+to attach to his address. He communicates it confidentially to those
+with whom he has business dealings, but he carefully conceals it from
+the prying world. As soon as the world knows it he moves. I once asked a
+chief of the Bohemian tribe whose residence was the world, but whose
+temporary address was sometimes Paris, why he had moved from the
+Quartier Latin to a place in Montmartre.</p>
+
+<p>"Had to, my dear fellow," he answered, with dignity; "why if you live
+over on that side of the river they'll call you a <i>Bohemian</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>In Paris the home of wit in poverty has been moved across the Seine to
+the south side of the hill up which people climb to make pil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>grimages to
+the Moulin Rouge and the church of St. Pierre de Montmartre. In New York
+it has been moved not only across that river of human intercourse that
+we call Broadway&mdash;a river with a tidal ebb and flow of travel and
+traffic&mdash;but across a wilder, stranger, and more turbulent flood called
+the Bowery, to a region of which the well-fed and prosperous New Yorker
+knows very, very little.</p>
+
+<p>As more foreigners walk on the Bowery than walk on any other street in
+New York; and as more different nationalities are represented there than
+are represented in any other street in New York; and as the foreigners
+all say that the Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the
+world, I think we are justified in assuming that there is little reason
+to doubt that the foreigners are entirely right in the matter,
+especially as their opinion coincides with that of every American who
+has ever made even a casual attempt to size up the Bowery.</p>
+
+<p><a name="Bowery" id="Bowery"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img096.jpg" width="478" height="600"
+             alt="The Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the world"
+         title="The Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the world" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>No one man can thoroughly know a great city. People say that Dickens
+knew London, but I am sure that Dickens would never have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> said it. He
+knew enough of London to know that no one human mind, no one mortal life
+can take in the complex intensity of a metropolis. Try to count a
+million, and then try to form a conception of the impossibility of
+learning all the ins and outs of the domicile of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> million men, women,
+and children. I have met men who thought they knew New York, but I have
+never met a man&mdash;except a man from a remote rural district&mdash;who thought
+he knew the Bowery. There are agriculturists, however, all over this
+broad land who have entertained that supposition and acted on it&mdash;but
+never twice. The sense of humor is the saving grace of the American
+people.</p>
+
+<p>I first made acquaintance with the Bowery as a boy through some
+lithographic prints. I was interested in them, for I was looking forward
+to learning to shoot, and my father had told me that there used to be
+pretty good shooting at the upper end of the Bowery, though, of course,
+not so good as there was farther up near the Block House, or in the wood
+beyond. Besides, the pictures showed a very pretty country road with big
+trees on both sides of it, and comfortable farm-houses, and, I suppose,
+an inn with a swinging sign. I was disappointed at first, when I heard
+it had been all built up, but I was consoled when the glories of the
+real Bowery were unfolded to my youthful mind, and I heard of the
+butcher-boy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> and his red sleigh; of the Bowery Theatre and peanut
+gallery, and the gods, and Mr. Eddy, and the war-cry they made of his
+name&mdash;and a glorious old war-cry it is, better than any college cries
+ever invented: "<i>Hi</i>, Eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy!" of
+Mose and his silk locks; of the fire-engine fights, and Big Six, and
+"Wash-her-down!" of the pump at Houston Street; of what happened to Mr.
+Thackeray when he talked to the tough; of many other delightful things
+that made the Bowery, to my young imagination, one long avenue of
+romance, mystery, and thrilling adventure. And the first time I went in
+the flesh to the Bowery was to go with an elderly lady to an optician's
+shop.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And is this&mdash;Yarrow?&mdash;<i>This</i> the stream</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of which my fancy cherished,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So faithfully, a waking dream?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An image that hath perished!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O that some minstrel's harp were near,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To utter notes of gladness,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And chase this silence from the air,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fills my heart with sadness!"</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>But the study of the Bowery that I began<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> that day has gone on with
+interruption for a good many years, and I think now that I am arriving
+at the point where I have some faint glimmerings of the littleness of my
+knowledge of it as compared with what there is to be known. I do not
+mean to say that I can begin to size the disproportion up with any
+accuracy, but I think I have accomplished a good deal in getting as far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
+as I have.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img100.jpg" width="457" height="600"
+             alt="More and stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of"
+         title="More and stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of" />
+    </div>
+
+<p><a name="edibles" id="edibles"></a></p>
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img102.jpg" width="400" height="330"
+             alt="Probably the edibles are in the majority"
+         title="Probably the edibles are in the majority" />
+    </div>
+<p>The Bowery is not a large place, for I think that, properly speaking, it
+is a place rather than a street or avenue. It is an irregularly shaped
+ellipse, of notable width in its widest part. It begins at Chatham
+Square, which lies on the parallel of the sixth Broadway block above
+City Hall, and loses its identity at the Cooper Union where Third and
+Fourth Avenues begin, so that it is a scant mile in all. But it is the
+alivest mile on the face of the earth. And it either bounds or bisects
+that square mile that the statisticians say is the most densely
+populated square mile on the face of the globe. This is the heart of the
+New York tenement district. As the Bowery is the Broadway of the East
+Side, the street of its pleasures, it would be interesting enough if it
+opened up only this one densely populated district. But there is much
+more to contribute to its infinite variety. It serves the same pur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>pose
+for the Chinese colony in Mott, Pell, and Doyers Streets, and for the
+Italian swarms in Mulberry Bend, the most picturesque and interesting
+slum I have ever seen, and I am an ardent collector of slums. I have
+missed art galleries and palaces and theatres and cathedrals (cathedrals
+particularly) in various and sundry cities, but I don't think I ever
+missed a slum. Mulberry Bend is a narrow bend in Mulberry Street, a
+tortuous ravine of tall tenement houses, and it is so full of people
+that the throngs going and coming spread off the sidewalk nearly to the
+middle of the street. There they leave a little lane for the babies to
+play in. No, they never get run over. There is a perfect understanding
+between the babies and the peddlers who drive their wagons in Mulberry
+Bend. The crowds are in the street partly because much of the sidewalk
+and all of the gutter is taken up with venders' stands, which give its
+characteristic feature to Mulberry Bend. There are displayed more and
+stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of. Probably the edibles
+are in the majority, certainly they are the queerest part of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> show.
+There are trays and bins there in the Bend, containing dozens and dozens
+of things that you would never guess were meant to eat if you didn't
+happen to see a ham or a string of sausages or some other familiar
+object among them. But the color of the Bend&mdash;and its color is its
+strong point&mdash;comes from its display of wearing apparel and candy. A
+lady can go out in Mulberry Bend and purchase every article of apparel,
+external or private and personal, that she ever heard of, and some that
+she never heard of, and she can get them of any shade or hue. If she
+likes what they call "Liberty" colors&mdash;soft, neutral tones&mdash;she can get
+them from the second-hand dealers whose goods have all the softest of
+shades that age and exposure can give them. But if she likes, as I do,
+bright, cheerful colors, she can get tints in Mulberry Bend that you
+could warm your hands on. Reds, greens, and yel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>lows preponderate, and
+Nature herself would own that the Italians could give her points on
+inventing green and not exert themselves to do it. The pure arsenical
+tones are preferred in the Bend, and, by the bye, anybody who remembers
+the days when ladies wore magenta and solferino, and wants to have those
+dear old colors set his teeth on edge again, can go to the Bend and find
+them there. The same dye-stuffs that are popular in the dress-goods are
+equally popular in the candy, and candy is a chief product of Mulberry
+Bend. It is piled up in reckless profusion on scores of stands, here,
+there, and everywhere, and to call the general effect festal, would be
+to speak slightingly of it. The stranger who enters Mulberry Bend and
+sees the dress-goods and the candies is sure to think that the place has
+been decorated to receive him. No, nobody will hurt you if you go down
+there and are polite, and mind your own business, and do not step on the
+babies. But if you stare about and make comments, I think those people
+will be justified in suspecting that the people uptown don't always know
+how to behave themselves like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> ladies and gentlemen, so do not bring
+disgrace on your neighborhood, and do not go in a cab. You will not
+bother the babies, but you will find it trying to your own nerves.</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img104.jpg" width="600" height="442"
+             alt="The Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens"
+         title="The Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>There is a good deal of money in Mulberry Street, and some of it
+overflows into the Bowery. From this street also the Baxter Street
+variety of Jews find their way into the Bowery. These are the Jew
+toughs, and there is no other type of Jew at all like them in all New
+York's assortment of Hebrew types, which cannot be called meagre. Of the
+Jewish types New York has, as the printers say, "a full case."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img105.jpg" width="394" height="450"
+             alt="The Anarchist Russians"
+         title="The Anarchist Russians" />
+    </div>
+
+
+<p>But it is on the other side of the Bowery that there lies a world to
+which the world north of Fourteenth Street is a select family party. I
+could not give even a partial list of its elements. Here dwell the
+Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens. The police raid
+those back-yards with ready assiduity, but the yards are always promptly
+replenished. It is the police against a religion, and the odds are
+against the police. The Jew will die for it, if needs be, but his
+chickens must be killed <i>kosher</i> way and not Christian way, but that is
+only the way of the Jews: the Hungarians, the Bohemians, the Anarchist
+Russians, the Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs,
+the Irish, who are there, as every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>where, the Portuguese Jews, and all
+the rest of them who help to form that city within a city&mdash;have they
+not, all of them, ways of their own? I speak of this Babylon only to say
+that here and there on its borders, and, once in a way, in its very
+heart, are rows or blocks of plain brick houses, homely, decent,
+respectable relics of the days when the sturdy, steady tradesfolk of New
+York built here the homes that they hoped to leave to their children.
+They are boarding-and lodging-houses now, poor enough, but proud in
+their respectability of the past, although the tide of ignorance,
+poverty, vice, filth, and misery is surging to their doors and their
+back-yard fences. And here, in hall bedrooms, in third-story backs and
+fronts, and in half-story attics, live the Bohemians of to-day, and with
+them those other strugglers of poverty who are destined to become
+"successful men" in various branches of art, literature, science, trade,
+or finance. Of these latter our children will speak with hushed respect,
+as men who rose from small beginnings; and they will go into the
+school-readers of our grandchildren along<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> with Benjamin Franklin and
+that contemptible wretch who got to be a great banker because he picked
+up a pin, as examples of what perseverance and industry can accomplish.
+From what I remember I foresee that those children will hate them.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img107.jpg" width="600" height="352"
+             alt="The Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs"
+         title="The Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs" />
+    </div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>
+<p>I am not going to give you the addresses of the cheap restaurants where
+these poor, cheerful children of adversity are now eating <i>goulasch</i> and
+<i>Kartoffelsalad</i> instead of the spaghetti and <i>tripe &agrave; la mode de Caen</i>
+of their old haunts. I do not know them, and if I did, I should not hand
+them over to the mercies of the intrusive young men from the studios and
+the bachelors' chambers. I wish them good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> digestion of their goulasch:
+for those that are to climb, I wish that they may keep the generous and
+faithful spirit of friendly poverty; for those that are to go on to the
+end in fruitless struggle and in futile hope, I wish for them that that
+end may come in some gentle and happier region lying to the westward of
+that black tide that ebbs and flows by night and day along the Bowery
+Way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_STORY_OF_A_PATH" id="THE_STORY_OF_A_PATH"></a>THE STORY OF A PATH</h2>
+
+
+<p>In one of his engaging essays Mr. John Burroughs tells of meeting an
+English lady in Holyoke, Mass., who complained to him that there were no
+foot-paths for her to walk on, whereupon the poet-naturalist was moved
+to an eloquent expression of his grief over America's inferiority in the
+foot-path line to the "mellow England" which in one brief month had won
+him for her own. Now I know very little of Holyoke, Mass., of my own
+knowledge. As a lecture-town I can say of it that its people are polite,
+but extremely undemonstrative, and that the lecturer is expected to
+furnish the refreshments. It is quite likely that the English lady was
+right, and that there are no foot-paths there.</p>
+
+<p>I wish to say, however, that I know the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> English lady. I know her&mdash;many,
+many of her&mdash;and I have met her a-many times. I know the enchanted
+fairyland in which her wistful memory loves to linger. Often and often
+have I watched her father's wardian-case grow into "papa's hot-houses;"
+the plain brick house that he leases, out Notting Hill way, swell into
+"our family mansion," and the cottage that her family once occupied at
+Stoke Wigglesworth change itself into "the country place that papa had
+to give up because it took so much of his time to see that it was
+properly kept up." And long experience in this direction enables me to
+take that little remark about the foot-paths, and to derive from it a
+large amount of knowledge about Holyoke and its surroundings that I
+should not have had of my own getting, for I have never seen Holyoke
+except by night, nor am I like to see it again.</p>
+
+<p>From that brief remark I know these things about Holyoke: It is
+surrounded by a beautiful country, with rolling hills and a generally
+diversified landscape. There are beautiful green fields, I am sure.
+There is a fine river<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> somewhere about, and I think there must be
+water-falls and a pretty little creek. The timber must be very fine, and
+probably there are some superb New England elms. The roads must be good,
+uncommonly good; and there must be unusual facilities for getting around
+and picnicking and finding charming views and all that sort of thing.</p>
+
+<p>Nor does it require much art to learn all this from that pathetic plaint
+about the foot-paths. For the game of the Briton in a foreign land is
+ever the same. It changes not from generation unto generation. Bid him
+to the feast and set before him all your wealth of cellar and garner.
+Spread before him the meat, heap up for him the fruits of the season.
+Weigh down the board with every vegetable that the gardener's art can
+bring to perfection in or out of its time&mdash;white-potatoes,
+sweet-potatoes, lima-beans, string-beans, fresh peas, sweet-corn,
+lettuce, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, tomatoes, musk-melons and
+water-melons&mdash;all you will&mdash;no word will you hear from him till he has
+looked over the whole assortment and discovered that you have not the
+vegetable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> marrow, and that you do not raise it. Then will he break
+forth and cry out for his vegetable marrow. All these things are naught
+to him if he cannot have his vegetable marrow, and he will tell you
+about the exceeding goodness and rarity of the vegetable marrow, until
+you will figure it in your mind like unto the famous mangosteen fruit of
+the Malay Peninsula, he who once eats whereof tastes never again any
+other fruit of the earth, finding them all as dust and ashes by the side
+of the mangosteen.</p>
+
+<p>That is to say, this will happen unless you have eaten of the vegetable
+marrow, and have the presence of mind to recall to the Briton's memory
+the fact that it is nothing but a second-choice summer squash; after
+which the meal will proceed in silence. Just so might Mr. Burroughs have
+brought about a sudden change in the topic of conversation by telling
+the English lady that where the American treads out a path he builds a
+road by the side of it.</p>
+
+<p>To tell the truth, I think that the English foot-path is something
+pathetic beyond de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>scription. The better it is, the older, the better
+worn, the more it speaks with a sad significance of the long established
+inequalities of old-world society. It means too often the one poor,
+pitiful right of a poor man, the man who must walk all his life, to go
+hither and thither through the rich man's country. The lady may walk it
+for pleasure if she likes, but the man who walks it because he must,
+turns up a little by-path leading from it to a cottage that no industry
+or thrift will make his own; and for him to aspire to a roadway to his
+front-door would be a gross piece of impertinence in a man of his
+station. It is the remembrance of just such right-of-way foot-paths as
+the English lady's sad heart yearned after that reconciles me to a great
+many hundreds of houses that have recently been built in the State of
+New Jersey after designs out of books that cost all the way from
+twenty-five cents to a dollar. Architecturally these are very much
+inferior to the English cottager's home, and they occasionally waken
+thoughts of incendiarism. But the people who live in them are people who
+insist on having roads right to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> their front-doors, and I have heard
+them do some mighty interesting talking in town-meeting about the way
+those roads shall be laid and who shall do the laying.</p>
+
+<p>As I have before remarked,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> I am quite willing to believe that Holyoke is
+a pathless wilderness, in the English lady's sense. But when Mr.
+Burroughs makes the generalization that there are no foot-paths in this
+country, it seems to me he must be letting his boyhood get too far away
+from him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img118.jpg" width="337" height="650"
+             alt="THROUGH THE RICH MAN'S COUNTRY" /><br />
+         <b>"THROUGH THE RICH MAN'S COUNTRY"</b>
+    </div>
+
+<p>For there are foot-paths enough, certainly. Of course an old foot-path
+in this country always serves to mark the line of a new road when the
+people who had worn it take to keeping horses. But there are thousands
+of miles of paths criss-crossing the countryside in all of our older
+States that will never see the dirt-cart or the stone-crusher in the
+lifetime of any man alive to-day.</p>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Burroughs&mdash;especially when he is published in the dainty little
+Douglas duodecimos&mdash;is one of the authors whose books a busy man
+reserves for a pocket-luxury of travel. So it was that, a belated
+reader, I came across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> his lament over our pathlessness, some years
+after my having had a hand&mdash;or a foot, as you might say&mdash;in the making
+of a certain cross-lots foot-way which led me to study the windings and
+turnings of the longer countryside walks until I got the idea of writing
+"The Story of a Path." I am sorry to contradict Mr. Burroughs, but, if
+there are no foot-paths in America, what becomes of the many good golden
+hours that I have spent in well-tracked woodland ways and in narrow
+foot-lanes through the wind-swept meadow grass? I cannot give these up;
+I can only wish that Mr. Burroughs had been my companion in them.</p>
+
+<p>A foot-path is the most human thing in inanimate nature. Even as the
+print of his thumb reveals the old offender to the detectives, so the
+path tells you the sort of feet that wore it. Like the human nature that
+created it, it starts out to go straight when strength and determination
+shape its course, and it goes crooked when weakness lays it out. Until
+you begin to study them you can have no notion of the differences of
+character that exist among foot-paths. One line of trodden earth seems<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+to you the same as another. But look! Is the path you are walking on
+fairly straight from point to point, yet deflected to avoid short rises
+and falls, <i>and is it worn to grade</i>? That is, does it plough a deep way
+through little humps and hillocks something as a street is cut down to
+grade? If you see this path before you, you maybe sure that it is made
+by the heavy shuffle of workingmen's feet. A path that wavers from side
+to side, especially if the turns be from one bush to another, and that
+is only a light trail making an even line of wear over the inequalities
+of the ground&mdash;that is a path that children make. The path made by the
+business man&mdash;the man who is anxious to get to his work at one end of
+the day, and anxious to get to his home at the other&mdash;is generally a
+good piece of engineering. This type of man makes more paths in this
+country than he does in any other. He carries his intelligence and his
+energy into every act of life, and even in the half-unconscious business
+of making his own private trail he generally manages to find the line of
+least resistance in getting from one given point to another.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This is the story of a path:</p>
+
+<p>It is called Reub Levi's Path, because Reuben Levi Dodd is supposed to
+have made it, some time in 1830 or thereabout, when he built his house
+on the hill. But it is much older than Reuben Levi. He probably thought
+he was telling the truth when, forty years ago, he swore to having
+broken the path himself twenty years before, through the Jacobus woods,
+down the hill and across the flat lands that then belonged to the
+Onderdoncks, and again through the Ogden woods to the county road; but
+he forgot that on the bright June day when he first started to find a
+convenient way through the woods and over the broad lowland fields from
+his own front-door to that of his father-in-law, Evert Ogden, and then
+through Mr. Ogden's patch of woods to the little town on the bank of the
+Passaic&mdash;he forgot that for a little part of the way he had had the help
+of a man whose feet had long before done with walking the paths of
+earth.</p>
+
+<p>The forest, for it was a forest then, was full of heavy underwood and
+brush, and he had no choice but to dodge his way between the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> clumps.
+But when he got out to the broad open space on the brow of the hill,
+where no trees had ever grown, he found an almost tropical growth of
+wild grass and azalea, with bull-brier twining over everything in every
+direction. He found it worse than the dense woods.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img123.jpg" width="378" height="500"
+             alt="A convenient way through the woods"
+title="A convenient way through the woods" />
+    </div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<p>"Drat the pesky stuff," he said to himself; "ain't there no way through
+it?" Then as he looked about he spied a line no broader than his hand at
+the bottom, that opened clean through the bull-brier and the bushes
+across the open to where the trees began again on the down-slope of the
+hill. Grass was growing in it, but he knew it for an old trail.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas Pelatiah Jinks made that, I'll bet a shilling," he said to
+himself, remembering the lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that
+mountain in his father's time. He had once seen old man Jinks's
+powder-horn, with its elaborate carving, done in the long solitary hours
+when the old man sat weather-bound in his lofty hermitage.</p>
+
+<p>"Jest like the old critter to make a bee-line track like that. But what
+in thunder did he want to go that way across the clearing for? I'm much
+obleeged to him for his trail, but it ain't headed right for town."</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img125.jpg" width="350" height="500"
+             alt="The lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that mountain"
+title="The lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that mountain" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>No, it was not. But young Dodd did not remember that the trees whose
+tops he saw just peeping over the hill were young things of forty years'
+growth that had taken the place of a line of ninety-year-old chestnuts
+that had died down from the top and been broken down by the wind shortly
+after old Pelatiah died. The line that the old man had made for himself
+took him straight to the one little hillock where he could look over
+this tall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> screen and get his bearings afresh by the glint of the
+Passaic's water in the woody valley below, for at no other spot along
+that ridge was the Passaic visible.</p>
+
+<p>Now in this one act of Reuben Levi Dodd you can see the human nature
+that lies at the bottom of all path-making. He turned aside from his
+straight course to walk in the easy way made by another man, and then
+fetched a compass, as they used to say in the Apostle Paul's time, to
+get back to his straight bearings. Old Pelatiah had a good reason for
+deviating from his straight line to the town; young Dodd had none,
+except that it was wiser to go two yards around than to go one yard
+straight through the bull-brier. Young Dodd had a powder-horn slung from
+his shoulder that morning, and the powder-horn had some carving on it,
+but it was not like the carving on old Pelatiah's horn. There was a
+letter R, cut with many flourishes, a letter L cut but wanting most of
+its flourishes, and a letter D half finished, and crooked at that, and
+without the first trace of a flourish. That was the way his powder-horn
+looked that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> day, for that was the way it looked when he died, and his
+son sold it to a dealer in antiquities.</p>
+
+<p>Young Dodd and his wife found it lonely living up there on the hilltop.
+They were the first who had pushed so far back from the river and the
+town. Mrs. Dodd, who had an active and ambitious spirit in her, often
+reproached her husband for his neglect to make their home more
+accessible to her old friends in the distant town.</p>
+
+<p>"If you'd take a bill-hook," she would say, "and clean up that
+snake-fence path of yours a little, may be folks would climb up here to
+see us once in a blue moon. It's all well enough for you with your
+breeches, but how are women folks to trail their frocks through that
+brush?"</p>
+
+<p>Reub Levi would promise and promise, and once he did take his hook and
+chop out a hundred yards or so. But things did not mend until Big Bill
+Turnbull, known all over the county as the Hard Job Man, married a widow
+with five children, bought a little patch of five or six acres next to
+Dodd's big farm, built a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> log-cabin for himself and his family, and
+settled down there.</p>
+
+<p>Now Turnbull's log-cabin was so situated that the line of old Pelatiah's
+path through the bull-brier, extended about an eighth of a mile, would
+just reach the front-door. Turnbull saw this, and it was at that point
+that he tapped Reub Levi's foot-path to the town. But he did his tapping
+after his own fashion. He took his wife's red flannel petticoat and tied
+it to a sapling on the top of the mound that the old hunter used to
+climb, and then with bill-hook and axe he cut a straight swath through
+the woods. He even cut down through the roots and took out the larger
+stones.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what you'd ought to have done long ago, Reuben Levi Dodd," said
+his wife, as she watched this manifestation of energy.</p>
+
+<p>"Guess I didn't lose much by waiting," Reub Levi answered, with a smile
+that did not look as self-satisfied as he tried to make it. "I'd a-had
+to do it myself, and now the other fellow's done it for me."</p>
+
+<p>And thereafter he took Bill Turnbull's path just where it touched the
+corner of his own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> cleared land. But Malvina Dodd, to the day of her
+death, never once walked that way, but, going and coming, took the
+winding track that her husband had laid out for her when their home was
+built.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img129.jpg" width="353" height="550"
+             alt="Malvina Dodd * * * took the winding track that her husband had laid out"
+title="Malvina Dodd * * * took the winding track that her husband had laid out" />
+    </div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The next maker of the path was a boy not ten years old. His name was
+Philip Wessler, and he was a charity boy of German parentage, who had
+been adopted by an eccentric old man in the town, an herb-doctor. This
+calling was in more repute in those days than it is now. Old Doctor Van
+Wagener was growing feeble, and he relied on the boy, who was grateful
+and faithful, to search for his stock of simples. When the weather was
+favorable they would go together through the Ogden woods, and across the
+meadows to where the other woods began at the bottom of the hill. Here
+the old man would sit down and wait, while the boy climbed the steep
+hillside, and ranged hither and thither in his search for sassafras and
+liverwort, and a hundred and one plants, flowers, and herbs, in which
+the doctor found virtue. When he had collected his bundle he came
+running down the path to where the doctor sat, and left them for the old
+man to pick and choose from, while he darted off after another load.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img131.jpg" width="420" height="550"
+             alt="Here the old man would sit down and wait"
+title="Here the old man would sit down and wait" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>He did a boy's work with the path. Steep grades were only a delight to
+him, and so in the course of a year or two he trod out, or jumped out,
+a series of break-neck short-cuts. William Turnbull&mdash;people called him
+William now, since he had built a clap-board house, and was using the
+log-cabin for a barn&mdash;William Turnbull, observing these short-cuts,
+approved of their purpose, but not of their method. He went through the
+woods once or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> twice on odd days after his hay was in, and did a little
+grading with a mattock. Here and there he made steps out of flat stones.
+He told his wife he thought it would be some handier for her, and she
+told him&mdash;they were both from Connecticut&mdash;that it was quite some
+handier, and that it was real thoughtful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> of him; and that she didn't
+want to speak no ill of the dead, but if her first man had been that
+considerate he wouldn't never have got himself drowned going pickerel
+fishing in March, when the ice was so soft you'd suppose rational folks
+would keep off of it.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img132.jpg" width="367" height="550"
+             alt="He did a little grading with a mattock"
+title="He did a little grading with a mattock" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>This path was a path of slow formation. It was a path that was never
+destined to become a road. It is only in mathematics that a straight
+line is the shortest distance between two points. The grade through the
+Jacobus woods was so steep that no wagon could have been hauled up it
+over the mud roads of that day and generation. Lumber, groceries, and
+all heavy truck were taken around by the road, that made a clean sweep
+around the hill, and was connected with the Dodd and Turnbull farms by a
+steep but short lane which the workmen had made when they built the Dodd
+house. The road was six miles to the path's three, but the drive was
+shorter than the walk.</p>
+
+<p>There was a time when it looked as though the path might really develop
+into a road. That was the time when the township, having outgrown the
+county roads, began to build<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> roads for itself. But, curiously enough,
+two subjects of Great Britain settled the fate of that New Jersey path.
+The controversy between Telford and Macadam was settled so long ago in
+Macadam's favor, that few remember the point of difference between those
+two noted engineers. Briefly stated, it was this: Mr. Telford said it
+<i>was</i>, and Mr. Macadam said it was <i>not</i>, necessary to put a foundation
+of large flat stones, set on end, under a broken-stone road. Reuben
+Levi's township, like many other New Jersey townships, sided with Mr.
+Telford, and made a mistake that cost thousands of dollars directly, and
+millions indirectly. To-day New Jersey can show the way to all her
+sister States in road-building and road-keeping. But the money she
+wasted on costly Telford pavements is only just beginning to come back
+to her, as she spreads out mile after mile of the economical Macadam.
+Reuben Levi's township squandered money on a few miles of Telford,
+raised the tax-rate higher than it had ever been before, and opened not
+one inch of new road for fifteen years thereafter. And within that
+fifteen years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> the canal came up on one side, opening a way to the great
+manufacturing town, ten miles down the river; and then the town at the
+end of the path was no longer the sole base of supplies. Then the
+railroad came around on the other side of the hill, and put a
+flag-station just at the bottom of what had come to be known as Dodd's
+Lane. And thus by the magic of nineteenth-century science New York and
+Newark were brought nearer to the hillside farm than the town three
+miles away.</p>
+
+<p>But year by year new feet trod the path. The laborers who cut the canal
+found it and took it when they left their shanty camp to go to town for
+Saturday-night frolics. Then William Turnbull, who had enlarged his own
+farm as far as he found it paid, took to buying land and building houses
+in the valley beyond. Reub Levi laughed at him, but he prospered after a
+way he had, and built up a thriving little settlement just over the
+canal. The people of this little settlement soon made a path that
+connected with Reuben Levi's, by way of William Turnbull's, and whenever
+business or old association took them to town<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> they helped to make the
+path longer and broader.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img136.jpg" width="499" height="600"
+             alt="THE LABORERS ... FOUND IT AND TOOK IT" /><br />
+         <b>"THE LABORERS ... FOUND IT AND TOOK IT"</b>
+    </div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>
+<p>By and by the regular wayfarers found it out&mdash;the peddlers, the
+colporteurs, the wandering portrait-painters, the tinkers and
+clock-menders, the runaway apprentices, and all the rest of the old-time
+gentry of the road. And they carried the path on still farther&mdash;down the
+river to Newark.</p>
+
+<p>It is not wholly to be told, "The Story of the Path." So many people had
+to do with its making in so many ways that no chronicle could tell all
+the meanings of its twists and turns and straight lines. There is one
+little jog in its course to-day, where it went around a tree, the stump
+of which rotted down into the ground a quarter of a century ago. Why do
+we walk around that useless bend to-day? Because it is a path,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> and
+because we walk in the way of human nature.</p>
+
+<p>The life of a tree may be a hundred years or two hundred years and yet
+be long life. But the days of the age of a man are threescore and ten,
+and though some be so strong that they come to fourscore, yet the strong
+man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> may be stricken down in the flower of his strength, if it be the
+will of the Lord.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img139.jpg" width="424" height="500"
+             alt="The tinkers * * * and the rest of the old-time gentry of the road"
+title="The tinkers * * * and the rest of the old-time gentry of the road" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>When William Turnbull came to die he was but twoscore years and five,
+but for all he was so young the people of the township gathered from far
+and near, for he had been a helpful man all his days, and those whom he
+had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> helped remembered that he would help them no more. Four men and
+four women sat up with the dead, twice as many as the old custom called
+for. One of the men was a Judge, two had been Chosen Freeholders, and
+the fourth was his hired man. There was no cemetery in the township, and
+his tomb had been built at the bottom of the hill, looking out on the
+meadows which he had just made his own&mdash;the last purchase of his life.</p>
+
+<p>There were two other pall-bearers to carry him on their shoulders to the
+place beyond which no man goes. These two, when they left the house on
+the night before the funeral, walked slowly and thoughtfully down the
+path together. They looked over every step of the way with to-morrow's
+slow and toilsome march in their minds. When they came to the turn by
+Pelatiah's mound they paused.</p>
+
+<p>"We can't never get him round that bend," said one. "That ain't no way
+to start down the hill. Best is I come here first thing in the morning
+and cut a way through this bull-brier straight across the angle, then we
+can see ahead where we're going. Put them two light<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> men behind, and you
+and me at the head, and we can manage it. My! what a man <i>he</i> was,
+though! Why, I seen him take the head of a coffin all by himself once."</p>
+
+<p>This man was a near neighbor of the Turnbulls, for now they had a number
+of neighbors; Reuben Levi Dodd had been selling small farms off his big
+farm&mdash;somehow he had never made the big farm a success. There are many
+services of men to man that country neighbors make little of, though to
+the dwellers in great cities they might seem strange burdens. At five
+o'clock the next morning Warren Freeman, the pall-bearer, went out and
+mowed and hacked a path through the tangled field from midway of old
+Pelatiah's trail down to a shortcut made by the doctor's charity boy,
+who was to-day a Judge. This Judge came out of the silent house,
+released by the waking hour, from his vigil with the dead. He watched
+his fellow pall-bearer at work.</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img142.jpg" width="415" height="600"
+             alt="I USED TO GO DOWN THAT PATH ON THE DEAD RUN" /><br />
+         <b>"I USED TO GO DOWN THAT PATH ON THE DEAD RUN"</b>
+    </div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
+<p>"I used to go down that path on the dead run twenty years ago," said he,
+"when I was working for Dr. Van Wagener and he used to send me up here
+gathering herbs."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You'll go down it on the dead walk to-morrow, Jedge," said the other,
+pausing in his work, "and you want to step mighty careful, or one fun'l
+will breed another."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Life, death, wedlock, the lingering of lovers, the waywardness of
+childish feet, the tread of weary toil, the slow, swaying walk of the
+mother, with her babe in her arms, the measured steps of the bearer of
+the dead, the light march of youth and strength and health&mdash;all, all
+have helped to beat out the strange, wandering line of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> old path; and
+to me, who love to find and to tread its turns, the current of their
+human life flows still along its course,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> in the dim spaces under the
+trees, or out where the sunshine and the wind are at play upon the
+broad, bright meadows.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_LOST_CHILD" id="THE_LOST_CHILD"></a>THE LOST CHILD</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The best of life in a great city is that it breeds a broad and tolerant
+catholicity of spirit: the best of country life is that it breeds the
+spirit of helpful, homely, kindly neighborliness. The suburban-dweller,
+who shares in both lives, is perhaps a little too ready to pride himself
+in having learned the lesson of the great metropolis, but the other and
+homelier lesson is taught so gradually and so unobtrusively, that he
+often learns it quite unconsciously; and goes back, perhaps, to his old
+existence in the city, only to realize that a certain charm has gone out
+of life which he misses without knowing just what he has lost. He
+thinks, perhaps, it is exercise he lacks. And it is, indeed&mdash;the
+exercise of certain gentle sympathies, that thrive as poorly in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
+town's crowded life as the country wild-flowers thrive in the
+flower-pots of tenement-house windows.</p>
+
+<p>It was between three and four o'clock of an August night&mdash;a dark, warm,
+hazy night, breathless, heavy and full of the smell of grass and trees
+and dew-moistened earth, when a man galloped up one of those long
+suburban streets, where the houses stand at wide intervals, each behind
+its trim lawn, or old-fashioned flower-garden, relieved, even in the
+darkness, against a great rear-wood screen of lofty trees. Up the
+driveway of one of these he turned, his horse's hoof-beats dropping
+clear and sharp on the hard macadam. He reined up at the house and
+rapped a loud tattoo with the stock of his whip on a pillar of the
+veranda.</p>
+
+<p>It was a minute or two before the noise, loud as it was, had reached the
+ears of two sleepers in the bedroom, just above his head. A much less
+startling sound would have awakened a whole city household; but slumber
+in the country has a slumber of its own: in summer time a slumber born
+of night-air, laden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> with the odors of vegetation, and silent except for
+the drowsy chirp of birds that stir in vine and tree. The wife awoke
+first, listened for a second, and aroused her husband, who went to the
+window. He raised the screen and looked out.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img150.jpg" width="425" height="550"
+             alt="Im Latimer, said the man on the horse"
+title="'I'm Latimer,' said the man on the horse" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" he said, without nervousness or surprise, though ten years
+before in his city home such a summons might have shaken his spirit with
+anxious dread.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Latimer," said the man on the horse,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> briefly. "That boy of
+Penrhyn's&mdash;the little one with the yellow hair&mdash;is lost. He got up and
+slipped out the house, somehow, about an hour ago, they think, and
+they've found one of his playthings nearly half a mile down the
+Romneytown Road."</p>
+
+<p>"Where shall I meet you?" asked the man at the window.</p>
+
+<p>"At the Gun-Club grounds on the hill," replied Latimer; "we've sent a
+barrel of oil up there for the lanterns. So long, Halford. Is Dirck at
+home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Halford; and without another word Latimer galloped into the
+darkness, and in a minute the sound of his tattoo was heard on the
+hollow pillars of the veranda of the house next door.</p>
+
+<p>This was the summons&mdash;a bare announcement of an event without appeal,
+request, suggestion, or advice. None of these things was needed. Enough
+had been said between the two men, though they knew each other only as
+distant neighbors. Each knew well what that summons meant, and what duty
+it involved.</p>
+
+<p>The rat-tat of Latimer's crop had hardly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> sounded before a cheery young
+voice rang out on the air.</p>
+
+<p>"All right, old man! I heard you at Halford's. Go ahead."</p>
+
+<p>It was Dirck's voice. Dirck had another name, a good long, Holland-Dutch
+one, but everybody, even the children, called him by his Christian name,
+and as he had lived to thirty without getting one day older than
+eighteen, we will consider the other Dutch name unnecessary. Dirck and
+Halford were close friends and close neighbors. They were two men who
+had reached a point of perfect community of tastes and inclinations,
+though they came together in two widely different
+starting-places&mdash;though they were so little alike to outward seeming
+that they were known among their friends as "the mismates." Though one
+was forty and the other but thirty, each had closed a career, and was
+somewhat idly seeking a new one. As Dirck expressed it, "We two fellows
+had played our games out, and were waiting till we strike another that
+was high enough for our style. We ain't playing limit games."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Two very different games they had been, but neither had been a small
+one. Dirck had started in with a fortune to "do" the world&mdash;the whole
+world, nothing else would suit him. He had been all over the globe. He
+had lived among all manner of peoples. He had ridden everything ridable,
+shot everything shootable, climbed everything climbable, and satisfied
+himself, as he said, that the world was too small for any particular
+use. At the end of his travels he had a little of his fortune left, a
+vast amount of experience, the constitution of a red Indian, and a
+vocabulary so vast and so peculiar that it stunned and fascinated the
+stranger. Halford was a New York lawyer, gray, clean-shaven, and sharp
+of feature. His "game" had made him famous and might have made him
+wealthy, but he cared neither for fame nor wealth. For twenty years he
+had fought a host of great corporations to establish one single point of
+law. His antagonists had vainly tried to bribe him, and as vainly to
+bully him. He had been assaulted, his life had been threatened, and
+altogether, as he admitted, the game had been lively enough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> to keep him
+interested; but having once won the game he tired of that style of play
+altogether. He picked out a small but choice practice which permitted
+him to work or be idle pretty much as the fancy took him. These were two
+odd chums to meet in a small suburban town, there to lead quiet and
+uneventful lives, and yet they were the two most contented men in the
+place.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+             <img   src="images/img154.jpg" width="272" height="450"
+             alt="That boy of Penrhyn's&mdash;the little one with the yellow hair"
+title="That boy of Penrhyn's&mdash;the little one with the yellow hair" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Halford was getting into his clothes, but really with a speed and
+precision which got the job over before his impetuous next-door neighbor
+had got one leg of his riding-breeches on. Mrs. Halford sat up in bed
+and expressed her feeling to her husband, who had never been known to
+express his.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Jack," she said, "isn't it awful? Would you ever have thought of
+such a thing! They must have been awfully careless! Oh, Jack, you will
+find him, won't you? Jack, if such a thing happened to one of our
+children I should go wild; I'll never get over it myself if he isn't
+found. Oh, you don't know how thankful I am that we didn't lose our
+Richard that way! Oh, Jack, dear, isn't it too horrible for anything!"</p>
+
+<p>Jack simply responded, with no trace of emotion in his voice:</p>
+
+<p>"It's the hell!"</p>
+
+<p>And yet in those three words Jack Halford expressed, in his own way,
+quite as much as his wife had expressed in hers. More, even, for there
+was a grim promise in his tone that comforted her heart.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Halford's feelings being expressed and in some measure relieved,
+she promptly became practical.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll fill your flask, of course, dear. Brandy, I suppose? And what
+shall we women take up to the Gun Club besides blankets and clean
+clothes?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Halford's husband always thought before he spoke, and she was not
+at all surprised that he filled his tobacco-pouch before he answered.
+When he did speak he knew what he had to say.</p>
+
+<p>"First something to put in my pocket for Dirck and me to eat. We can't
+fool with coming home to breakfast. Second, tell the girls to send up
+milk to the Gun Club, and something for you women to eat."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I sha'n't want anything to eat," cried Mrs. Halford.</p>
+
+<p>"You must eat," said her husband, simply, "and you must make the rest of
+them eat. You might do all right without it, but I wouldn't trust the
+rest of them. You may need all the nerve you've got."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear," said his wife, submissively. She had been with her husband
+in times of danger, and she knew he was a leader to be followed. "I'll
+have sandwiches and coffee and tea; I can make them drink tea, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"Third," went on Jack Halford, as if he had not been interrupted, "bring
+my field-glass with you. Dirck and I will range together<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> along the
+river. If I put up a white handkerchief anywhere down there, you stay
+where you are and we will come to you. If I put up this red one, come
+right down with blankets and brandy in the first carriage you can get
+hold of. Get on the north edge of the hill and you can keep a line on us
+almost anywhere."</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't you give us some signal, dear, to tell us if&mdash;if&mdash;if it's all
+right?"</p>
+
+<p>"If it was all wrong," replied the husband, "you wouldn't want the
+mother to learn it that way. I'll signal to you privately, however. If
+it's all right, I'll wave the handkerchief; if I move it up and down,
+you'll understand."</p>
+
+<p>Two minutes later he bade her good-by at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Now remember," he said, "white means wait, red means ride."</p>
+
+<p>And having delivered himself of this simple mnemonic device, he passed
+out into the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>At the next gate he met Dirck and the two swung into step together, and
+walked up the street with the steady stretching tread of men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> accustomed
+to walking long distances. They said "Hello!" as they met, and their
+further conversation was brief.</p>
+
+<p>"River," said Halford; "what do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>"River, sure," said the other; "a lot of those younger boys have been
+taking the youngsters down there lately. I saw that kid down there last
+week, and I'll bet a dollar his mother would swear that he'd never seen
+the river."</p>
+
+<p>"Then we won't say anything about it to her," said Halford, and they
+reached along in silence.</p>
+
+<p>Before them, when they came to the end of the road, rose a hill with a
+broad plateau on its stomach. Here through the dull haze of the morning
+they saw smoky-orange lights beginning to flicker uncertainly as the
+wind that heralds the sunrise came fitfully up. The soft wet grass under
+their feet was flecked with little grayish-silver cobwebs, and here and
+there they heard the morning chirp of ground-nesting birds. As they went
+farther up the hill a hum of voices came from above; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> voices of
+people, men and women, mingled and consonant like the voices of the
+birds, but with a certain tone of trouble and expectancy. Every now and
+then one individual voice or another would dominate the general murmur,
+and would be followed by a quick flutter of sound denoting acquiescence
+or disagreement. From this they knew that most of their neighbors had
+arrived before them, having been summoned earlier in the journey of the
+messengers sent out from the distant home of the lost child.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img160.jpg" width="390" height="550"
+             alt="Lanterns and hand lamps dimly lit up faces"
+title="Lanterns and hand lamps dimly lit up faces" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>On the crown of the hill stood a curious structure, actually small, but
+looming large in the grayness. The main body of the building was
+elevated upon posts, and was smaller at the bottom than where the
+spreading walls met the peaked roof. This roof spread out on both sides
+into broad verandas, and under these two wing-like shelters some three
+or four score of people were clustered in little groups. Lanterns and
+hand-lamps dimly lit up faces that showed strange in the unfamiliar
+illumination. There were women with shawls over their shoulders and
+women with shawls over their heads. Some of the men were in their
+shirt-sleeves, some wore shooting-coats, and a few had overcoats, though
+the night was warm. But no stranger arriving on the scene could have
+taken it for a promiscuous or acci<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>dental assemblage. There was a
+movement in unison, a sympathetic stir throughout the little crowd that
+created a common interest and a common purpose. The arrival of the two
+men was hailed with that curious sound with which such a gathering
+greets a desired and attended accession&mdash;not quite the sigh of relief,
+but the quick, nervous expulsion of the breath that tallies the coming
+of the expected. These were two of the men to be counted on, and they
+were there.</p>
+
+<p>Every little community such as this knows its leaders, and now that
+their number was complete, the women drew together by themselves save
+for two or three who clearly took equal direction with the men; and a
+dozen in all, perhaps, gathered in a rough circle to discuss the
+organization of the search.</p>
+
+<p>It was a brief discussion. A majority of the members of the group had
+formed decided opinions as to the course taken by the wandering child,
+and thus a division into sub-groups came about at once. This left
+various stretchings of territory uncovered, and these were assigned to
+those of the more decided minor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>ity who were best acquainted with the
+particular localities. When the division of labor was completed, the men
+had arranged to start out in such directions as would enable them to
+range and view the whole countryside for the extreme distance of radius
+to which it was supposed the boy could possibly have travelled. The
+assignment of Halford and Dirck to the river course was prompt, for it
+was known that they habitually hunted and fished along that line. The
+father of the boy, who stood by, was reminded of this fact, for a
+curious and doubtful look came into his face when he heard two of the
+most active and energetic men in the town set aside to search a region
+where he had no idea that his boy could have strayed. Some excuse was
+given also for the detailing of two other men of equal ability to take
+the range immediately above the river bank, and within hailing distance
+of those in the marshes by the shore. Had his mind not been in the daze
+of mortal grief and perplexity, he would have grasped the sinister
+significance of this precaution; but he accepted it in dull and hopeless
+confidence. When after they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> had set forth he told his wife of the
+arrangements made, and she heard the names of the four men who had been
+appointed to work near the riverside, she pulled the faded old Paisley
+shawl (that the child's nurse had wrapped about her) across her swollen
+eyes, and moaned, "The river, the river&mdash;oh, my boy, my boy!"</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img163.jpg" width="268" height="350"
+             alt="The river, the river,&mdash;oh, my boy"
+title="The river, the river,&mdash;oh, my boy" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Perhaps the men heard her, for being all in place to take their several
+directions, they made a certain broken start and were off into the
+darkness at the base of the hill, before the two or three of their sex
+who were left in charge of the women had fairly given the word. The
+tramp of men's feet and horses' hoofs died down into the shadowy
+distance. The women went inside the spacious old corn-crib that had been
+turned into a gun-club shooting-box, and there the mother laid her face
+on the breast of her best friend, and clung to her without a sound, only
+shuddering once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> and again, and holding her with a convulsive grip. The
+other women moved around, and busied themselves with little offices,
+like the making of tea and the trimming of lamps, and talked among each
+other in a quiet way with the odd little upward inflections with which
+women simulate cheerfulness and hope, telling tales of children who had
+been lost and had been found again all safe and unscathed, and praising
+the sagacity and persistence of certain of the men engaged in the
+search. Mr. Latimer, they said, was almost like a detective, he had such
+an instinct for finding things and people. Mr. Brown knew every field
+and hollow on the Brookfield Road. Mr. MacDonald could see just as well
+in the darkness as in the daytime; and all the talk that reached the
+mother's ears was of this man's skill of woodcraft, of that man's
+knowledge of the country, or of another's unfailing cleverness or
+tirelessness.</p>
+
+<p>Outside, the two or three men in charge stood by the father in their own
+way. It had been agreed that he should wait at the hilltop to learn if a
+trail had been found. He was a good fellow, but not helpful or capable;
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> it was their work to "jolly" him, as they called it; to keep his
+hope up with cheering suggestions, and with occasional judicious doses
+of whiskey from their flasks. For themselves, they did not drink; though
+their voices were low and steady they were more nervous than the poor
+sufferer they guarded, numbed and childish in his awful grief and
+apprehension. They were waiting for the sounds of the beginning of the
+search far below, and presently these sounds came, or rather one sound,
+a hollow noise, changeful, uneven, yet of a cruel monotony. It was a cry
+of "Willy! Willy! Willy!" rising out of that gray-black depth, a cry of
+many voices, a cry that came from far and near, a cry at which the women
+huddled closer together and pressed each other's hands, and looked
+speechless love and pity at the woman who lay upon her best friend's
+breast, clutching it tighter and tighter. Of the men outside, the father
+leaned forward and clutched the arm of his chair. The others saw the
+great drops of sweat roll from his brow, and they turned their faces
+away from him and swore inaudibly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img166.jpg" width="383" height="500"
+             alt="The father leaned forward and clutched the arms of his chair"
+title="The father leaned forward and clutched the arms of his chair" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Then, as the deep below began to be alive with a faint dim light
+reflected from the half awakened heaven, the voices died away in the
+distance, and in their place the leaves of the great trees rustled and
+the birds twittered to the coming morn.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The day broke with the dull red that prophesies heat. As the hours wore
+on the prophecy was fulfilled. The moisture of the dew and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> the river
+mist rose toward the hot sky and vanished, but the dry haze remained and
+the low sun shone through it with a peculiar diffusion of coppery light.
+Even when it reached the zenith, the warm, faintly yellow dimness still
+rose high above the horizon, throwing its soft spell upon all objects
+far or near, and melting through the dim blue on the distant hilltop
+into the hot azure of the great dome above.</p>
+
+<p>For an hour the watchers on the hill remained undisturbed, talking in
+undertones. For the most part, they speculated on the significance of
+the faint sounds that came up from below. Sometimes they could trace the
+crash of a horse through dry underbrush; sometimes a tumultuous clamor
+of commanding voices would tell them that a flat boat was being worked
+across a broad creek or a pond; sometimes a hardly audible whirr, and
+the metallic clinking of a bicycle bell would tell them that the
+wheelmen were speeding on the search. But for the best part of the time
+only nature's harmony of sounds came up through the ever-lightening
+gloom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But with the first of daylight came the neighbors who had not been
+summoned, and they, of course, came running. It was also noticeable of
+this contingent that their attire was somewhat studied, and showed more
+or less elaborate preparation for starting on the already started hunt.
+Noticeable also it was, that after much sagacious questioning and
+profoundly wise discussion, the most of the new-comers either hung about
+peering out into the dawn and making startling discoveries at various
+points, or else went back to their houses to get bicycles, or horses, or
+forgotten suspenders. The little world of a suburban town sorts itself
+out pretty quickly and pretty surely. There are the men who do and the
+men who don't; and very few of the men who <i>did</i>, in that particular
+town, were in bed half an hour after the loss of that child was known.</p>
+
+<p>But, after all, the late arrivals were useful in their way, and their
+wives, who came along later, were still more useful. The men were
+fertile in suggestions for tempting and practicable breakfasts; and the
+women actually brought the food along; and by the time that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> the world
+was well alight, the early risers were bustling about and serving coffee
+and tea, and biscuits and fruit, and keeping up that semblance of
+activity and employment that alone can carry poor humanity through long
+periods of suspense and anxiety. And the first on the field were the
+last to eat and the least critical of their fare.</p>
+
+<p>It was eight o'clock when the first party of searchers returned to the
+hill. There were eight of them. They stopped a little below the crib and
+beckoned to Penrhyn to come down to them. He went, white-faced and a
+little unsteady on his feet; his guardians followed him and joined with
+the group in a busy serious talk that lasted perhaps five minutes&mdash;but
+vastly longer to the women who watched them from above. Then Penrhyn and
+two men went hastily down the hill, and the others came up to the crib
+and eagerly accepted the offer of a hasty breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>They had little to tell, and that little only served to deepen the doubt
+and trouble of the hour. Of all the complication of unkind chance the
+searchers had to face the worst and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> the most puzzling. As in many towns
+of old settlement a road ran around the town, roughly circumscribing it,
+much as the boulevards of Paris anciently circumscribed the old
+fortifications of the city. It was little more than a haphazard
+connection of roads, lanes, and avenues, each one of which had come into
+existence to serve some particular end, and the connection had ended in
+forming a circuit that practically defined the town limits. It had been
+made certain that the boy had wandered this whole round, and that he had
+not left it by any one of the converging roads which he must have
+crossed. Nor could the direction of his wandering be ascertained. The
+hard, dry macadam road, washed clean by a recent rainfall, showed no
+trace of his light, infantile footprints. But sure it was that he had
+been on the road not one hour, but two or three at least, and that he
+had started out with an armful of his tiny belongings. Here they had
+found his small pocket-handkerchief, there a gray giraffe from his
+Noah's ark; in another place a noseless doll that had descended to him
+from his eldest sister; then a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> top had been found&mdash;a top that he could
+not have spun for years to come. Would the years ever come when that
+lost boy should spin tops?</p>
+
+<p>There were other little signs which attested his passage around the
+circle&mdash;freshly broken stalks of milkweed, shreds of his brightly
+figured cotton dress on the thorns of the wayside blackberries, and even
+in one place the clear print of a muddy and bloody little hand on a
+white gate-post.</p>
+
+<p>There is no search more difficult than a search for a lost child five or
+six years of age. We are apt to think of these wee ones as feeble
+creatures, and we forget that their physical strength is proportionally
+much greater than that of grown-up people. We forget also that the child
+has not learned to attribute sensations of physical discomfort to their
+proper sources. The child knows that it suffers, but it does not know
+why. It is conscious of a something wrong, but the little brain is often
+unable to tell whether that something be weariness or hunger. If the
+wandering spirit be upon it, it wanders to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> last limit of physical
+power, and it is surprising indeed to find how long it is before that
+limit is reached. A healthy, muscular infant of this age has been known
+to walk nearly eight or ten miles before becoming utterly exhausted. And
+when exhaustion comes, and the tiny form falls in its tracks, how small
+an object it is to detect in the great world of outdoors! A little
+bundle of dusty garments in a ditch, in a wayside hollow, in tall grass,
+or among the tufts and hummocks of a marsh&mdash;how easy it is for so
+inconspicuous an object to escape the eye of the most zealous searcher!
+A young animal lost cries incessantly; the lost child cries out his
+pitiful little cry, finds itself lifted to no tender bosom, soothed by
+no gentle voice, and in the end wanders and suffers in helpless,
+hopeless silence.</p>
+
+<p>As the morning wore on Dirck and Halford beat the swampy lands of the
+riverside with a thoroughness that showed their understanding of the
+difficulty of their work, and their conviction that the child had taken
+that direction. This conviction deepened with every hour, for the rest
+of the countryside was fairly open and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> well populated, and there the
+search should have been, for such a search, comparatively easy. Yet the
+sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, and no sound of guns fired in
+glad signal reached their ears. Hither and thither they went through the
+hot lowlands, meeting and parting again, with appointments to come
+together in spots known to them both, or separating without a word, each
+knowing well where their courses would bring them together. From time to
+time they caught glimpses of their companions on the hills above, who,
+from their height, could see the place of meeting on the still higher
+hill, and each time they signalled the news and got back the despairing
+sign that meant "None yet!"</p>
+
+<p>News enough there was, but not <i>the</i> news. Mrs. Penrhyn still stayed,
+for her own house was so situated that the child could not possibly
+return to it, if he had taken the direction that now seemed certain,
+without passing through the crowd of searchers, and intelligence of his
+discovery must reach her soonest at that point. Perhaps there was
+another reason, too. Perhaps she could not bear to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> return to that
+silent house, where every room held some reminder of her loss. Certainly
+she remained at the Club, and perhaps she got some unreasoning comfort
+out of the rumors and reports that came to that spot from every side. It
+was but the idle talk that springs up and flies about on such occasions,
+but now and then it served as a straw for her drowning hope to clutch
+at. Word would come of a farmer who had seen a strange child in his
+neighbor's wagon. Then would come a story of an inn-keeper who had
+driven into town to ask if anybody had lost a boy. Then somebody would
+bring a report at third or fourth hand of a child rescued alive from the
+river. Of course story after story, report after report, came to
+nothing. The child seen in the wagon was a girl of fourteen. The
+inn-keeper had come to town to ask about the lost child, but it was only
+because he had heard the report and was curious. A child indeed had been
+rescued from the river, but the story was a week old. And so it went,
+and the hot sun rose to the zenith and declined, and the coppery haze
+grew dim, and the shadows length<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>ened, and the late afternoon was come
+with its awful threat of impending night.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img175.jpg" width="474" height="550"
+             alt="They had just met after a long beat"
+title="They had just met after a long beat" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Dirck and Halford, down in the riverside marsh, saw that dreaded change
+fall upon the landscape, and they paused in their search and looked at
+one another silently. They had been ceaselessly at work all day, and the
+work had left its marks on them. Their faces were burnt to a fiery red,
+they were torn and scratched in the brambles, their clothes were soaked
+in mud and water to the waist, and they had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> been bitten and stung by
+insects until they looked as though some strange fever had broken out on
+them.</p>
+
+<p>They had just met after a long beat, each having described the half of a
+circle around a piece of open water, and had sunk down in utter
+weariness on a little patch of dry ground, and for a minute looked at
+each other in silence. Then the younger man spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Hal," he said, "he never came this far."</p>
+
+<p>By way of answer the other drew from his pocket a child's shoe, worn and
+wet, and held it up.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you find it?" asked Dirck.</p>
+
+<p>"Right over there," said Halford, "near that old wagon-trail."</p>
+
+<p>Dirck looked at him with a question in his eyes, which found its answer
+in the grave inclination of the elder's head. Then Dirck shook his own
+head and whistled&mdash;one long, low, significant whistle.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said, "I thought so. Any trail?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not the least," replied Halford. "There's a strip of thick salt grass
+there, over two yards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> wide, and I found the shoe right in the middle of
+it. It was lying on its side when I found it, not caught in the grass."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they were carrying him, sure," said Dirck, decisively. "Now then,
+the question is, which way."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img178.jpg" width="452" height="550"
+             alt="Half a dozen men naked to the waist scrubbing themselves"
+title="Half a dozen men naked to the waist scrubbing themselves" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>The two men went over to the abandoned roadway, a mere trail of ruts,
+where, in years before, ox-teams had hauled salt hay. Up and down the
+long strip of narrow grass that bordered it, they went backward and
+forward, hunting for traces of men's feet, for they knew by this time,
+almost beyond doubt, that the child was in the hands of tramps. The
+"tramp-hole" is an institution in all suburban regions which are
+bordered by stretches of wild and unfrequented country. These
+tramp-holes or camps are the headquarters of bands of wanderers who come
+year after year to dwell sometimes for a week, sometimes for months. The
+same spot is always occupied, and there seems to be an understanding
+among all the bands that the original territory shall not be exceeded.
+The tramps who establish these "holes" are invariably professionals,
+and never casual vagabonds; and apparently they make it a point of honor
+to conduct themselves with a certain propriety while they are in camp.
+Curiously enough, too, they seem to come to the tramp-hole, mainly for
+the purpose of doing what it is supposed that a tramp never does,
+namely: washing themselves and their clothes. I have seen on a chill
+November day, in one of these places, half a dozen men, naked to the
+waist, scrub<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>bing themselves, or drying their wet shirts before the
+fire. I have always found them perfectly peaceable, and I have never
+known them to accost lonely passers-by, or women or children. If a
+shooting or fishing party comes along, however, large enough to put any
+accusation of terrorism out of the question, it is not uncommon for the
+"hoboes" to make a polite suggestion that the poor man would be the
+better for his beer; and so well is the reputation of these queer camps
+established that the applicant generally receives such a collection of
+five-cent pieces as will enable him to get a few quarts for himself and
+his companions.</p>
+
+<p>Still, in spite of the mysterious system of government that sways these
+banded wanderers on the face of the earth, it happens occasionally that
+the tramp of uncontrollable instincts finds his way into the tramp-hole,
+and there, if his companions are not numerous or strong enough to
+withstand him, commits some outrage that excites popular indignation and
+leads to the utter abolition of one of the few poor out-door homes that
+the tramp can call his own, by the grace and indulgence of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> the world of
+workers. That such a thing had happened now the two searchers for the
+lost child feared with an unspeakable fear.</p>
+
+<p>Dirck straightened himself up after a careful inspection of the strip of
+salt grass turf, and looking up at the ridge, blew a loud, shrill
+whistle on his two fingers. There was no answer. They had gone a full
+mile beyond call of their followers.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you what, old man," said Dirck, with the light of battle
+coming into his young eyes, "we'll do this thing ourselves." His senior
+smiled, but even as he smiled he knit his brows.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go you, my boy," he said, "so far as to look them up at the
+canal-boats. If they are not there we've got to go back and start the
+rest off. It may be a question of horses, and it may be a question of
+telegraphing."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, let's have one go at them, anyway," said Dirck. He was no less
+tender-hearted than his companion; he wanted to find the child, but also
+he wanted, being young and strong and full of fight, to hunt tramps.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>There were three tramp-holes by the riverside, but two were sheltered
+hollows used only in the winter-time. The third was a collection of
+abandoned canal-boats on the muddy strand of the river. Most of them
+were hopeless wrecks; in three or four a few patches of deck remained,
+enough to afford lodgment and shelter to the reckless wayfarers who made
+nothing of sleeping close to the polluted waters that permeated the
+rotten hulks with foul stains and fouler smells.</p>
+
+<p>From the largest of these long, clumsy carcasses of boats came a sound
+of muffled laughter. The two searchers crept softly up, climbed
+noiselessly to the deck and looked down the hatchway. The low, red sun
+poured in through a window below them, leaving them in shadow and making
+a picture in red light and black shades of the strange group below.</p>
+
+<p>Surrounded by ten tramps; ten dirty, uncouth, unshaven men of the road,
+sat the little Penrhyn boy, his little night-shirt much travel-stained
+and torn, his fat legs scratched and bruised, his soiled cheeks showing
+the traces of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> tears, his lips dyed with the juices of the berries he
+had eaten on his way, but happy, happy, happy&mdash;happier perhaps than he
+had ever been in his life before; for in his hand he held a clay pipe
+which he made persistent efforts to smoke, while one of the men, a big
+black-bearded animal who wore three coats, one on top of the other,
+gently withdrew it from his lips each time that the smoke grew
+dangerously thick. And the whole ten of them, sitting around him in
+their rags and dirt, cheered him and petted him and praised him, even as
+no polite assemblage had ever worshipped him before. No food, no drink
+could have been so acceptable to that delicately nurtured child of the
+house of Penrhyn as the rough admiration of those ten tramps. Whatever
+terrors, sufferings, or privations he had been through were all
+forgotten, and he crowed and shrieked with hysterical laughter. And when
+his two rescuers dropped down into the hole, instead of welcoming them
+with joy, he grabbed one of the collars of the big brute with the three
+coats and wept in dire disappointment and affright.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Fore God, boss!" said the spokesman of the gang, the sweat standing out
+on his brow, "we didn't mean him no harm, and we wouldn't have done him
+no harm neither. We found de little blokey over der in the ma'sh yonder,
+and we tuk him in and fed him de best we could. We was goin' to take him
+up to the man what keeps the gin-mill up the river there, for we hadn't
+no knowledge where he come from, and we didn't want to get none of you
+folks down on us. I know we oughter have took him up two hours ago, but
+he was foolin' that funny-like that we all got kinder stuck on it, see,
+and we kinder didn't want to shake him. That's all there was to it,
+boss. God in heaven be my judge, I ain't lyin', and that's the truth!"</p>
+
+<p>The faces of the ten tramps could not turn white, but they did show an
+ashen fear under their eyes&mdash;a deadly fear of the two men for whom any
+one of them would have been more than a match, but who represented the
+world from which they were outcasts, the world of Home, of whose most
+precious sweetness they had stolen an hour's enjoyment&mdash;the world so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
+strong and terrible to avenge a wrong to its best beloved.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img184.jpg" width="452" height="550"
+             alt="The mother knew that her lost child was found"
+title="The mother knew that her lost child was found" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Then the silence was broken by the voice of the child, wailing
+piteously:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to be tooken away from the raggedty gentlemen!"</p>
+
+<p>Dirck still looked suspicious as he took the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> weeping child, but Halford
+smiled grimly, thoughtfully and sadly, as he put his hand in his pocket
+and said: "I guess it's all right, boys, but I think you'd better get
+away for the present. Take this and get over the river and out of the
+county. The people have been searching for this baby all day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> and I
+don't know whether they'll listen to my friend and me."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>
+<p>The level red light had left the valleys and low places, and lit alone
+the hilltop where the mother was watching, when a great shout came out
+of the darkness, spreading from voice to voice through the great expanse
+below, and echoed wildly from above, thrilling men's blood and making
+hearts stand still; and as it rose and swelled and grew toward her out
+of the darkness, the mother knew that her lost child was found.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_LETTER_TO_TOWN" id="A_LETTER_TO_TOWN"></a>A LETTER TO TOWN</h2>
+
+<p class="author">
+<span class="smcap">Fernseed Station.</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Atlantis Co., New &mdash;&mdash;</span><br />
+<i>February 30, 189-.</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">My dear Modestus:</span>&mdash;You write me that circumstances have decided you to
+move your household from New York to some inexpensively pleasant town,
+village, or hamlet in the immediate neighborhood, and you ask me the
+old, old innocent question:</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I like suburban life?"</p>
+
+<p>This question I can answer most frankly and positively:</p>
+
+<p>"No, certainly not. You will not like it at all."</p>
+
+<p>There is no such thing as <i>liking</i> a country life&mdash;for I take it that
+you mean to remove to the real suburban countryside, and not to one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> of
+those abominable and abhorrent deserts of paved streets laid out at
+right angles, and all supplied with sewers and electric light wires and
+water-mains before the first lonely house escapes from the house-pattern
+books to tempt the city dweller out to that dreary, soulless waste which
+has all the modern improvements and not one tree. I take it, I say, that
+you are going to no such cheap back-extension of a great city, but that
+you are really going among the trees and the water-courses, severing all
+ties with the town, save the railway's glittering lines of steel&mdash;or,
+since I have thought of it, I might as well say the railway ties.</p>
+
+<p>If that is what your intent is, and you carry it out firmly, you are
+going to a life which you can never like, but which you may learn to
+love.</p>
+
+<p>How should it be possible that you should enjoy taking up a new life,
+with new surroundings, new anxieties, new responsibilities, new duties,
+new diversions, new social connections&mdash;new conditions of every
+kind&mdash;after living half a lifetime in New York? It is true that,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> being
+a born New Yorker, you know very little indeed of the great city you
+live in. You know the narrow path you tread, coming and going, from your
+house to your office, and from your office to your house. It follows, as
+closely as it may, the line of Broadway and Fifth Avenue. The elevated
+railroads bound it downtown; and uptown fashion has drawn a line a few
+hundred yards on either side, which you have only to cross, to east or
+to west, to find a strange exposition of nearsightedness come upon your
+friends. Here and there you do, perhaps, know some little by-path that
+leads to a club or a restaurant, or to a place of amusement. After a
+number of books have been written at you, you have ventured timorously
+and feebly into such unknown lands as Greenwich Village; or that poor,
+shabby, elbowing stretch of territory that used to be interesting, in a
+simple way, when it was called the French Quarter. It is now supposed to
+be the Bohemian Quarter, and rising young artists invite parties of
+society-ladies to go down to its table d'h&ocirc;te restaurants, and see the
+desperate young men of the bachelor-apart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>ments smoke cigarettes and
+drink California claret without a sign of trepidation.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img191.jpg" width="600" height="589"
+             alt="The desperate young men of the bachelor apartments"
+title="The desperate young men of the bachelor apartments" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>As I say, that is pretty near all you know of the great, marvellous,
+multitudinous town you live in&mdash;a city full of strange people, of
+strange occupations, of strange habits of life, of strange contrasts of
+wealth and poverty; of a new life of an indescribable crudity, and of
+an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> old life that breeds to-day the very atmosphere of the historic
+past. Your feet have never strayed in the side paths where you might
+have learned something of the infinite and curious strangeness of this
+strange city.</p>
+
+<p>But, after all, this is neither here nor there. You have accustomed
+yourself to the narrow dorsal strip that is all New York to you. Therein
+are contained the means of meeting your every need, and of gratifying
+your every taste. There are your shops, your clubs, your libraries, your
+schools, your theatres, your art-galleries, and the houses of all your
+friends, except a few who have ventured a block or so outside of that
+magic line that I spoke of a little while ago. And now you are not only
+going to cross that line yourself, but to pass the fatal river beyond
+it, to burn your boats behind you, and to settle in the very wilderness.
+And you ask me if you will like it!</p>
+
+<p>No, Modestus, you will not. You have made up your mind, of course, to
+the tedium of the two railway journeys every weekday, and when you have
+made friends with your fellow-commuters, you will get to like it, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
+your morning trip in will take the place with you of your present
+afternoon call at your club. And you are pretty sure to enjoy the
+novelty of the first few months. You have moved out in the spring, and,
+dulled as your perceptions are by years of city life, you cannot fail to
+be astonished and thrilled, and perhaps a little bit awed, at the wonder
+of that green awakening. And when you see how the first faint, seemingly
+half-doubtful promise of perfect growth is fulfilled by the procession
+of the months, you yourself will be moved with the desire to work this
+miracle, and to make plants and flowers grow at your own will. You will
+begin to talk of what you are going to do next year&mdash;for you have taken
+a three years' lease, I trust&mdash;if only as an evidence of good faith. You
+will lay out a tract for your flower garden and your vegetable garden,
+and you will borrow your neighbor's seed-catalogue, and you will plan
+out such a garden as never blossomed since Eden.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img194.jpg" width="429" height="500"
+             alt="The hot, lifeless days of summer in your town house"
+title="The hot, lifeless days of summer in your town house" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>And in your leisure days, of course, you <i>will</i> enjoy it more or less.
+You will sit on your broad veranda in the pleasant mornings and listen
+to the wind softly brushing the tree-tops to and fro, and look at the
+blue sky through the leaf-framed spaces in the cool, green canopy above
+you; and as you remember the cruel, hot, lifeless days of summer in your
+town house, when you dragged through the weeks of work that separated
+you from the wife and children at the sea-side or in the
+mountains&mdash;then, Modestus, you must look upon what is before you, and
+say: it is good.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It is true that you can't get quite used to the sensation of wearing
+your tennis flannels at your own domestic breakfast table, and you
+cannot help feeling as if somebody had stolen your clothes, and you were
+going around in your pajamas. But presently your friend&mdash;for of course
+you have followed the trail of a friend, in choosing your new
+abode&mdash;your friend drops in clad likewise, and you take the children and
+start off for a stroll. As the pajama-feeling wears off, you become
+quite enthusiastic. You tell your friend that this is the life that you
+always wanted to lead; that a man doesn't really live in the city, but
+only exists; that it is a luxury to breathe such air, and enjoy the
+peaceful calm and perfect silence. Away inside of you something says
+that this is humbug, for, the fact is, the perfect silence strikes you
+as somewhat lonesome, and it even scares you a little. Then your
+children keep running up to you with strange plants and flowers, and
+asking you what they are; and you find it trying on the nerves to keep
+up the pretence of parental omniscience, and yet avoid the too-ready
+corrections of your friend.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img196.jpg" width="409" height="600"
+             alt="That's no Johnny-jumper!"
+title="'That's no Johnny-jumper!'" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>"Johnny-jumper!" he says, scornfully, when you have hazarded a guess out
+of your meagre botanical vocabulary: "Why, man, that's no Johnny-jumper,
+that's a wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> geranium." Then he addresses himself to the other
+inquiring youngster: "No, my boy, that's not a chestnut; that's an
+acorn. You won't get chestnuts till the fall, and then you'll get them
+off the chestnut trees. That's an oak."</p>
+
+<p>And so the walk is not altogether pleasant for you, and you find it
+safest to confine your remarks on country life to generalizations
+concerning the air and the silence.</p>
+
+<p>No, Modestus, do not think for a moment that I am making game of you.
+Your friend would be no more at home at the uptown end of your little
+New York path than you are here in his little town; and he does not look
+on your ignorance of nature as sternly as you would look upon his
+unfamiliarity with your familiar landmarks. For his knowledge has grown
+upon him so naturally and unconsciously, that he hardly esteems it of
+any value.</p>
+
+<p>But you can have no idea of the tragico-comical disadvantage at which
+you will find yourself placed during your first year in the
+country&mdash;that is, the suburban country. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> know, of course, when you
+move into a new neighborhood in the city you must expect to find the
+local butcher and baker and candlestick-maker ready to fall upon you,
+and to tear the very raiment from your back, until they are assured that
+you are a solvent permanency&mdash;and you have learned how to meet and repel
+their attacks. When you find that the same thing is done in the country,
+only in a different way, which you don't in the least understand, you
+will begin to experience a certain feeling of discouragement. Then, the
+humorous papers have taught you to look upon the Suburban Furnace as
+part of the machinery or property of a merry jest; and you will be
+shocked to discover that to the new-comer it is a stern and cold
+reality. I use the latter adjective deliberately and advisedly. There
+will surely come an awful night when you will get home from New York
+with Mrs. Modestus in the midnight train, too tired for anything but a
+drowsy chat by the lingering embers of the library fire over the
+festivities of the evening. You will open your broad hospitable door,
+and enter an abode of chill and darkness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> Your long-slumbering
+household has let fires and lights go out; the thermometer in the
+children's room stands at forty-five degrees, and there is nothing for
+you to do but to descend to the cellar, arrayed in your wedding
+garments, and try your unskilful best to coax into feeble circulation a
+small, faintly throbbing heart of fire that yet glows far down in the
+fire-pot's darksome internals. Then, when you have done what you can at
+the unwonted and unwelcome task, you will see, by the feeble
+candle-light, that your black dress-coat is gray with fine cinder dust,
+and that your hands are red and raw from the handling of heavy
+implements of toil. And then you will think of city home-comings after
+the theatre or the ball; of the quiet half-hour in front of the dying
+cannel; of the short cigar and the little nightcap, and of the gentle
+passage bedward, so easy in that warm and slumberous atmosphere that you
+hardly know how you have passed from weariness to peaceful dreams. And
+there will come to your spirit a sudden passion of humiliation and
+revolt that will make you say to yourself: This is the end!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+             <img   src="images/img200.jpg" width="272" height="400"
+             alt="Other local troubles"
+title="Other local troubles" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>But you know perfectly well that it is <i>not</i> the end, however ardently
+you may wish that it was. There still remain two years of your
+un-subletable lease; and you set yourself, courageously and firmly, to
+serving out the rest of your time. You resolve, as a good prisoner, to
+make the best of it. You set to work to apply a little plain
+common-sense to the problem of the furnace&mdash;and find it not so difficult
+of partial solution after all. You face your other local troubles with a
+determination to minimize them at least. You resolve to check your too
+open expressions of dissatisfaction with the life you are leading. You
+hardly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> know why you do this, but you have, half-unconsciously, read a
+gentle hint in the faces of your neighbors; and as you see those kindly
+faces gathering oftener and oftener about your fire as the winter nights
+go on, it may, perhaps, dawn upon your mind that the existence you were
+so quick to condemn has grown dear to some of them.</p>
+
+<p>But, whether you know it or not, that second year in the suburban house
+is a crisis and turning-point in your life, for it will make of you
+either a city man or a suburban, and it will surely save you from being,
+for all the rest of your days, that hideous betwixt-and-between thing,
+that uncanny creation of modern days of rapid transit, who fluctuates
+helplessly between one town and another; between town and city, and
+between town and city again, seeking an impossible and unattainable
+perfection, and scattering remonstrant servant-maids and disputed bills
+for repairs along his cheerless track.</p>
+
+<p>You have learned that the miseries of country life are not dealt out to
+you individually, but that they belong to the life, just as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
+troubles you fled from belong to the life of a great city. Of course,
+the realization of this fact only serves to make you see that you erred
+in making so radical a change in the current of your life. You perceive
+only the more clearly that as soon as your appointed time is up, you
+must re&euml;stablish yourself in urban conditions. There is no question
+about it; whatever its merits may be&mdash;and you are willing to concede
+that they are many&mdash;it is obvious that country life does not suit you,
+or that you do not suit country life, one or the other. And yet&mdash;somehow
+incomprehensibly&mdash;the understanding that you have only shifted the
+burden you bore among your old neighbors has put a strangely new face on
+things, and has made you so readily tolerant that you are really a
+little surprised at yourself.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img203.jpg" width="511" height="600"
+             alt="Other local troubles"
+title="Other local troubles" />
+    </div>
+
+
+<p>The winter goes by; the ever welcome glory of the spring comes back, and
+with it comes the natural human longing to make a garden, which is
+really, although we treat it lightly, a sort of humble first-cousin to
+the love of children. In your own breast you repress this weakness. Why
+taste of a pleasure which in another short year you mean to put
+permanently out of your reach? But there is no resisting the entreaties
+of your children, nor your wife's ready interest in their schemes, and
+you send for Pat Brannigan, and order a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> garden made. Of course, it is
+only for the children, but it is strange how readily a desire to please
+the little ones spreads into a broader benevolence. When you look over
+your wife's list of plants and seeds, you are surprised to find how many
+of them are perennials. "They will please the next tenants here," says
+your wife; "think how nice it would have been for us to find some
+flowers all already for us, when we came here!" This may possibly lead
+you to reflecting that there might have been something, after all, in
+your original idea of suppressing the gardening instinct.</p>
+
+<p>But there, after a while, is the garden&mdash;for these stories of suburban
+gardens where nothing grows, are all nonsense. True, the clematis and
+the moonflower obstinately refuse to clothe your cot with beauty; the
+tigridia bulbs rot in the ground, and your beautiful collection of
+irises produces a pitiful pennyworth of bloom to an intolerable quantity
+of leaves. But the petunias and the sweet-williams, and the balsams, and
+all the other ill-bred and obtrusive flowers leap promptly into life and
+vigor, and fight each other for the ownership<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> of the beds. And the
+ever-faithful and friendly nasturtium comes early and stays late, and
+the limp morning-glory may always be counted upon to slouch familiarly
+over everything in sight, window-blinds preferred. But, bless you dear
+urban soul, what do <i>you</i> know about the relative values of flowers?
+When Mrs. Overtheway brings your wife a bunch of her superbest gladioli,
+you complacently return the compliment with a half-bushel of magenta
+petunias, and you wonder that she does not show more enthusiasm over the
+gift.</p>
+
+<p>In fact, during the course of the summer you have grown so friendly with
+your garden that, as you wander about its tangled paths in the late fall
+days, you cannot help feeling a twinge of yearning pain that makes you
+tremble to think what weakness you might have been guilty of had you not
+already burned your bridges behind you, and told the house agent that
+nothing would induce you to renew the lease next spring. You remember
+how fully and carefully you explained to him your position in the
+matter. With a glow of modest pride you recall the fact that you stated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
+your case to him so convincingly, that he had to agree with you that a
+city life was the only life you and your family could possibly lead. He
+understood fully how much you liked the place and the people, and how,
+if this were only so, and that were only the other way, you would
+certainly stay. And you feel if the house agent agrees with you against
+his own interest, you must be right in your decision. Ah, dear Modestus!
+You know little enough about flowers; but oh, how little, little, little
+you know about suburban house agents!</p>
+
+<p>Let us pass lightly over the third winter. It is a period of hesitation,
+perplexity, expectancy, and general awkwardness. You are, and you are
+not. You belong nowhere, and to no one. You have renounced your new
+allegiance, and you really do not know when, how, or at what point you
+are going to take up the old one again. And, in point of fact, you do
+not regard this particular prospect with feelings of complete
+satisfaction. You remember, with a troubled conscience, the long list of
+social connections which you have found it too troublesome to keep up at
+long range. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> say you, for I am quite sure that Mrs. Modestus will
+certify me that it was You and not She, who first declared that it was
+practically impossible to keep on going to the Smith's dinners or the
+Brown's receptions. You don't know this, my dear Modestus, but I assure
+you that you may take it for granted. You remember also that your return
+must carry with it the suggestion of the ignominy of defeat, and you
+know exactly the tone of kindly contemptuous, mildly assumed superiority
+with which your friends will welcome you back. And the approaching
+severance of your newer ties troubles your mind in another way. Your new
+friends do not try to dissuade you from going (they are too wise in a
+suburban way for that), but they say, and show in a hundred ways, that
+they are sorry to think of losing you. And this forbearance, so
+different from what you have to expect at the other end of your moving,
+reproaches and pains while it touches your heart. These people were all
+strangers to you two years and a half ago; they are chance rather than
+chosen companions. And yet, in this brief space of time&mdash;filled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> with
+little neighborly offices, with faithful services and tender sympathies
+in hours of sickness, and perhaps of death, with simple, informal
+companionship&mdash;you have grown into a closer and heartier friendship with
+them than you have ever known before, save with the one or two old
+comrades with whose love your life is bound up. When you learned to
+leave your broad house-door open to the summer airs, you opened,
+unconsciously, another door; and these friends have entered in.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>It is a sunny Saturday afternoon in early April, but not exactly an
+April afternoon, rather one of those precocious days of delicious warmth
+and full, summer-like sunshine, that come to remind us that May and June
+are close behind the spring showers. You and Mrs. Modestus sit on the
+top step of your front veranda, just as you sat there on such a day,
+nearly three years ago. As on that day, you are talking of the future;
+but you are in a very different frame of mind to-day. In a few short
+weeks you will be adrift upon a sea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> of domestic uncertainty. For weeks
+you have visited the noisy city, hunting the proud and lofty mansion and
+the tortuous and humiliating flat, and it has all come to this&mdash;a
+steam-heated "family-hotel," until such time when you can find summer
+quarters; and then, with the fall, a new beginning of the weary search.
+And then&mdash;and then&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Coming and going along the street, your friends and neighbors give you
+cheery greeting, to which you respond somewhat absent-mindedly. You can
+hear the voices of your children and their little neighbor-friends
+playing in the empty garden plot. Your talk flags. You do not know just
+what you are thinking about; still less do you know what your wife is
+thinking about&mdash;but you know that you wish the children would stop
+laughing, and that the people would stop going by and nodding
+pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>And now comes one who does not go by. He turns in at the gate and walks
+up the gravel path. He smiles and bows at you as if the whole world were
+sunshine&mdash;a trim little figure, dressed with such artistic care that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
+there is cheerfulness in the crease of his trousers and suavity in his
+very shirt-front. He greets Mrs. Modestus with a world of courtesy, and
+then he sits confidentially down by your side and says: "My dear sir, I
+am come to talk a little business with you."</p>
+
+<p>No, you will not talk business. Your mind is firmly made up. Nothing
+will induce you to renew the lease.</p>
+
+<p>"But, my dear sir," he says, with an enthusiasm that would be as
+boisterous as an ocean wave, if it had not so much oil on its surface:
+"I don't want you to renew the lease. I have a much better plan than
+that! I want you to <i>buy the house</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>And then he goes on to tell you all about it; how the estate must be
+closed up; how the house may be had for a song; and he names a figure so
+small that it gives you two separate mental shocks; first, to realize
+that it is within your means; second, to find that he is telling the
+truth.</p>
+
+<p>He goes on talking softly, suggestively, telling you what a bargain it
+is, telling you all the things you have put out of your mind for many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
+months; telling you&mdash;telling you nothing, and well he knows it. Three
+years of life under that roof have done his pleading for him.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+             <img   src="images/img211.jpg" width="600" height="589"
+             alt="A little plain strip of paper headed Memorandum of sale"
+title="A little plain strip of paper headed 'Memorandum of sale'" />
+    </div>
+
+<p>Then your wife suddenly reaches out her hand and touches you furtively.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, buy it," she whispers, huskily, "if you can." And then she gathers
+up her skirts and hurries into the house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then a little later you are all in the library, and you have signed a
+little plain strip of paper, headed "Memorandum of Sale." And then you
+and the agent have drunk a glass of wine to bind the bargain, and then
+the agent is gone, and you and your wife are left standing there,
+looking at each other with misty eyes and questioning smiles, happy and
+yet doubtful if you have done right or wrong.</p>
+
+<p>But what does it matter, my dear Modestus?</p>
+
+<p>For you could not help yourselves.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Jersey Street and Jersey Lane, by H. C. Bunner
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jersey Street and Jersey Lane, by H. C. Bunner
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Jersey Street and Jersey Lane
+       Urban and Suburban Sketches
+
+Author: H. C. Bunner
+
+Illustrator: A. B. Frost
+             B. West Clinedinst
+             Irving R. Wiles
+             Kenneth Frazier
+
+Release Date: May 24, 2007 [EBook #21597]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JERSEY STREET AND JERSEY LANE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Janet Blenkinship and The Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  JERSEY STREET
+  AND JERSEY LANE
+
+  URBAN AND SUBURBAN SKETCHES
+
+
+  BY
+  H. C. BUNNER
+
+
+  ILLUSTRATED BY
+  A. B. FROST, B. WEST CLINEDINST, IRVING R. WILES
+  AND KENNETH FRAZIER
+
+  [Illustration: A TANGLED PATH]
+
+
+  NEW YORK
+  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+  1896
+
+  COPYRIGHT, 1893, 1894, 1895, 1896, BY
+  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+
+  Press of J. J. Little & Co.
+  Astor Place, New York
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  TO
+
+  A. L. B.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+
+  JERSEY AND MULBERRY                                                  1
+
+  TIEMANN'S TO TUBBY HOOK                                             33
+
+  THE BOWERY AND BOHEMIA                                              67
+
+  THE STORY OF A PATH                                                 99
+
+  THE LOST CHILD                                                     135
+
+  A LETTER TO TOWN                                                   175
+
+
+
+
+  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  "_A tangled path_"                                        FRONTISPIECE
+
+  "_The old lady sat down and wrote that letter_"                      6
+
+  "_Sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head * * * exchanges
+      a few words with him_"                                           9
+
+  "_And down in the big, red chair big sister plunks little sister_"  12
+
+  "_Then there is Mamie, the pretty girl in the window_"              14
+
+  "_And plays on the Italian bagpipes_"                               16
+
+  "_A Jewish sweater with coats on his shoulder_"                     20
+
+  "_Glass-put-in man_"                                                21
+
+  "_Poor woman with market-basket_"                                   21
+
+  "_A Chinaman who stalks on with no expression at all_"              24
+
+  "_The children are dancing_"                                        25
+
+  "_The girl you loved was * * * really grown up and too old for you_"  36
+
+  "_A few of the old family estates were kept up after a fashion_"    40
+
+  "_A random goat of poverty_"                                        41
+
+  "_The paint works that had paid for its building_"                  45
+
+  "_A mansion imposing still in spite of age_"                        49
+
+  "_She wound the great, tall, white columns with these strips_"      53
+
+  "_Here also was a certain dell_"                                    57
+
+  "_The railroad embankment beyond which lay the pretty, blue Hudson_"  59
+
+  "_The wreck of the woods where I used to scramble_"                 60
+
+  "_A little enclosure that is called a park_"                        63
+
+  "_It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door_"             64
+
+  "_An old gentleman from Rondout-on-the-Hudson_"                     70
+
+  "_Young gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon_"             72
+
+  "_A gentleman permanently in temporary difficulties_"               74
+
+  "_A jackal is a man generally of good address_"                     81
+
+  "_The Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the world_"     85
+
+  "_More and stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of_"        89
+
+  "_Probably the edibles are in the majority_"                        91
+
+  "_The Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens_"          93
+
+  "_The Anarchist Russians_"                                          94
+
+  "_The Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs_"      96
+
+  "_Through the rich man's country_"                                 108
+
+  "_A convenient way through the woods_"                             112
+
+  "_The lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that mountain_"          114
+
+  "_Malvina Dodd * * * took the winding track that her husband
+     had laid out_"                                                  118
+
+  "_Here the old man would sit down and wait_"                       120
+
+  "_He did a little grading with a mattock_"                         121
+
+  "_The laborers found it and took it_"                              125
+
+  "_The tinkers * * * and the rest of the old-time gentry of
+      the road_"                                                     128
+
+  "_I used to go down that path on the dead run_"                    131
+
+  "_'I'm Latimer,' said the man on the horse_"                       139
+
+  "_That boy of Penrhyn's--the little one with the yellow hair_"     143
+
+  "_Lanterns and hand lamps dimly lit up faces_"                     149
+
+  "_The river, the river,--oh, my boy_!"                             152
+
+  "_The father leaned forward and clutched the arms of his chair_"   155
+
+  "_They had just met after a long beat_"                            164
+
+  "_Half a dozen men naked to the waist scrubbing themselves_"       167
+
+  "_The mother knew that her lost child was found_"                  173
+
+  "_The desperate young men of the bachelor apartments_"             180
+
+  "_The hot, lifeless days of summer in your town house_"            183
+
+  "_'That's no Johnny-jumper!'_"                                     185
+
+  "_Other local troubles_"                                           189
+
+  "_You send for Pat Brannigan_"                                     192
+
+  "_A little plain strip of paper headed 'Memorandum of sale'_"      200
+
+
+
+
+JERSEY AND MULBERRY
+
+
+I found this letter and comment in an evening paper, some time ago, and
+I cut the slip out and kept it for its cruelty:
+
+     TO THE EDITOR OF THE EVENING ----.
+
+     SIR: In yesterday's issue you took occasion to speak of the
+     organ-grinding nuisance, about which I hope you will let me ask you
+     the following questions: Why must decent people all over town
+     suffer these pestilential beggars to go about torturing our senses,
+     and practically blackmailing the listeners into paying them to go
+     away? Is it not a most ridiculous excuse on the part of the police,
+     when ordered to arrest these vagrants, to tell a citizen that the
+     city license exempts these public nuisances from arrest? Let me
+     ask, Can the city by any means legalize a common-law misdemeanor?
+     If not, how can the city authorities grant exemption to these
+     sturdy beggars and vagrants by their paying for a license? The
+     Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure, it seems, provide
+     for the punishment of gamblers, dive-keepers, and other disorderly
+     persons, among whom organ-grinders fall, as being people who beg,
+     and exhibit for money, and create disorder. If this is so, why can
+     the police not be forced to intervene and forbid them their
+     outrageous behavior?--for these fellows do not only not know or
+     care for the observance of the city ordinance, which certainly is
+     binding on them, but, relying on a fellow-feeling of vulgarity with
+     the mob, resist all attempts made to remove them from the exercise
+     of their most fearful beggary, which is not even tolerated any
+     longer at Naples.
+                                                           R.
+
+       NEW YORK, _February_ 20th.
+
+     [Our correspondent's appeal should be addressed to the Board of
+     Aldermen and the Mayor. They consented to the licensing of the
+     grinders in the face of a popular protest.--ED. EVENING ----.]
+
+Now certainly that was not a good letter to write, and is not a pleasant
+letter to read; but the worst of it is, I am afraid that you can never
+make the writer of it understand why it is unfair and unwise and
+downright cruel.
+
+For I think we can figure out the personality of that writer pretty
+easily. She is a nice old or middle-aged lady, unmarried, of course;
+well-to-do, and likely to leave a very comfortable fortune behind her
+when she leaves all worldly things; and accustomed to a great deal of
+deference from her nephews and nieces. She is occasionally subject to
+nervous headaches, and she wrote this letter while she had one of her
+headaches. She had been lying down and trying to get a wink of sleep
+when the organ-grinder came under the window. It was a new organ and
+very loud, and its organ-grinder was proud of it and ground it with all
+his might, and it was certainly a very annoying instrument to delicate
+ears and sensitive nerves.
+
+Now, she might have got rid of the nuisance at once by a very simple
+expedient. If she had sent Abigail, her maid, down to the street, with a
+dime, and told her to say: "Sicka lady, no playa," poor Pedro would have
+swung his box of whistles over his shoulder and trudged contentedly on.
+But, instead, she sent Abigail down without the dime, and with
+instructions to threaten the man with immediate arrest and imprisonment.
+And Abigail went down and scolded the man with the more vigor that she
+herself had been scolded all day on account of the headache. And so
+Pedro just grinned at her in his exasperating furrin way, and played on
+until he got good and ready to go. Then he went, and the old lady sat
+down and wrote that letter, and gave it to Abigail to post.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Later in the afternoon the old lady drove out, and the fresh air did her
+a world of good, and she stopped at a toy store and bought some trifles
+for sister Mary's little girl, who had the measles. Then she came home,
+and after dinner she read Mr. Jacob Riis's book, "How the Other Half
+Lives;" and she shuddered at the picture of the Jersey Street slums on
+the title page, and shuddered more as she read of the fourteen people
+packed in one room, and of the suffering and squalor and misery of it
+all. And then she made a memorandum to give a larger check to the
+charitable society next time. Then she went to bed, not forgetting first
+to read her nightly chapter in the gospel of the carpenter's son of
+Nazareth. And she had quite forgotten all about the coarse and
+unchristian words she had written in the letter that was by that time
+passing through the hands of the weary night-shift of mail-clerks down
+in the General Post-office. And when she did read it in print, she was
+so pleased and proud of the fluency of her own diction, and so many of
+her nephews and nieces said so many admiring things about what she might
+have done if she had only gone in for literature, that it really never
+occurred to her at all to think whether she had been any more just and
+charitable than the poor ignorant man who had annoyed her.
+
+She was especially pleased with the part that had the legal phraseology
+in it, and with the scornful rebuke of the police for their
+unwillingness to disobey municipal ordinances. That was founded partly
+on something that she had heard nephew John say once, and partly on a
+general idea she has that the present administration has forcibly
+usurped the city government.
+
+Now, I have no doubt that when that organ-grinder went home at night, he
+and his large family laid themselves down to rest in a back room of the
+Jersey Street slum, and if it be so, I may sometimes see him when I look
+out of a certain window of the great red-brick building where my office
+is, for it lies on Mulberry Street, between Jersey and Houston. My own
+personal and private window looks out on Mulberry Street. It is in a
+little den at the end of a long string of low-partitioned offices
+stretching along the Mulberry Street side; and we who tenant them have
+looked out of the windows for so many years that we have got to know, at
+least by sight, a great many of the dwellers thereabouts. We are almost
+in the very heart of that "mob" on whose "fellow-feeling of vulgarity"
+the fellows who grind the organ rely to sustain them in their outrageous
+behavior. And, do you know, as we look out of those windows, year after
+year, we find ourselves growing to have a fellow-feeling of vulgarity
+with that same mob.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The figure and form which we know best are those of old Judge
+Phoenix--for so the office-jester named him when we first moved in,
+and we have known him by that name ever since. He is a fat old Irishman,
+with a clean-shaven face, who stands summer and winter in the side
+doorway that opens, next to the little grocery opposite, on the
+alley-way to the rear tenement. Summer and winter he is buttoned to his
+chin in a faded old black overcoat. Alone he stands for the most part,
+smoking his black pipe and teetering gently from one foot to the other.
+But sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head comes out of the
+alley-way and exchanges a few words with him before she goes to the
+little grocery to get a loaf of bread, or a half-pint of milk, or to
+make that favorite purchase of the poor--three potatoes, one turnip,
+one carrot, four onions, and the handful of kale--a "b'ilin'." And
+there is also another old man, a small and bent old man, who has some
+strange job that occupies odd hours of the day, who stops on his way to
+and from work to talk with the Judge. For hours and hours they talk
+together, till one wonders how in the course of years they have not come
+to talk themselves out. What can they have left to talk about? If they
+had been Mezzofanti and Macaulay, talking in all known languages on all
+known topics, they ought certainly to have exhausted the resources of
+conversation long before this time.
+
+Judge Phoenix must be a man of independent fortune, for he toils not,
+neither does he spin, and the lilies of the field could not lead a more
+simple vegetable life, nor stay more contentedly in one place. Perhaps
+he owns the rear tenement. I suspect so, for he must have been at one
+time in the labor-contract business. This, of course, is a mere guess,
+founded upon the fact that we once found the Judge away from his post
+and at work. It was at the time they were repaving Broadway with the
+great pavement. We discovered the Judge at the corner of Bleecker Street
+perched on a pile of dirt, doing duty as sub-section boss. He was
+talking to the drivers of the vehicles that went past him, through the
+half-blockaded thoroughfare, and he was addressing them, after the true
+professional contractor's style, by the names of their loads.
+
+"Hi there, sand," he would cry, "git along lively! Stone, it's you the
+boss wants on the other side of the street! Dhry-goods, there's no place
+for ye here; take the next turn!" It was a proud day for the old Judge,
+and I have no doubt that he talks it over still with his little bent old
+crony, and boasts of vain deeds that grow in the telling.
+
+Judge Phoenix is not, however, without mute company. Fair days and
+foul are all one to the Judge, but on fair days his companion is brought
+out. In front of the grocery is a box with a sloping top, on which are
+little bins for vegetables. In front of this box, again, on days when it
+is not raining or snowing, a little girl of five or six comes out of the
+grocery and sets a little red chair. Then she brings out a smaller girl
+yet, who may be two or three, a plump and puggy little thing; and down
+in the red chair big sister plunks little sister, and there till next
+mealtime little sister sits and never so much as offers to move. She
+must have been trained to this unchildlike self-imprisonment, for she is
+lusty and strong enough. Big sister works in the shop, and once in a
+while she comes out and settles little sister more comfortably in her
+red chair; and then little sister has the sole moment of relief from a
+monotonous existence. She hammers on big sister's face with her fat
+little hands, and with such skill and force does she direct the blows
+that big sister often has to wipe her streaming eyes. But big sister
+always takes it in good part, and little sister evidently does it, not
+from any lack of affection, but in the way of healthy exercise. Then big
+sister wipes little sister's nose and goes back into the shop. I suppose
+there is some compact between them.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Of course there is plenty of child life all up and down the sidewalk on
+both sides, although little sister never joins in it. My side of the
+street swarms with Italian children, most of them from Jersey Street,
+which is really not a street, but an alley. Judge Phoenix's side is
+peopled with small Germans and Irish. I have noticed one peculiar thing
+about these children: they never change sides. They play together most
+amicably in the middle of the street or in the gutter, but neither
+ventures beyond its neutral ground.
+
+Judge Phoenix and little sister are by far the most interesting
+figures to be seen from my windows, but there are many others whom we
+know. There is the Italian barber whose brother dropped dead while
+shaving a customer. You would never imagine, to see the simple and
+unaffected way in which he comes out to take the air once in a while,
+standing on the steps of his basement, and twirling his tin-backed comb
+in idle thought, that he had had such a distinguished death in his
+family. But I don't let him shave me.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then there is Mamie, the pretty girl in the window with the
+lace-curtains, and there is her epileptic brother. He is insane, but
+harmless, and amusing, although rather trying to the nerves. He comes
+out of the house in a hurry, walks quickly up the street for twenty or
+thirty feet, then turns suddenly, as if he had forgotten something, and
+hurries back, to reappear two minutes later from the basement door, only
+to hasten wildly in another direction, turn back again, plunge into the
+basement door, emerge from the upper door, get half way down the block,
+forget it again, and go back to make a new combination of doors and
+exits. Sometimes he is ten or twenty minutes in the house at one time.
+Then we suppose he is having a fit. Now, it seems to me that that
+modest retirement shows consideration and thoughtfulness on his part.
+
+In the window next to Mamie's is a little, putty-colored face, and a
+still smaller white face, that just peeps over the sill. One belongs to
+the mulatto woman's youngster. Her mother goes out scrubbing, and the
+little girl is alone all day. She is so much alone, that the sage-green
+old bachelor in the second den from mine could not stand it, last
+Christmas time, so he sent her a doll on the sly. That's the other face.
+
+Then there is the grocer, who is a groceress, and the groceress's
+husband. I wish that man to understand, if his eye ever falls upon this
+page--for wrapping purposes, we will say--that, in the language of
+Mulberry Street, I am on to him. He has got a job recently, driving a
+bakery wagon, and he times his route so that he can tie up in front of
+his wife's grocery every day at twelve o'clock, and he puts in a solid
+hour of his employer's time helping his wife through the noonday rush.
+But he need not fear. In the interests of the higher morality I suppose
+I ought to go and tell his employer about it. But I won't. My morals
+are not that high.
+
+Of course we have many across-the-street friends, but I cannot tell you
+of them all. I will only mention the plump widow who keeps the
+lunch-room and bakery on the Houston Street corner, where the boys go
+for their luncheon. It is through her that many interesting details of
+personal gossip find their way into this office.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Jersey Street, or at least the rear of it, seems to be given up wholly
+to the Italians. The most charming tenant of Jersey Street is the lovely
+Italian girl, who looks like a Jewess, whose mission in life seems to be
+to hang all day long out of her window and watch the doings in the
+little stone-flagged courts below her. In one of these an old man
+sometimes comes out, sits him down in a shady corner, and plays on the
+Italian bagpipes, which are really more painful than any hand-organ
+that ever was made. After a while his wife opens hostilities with him
+from her window. I suppose she is reproaching him for an idle devotion
+to art, but I cannot follow the conversation, although it is quite loud
+enough on both sides. But the handsome Italian girl up at the window
+follows the changes of the strife with the light of the joy of battle in
+her beautiful dark eyes, and I can tell from her face exactly which of
+the old folk is getting the better of it.
+
+But though the life of Jersey and Mulberry Streets may be mildly
+interesting to outside spectators who happen to have a fellow-feeling of
+vulgarity with the mob, the mob must find it rather monotonous. Jersey
+Street is not only a blind alley, but a dead one, so far as outside life
+is concerned, and Judge Phoenix and little sister see pretty much the
+same old two-and-sixpence every day. The bustle and clamor of Mulberry
+Bend are only a few blocks below them, but the Bend is an exclusive
+slum; and Police Headquarters--the Central Office--is a block above, but
+the Central Office deals only with the refinements of artistic crime,
+and is not half so interesting as an ordinary police station. The
+priests go by from the school below, in their black robes and tall silk
+hats, always two by two, marching with brisk, business-like tread. An
+occasional drunken man or woman wavers along, but generally their faces
+and their conditions are both familiar. Sometimes two men hurry by,
+pressing side by side. If you have seen that peculiar walk before you
+know what it means. Two light steel rings link their wrists together.
+The old man idly watches them until they disappear in the white marble
+building on the next block. And then, of course, there is always a thin
+stream of working folk going to and fro upon their business.
+
+In spring and in fall things brighten a little. Those are the seasons of
+processions and religious festivals. Almost every day then, and
+sometimes half a dozen times in a day, the Judge and the baby may see
+some Italian society parading through the street. Fourteen proud sons of
+Italy, clad in magnificent new uniforms, bearing aloft huge silk
+banners, strut magnificently in the rear of a German band of
+twenty-four pieces, and a drum-corps of a dozen more. Then, too, come
+the religious processions, when the little girls are taken to their
+first communion. Six sturdy Italians struggle along under the weight of
+a mighty temple or pavilion, all made of colored candles--not the dainty
+little pink trifles with rosy shades of perforated paper, that light our
+old lady's dining-table--but the great big candles of the Romish Church
+(a church which, you may remember, is much affected of the mob,
+especially in times of suffering, sickness, or death); mighty candles,
+six and eight feet tall, and as thick as your wrist, of red and blue and
+green and yellow, arranged in artistic combinations around a statue of
+the Virgin. From this splendid structure silken ribbons stream in all
+directions, and at the end of each ribbon is a little girl--generally a
+pretty little girl--in a white dress bedecked with green bows. And each
+little girl leads by the hand one smaller than herself, sometimes a
+toddler so tiny that you marvel that it can walk at all. Some of the
+little ones are bare-headed, but most of them wear the square head-cloth
+of the Italian peasant, such as their mothers and grandmothers wore in
+Italy. At each side of the girls marches an escort of proud parents,
+very much mixed up with the boys of the families, who generally appear
+in their usual street dress, some of them showing through it in
+conspicuous places. And before and behind them are bands and drum-corps,
+and societies with banners, and it is all a blare of martial music and
+primary colors the whole length of the street.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But these are Mulberry Street's brief carnival seasons, and when their
+splendor is departed the block relapses into workaday dulness, and the
+procession that marches and counter-marches before Judge Phoenix and
+little sister in any one of the long hours between eight and twelve and
+one and six is something like this:
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  UP.                          DOWN.
+
+  Detective taking
+    prisoner to
+    Central Office.
+                               Chinaman.
+  Messenger boy.               Two house-painters.
+  Two priests.                 Boy with basket.
+  Jewish sweater,              Boy with tin
+    with coats on                beer-pails on a
+    his shoulder.                stick.
+  Carpenter.
+  Another Chinaman.
+  Drunken woman
+    (a regular).
+  Glass-put-in
+    man.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  UP.                          DOWN.
+
+  Washer woman
+    with clothes.
+  Poor woman
+    with market-basket.
+                               Drunken man.
+  Undertaker's
+    man carrying
+    trestles.
+  Butcher's boy.
+  Two priests.                 Detective
+                                 coming back
+                                 from Central
+                                 Office
+                                 alone.
+
+Such is the daily march of the mob in Mulberry Street near the mouth of
+Jersey's blind alley, and such is its outrageous behavior as observed by
+a presumably decent person from the windows of the big red-brick
+building across the way.
+
+Suddenly there is an explosion of sound under the decent person's
+window, and a hand-organ starts off with a jerk like a freight train on
+a down grade, that joggles a whole string of crashing notes. Then it
+gets down to work, and its harsh, high-pitched, metallic drone makes the
+street ring for a moment. Then it is temporarily drowned by a chorus of
+shrill, small voices. The person--I am afraid his decency begins to drop
+off him here--leans on his broad window-sill and looks out. The street
+is filled with children of every age, size, and nationality; dirty
+children, clean children, well-dressed children, and children in rags,
+and for every one of these last two classes put together a dozen
+children who are neatly and cleanly but humbly clad--the children of the
+self-respecting poor. I do not know where they have all swarmed from.
+There were only three or four in sight just before the organ came; now
+there are several dozen in the crowd, and the crowd is growing. See, the
+women are coming out in the rear tenements. Some male passers-by line up
+on the edge of the sidewalk and look on with a superior air. The Italian
+barber has come all the way up his steps, and is sitting on the rail.
+Judge Phoenix has teetered forward at least half a yard, and stands
+looking at the show over the heads of a little knot of women hooded with
+red plaid shawls. The epileptic boy comes out on his stoop and stays
+there at least three minutes before the area-way swallows him. Up above
+there is a head in almost every casement. Mamie is at her window, and
+the little mulatto child at hers. There are only two people who do not
+stop and look on and listen. One is a Chinaman, who stalks on with no
+expression at all on his blank face; the other is the boy from the
+printing-office with a dozen foaming cans of beer on his long stick. But
+he does not leave because he wants to. He lingers as long as he can, in
+his passage through the throng, and disappears in the printing-house
+doorway with his head screwed half way around on his shoulders. He would
+linger yet, but the big foreman would call him "Spitzbube!" and would
+cuff his ears.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The children are dancing. The organ is playing "On the Blue Alsatian
+Mountains," and the little heads are bobbing up and down to it in time
+as true as ever was kept. Watch the little things! They are really
+waltzing. There is a young one of four years old. See her little worn
+shoes take the step and keep it! Dodworth or DeGarmo could not have
+taught her better. I wonder if either of them ever had so young a pupil.
+And she is dancing with a girl twice her size. Look at that ring of
+children--all girls--waltzing round hand in hand! How is that for a
+ladies' chain? Well, well, the heart grows young to see them. And now
+look over to the grocery. Big sister has come out and climbed on the
+vegetable-stand, and is sitting in the potatoes with little sister in
+her lap. Little sister waves her fat, red arms in the air and shrieks in
+babyish delight. The old women with the shawls over their heads are
+talking together, crooning over the spectacle in their Irish way:
+
+[Illustration: THE CHILDREN ARE DANCING. THE ORGAN IS PLAYING "ON THE
+BLUE ALSATIAN MOUNTAINS"]
+
+"Thot's me Mary Ann, I was tellin' ye about, Mrs. Rafferty, dancin' wid
+the little one in the green apron."
+
+"It's a foine sthring o' childher ye have, Mrs. Finn!" says Mrs.
+Rafferty, nodding her head as though it were balanced on wires. And so
+the dance goes on.
+
+In the centre of it all stands the organ-grinder, swarthy and
+black-haired. He has a small, clear space so that he can move the one
+leg of his organ about, as he turns from side to side, gazing up at the
+windows of the brick building where the great wrought-iron griffins
+stare back at him from their lofty perches. His anxious black eyes rove
+from window to window. The poor he has always with him, but what will
+the folk who mould public opinion in great griffin-decorated buildings
+do for him?
+
+I think we will throw him down a few nickels. Let us tear off a scrap of
+newspaper. Here is a bit from the society column of the _Evening_ ----.
+That will do excellently well. We will screw the money up in that, and
+there it goes, _chink_! on the pavement below. There, look at that grin!
+Wasn't it cheap at the price?
+
+I wish he might have had a monkey to come up and get the nickels. We
+shall never see the organ-grinder's monkey in the streets of New York
+again. I see him, though. He comes out and visits me where I live among
+the trees, whenever the weather is not too cold to permit him to travel
+with his master. Sometimes he comes in a bag, on chilly days; and my own
+babies, who seem to be born with the fellow-feeling of vulgarity with
+the mob, invite him in and show him how to warm his cold little black
+hands in front of the kitchen range.
+
+I do not suppose, even if it were possible to get our good old maiden
+lady to come down to Mulberry Street and sit at my window when the
+organ-grinder comes along, she could ever learn to look at the mob with
+friendly, or at least kindly, eyes; but I think she would learn--and she
+is cordially invited to come--that it is not a mob that rejoices in
+"outrageous behavior," as some other mobs that we read of have
+rejoiced--notably one that gave a great deal of trouble to some very
+"decent people" in Paris toward the end of the last century. And I think
+that she even might be induced to see that the organ-grinder is
+following an honest trade, pitiful as it be, and not exercising a
+"fearful beggary." He cannot be called a beggar who gives something that
+to him, and to thousands of others, is something valuable, in return for
+the money he asks of you. Our organ-grinder is no more a beggar than is
+my good friend Mr. Henry Abbey, the honestest and best of operatic
+impresarios. Mr. Abbey can take the American opera house and hire Mr.
+Seidl and Mr. ---- to conduct grand opera for your delight and mine, and
+when we can afford it we go and listen to his perfect music, and, as
+our poor contributions cannot pay for it all, the rich of the land meet
+the deficit. But this poor, foot-sore child of fortune has only his
+heavy box of tunes and a human being's easement in the public highway.
+Let us not shut him out of that poor right because once in a while he
+wanders in front of our doors and offers wares that offend our finer
+taste. It is easy enough to get him to betake himself elsewhere, and, if
+it costs us a few cents, let us not ransack our law-books and our moral
+philosophies to find out if we cannot indict him for constructive
+blackmail, but consider the nickel or the dime a little tribute to the
+uncounted weary souls who love his strains and welcome his coming.
+
+For the editor of the _Evening_ ---- was wrong when he said that the
+Board of Aldermen and the Mayor consented to the licensing of the
+organ-grinder "in the face of a popular protest." There was a protest,
+but it was not a popular protest, and it came face to face with a demand
+that _was_ popular. And the Mayor and the Board of Aldermen did rightly,
+and did as should be done in this American land of ours, when they
+granted the demand of the majority of the people, and refused to heed
+the protest of a minority. For the people who said YEA on this question
+were as scores of thousands or hundreds of thousands to the thousands of
+people who said NAY; and the vexation of the few hangs light in the
+balance against even the poor scrap of joy which was spared to
+innumerable barren lives.
+
+And so permit me to renew my invitation to the old lady.
+
+
+
+
+TIEMANN'S TO TUBBY HOOK
+
+
+If you ever were a decent, healthy boy, or if you can make believe that
+you once were such a boy, you must remember that you were once in love
+with a girl a great deal older than yourself. I am not speaking of the
+big school-girl with whom you thought you were in love, for one little
+while--just because she wouldn't look at you, and treated you like a
+little boy. _She_ had, after all, but a tuppenny temporary superiority
+to you; and, after all, in the bottom of your irritated little soul, you
+knew it. You knew that, proud beauty that she was, she might have to
+lower her colors to her little sister before that young minx got into
+the first class and--comparatively--long dresses.
+
+No, I am talking of the girl you loved who was not only really grown up
+and too old for you, but grown up almost into old-maidhood, and too old
+perhaps for anyone. She was not, of course, quite an old maid, but she
+was so nearly an old maid as to be out of all active competition with
+her juniors--which permitted her to be her natural, simple self, and to
+show you the real charm of her womanhood. Neglected by the men, not yet
+old enough to take to coddling young girls after the manner of motherly
+old maids, she found a hearty and genuine pleasure in your boyish
+friendship, and you--you adored her. You saw, of course, as others saw,
+the faded dulness of her complexion; you saw the wee crow's-feet that
+gathered in the corners of her eyes when she laughed; you saw the faint
+touches of white among the crisp little curls over her temples; you saw
+that the keenest wind of Fall brought the red to her cheeks only in two
+bright spots, and that no soft Spring air would ever bring her back the
+rosy, pink flush of girlhood: you saw these things as others saw
+them--no, indeed, you did not; you saw them as others could not, and
+they only made her the more dear to you. And you were having one of the
+best and most valuable experiences of your boyhood, to which you may
+look back now, whatever life has brought you, with a smile that has in
+it nothing of regret, of derision, or of bitterness.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Suppose that this all happened long ago--that you had left a couple of
+quarter-posts of your course of three-score-years-and-ten between that
+young lover and your present self; and suppose that the idea came to you
+to seek out and revisit this dear faded memory. And suppose that you
+were foolish enough to act upon the idea, and went in search of her and
+found her--not the wholesome, autumn-nipped comrade that you remembered,
+a shade or two at most frostily touched by the winter of old age--but a
+berouged, beraddled, bedizened old make-believe, with wrinkles plastered
+thick, and skinny shoulders dusted white with powder--ah me, how you
+would wish you had not gone!
+
+And just so I wished that I had not gone, when, the other day, I was
+tempted back to revisit the best beloved of all the homes of my nomadic
+boyhood.
+
+I remembered four pleasant years of early youth when my lot was cast in
+a region that was singularly delightful and grateful and lovable,
+although the finger of death had already touched its prosperity and
+beauty beyond all requickening.
+
+It was a fair countryside of upland and plateau, lying between a
+majestic hill-bordered river and an idle, wandering, marshy, salt creek
+that flowed almost side by side with its nobler companion for several
+miles before they came together at the base of a steep, rocky height,
+crowned with thick woods. This whole country was my playground, a strip
+some four or five miles long, and for the most of the way a mile wide
+between the two rivers, with the rocky, wooded eminence for its northern
+boundary.
+
+In the days when the broad road that led from the great city was a
+famous highway, it had run through a country of comfortable farm-houses
+and substantial old-fashioned mansions standing in spacious grounds of
+woodland and meadow. These latter occupied the heights along the great
+river, like a lofty breastwork of aristocracy, guarding the humbler
+tillers of the soil in the more sheltered plains and hollows behind
+them. The extreme north of my playground had been, within my father's
+easy remembering, a woodland wild enough to shelter deer; and even in my
+boyhood there remained patches of forest where once in a while the
+sharp-eyed picked up gun-flints and brass buttons that had been dropped
+among those very trees by the marauding soldiery of King George III. of
+tyrannical memory. There was no deer there when I was a boy. Deer go
+naturally with a hardy peasantry, and not naturally, perhaps, but
+artificially, with the rich and great. But deer cannot coexist with a
+population composed of what we call "People of Moderate Means." It is
+not in the eternal fitness of things that they should.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+For, as I first knew our neighborhood, it was a suburb as a physical
+fact only. As a body politic, we were a part of the great city, and
+those twain demons of encroachment, Taxes and Assessments, had
+definitively won in their battle with both the farmers and the
+country-house gentry. To the south, the farms had been wholly routed out
+of existence. A few of the old family estates were kept up after a
+fashion, but it was only as the officers of a defeated garrison are
+allowed to take their own time about leaving their quarters. Along the
+broad highway some of them lingered, keeping up a poor pretence of
+disregarding new grades and levels, and of not seeing the little
+shanties that squatted under their very windows, or the more offensive
+habitations of a more pretentious poverty that began to range themselves
+here and there in serried blocks.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Poor people of moderate means! Nobody wants you, except the real estate
+speculator, and he wants you only to empty your light pockets for you,
+and to leave you to die of cheap plumbing in the poor little sham of a
+house that he builds to suit your moderate means and his immoderate
+greed. Nowhere are you welcome, except where contractors are digging new
+roads and blasting rocks and filling sunken lots with ashes and tin
+cans. The random goat of poverty browses on the very confines of the
+scanty, small settlement of cheap gentility where you and your
+neighbors--people of moderate means like yourself--huddle together in
+your endless, unceasing struggle for a home and self-respect. You know
+that your smug, mean little house, tricked out with machine-made
+scroll-work, and insufficiently clad in two coats of ready-mixed paint,
+is an eyesore to the poor old gentleman who has sold you a corner of his
+father's estate to build it on. But there it is--the whole hard business
+of life for the poor--for the big poor and the little poor, and the
+unhappiest of all, the moderately poor. _He_ must sell strip after strip
+of the grounds his father laid out with such loving and far-looking
+pride. _You_ must buy your narrow strip from him, and raise thereon your
+tawdry little house, calculating the cost of every inch of construction
+in hungry anxiety of mind. And then you must sit down in your narrow
+front-room to stare at the squalid shanty of the poor man who has
+squatted right in your sight, on the land condemned for the new avenue;
+to wish that the street might be cut through and the unsightly hovel
+taken away--and then to groan in spirit as you think of the assessment
+you must pay when the street _is_ cut through.
+
+And yet you must live, oh, people of moderate means! You have your loves
+and your cares, your tastes and your ambitions, your hopes and your
+fears, your griefs and your joys, just like the people whom you envy and
+the people who envy you. As much as any of them, you have the capacity
+for pain and for pleasure, for loving and for being loved, that gives
+human beings a right to turn the leaves of the book of life and spell
+out its lesson for themselves. I know this; I know it well; I was
+beginning to find it out when I first came to that outpost suburb of New
+York, in the trail of your weary army.
+
+But I was a boy then, and no moderateness of earthly means could rob me
+of my inheritance in the sky and the woods and the fields, in the sun
+and the snow and the rain and the wind, and in every day's weather, of
+which there never was any kind made that has not some delight in it to a
+healthful body and heart. And on this inheritance I drew such great,
+big, liberal, whacking drafts that, I declare, to this very day, some
+odd silver pieces of the resultant spending-money keep turning up, now
+and then, in forgotten pockets of my mind.
+
+The field of my boyish activity was practically limited by the existing
+conditions of the city's growth. With each year there was less and less
+temptation to extend that field southward. The Bloomingdale Road, with
+its great arching willows, its hospitable old road-houses withdrawn from
+the street and hidden far down shady lanes that led riverward--the
+splendid old highway retained something of its charm; but day by day the
+gridiron system of streets encroached upon it, and day by day the
+shanties and the cheap villas crowded in along its sides, between the
+old farmsteads and the country-places. And then it led only to the raw
+and unfinished Central Park, and to the bare waste and dreary fag-end of
+a New York that still looked upon Union Square as an uptown quarter.
+Besides that, the lone scion of respectability who wandered too freely
+about the region just below Manhattanville, was apt to get his head
+most beautifully punched at the hands of some predatory gang of
+embryonic toughs from the shanties on the line of the aqueduct.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+That is how our range--mine and the other boys'--was from Tiemann's to
+Tubby Hook; that is, from where ex-Mayor Tiemann's fine old house, with
+its long conservatories, sat on the edge of the Manhattanville bluff and
+looked down into the black mouths of the chimneys of the paint-works
+that had paid for its building, up to the little inn near the junction
+of Spuyten Duyvil Creek and the Hudson River. Occasionally, of course,
+the delight of the river front tempted us farther down. There was an
+iron-mill down there (if that is the proper name for a place where they
+make pig-iron), whose operations were a perpetual joy to boyhood's
+heart. The benevolent lovers of the picturesque who owned this mill had
+a most entrancing way of making their castings late in the afternoon, so
+as to give a boy a chance to coast or skate, an hour after school
+closed, before it was time to slip down to the grimy building on the
+river's bank, and peer through the arched doorway into the great, dark,
+mysterious cavern with its floor of sand marked out in a pattern of
+trenches that looked as if they had been made by some gigantic
+double-toothed comb--a sort of right-angled herring-bone pattern. The
+darkness gathered outside, and deepened still faster within that gloomy,
+smoke-blackened hollow. The workmen, with long iron rods in their hands,
+moved about with the cautious, expectant manner of men whose duty brings
+them in contact with a daily danger. They stepped carefully about,
+fearful of injuring the regular impressions in the smooth sand, and
+their looks turned ever with a certain anxiety to the great black
+furnace at the northern end of the room, where every now and then, at
+the foreman's order, a fiery eye would open itself for inspection and
+close sullenly, making everything seem more dark than it was before. At
+last--sometimes it was long to wait--the eye would open, and the
+foreman, looking into it, would nod; and then a thrill of excitement ran
+through the workmen at their stations and the boys in the big doorway;
+and suddenly a huge red mouth opened beneath the eye, and out poured the
+mighty flood of molten iron, glowing with a terrible, wonderful,
+dazzling color that was neither white nor red, nor rose nor yellow, but
+that seemed to partake of them all, and yet to be strangely different
+from any hue that men can classify or name. Down it flowed upon the
+sanded floor, first into the broad trench in front of the furnace, then
+down the long dorsals of the rectangular herring-bones, spreading out as
+it went into the depressions to right and left, until the mighty pattern
+of fire shone in its full length and breadth on the flood of sand; and
+the workmen, who had been coaxing the sluggish, lava-like flood along
+with their iron rods, rested from their labors and wiped their hot
+brows, while a thin cloud of steamy vapor floated up to the begrimed
+rafters. Standing in the doorway we could watch the familiar
+pattern--the sow and pigs, it was called--die down to a dull rose red,
+and then we would hurry away before blackness came upon it and wiped it
+clean out of memory and imagination.
+
+Below the foundry, too, there was a point of land whereon were certain
+elevations and depressions of turf-covered earth that were by many, and
+most certainly by me, supposed to be the ruins of a Revolutionary fort.
+I have heard long and warm discussions of the nature and history of
+these mounds and trenches, and I believe the weight of authority was
+against the theory that they were earthworks thrown up to oppose the
+passage of a British fleet. But they were good enough earthworks for a
+boy.
+
+Just above Tiemann's, on the lofty, protrudent corner made by the
+dropping of the high-road into the curious transverse valley, or swale,
+which at 125th Street crosses Manhattan Island from east to west, stood,
+at the top of a steep lawn, a mansion imposing still in spite of age,
+decay, and sorry days. The great Ionic columns of the portico, which
+stood the whole height and breadth of the front, were cracked in their
+length, and rotten in base and capital. The white and yellow paint was
+faded and blistered. Below the broad flight of crazy front-steps the
+grass grew rank in the gravel walk, and died out in brown, withered
+patches on the lawn, where only plantain and sorrel throve. It was a sad
+and shabby old house enough, but even the patches of newspaper here and
+there on its broken window-panes could not take away a certain simple,
+old-fashioned dignity from its weather-beaten face.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Here, the boys used to say, the Crazy Woman lived; but she was not
+crazy. I knew the old lady well, and at one time we were very good
+friends. She was the last daughter of an old, once prosperous family; a
+woman of bright, even brilliant mind, unhinged by misfortune,
+disappointment, loneliness, and the horrible fascination which an
+inherited load of litigation exercised upon her. The one diversion of
+her declining years was to let various parts and portions of her
+premises, on any ridiculous terms that might suggest themselves, to any
+tenants that might offer; and then to eject the lessee, either on a nice
+point of law or on general principles, precisely as she saw fit. She was
+almost invariably successful in this curious game, and when she was not,
+she promptly made friends with her victorious tenant, and he usually
+ended by liking her very much.
+
+Her family, if I remember rightly, had distinguished itself in public
+service. It was one of those good old American houses where the
+men-children are born with politics in their veins--that is, with an
+inherited sense of citizenship, and a conscious pride in bearing their
+share in the civic burden. The young man just out of college, who has
+got a job at writing editorials on the Purification of Politics, is very
+fond of alluding to such men as "indurated professional
+office-holders." But the good old gentleman who pays the young
+ex-collegian's bills sometimes takes a great deal of pleasure--in his
+stupid, old-fashioned way--in uniting with his fellow-merchants of the
+Swamp or Hanover Square, to subscribe to a testimonial to some one of
+the best abused of these "indurated" sinners, in honor of his
+distinguished services in lowering some tax-rate, in suppressing some
+nuisance, in establishing some new municipal safeguard to life or
+property. This blood in her may, in some measure, account for the vigor
+and enthusiasm with which this old lady expressed her sense of the loss
+the community had sustained in the death of President Lincoln, in April
+of 1865.
+
+Summoning two or three of us youngsters, and a dazed Irish maid fresh
+from Castle Garden and a three weeks' voyage in the steerage of an ocean
+steamer, she led us up to the top of the house, to one of those vast
+old-time garrets that might have been--and in country inns occasionally
+were--turned into ballrooms, with the aid of a few lights and sconces.
+Here was stored the accumulated garmenture of the household for
+generation upon generation; and as far as I could discover, every member
+of that family had been born into a profound mourning that had continued
+unto his or her latest day, unmitigated save for white shirts and
+petticoats. These we bore down by great armfuls to the front portico,
+and I remember that the operation took nearly an hour. When at length we
+had covered the shaky warped floor of the long porch with the strange
+heaps of black and white--linens, cottons, silks, bombazines, alpacas,
+ginghams, every conceivable fabric, in fashion or out of fashion, that
+could be bleached white or dyed black--the old lady arranged us in
+working order, and, acting at once as directress and chief worker, with
+incredible quickness and dexterity she rent these varied and multiform
+pieces of raiment into broad strips, which she ingeniously twisted, two
+or three together, stitching them at the ends to other sets of strips,
+until she had formed immensely long rolls of black and white. Mounting a
+tall ladder, with the help of the strongest and oldest of her
+assistants, she wound the great tall white columns with these strips,
+fastening them in huge spirals from top to bottom, black and white
+entwined. Then she hung ample festoons between the pillars, and
+contrived something painfully ambitious in the way of rosettes for the
+cornice and frieze.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then we all went out in the street and gazed at the work of our hands.
+The rosettes were a failure, and the old lady admitted it. I have
+forgotten whether she said they looked "mangy," or "measly," or "peaky;"
+but she conveyed her idea in some such graphic phrase. But I must ask
+you to believe me when I tell you that, from the distant street, that
+poor, weather-worn old front seemed to have taken on the very grandeur
+of mourning, with its great, clean, strong columns simply wreathed in
+black and snowy white, that sparkled a little here and there in the
+fitful, cold, spring sunlight. Of course, when you drew near to it, it
+resolved itself into a bewildering and somewhat indecent confusion of
+black petticoats, and starched shirts, and drawers, and skirts, and
+baby-clothes, and chemises, and dickies, and neck-cloths, and
+handkerchiefs, all twisted up into the most fantastic trappings of woe
+that ever decked a genuine and patriotic grief. But I am glad, for
+myself, that I can look at it all now from even a greater distance than
+the highway at the foot of the lawn.
+
+I must admit that, even in my day, the shops and houses of the Moderate
+Means colony had so fringed the broad highway with their trivial,
+common-place, weakly pretentious architecture, that very little of the
+distinctive character of the old road was left. Certainly, from
+Tiemann's to the Deaf and Dumb Asylum--about two miles of straight
+road--there was little that had any saving grace of honorable age,
+except here and there where some pioneer shanty had squatted itself long
+enough ago to have acquired a pleasant look of faded shabbiness. The
+tavern and the stage-office, it is true, kept enough of their old
+appearance to make a link between those days and the days when swarms of
+red-faced drovers, with big woollen comfortables about their big necks,
+and with fat, greasy, leather wallets stuffed full of bank-notes,
+gathered noisily there, as it was their wont to gather at all the
+"Bull's Head Taverns" in and around New York. The omnibuses that crawled
+out from New York were comparatively modern--that is, a Broadway 'bus
+rarely got ten or fifteen years beyond the period of positive
+decrepitude without being shifted to the Washington Heights line. But
+under the big shed around the corner still stood the great old George
+Washington coach--a structure about the size and shape of a small
+canal-boat, with the most beautiful patriotic pictures all over it, of
+which I only remember Lord Cornwallis surrendering his sword in the
+politest and most theatrical manner imaginable, although the poignancy
+of his feelings had apparently turned his scarlet uniform to a pale
+orange. This magnificent equipage was a trifle rheumaticky about its
+underpinning, but, drawn by four, six, or eight horses, it still took
+the road on holidays; and in winter, when the sleighing was unusually
+fine, with its wheels transformed into sectional runners like a gigantic
+bob-sled, it swept majestically out upon the road, where it towered
+above the flock of flying cutters whose bells set the air a-jingle from
+Bloomingdale to King's Bridge.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But if the beauty of Broadway as a country high-road had been marred by
+its adaptation to the exigencies of a suburb of moderate means, we boys
+felt the deprivation but little. To right and to left, as we wandered
+northward, five minutes' walk would take us into a country of green
+lanes and meadows and marshland and woodland; where houses and streets
+were as yet too few to frighten away that kindly old Dame Nature who was
+always so glad to see us. If you turned to the right--to the east, that
+is--you found the laurel-bordered fields where we played baseball--I
+don't mean that the fields sprouted with laurels for us boys in those
+old days of 29 to 34 scores, but that the _Kalmia latifolia_ crowned the
+gray rocks that cropped out all around. Farther up was the wonderful and
+mysterious old house of Madame Jumel--Aaron Burr's Madame Jumel--set
+apart from all other houses by its associations with the fierce,
+vindictive passions of that strange old woman, whom, it seems to me, I
+can still vaguely remember, seated very stiff and upright in her great
+old family carriage. At the foot of the heights, on this side, the
+Harlem River flowed between its marshy margins to join Spuyten Duyvil
+Creek--the Harlem with its floats and boats and bridges and ramshackle
+docks, and all the countless delights of a boating river. Here also was
+a certain dell, halfway up the heights overlooking McComb's Dam Bridge,
+where countless violets grew around a little spring, and where there was
+a real cave, in which, if real pirates had not left their treasure, at
+least real tramps had slept and left a real smell. And on top of the
+cave there was a stone which was supposed to retain the footprint of a
+pre-historic Indian. From what I remember of that footprint I am
+inclined to think that it must have been made by the foot of a derrick,
+and not by that of an Indian.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But it was on the other side of the Island, between the Deaf and Dumb
+Asylum and Tubby Hook, and between the Ridge and the River, that I most
+loved to ramble. Here was the slope of a woodland height running down to
+a broad low strip, whose westernmost boundary was the railroad
+embankment, beyond which lay the broad blue Hudson, with Fort Lee and
+the first up-springing of the Palisades, to be seen by glimpses through
+the tree-trunks. This was, I think, the prettiest piece of
+flower-spangled wildwood that I have ever seen. For centuries it had
+drained the richness of that long and lofty ridge. The life of lawns and
+gardens had gone into it; the dark wood-soil had been washed from out
+the rocks on the brow of the hill; and down below there, where a vagrom
+brooklet chirped its way between green stones, the wholesome soil
+bloomed forth in grateful luxuriance. From the first coming of the
+anemone and the hepatica, to the time of the asters, there was always
+something growing there to delight the scent or the sight; and most of
+all do I remember the huge clumps of Dutchman's-breeches--the purple
+and the waxy white as well as the honey-tipped scarlet.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There were little sunlit clearings here, and I well recall the day when,
+looking across one of these, I saw something that stood awkwardly and
+conspicuously out of the young wood-grass--a raw stake of pine wood,
+and beyond that, another stake, and another; and parallel with these
+another row, marking out two straight lines, until the bushes hid them.
+The surveyors had begun to lay out the line of the new Boulevard, on
+which you may now roll in your carriage to Inwood, through the wreck of
+the woods where I used to scramble over rock and tree-trunk, going
+toward Tubby Hook.
+
+It was on the grayest of gray November days last year that I had the
+unhappy thought of revisiting this love of my youth. I followed
+familiar trails, guided by landmarks I could not forget--although they
+had somehow grown incredibly poor and mean and shabby, and had entirely
+lost a certain dignity that they had until then kept quite clearly in my
+remembrance. And behold, they were no longer landmarks except to me. A
+change had come over the face of this old playground of mine. It had
+forgotten the withered, modest grace of the time when it was
+middle-aged, and when I was a boy. It was checkered and gridironed with
+pavements and electric lights. The Elevated Railroad roared at its doors
+behind clouds of smoke and steam. Great, cheerless, hideously ornate
+flat buildings reared their zinc-tipped fronts toward the gray heaven,
+to show the highest aspirations of that demoralized suburb in the way of
+domestic architecture. To right, to left, every way I turned, I saw a
+cheap, tawdry, slipshod imitation of the real city--or perhaps I should
+say, of all that is ugliest and vulgarest, least desirable, and least
+calculated to endure, in the troubled face of city life. I was glad to
+get away; glad that the gray mist that rolled up from the Hudson River
+hid from my sight within its fleecy bosom some details of that vulgar
+and pitiful degradation. One place alone I found as I had hoped to find
+it. Ex-Mayor Tiemann's house was gone, his conservatory was a crumbling
+ruin; the house we decked for Lincoln's death was a filthy tenement with
+a tumble-down gallery where the old portico had stood, and I found very
+little on my upward pilgrimage that had not experienced some change--for
+the worse, as it seemed to me. The very cemetery that belongs to old
+Trinity had dandified itself with a wonderful wall and a still more
+wonderful bridge to its annex--or appendix, or extension, or whatever
+you call it. But just above it is a little enclosure that is called a
+park--a place where a few people of modest, old-fashioned, domestic
+tastes had built their houses together to join in a common resistance
+against the encroachments of the speculator and the nomad house-hunter.
+I found this little settlement undisturbed, uninvaded, save by a sort of
+gentle decay that did it no ill-service, in my eyes. The pale dust was a
+little deeper in the roadways that had once been paved with limestone,
+a few more brown autumn leaves had fallen in the corners of the fences,
+the clustered wooden houses all looked a little more rustily respectable
+in their reserved and sleepy silence--a little bit more, I thought, as
+if they sheltered a colony of old maids. Otherwise it looked pretty much
+as it did when I first saw it, well nigh thirty years ago.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+To see if there were anything alive in that misty, dusty, faded little
+abode of respectability, I rang at the door of one house, and found
+some inquiries to make concerning another one that seemed to be
+untenanted.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a very pretty young lady who opened the door for me, with such
+shining dark eyes and with so bright a red in her cheeks, that you felt
+that she could not have been long in that dull, old-time spot, where
+life seemed to be all one neutral color. She answered my questions
+kindly, and then, with something in her manner which told me that
+strangers did not often wander in there, she said that it was a very
+nice place to live in. I told her that I knew it _had_ been a very nice
+place to live in.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOWERY AND BOHEMIA
+
+
+One day a good many years ago an old gentleman from
+Rondout-on-the-Hudson--then plain Rondout--was walking up Broadway
+seeing the sights. He had not been in New York in ten or twelve years,
+and although he was an old gentleman who always had a cask of good ale
+in his cellar in the winter-time, yet he had never tasted the strange
+German beverage called lager-beer, which he had heard and read about. So
+when he saw its name on a sign he went in and drank a mug, sipping it
+slowly and thoughtfully, as he would have sipped his old ale. He found
+it refreshing--peculiar--and, well, on the whole, very refreshing
+indeed, as he considerately told the proprietor.
+
+But what interested him more than the beer was the sight of a group of
+young men seated around a table drinking beer, reading--and--yes,
+actually writing verses, and bandying very lively jests among
+themselves. The old gentleman could not help hearing their conversation,
+and when he went out into the street he shook his head thoughtfully.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I wonder what my father would have said to that?" he reflected. "Young
+gentlemen sitting in a pot-house at high noon and turning verses like so
+many ballad-mongers! Well, well, well, if those are the ways of
+lager-beer drinkers, I'll stick to my good old ale!"
+
+And greatly surprised would that honest old gentleman have been to know
+that the presence of that little group of poets and humorists attracted
+as much custom to good Mr. Pfaff's beer-saloon as did his fresh, cool
+lager; and that young men, and, for the matter of that, men not so
+young, stole in there to listen to their contests of wit, and to wish
+and yearn and aspire to be of their goodly company. For the old
+gentleman little dreamed, as he went on his course up Broadway, that he
+had seen the first Bohemians of New York, and that these young men would
+be written about and talked about and versified about for generations to
+come. Unconscious of this honor he went on to Fourteenth Street to see
+the new square they were laying out there.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Perhaps nothing better marks the place where the city of New York got
+clean and clear out of provincial pettiness into metropolitan tolerance
+than the advent of the Bohemians. Twenty-five years earlier they would
+have been a scandal and a reproach to the town. Not for their
+literature, or for their wit, or for their hard drinking, or even for
+their poverty; but for their brotherhood, and for their calm
+indifference to all the rest of the world whom they did not care to
+receive into their kingdom of Bohemia. There is human nature in this;
+more human nature than there is in most provincialism. Take a community
+of one hundred people and let any ten of its members join themselves
+together and dictate the terms on which an eleventh may be admitted to
+their band. The whole remaining eighty-nine will quarrel for the twelfth
+place. But take a community of a thousand, and let ten such internal
+groups be formed, and every group will have to canvass more or less hard
+to increase its number. For the other nine hundred people, being able to
+pick and choose, are likely to feel a deep indifference to the question
+of joining any segregation at all. If group No. 2 says, "Come into my
+crowd, I understand they don't want you in No. 1," the individual
+replies: "What the deuce do I care about No. 1 or you either? Here are
+Nos. 4, 5, 6, and 7 all begging for me. If you and No. 1 keep on in your
+conceit you'll find yourselves left out in the cold."
+
+And as it frequently happens to turn out that way, the dweller in a
+great city soon learns, in the first place, that he is less important
+than he thought he was; in the second place, that he is less unimportant
+than some people would like to have him think himself. All of which goes
+to show that when New Yorkers looked with easy tolerance, and some of
+them with open admiration, upon the Bohemians at Pfaff's saloon, they
+had come to be citizens of no mean city, and were making metropolitan
+growth.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A Bohemian may be defined as the only kind of gentleman permanently in
+temporary difficulties who is neither a sponge nor a cheat. He is a type
+that has existed in all ages and always will exist. He is a man who
+lacks certain elements necessary to success in this world, and who
+manages to keep fairly even with the world, by dint of ingenious shift
+and expedient; never fully succeeding, never wholly failing. He is a
+man, in fact, who can't swim, but can tread water. But he never, never,
+never calls himself a Bohemian--at least, in a somewhat wide experience,
+I have known only two that ever did, and one of these was a baronet. As
+a rule, if you overhear a man approach his acquaintance with the
+formula, "As one Bohemian to another," you may make up your mind that
+that man means an assault upon the other man's pocket-book, and that if
+the assault is successful the damages will never be repaired. That man
+is not a Bohemian; he is a beat. Your true Bohemian always calls himself
+by some euphemistic name. He is always a gentleman at odds with fortune,
+who rolled in wealth yesterday and will to-morrow, but who at present is
+willing to do any work that he is sure will make him immortal, and that
+he thinks may get him the price of a supper. And very often he lends
+more largely than he borrows.
+
+Now the crowd which the old gentleman saw in the saloon--and he saw
+George Arnold, Fitz-James O'Brien, and perhaps N. P. Shepard--was a
+crowd of Bohemians rather by its own christening than by any ordinary
+application of the word. They were all young men of ability, recognized
+in their profession. Of those who have died, two at least have honor and
+literary consideration to-day; of those who lived, some have obtained
+celebrity, and all a reasonable measure of success. Muerger's Bohemians
+would have called them Philistines. But they have started a tradition
+that will survive from generation unto generation; a tradition of
+delusion so long as the glamour of poetry, romance, and adventure hang
+around the mysteriously attractive personality of a Bohemian. Ever since
+then New York has had, and always will have, the posing Bohemian and his
+worshippers.
+
+Ten or fifteen years ago the "French Quarter" got its literary
+introduction to New York, and the fact was revealed that it was the
+resort of real Bohemians--young men who actually lived by their wit and
+their wits, and who talked brilliantly over fifty-cent table-d'hote
+dinners. This was the signal for the would-be Bohemian to emerge from
+his dainty flat or his oak-panelled studio in Washington Square, hasten
+down to Bleecker or Houston Street, there to eat chicken badly _braise_,
+fried chuck-steak, and soggy spaghetti, and to drink thin blue wine and
+chicory-coffee that he might listen to the feast of witticism and flow
+of soul that he expected to find at the next table. If he found it at
+all, he lost it at once. If he made the acquaintance of the young men at
+the next table, he found them to be young men of his own sort--agreeable
+young boys just from Columbia and Harvard, who were painting
+impressionless pictures for the love of Art for Art's sake, and living
+very comfortably on their paternal allowances. Any one of the crowd
+would think the world was coming to pieces if he woke up in the morning
+to wonder where he could get his breakfast on credit, and wonder where
+he could earn enough money to buy his dinner. Yet these innocent
+youngsters continue to pervade "The Quarter," as they call it; and as
+time goes on, by much drinking of ponies of brandy and smoking of
+cigarettes, they get to fancy that they themselves are Bohemians. And
+when they get tired of it all and want something good to eat, they go up
+to Delmonico's and get it.
+
+And their Bohemian predecessors, who sought the French fifty-cent
+restaurants as _their_ highest attainable luxury--what has become of
+them? They have fled before that incursion as a flock of birds before a
+whirlwind. They leave behind them, perhaps, a few of the more
+mean-spirited among them, who are willing to degenerate into fawners on
+the rich, and habitual borrowers of trifling sums. But the true
+Bohemians, the men who have the real blood in their veins, they must
+seek some other meeting-place where they can pitch their never-abiding
+tents, and sit at their humble feasts to recount to each other, amid
+appreciative laughter, the tricks and devices and pitiful petty schemes
+for the gaining of daily bread that make up for them the game and comedy
+of life. Tell me not that Ishmael does not enjoy the wilderness. The
+Lord made him for it, and he would not be happy anywhere else.
+
+There was one such child of fortune once, who brought his blue eyes
+over from Ireland. His harmless and gentle life closed after too many
+years in direst misfortune. But as long as he wandered in the depths of
+poverty there was one strange and mysterious thing about him. His
+clothes, always well brushed and well carried on a gallant form, often
+showed cruel signs of wear, especially when he went for a winter without
+an overcoat. But shabby as his garments might grow, empty as his pockets
+might be, his linen was always spotless, stiff, and fresh. Now everybody
+who has ever had occasion to consider the matter knows that by the aid
+of a pair of scissors the life of a collar or of a pair of cuffs can be
+prolonged almost indefinitely--apparent miracles had been performed in
+this way. But no pair of scissors will pay a laundry bill; and finally a
+committee of the curious waited upon this student of economics and asked
+him to say how he did it. He was proud and delighted to tell them.
+
+"I-I-I'll tell ye, boys," he said, in his pleasant Dublin brogue, "but
+'twas I that thought it out. I wash them, of course, in the
+basin--that's easy enough; but you'd think I'd be put to it to iron
+them, wouldn't ye, now? Well, I've invinted a substischoot for
+ironing--it's me big books. Through all me vicissichoods, boys, I kept
+me Bible and me dictionary, and I lay the collars and cuffs in the
+undher one and get the leg of the bureau on top of them both--and you'd
+be surprised at the artistic effect."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There is no class in society where the sponge, the toady, the man who is
+willing to receive socially without giving in return, is more quickly
+found out or more heartily disowned than among the genuine Bohemians. He
+is to them a traitor, he is one who plays the game unfairly, one who is
+willing to fill his belly by means to which they will not resort, lax
+and fantastic as is their social code. Do you know, for instance, what
+"Jackaling" is in New York? A Jackal is a man generally of good address,
+and capable of a display of good fellowship combined with much knowledge
+of literature and art, and a vast and intimate acquaintance with
+writers, musicians, and managers. He makes it his business to haunt
+hotels, theatrical agencies, and managers' offices, and to know
+whenever, in his language, "a new jay comes to town." The jay he is
+after is some man generally from the smaller provincial cities, who has
+artistic or theatrical aspirations and a pocketful of money. It is the
+Jackal's mission to turn this jay into an "angel." Has the gentleman
+from Lockport come with the score of a comic opera under his arm, and
+two thousand dollars in his pocket? Two thousand dollars will not go
+far toward the production of a comic opera in these days, and the jay
+finds that out later; but not until after the Jackal has made him
+intimately acquainted with a very gentlemanly and experienced manager
+who thinks that it can be done for that price with strict economy. Has
+the young man of pronounced theatrical talent arrived from Keokuk with
+gold and a thirst for fame? The Jackal knows just the dramatist who will
+write him the play that he ought to star in. Does the wealthy and
+important person from Podunk desire to back something absolutely safe
+and sure in the line of theatrical speculation? The Jackal has the very
+thing for which he is looking. And in all these, and in all similar
+contingencies, it is a poor Jackal who does not get his commission at
+both ends.
+
+The Jackal may do all these things, but he may not, if he is treated,
+fail to treat in return. I do not mean to say at all that Jackaling is a
+business highly esteemed, even in darkest Bohemia, but it is considered
+legitimate, and I hope that no gentleman doing business in Wall Street,
+or on the Consolidated Exchange, will feel too deeply grieved when he
+learns the fact.
+
+But where have the real Bohemians fled to from the presence of the
+too-well-disposed and too-wealthy children of the Benedick and the
+Holbein? Not where they are likely to find him, you may be sure. The
+true Bohemian does not carry his true address on his card. In fact, he
+is delicate to the point of sensitiveness about allowing any publicity
+to attach to his address. He communicates it confidentially to those
+with whom he has business dealings, but he carefully conceals it from
+the prying world. As soon as the world knows it he moves. I once asked a
+chief of the Bohemian tribe whose residence was the world, but whose
+temporary address was sometimes Paris, why he had moved from the
+Quartier Latin to a place in Montmartre.
+
+"Had to, my dear fellow," he answered, with dignity; "why if you live
+over on that side of the river they'll call you a _Bohemian_!"
+
+In Paris the home of wit in poverty has been moved across the Seine to
+the south side of the hill up which people climb to make pilgrimages to
+the Moulin Rouge and the church of St. Pierre de Montmartre. In New York
+it has been moved not only across that river of human intercourse that
+we call Broadway--a river with a tidal ebb and flow of travel and
+traffic--but across a wilder, stranger, and more turbulent flood called
+the Bowery, to a region of which the well-fed and prosperous New Yorker
+knows very, very little.
+
+As more foreigners walk on the Bowery than walk on any other street in
+New York; and as more different nationalities are represented there than
+are represented in any other street in New York; and as the foreigners
+all say that the Bowery is the most marvellous thoroughfare in the
+world, I think we are justified in assuming that there is little reason
+to doubt that the foreigners are entirely right in the matter,
+especially as their opinion coincides with that of every American who
+has ever made even a casual attempt to size up the Bowery.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+No one man can thoroughly know a great city. People say that Dickens
+knew London, but I am sure that Dickens would never have said it. He
+knew enough of London to know that no one human mind, no one mortal life
+can take in the complex intensity of a metropolis. Try to count a
+million, and then try to form a conception of the impossibility of
+learning all the ins and outs of the domicile of a million men, women,
+and children. I have met men who thought they knew New York, but I have
+never met a man--except a man from a remote rural district--who thought
+he knew the Bowery. There are agriculturists, however, all over this
+broad land who have entertained that supposition and acted on it--but
+never twice. The sense of humor is the saving grace of the American
+people.
+
+I first made acquaintance with the Bowery as a boy through some
+lithographic prints. I was interested in them, for I was looking forward
+to learning to shoot, and my father had told me that there used to be
+pretty good shooting at the upper end of the Bowery, though, of course,
+not so good as there was farther up near the Block House, or in the wood
+beyond. Besides, the pictures showed a very pretty country road with big
+trees on both sides of it, and comfortable farm-houses, and, I suppose,
+an inn with a swinging sign. I was disappointed at first, when I heard
+it had been all built up, but I was consoled when the glories of the
+real Bowery were unfolded to my youthful mind, and I heard of the
+butcher-boy and his red sleigh; of the Bowery Theatre and peanut
+gallery, and the gods, and Mr. Eddy, and the war-cry they made of his
+name--and a glorious old war-cry it is, better than any college cries
+ever invented: "_Hi_, Eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy-eddy!" of
+Mose and his silk locks; of the fire-engine fights, and Big Six, and
+"Wash-her-down!" of the pump at Houston Street; of what happened to Mr.
+Thackeray when he talked to the tough; of many other delightful things
+that made the Bowery, to my young imagination, one long avenue of
+romance, mystery, and thrilling adventure. And the first time I went in
+the flesh to the Bowery was to go with an elderly lady to an optician's
+shop.
+
+  "And is this--Yarrow?--_This_ the stream
+  Of which my fancy cherished,
+  So faithfully, a waking dream?
+  An image that hath perished!
+  O that some minstrel's harp were near,
+  To utter notes of gladness,
+  And chase this silence from the air,
+  That fills my heart with sadness!"
+
+But the study of the Bowery that I began that day has gone on with
+interruption for a good many years, and I think now that I am arriving
+at the point where I have some faint glimmerings of the littleness of my
+knowledge of it as compared with what there is to be known. I do not
+mean to say that I can begin to size the disproportion up with any
+accuracy, but I think I have accomplished a good deal in getting as far
+as I have.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Bowery is not a large place, for I think that, properly speaking, it
+is a place rather than a street or avenue. It is an irregularly shaped
+ellipse, of notable width in its widest part. It begins at Chatham
+Square, which lies on the parallel of the sixth Broadway block above
+City Hall, and loses its identity at the Cooper Union where Third and
+Fourth Avenues begin, so that it is a scant mile in all. But it is the
+alivest mile on the face of the earth. And it either bounds or bisects
+that square mile that the statisticians say is the most densely
+populated square mile on the face of the globe. This is the heart of the
+New York tenement district. As the Bowery is the Broadway of the East
+Side, the street of its pleasures, it would be interesting enough if it
+opened up only this one densely populated district. But there is much
+more to contribute to its infinite variety. It serves the same purpose
+for the Chinese colony in Mott, Pell, and Doyers Streets, and for the
+Italian swarms in Mulberry Bend, the most picturesque and interesting
+slum I have ever seen, and I am an ardent collector of slums. I have
+missed art galleries and palaces and theatres and cathedrals (cathedrals
+particularly) in various and sundry cities, but I don't think I ever
+missed a slum. Mulberry Bend is a narrow bend in Mulberry Street, a
+tortuous ravine of tall tenement houses, and it is so full of people
+that the throngs going and coming spread off the sidewalk nearly to the
+middle of the street. There they leave a little lane for the babies to
+play in. No, they never get run over. There is a perfect understanding
+between the babies and the peddlers who drive their wagons in Mulberry
+Bend. The crowds are in the street partly because much of the sidewalk
+and all of the gutter is taken up with venders' stands, which give its
+characteristic feature to Mulberry Bend. There are displayed more and
+stranger wares than uptown people ever heard of. Probably the edibles
+are in the majority, certainly they are the queerest part of the show.
+There are trays and bins there in the Bend, containing dozens and dozens
+of things that you would never guess were meant to eat if you didn't
+happen to see a ham or a string of sausages or some other familiar
+object among them. But the color of the Bend--and its color is its
+strong point--comes from its display of wearing apparel and candy. A
+lady can go out in Mulberry Bend and purchase every article of apparel,
+external or private and personal, that she ever heard of, and some that
+she never heard of, and she can get them of any shade or hue. If she
+likes what they call "Liberty" colors--soft, neutral tones--she can get
+them from the second-hand dealers whose goods have all the softest of
+shades that age and exposure can give them. But if she likes, as I do,
+bright, cheerful colors, she can get tints in Mulberry Bend that you
+could warm your hands on. Reds, greens, and yellows preponderate, and
+Nature herself would own that the Italians could give her points on
+inventing green and not exert themselves to do it. The pure arsenical
+tones are preferred in the Bend, and, by the bye, anybody who remembers
+the days when ladies wore magenta and solferino, and wants to have those
+dear old colors set his teeth on edge again, can go to the Bend and find
+them there. The same dye-stuffs that are popular in the dress-goods are
+equally popular in the candy, and candy is a chief product of Mulberry
+Bend. It is piled up in reckless profusion on scores of stands, here,
+there, and everywhere, and to call the general effect festal, would be
+to speak slightingly of it. The stranger who enters Mulberry Bend and
+sees the dress-goods and the candies is sure to think that the place has
+been decorated to receive him. No, nobody will hurt you if you go down
+there and are polite, and mind your own business, and do not step on the
+babies. But if you stare about and make comments, I think those people
+will be justified in suspecting that the people uptown don't always know
+how to behave themselves like ladies and gentlemen, so do not bring
+disgrace on your neighborhood, and do not go in a cab. You will not
+bother the babies, but you will find it trying to your own nerves.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There is a good deal of money in Mulberry Street, and some of it
+overflows into the Bowery. From this street also the Baxter Street
+variety of Jews find their way into the Bowery. These are the Jew
+toughs, and there is no other type of Jew at all like them in all New
+York's assortment of Hebrew types, which cannot be called meagre. Of the
+Jewish types New York has, as the printers say, "a full case."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But it is on the other side of the Bowery that there lies a world to
+which the world north of Fourteenth Street is a select family party. I
+could not give even a partial list of its elements. Here dwell the
+Polish Jews with their back-yards full of chickens. The police raid
+those back-yards with ready assiduity, but the yards are always promptly
+replenished. It is the police against a religion, and the odds are
+against the police. The Jew will die for it, if needs be, but his
+chickens must be killed _kosher_ way and not Christian way, but that is
+only the way of the Jews: the Hungarians, the Bohemians, the Anarchist
+Russians, the Scandinavians of all sorts who come up from the wharfs,
+the Irish, who are there, as everywhere, the Portuguese Jews, and all
+the rest of them who help to form that city within a city--have they
+not, all of them, ways of their own? I speak of this Babylon only to say
+that here and there on its borders, and, once in a way, in its very
+heart, are rows or blocks of plain brick houses, homely, decent,
+respectable relics of the days when the sturdy, steady tradesfolk of New
+York built here the homes that they hoped to leave to their children.
+They are boarding-and lodging-houses now, poor enough, but proud in
+their respectability of the past, although the tide of ignorance,
+poverty, vice, filth, and misery is surging to their doors and their
+back-yard fences. And here, in hall bedrooms, in third-story backs and
+fronts, and in half-story attics, live the Bohemians of to-day, and with
+them those other strugglers of poverty who are destined to become
+"successful men" in various branches of art, literature, science, trade,
+or finance. Of these latter our children will speak with hushed respect,
+as men who rose from small beginnings; and they will go into the
+school-readers of our grandchildren along with Benjamin Franklin and
+that contemptible wretch who got to be a great banker because he picked
+up a pin, as examples of what perseverance and industry can accomplish.
+From what I remember I foresee that those children will hate them.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I am not going to give you the addresses of the cheap restaurants where
+these poor, cheerful children of adversity are now eating _goulasch_ and
+_Kartoffelsalad_ instead of the spaghetti and _tripe a la mode de Caen_
+of their old haunts. I do not know them, and if I did, I should not hand
+them over to the mercies of the intrusive young men from the studios and
+the bachelors' chambers. I wish them good digestion of their goulasch:
+for those that are to climb, I wish that they may keep the generous and
+faithful spirit of friendly poverty; for those that are to go on to the
+end in fruitless struggle and in futile hope, I wish for them that that
+end may come in some gentle and happier region lying to the westward of
+that black tide that ebbs and flows by night and day along the Bowery
+Way.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF A PATH
+
+
+In one of his engaging essays Mr. John Burroughs tells of meeting an
+English lady in Holyoke, Mass., who complained to him that there were no
+foot-paths for her to walk on, whereupon the poet-naturalist was moved
+to an eloquent expression of his grief over America's inferiority in the
+foot-path line to the "mellow England" which in one brief month had won
+him for her own. Now I know very little of Holyoke, Mass., of my own
+knowledge. As a lecture-town I can say of it that its people are polite,
+but extremely undemonstrative, and that the lecturer is expected to
+furnish the refreshments. It is quite likely that the English lady was
+right, and that there are no foot-paths there.
+
+I wish to say, however, that I know the English lady. I know her--many,
+many of her--and I have met her a-many times. I know the enchanted
+fairyland in which her wistful memory loves to linger. Often and often
+have I watched her father's wardian-case grow into "papa's hot-houses;"
+the plain brick house that he leases, out Notting Hill way, swell into
+"our family mansion," and the cottage that her family once occupied at
+Stoke Wigglesworth change itself into "the country place that papa had
+to give up because it took so much of his time to see that it was
+properly kept up." And long experience in this direction enables me to
+take that little remark about the foot-paths, and to derive from it a
+large amount of knowledge about Holyoke and its surroundings that I
+should not have had of my own getting, for I have never seen Holyoke
+except by night, nor am I like to see it again.
+
+From that brief remark I know these things about Holyoke: It is
+surrounded by a beautiful country, with rolling hills and a generally
+diversified landscape. There are beautiful green fields, I am sure.
+There is a fine river somewhere about, and I think there must be
+water-falls and a pretty little creek. The timber must be very fine, and
+probably there are some superb New England elms. The roads must be good,
+uncommonly good; and there must be unusual facilities for getting around
+and picnicking and finding charming views and all that sort of thing.
+
+Nor does it require much art to learn all this from that pathetic plaint
+about the foot-paths. For the game of the Briton in a foreign land is
+ever the same. It changes not from generation unto generation. Bid him
+to the feast and set before him all your wealth of cellar and garner.
+Spread before him the meat, heap up for him the fruits of the season.
+Weigh down the board with every vegetable that the gardener's art can
+bring to perfection in or out of its time--white-potatoes,
+sweet-potatoes, lima-beans, string-beans, fresh peas, sweet-corn,
+lettuce, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, tomatoes, musk-melons and
+water-melons--all you will--no word will you hear from him till he has
+looked over the whole assortment and discovered that you have not the
+vegetable marrow, and that you do not raise it. Then will he break
+forth and cry out for his vegetable marrow. All these things are naught
+to him if he cannot have his vegetable marrow, and he will tell you
+about the exceeding goodness and rarity of the vegetable marrow, until
+you will figure it in your mind like unto the famous mangosteen fruit of
+the Malay Peninsula, he who once eats whereof tastes never again any
+other fruit of the earth, finding them all as dust and ashes by the side
+of the mangosteen.
+
+That is to say, this will happen unless you have eaten of the vegetable
+marrow, and have the presence of mind to recall to the Briton's memory
+the fact that it is nothing but a second-choice summer squash; after
+which the meal will proceed in silence. Just so might Mr. Burroughs have
+brought about a sudden change in the topic of conversation by telling
+the English lady that where the American treads out a path he builds a
+road by the side of it.
+
+To tell the truth, I think that the English foot-path is something
+pathetic beyond description. The better it is, the older, the better
+worn, the more it speaks with a sad significance of the long established
+inequalities of old-world society. It means too often the one poor,
+pitiful right of a poor man, the man who must walk all his life, to go
+hither and thither through the rich man's country. The lady may walk it
+for pleasure if she likes, but the man who walks it because he must,
+turns up a little by-path leading from it to a cottage that no industry
+or thrift will make his own; and for him to aspire to a roadway to his
+front-door would be a gross piece of impertinence in a man of his
+station. It is the remembrance of just such right-of-way foot-paths as
+the English lady's sad heart yearned after that reconciles me to a great
+many hundreds of houses that have recently been built in the State of
+New Jersey after designs out of books that cost all the way from
+twenty-five cents to a dollar. Architecturally these are very much
+inferior to the English cottager's home, and they occasionally waken
+thoughts of incendiarism. But the people who live in them are people who
+insist on having roads right to their front-doors, and I have heard
+them do some mighty interesting talking in town-meeting about the way
+those roads shall be laid and who shall do the laying.
+
+As I have before remarked, I am quite willing to believe that Holyoke is
+a pathless wilderness, in the English lady's sense. But when Mr.
+Burroughs makes the generalization that there are no foot-paths in this
+country, it seems to me he must be letting his boyhood get too far away
+from him.
+
+For there are foot-paths enough, certainly. Of course an old foot-path
+in this country always serves to mark the line of a new road when the
+people who had worn it take to keeping horses. But there are thousands
+of miles of paths criss-crossing the countryside in all of our older
+States that will never see the dirt-cart or the stone-crusher in the
+lifetime of any man alive to-day.
+
+[Illustration: "THROUGH THE RICH MAN'S COUNTRY"]
+
+Mr. Burroughs--especially when he is published in the dainty little
+Douglas duodecimos--is one of the authors whose books a busy man
+reserves for a pocket-luxury of travel. So it was that, a belated
+reader, I came across his lament over our pathlessness, some years
+after my having had a hand--or a foot, as you might say--in the making
+of a certain cross-lots foot-way which led me to study the windings and
+turnings of the longer countryside walks until I got the idea of writing
+"The Story of a Path." I am sorry to contradict Mr. Burroughs, but, if
+there are no foot-paths in America, what becomes of the many good golden
+hours that I have spent in well-tracked woodland ways and in narrow
+foot-lanes through the wind-swept meadow grass? I cannot give these up;
+I can only wish that Mr. Burroughs had been my companion in them.
+
+A foot-path is the most human thing in inanimate nature. Even as the
+print of his thumb reveals the old offender to the detectives, so the
+path tells you the sort of feet that wore it. Like the human nature that
+created it, it starts out to go straight when strength and determination
+shape its course, and it goes crooked when weakness lays it out. Until
+you begin to study them you can have no notion of the differences of
+character that exist among foot-paths. One line of trodden earth seems
+to you the same as another. But look! Is the path you are walking on
+fairly straight from point to point, yet deflected to avoid short rises
+and falls, _and is it worn to grade_? That is, does it plough a deep way
+through little humps and hillocks something as a street is cut down to
+grade? If you see this path before you, you maybe sure that it is made
+by the heavy shuffle of workingmen's feet. A path that wavers from side
+to side, especially if the turns be from one bush to another, and that
+is only a light trail making an even line of wear over the inequalities
+of the ground--that is a path that children make. The path made by the
+business man--the man who is anxious to get to his work at one end of
+the day, and anxious to get to his home at the other--is generally a
+good piece of engineering. This type of man makes more paths in this
+country than he does in any other. He carries his intelligence and his
+energy into every act of life, and even in the half-unconscious business
+of making his own private trail he generally manages to find the line of
+least resistance in getting from one given point to another.
+
+This is the story of a path:
+
+It is called Reub Levi's Path, because Reuben Levi Dodd is supposed to
+have made it, some time in 1830 or thereabout, when he built his house
+on the hill. But it is much older than Reuben Levi. He probably thought
+he was telling the truth when, forty years ago, he swore to having
+broken the path himself twenty years before, through the Jacobus woods,
+down the hill and across the flat lands that then belonged to the
+Onderdoncks, and again through the Ogden woods to the county road; but
+he forgot that on the bright June day when he first started to find a
+convenient way through the woods and over the broad lowland fields from
+his own front-door to that of his father-in-law, Evert Ogden, and then
+through Mr. Ogden's patch of woods to the little town on the bank of the
+Passaic--he forgot that for a little part of the way he had had the help
+of a man whose feet had long before done with walking the paths of
+earth.
+
+The forest, for it was a forest then, was full of heavy underwood and
+brush, and he had no choice but to dodge his way between the clumps.
+But when he got out to the broad open space on the brow of the hill,
+where no trees had ever grown, he found an almost tropical growth of
+wild grass and azalea, with bull-brier twining over everything in every
+direction. He found it worse than the dense woods.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Drat the pesky stuff," he said to himself; "ain't there no way through
+it?" Then as he looked about he spied a line no broader than his hand at
+the bottom, that opened clean through the bull-brier and the bushes
+across the open to where the trees began again on the down-slope of the
+hill. Grass was growing in it, but he knew it for an old trail.
+
+"'Twas Pelatiah Jinks made that, I'll bet a shilling," he said to
+himself, remembering the lonely old trapper who had dwelt on that
+mountain in his father's time. He had once seen old man Jinks's
+powder-horn, with its elaborate carving, done in the long solitary hours
+when the old man sat weather-bound in his lofty hermitage.
+
+"Jest like the old critter to make a bee-line track like that. But what
+in thunder did he want to go that way across the clearing for? I'm much
+obleeged to him for his trail, but it ain't headed right for town."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+No, it was not. But young Dodd did not remember that the trees whose
+tops he saw just peeping over the hill were young things of forty years'
+growth that had taken the place of a line of ninety-year-old chestnuts
+that had died down from the top and been broken down by the wind shortly
+after old Pelatiah died. The line that the old man had made for himself
+took him straight to the one little hillock where he could look over
+this tall screen and get his bearings afresh by the glint of the
+Passaic's water in the woody valley below, for at no other spot along
+that ridge was the Passaic visible.
+
+Now in this one act of Reuben Levi Dodd you can see the human nature
+that lies at the bottom of all path-making. He turned aside from his
+straight course to walk in the easy way made by another man, and then
+fetched a compass, as they used to say in the Apostle Paul's time, to
+get back to his straight bearings. Old Pelatiah had a good reason for
+deviating from his straight line to the town; young Dodd had none,
+except that it was wiser to go two yards around than to go one yard
+straight through the bull-brier. Young Dodd had a powder-horn slung from
+his shoulder that morning, and the powder-horn had some carving on it,
+but it was not like the carving on old Pelatiah's horn. There was a
+letter R, cut with many flourishes, a letter L cut but wanting most of
+its flourishes, and a letter D half finished, and crooked at that, and
+without the first trace of a flourish. That was the way his powder-horn
+looked that day, for that was the way it looked when he died, and his
+son sold it to a dealer in antiquities.
+
+Young Dodd and his wife found it lonely living up there on the hilltop.
+They were the first who had pushed so far back from the river and the
+town. Mrs. Dodd, who had an active and ambitious spirit in her, often
+reproached her husband for his neglect to make their home more
+accessible to her old friends in the distant town.
+
+"If you'd take a bill-hook," she would say, "and clean up that
+snake-fence path of yours a little, may be folks would climb up here to
+see us once in a blue moon. It's all well enough for you with your
+breeches, but how are women folks to trail their frocks through that
+brush?"
+
+Reub Levi would promise and promise, and once he did take his hook and
+chop out a hundred yards or so. But things did not mend until Big Bill
+Turnbull, known all over the county as the Hard Job Man, married a widow
+with five children, bought a little patch of five or six acres next to
+Dodd's big farm, built a log-cabin for himself and his family, and
+settled down there.
+
+Now Turnbull's log-cabin was so situated that the line of old Pelatiah's
+path through the bull-brier, extended about an eighth of a mile, would
+just reach the front-door. Turnbull saw this, and it was at that point
+that he tapped Reub Levi's foot-path to the town. But he did his tapping
+after his own fashion. He took his wife's red flannel petticoat and tied
+it to a sapling on the top of the mound that the old hunter used to
+climb, and then with bill-hook and axe he cut a straight swath through
+the woods. He even cut down through the roots and took out the larger
+stones.
+
+"That's what you'd ought to have done long ago, Reuben Levi Dodd," said
+his wife, as she watched this manifestation of energy.
+
+"Guess I didn't lose much by waiting," Reub Levi answered, with a smile
+that did not look as self-satisfied as he tried to make it. "I'd a-had
+to do it myself, and now the other fellow's done it for me."
+
+And thereafter he took Bill Turnbull's path just where it touched the
+corner of his own cleared land. But Malvina Dodd, to the day of her
+death, never once walked that way, but, going and coming, took the
+winding track that her husband had laid out for her when their home was
+built.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The next maker of the path was a boy not ten years old. His name was
+Philip Wessler, and he was a charity boy of German parentage, who had
+been adopted by an eccentric old man in the town, an herb-doctor. This
+calling was in more repute in those days than it is now. Old Doctor Van
+Wagener was growing feeble, and he relied on the boy, who was grateful
+and faithful, to search for his stock of simples. When the weather was
+favorable they would go together through the Ogden woods, and across the
+meadows to where the other woods began at the bottom of the hill. Here
+the old man would sit down and wait, while the boy climbed the steep
+hillside, and ranged hither and thither in his search for sassafras and
+liverwort, and a hundred and one plants, flowers, and herbs, in which
+the doctor found virtue. When he had collected his bundle he came
+running down the path to where the doctor sat, and left them for the old
+man to pick and choose from, while he darted off after another load.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+He did a boy's work with the path. Steep grades were only a delight to
+him, and so in the course of a year or two he trod out, or jumped out,
+a series of break-neck short-cuts. William Turnbull--people called him
+William now, since he had built a clap-board house, and was using the
+log-cabin for a barn--William Turnbull, observing these short-cuts,
+approved of their purpose, but not of their method. He went through the
+woods once or twice on odd days after his hay was in, and did a little
+grading with a mattock. Here and there he made steps out of flat stones.
+He told his wife he thought it would be some handier for her, and she
+told him--they were both from Connecticut--that it was quite some
+handier, and that it was real thoughtful of him; and that she didn't
+want to speak no ill of the dead, but if her first man had been that
+considerate he wouldn't never have got himself drowned going pickerel
+fishing in March, when the ice was so soft you'd suppose rational folks
+would keep off of it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+This path was a path of slow formation. It was a path that was never
+destined to become a road. It is only in mathematics that a straight
+line is the shortest distance between two points. The grade through the
+Jacobus woods was so steep that no wagon could have been hauled up it
+over the mud roads of that day and generation. Lumber, groceries, and
+all heavy truck were taken around by the road, that made a clean sweep
+around the hill, and was connected with the Dodd and Turnbull farms by a
+steep but short lane which the workmen had made when they built the Dodd
+house. The road was six miles to the path's three, but the drive was
+shorter than the walk.
+
+There was a time when it looked as though the path might really develop
+into a road. That was the time when the township, having outgrown the
+county roads, began to build roads for itself. But, curiously enough,
+two subjects of Great Britain settled the fate of that New Jersey path.
+The controversy between Telford and Macadam was settled so long ago in
+Macadam's favor, that few remember the point of difference between those
+two noted engineers. Briefly stated, it was this: Mr. Telford said it
+_was_, and Mr. Macadam said it was _not_, necessary to put a foundation
+of large flat stones, set on end, under a broken-stone road. Reuben
+Levi's township, like many other New Jersey townships, sided with Mr.
+Telford, and made a mistake that cost thousands of dollars directly, and
+millions indirectly. To-day New Jersey can show the way to all her
+sister States in road-building and road-keeping. But the money she
+wasted on costly Telford pavements is only just beginning to come back
+to her, as she spreads out mile after mile of the economical Macadam.
+Reuben Levi's township squandered money on a few miles of Telford,
+raised the tax-rate higher than it had ever been before, and opened not
+one inch of new road for fifteen years thereafter. And within that
+fifteen years the canal came up on one side, opening a way to the great
+manufacturing town, ten miles down the river; and then the town at the
+end of the path was no longer the sole base of supplies. Then the
+railroad came around on the other side of the hill, and put a
+flag-station just at the bottom of what had come to be known as Dodd's
+Lane. And thus by the magic of nineteenth-century science New York and
+Newark were brought nearer to the hillside farm than the town three
+miles away.
+
+But year by year new feet trod the path. The laborers who cut the canal
+found it and took it when they left their shanty camp to go to town for
+Saturday-night frolics. Then William Turnbull, who had enlarged his own
+farm as far as he found it paid, took to buying land and building houses
+in the valley beyond. Reub Levi laughed at him, but he prospered after a
+way he had, and built up a thriving little settlement just over the
+canal. The people of this little settlement soon made a path that
+connected with Reuben Levi's, by way of William Turnbull's, and whenever
+business or old association took them to town they helped to make the
+path longer and broader.
+
+[Illustration: "THE LABORERS ... FOUND IT AND TOOK IT"]
+
+By and by the regular wayfarers found it out--the peddlers, the
+colporteurs, the wandering portrait-painters, the tinkers and
+clock-menders, the runaway apprentices, and all the rest of the old-time
+gentry of the road. And they carried the path on still farther--down the
+river to Newark.
+
+It is not wholly to be told, "The Story of the Path." So many people had
+to do with its making in so many ways that no chronicle could tell all
+the meanings of its twists and turns and straight lines. There is one
+little jog in its course to-day, where it went around a tree, the stump
+of which rotted down into the ground a quarter of a century ago. Why do
+we walk around that useless bend to-day? Because it is a path, and
+because we walk in the way of human nature.
+
+The life of a tree may be a hundred years or two hundred years and yet
+be long life. But the days of the age of a man are threescore and ten,
+and though some be so strong that they come to fourscore, yet the strong
+man may be stricken down in the flower of his strength, if it be the
+will of the Lord.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+When William Turnbull came to die he was but twoscore years and five,
+but for all he was so young the people of the township gathered from far
+and near, for he had been a helpful man all his days, and those whom he
+had helped remembered that he would help them no more. Four men and
+four women sat up with the dead, twice as many as the old custom called
+for. One of the men was a Judge, two had been Chosen Freeholders, and
+the fourth was his hired man. There was no cemetery in the township, and
+his tomb had been built at the bottom of the hill, looking out on the
+meadows which he had just made his own--the last purchase of his life.
+
+There were two other pall-bearers to carry him on their shoulders to the
+place beyond which no man goes. These two, when they left the house on
+the night before the funeral, walked slowly and thoughtfully down the
+path together. They looked over every step of the way with to-morrow's
+slow and toilsome march in their minds. When they came to the turn by
+Pelatiah's mound they paused.
+
+"We can't never get him round that bend," said one. "That ain't no way
+to start down the hill. Best is I come here first thing in the morning
+and cut a way through this bull-brier straight across the angle, then we
+can see ahead where we're going. Put them two light men behind, and you
+and me at the head, and we can manage it. My! what a man _he_ was,
+though! Why, I seen him take the head of a coffin all by himself once."
+
+This man was a near neighbor of the Turnbulls, for now they had a number
+of neighbors; Reuben Levi Dodd had been selling small farms off his big
+farm--somehow he had never made the big farm a success. There are many
+services of men to man that country neighbors make little of, though to
+the dwellers in great cities they might seem strange burdens. At five
+o'clock the next morning Warren Freeman, the pall-bearer, went out and
+mowed and hacked a path through the tangled field from midway of old
+Pelatiah's trail down to a shortcut made by the doctor's charity boy,
+who was to-day a Judge. This Judge came out of the silent house,
+released by the waking hour, from his vigil with the dead. He watched
+his fellow pall-bearer at work.
+
+[Illustration: "I USED TO GO DOWN THAT PATH ON THE DEAD RUN"]
+
+"I used to go down that path on the dead run twenty years ago," said he,
+"when I was working for Dr. Van Wagener and he used to send me up here
+gathering herbs."
+
+"You'll go down it on the dead walk to-morrow, Jedge," said the other,
+pausing in his work, "and you want to step mighty careful, or one fun'l
+will breed another."
+
+Life, death, wedlock, the lingering of lovers, the waywardness of
+childish feet, the tread of weary toil, the slow, swaying walk of the
+mother, with her babe in her arms, the measured steps of the bearer of
+the dead, the light march of youth and strength and health--all, all
+have helped to beat out the strange, wandering line of the old path; and
+to me, who love to find and to tread its turns, the current of their
+human life flows still along its course, in the dim spaces under the
+trees, or out where the sunshine and the wind are at play upon the
+broad, bright meadows.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST CHILD
+
+
+The best of life in a great city is that it breeds a broad and tolerant
+catholicity of spirit: the best of country life is that it breeds the
+spirit of helpful, homely, kindly neighborliness. The suburban-dweller,
+who shares in both lives, is perhaps a little too ready to pride himself
+in having learned the lesson of the great metropolis, but the other and
+homelier lesson is taught so gradually and so unobtrusively, that he
+often learns it quite unconsciously; and goes back, perhaps, to his old
+existence in the city, only to realize that a certain charm has gone out
+of life which he misses without knowing just what he has lost. He
+thinks, perhaps, it is exercise he lacks. And it is, indeed--the
+exercise of certain gentle sympathies, that thrive as poorly in the
+town's crowded life as the country wild-flowers thrive in the
+flower-pots of tenement-house windows.
+
+It was between three and four o'clock of an August night--a dark, warm,
+hazy night, breathless, heavy and full of the smell of grass and trees
+and dew-moistened earth, when a man galloped up one of those long
+suburban streets, where the houses stand at wide intervals, each behind
+its trim lawn, or old-fashioned flower-garden, relieved, even in the
+darkness, against a great rear-wood screen of lofty trees. Up the
+driveway of one of these he turned, his horse's hoof-beats dropping
+clear and sharp on the hard macadam. He reined up at the house and
+rapped a loud tattoo with the stock of his whip on a pillar of the
+veranda.
+
+It was a minute or two before the noise, loud as it was, had reached the
+ears of two sleepers in the bedroom, just above his head. A much less
+startling sound would have awakened a whole city household; but slumber
+in the country has a slumber of its own: in summer time a slumber born
+of night-air, laden with the odors of vegetation, and silent except for
+the drowsy chirp of birds that stir in vine and tree. The wife awoke
+first, listened for a second, and aroused her husband, who went to the
+window. He raised the screen and looked out.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Who is it?" he said, without nervousness or surprise, though ten years
+before in his city home such a summons might have shaken his spirit with
+anxious dread.
+
+"I'm Latimer," said the man on the horse, briefly. "That boy of
+Penrhyn's--the little one with the yellow hair--is lost. He got up and
+slipped out the house, somehow, about an hour ago, they think, and
+they've found one of his playthings nearly half a mile down the
+Romneytown Road."
+
+"Where shall I meet you?" asked the man at the window.
+
+"At the Gun-Club grounds on the hill," replied Latimer; "we've sent a
+barrel of oil up there for the lanterns. So long, Halford. Is Dirck at
+home?"
+
+"Yes," said Halford; and without another word Latimer galloped into the
+darkness, and in a minute the sound of his tattoo was heard on the
+hollow pillars of the veranda of the house next door.
+
+This was the summons--a bare announcement of an event without appeal,
+request, suggestion, or advice. None of these things was needed. Enough
+had been said between the two men, though they knew each other only as
+distant neighbors. Each knew well what that summons meant, and what duty
+it involved.
+
+The rat-tat of Latimer's crop had hardly sounded before a cheery young
+voice rang out on the air.
+
+"All right, old man! I heard you at Halford's. Go ahead."
+
+It was Dirck's voice. Dirck had another name, a good long, Holland-Dutch
+one, but everybody, even the children, called him by his Christian name,
+and as he had lived to thirty without getting one day older than
+eighteen, we will consider the other Dutch name unnecessary. Dirck
+and Halford were close friends and close neighbors. They were two
+men who had reached a point of perfect community of tastes and
+inclinations, though they came together in two widely different
+starting-places--though they were so little alike to outward seeming
+that they were known among their friends as "the mismates." Though one
+was forty and the other but thirty, each had closed a career, and was
+somewhat idly seeking a new one. As Dirck expressed it, "We two fellows
+had played our games out, and were waiting till we strike another that
+was high enough for our style. We ain't playing limit games."
+
+Two very different games they had been, but neither had been a small
+one. Dirck had started in with a fortune to "do" the world--the whole
+world, nothing else would suit him. He had been all over the globe. He
+had lived among all manner of peoples. He had ridden everything ridable,
+shot everything shootable, climbed everything climbable, and satisfied
+himself, as he said, that the world was too small for any particular
+use. At the end of his travels he had a little of his fortune left, a
+vast amount of experience, the constitution of a red Indian, and a
+vocabulary so vast and so peculiar that it stunned and fascinated the
+stranger. Halford was a New York lawyer, gray, clean-shaven, and sharp
+of feature. His "game" had made him famous and might have made him
+wealthy, but he cared neither for fame nor wealth. For twenty years he
+had fought a host of great corporations to establish one single point of
+law. His antagonists had vainly tried to bribe him, and as vainly to
+bully him. He had been assaulted, his life had been threatened, and
+altogether, as he admitted, the game had been lively enough to keep him
+interested; but having once won the game he tired of that style of play
+altogether. He picked out a small but choice practice which permitted
+him to work or be idle pretty much as the fancy took him. These were two
+odd chums to meet in a small suburban town, there to lead quiet and
+uneventful lives, and yet they were the two most contented men in the
+place.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Halford was getting into his clothes, but really with a speed and
+precision which got the job over before his impetuous next-door neighbor
+had got one leg of his riding-breeches on. Mrs. Halford sat up in bed
+and expressed her feeling to her husband, who had never been known to
+express his.
+
+"Oh, Jack," she said, "isn't it awful? Would you ever have thought of
+such a thing! They must have been awfully careless! Oh, Jack, you will
+find him, won't you? Jack, if such a thing happened to one of our
+children I should go wild; I'll never get over it myself if he isn't
+found. Oh, you don't know how thankful I am that we didn't lose our
+Richard that way! Oh, Jack, dear, isn't it too horrible for anything!"
+
+Jack simply responded, with no trace of emotion in his voice:
+
+"It's the hell!"
+
+And yet in those three words Jack Halford expressed, in his own way,
+quite as much as his wife had expressed in hers. More, even, for there
+was a grim promise in his tone that comforted her heart.
+
+Mrs. Halford's feelings being expressed and in some measure relieved,
+she promptly became practical.
+
+"I'll fill your flask, of course, dear. Brandy, I suppose? And what
+shall we women take up to the Gun Club besides blankets and clean
+clothes?"
+
+Mrs. Halford's husband always thought before he spoke, and she was not
+at all surprised that he filled his tobacco-pouch before he answered.
+When he did speak he knew what he had to say.
+
+"First something to put in my pocket for Dirck and me to eat. We can't
+fool with coming home to breakfast. Second, tell the girls to send up
+milk to the Gun Club, and something for you women to eat."
+
+"Oh, I sha'n't want anything to eat," cried Mrs. Halford.
+
+"You must eat," said her husband, simply, "and you must make the rest of
+them eat. You might do all right without it, but I wouldn't trust the
+rest of them. You may need all the nerve you've got."
+
+"Yes, dear," said his wife, submissively. She had been with her husband
+in times of danger, and she knew he was a leader to be followed. "I'll
+have sandwiches and coffee and tea; I can make them drink tea, anyway."
+
+"Third," went on Jack Halford, as if he had not been interrupted, "bring
+my field-glass with you. Dirck and I will range together along the
+river. If I put up a white handkerchief anywhere down there, you stay
+where you are and we will come to you. If I put up this red one, come
+right down with blankets and brandy in the first carriage you can get
+hold of. Get on the north edge of the hill and you can keep a line on us
+almost anywhere."
+
+"Couldn't you give us some signal, dear, to tell us if--if--if it's all
+right?"
+
+"If it was all wrong," replied the husband, "you wouldn't want the
+mother to learn it that way. I'll signal to you privately, however. If
+it's all right, I'll wave the handkerchief; if I move it up and down,
+you'll understand."
+
+Two minutes later he bade her good-by at the door.
+
+"Now remember," he said, "white means wait, red means ride."
+
+And having delivered himself of this simple mnemonic device, he passed
+out into the darkness.
+
+At the next gate he met Dirck and the two swung into step together, and
+walked up the street with the steady stretching tread of men accustomed
+to walking long distances. They said "Hello!" as they met, and their
+further conversation was brief.
+
+"River," said Halford; "what do you think?"
+
+"River, sure," said the other; "a lot of those younger boys have been
+taking the youngsters down there lately. I saw that kid down there last
+week, and I'll bet a dollar his mother would swear that he'd never seen
+the river."
+
+"Then we won't say anything about it to her," said Halford, and they
+reached along in silence.
+
+Before them, when they came to the end of the road, rose a hill with a
+broad plateau on its stomach. Here through the dull haze of the morning
+they saw smoky-orange lights beginning to flicker uncertainly as the
+wind that heralds the sunrise came fitfully up. The soft wet grass under
+their feet was flecked with little grayish-silver cobwebs, and here and
+there they heard the morning chirp of ground-nesting birds. As they went
+farther up the hill a hum of voices came from above; the voices of
+people, men and women, mingled and consonant like the voices of the
+birds, but with a certain tone of trouble and expectancy. Every now and
+then one individual voice or another would dominate the general murmur,
+and would be followed by a quick flutter of sound denoting acquiescence
+or disagreement. From this they knew that most of their neighbors had
+arrived before them, having been summoned earlier in the journey of the
+messengers sent out from the distant home of the lost child.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+On the crown of the hill stood a curious structure, actually small, but
+looming large in the grayness. The main body of the building was
+elevated upon posts, and was smaller at the bottom than where the
+spreading walls met the peaked roof. This roof spread out on both sides
+into broad verandas, and under these two wing-like shelters some three
+or four score of people were clustered in little groups. Lanterns and
+hand-lamps dimly lit up faces that showed strange in the unfamiliar
+illumination. There were women with shawls over their shoulders and
+women with shawls over their heads. Some of the men were in their
+shirt-sleeves, some wore shooting-coats, and a few had overcoats, though
+the night was warm. But no stranger arriving on the scene could have
+taken it for a promiscuous or accidental assemblage. There was a
+movement in unison, a sympathetic stir throughout the little crowd that
+created a common interest and a common purpose. The arrival of the two
+men was hailed with that curious sound with which such a gathering
+greets a desired and attended accession--not quite the sigh of relief,
+but the quick, nervous expulsion of the breath that tallies the coming
+of the expected. These were two of the men to be counted on, and they
+were there.
+
+Every little community such as this knows its leaders, and now that
+their number was complete, the women drew together by themselves save
+for two or three who clearly took equal direction with the men; and a
+dozen in all, perhaps, gathered in a rough circle to discuss the
+organization of the search.
+
+It was a brief discussion. A majority of the members of the group had
+formed decided opinions as to the course taken by the wandering child,
+and thus a division into sub-groups came about at once. This left
+various stretchings of territory uncovered, and these were assigned to
+those of the more decided minority who were best acquainted with the
+particular localities. When the division of labor was completed, the men
+had arranged to start out in such directions as would enable them to
+range and view the whole countryside for the extreme distance of radius
+to which it was supposed the boy could possibly have travelled. The
+assignment of Halford and Dirck to the river course was prompt, for it
+was known that they habitually hunted and fished along that line. The
+father of the boy, who stood by, was reminded of this fact, for a
+curious and doubtful look came into his face when he heard two of the
+most active and energetic men in the town set aside to search a region
+where he had no idea that his boy could have strayed. Some excuse was
+given also for the detailing of two other men of equal ability to take
+the range immediately above the river bank, and within hailing distance
+of those in the marshes by the shore. Had his mind not been in the daze
+of mortal grief and perplexity, he would have grasped the sinister
+significance of this precaution; but he accepted it in dull and hopeless
+confidence. When after they had set forth he told his wife of the
+arrangements made, and she heard the names of the four men who had been
+appointed to work near the riverside, she pulled the faded old Paisley
+shawl (that the child's nurse had wrapped about her) across her swollen
+eyes, and moaned, "The river, the river--oh, my boy, my boy!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Perhaps the men heard her, for being all in place to take their several
+directions, they made a certain broken start and were off into the
+darkness at the base of the hill, before the two or three of their sex
+who were left in charge of the women had fairly given the word. The
+tramp of men's feet and horses' hoofs died down into the shadowy
+distance. The women went inside the spacious old corn-crib that had been
+turned into a gun-club shooting-box, and there the mother laid her face
+on the breast of her best friend, and clung to her without a sound, only
+shuddering once and again, and holding her with a convulsive grip. The
+other women moved around, and busied themselves with little offices,
+like the making of tea and the trimming of lamps, and talked among each
+other in a quiet way with the odd little upward inflections with which
+women simulate cheerfulness and hope, telling tales of children who had
+been lost and had been found again all safe and unscathed, and praising
+the sagacity and persistence of certain of the men engaged in the
+search. Mr. Latimer, they said, was almost like a detective, he had such
+an instinct for finding things and people. Mr. Brown knew every field
+and hollow on the Brookfield Road. Mr. MacDonald could see just as well
+in the darkness as in the daytime; and all the talk that reached the
+mother's ears was of this man's skill of woodcraft, of that man's
+knowledge of the country, or of another's unfailing cleverness or
+tirelessness.
+
+Outside, the two or three men in charge stood by the father in their own
+way. It had been agreed that he should wait at the hilltop to learn if a
+trail had been found. He was a good fellow, but not helpful or capable;
+and it was their work to "jolly" him, as they called it; to keep his
+hope up with cheering suggestions, and with occasional judicious doses
+of whiskey from their flasks. For themselves, they did not drink; though
+their voices were low and steady they were more nervous than the poor
+sufferer they guarded, numbed and childish in his awful grief and
+apprehension. They were waiting for the sounds of the beginning of the
+search far below, and presently these sounds came, or rather one sound,
+a hollow noise, changeful, uneven, yet of a cruel monotony. It was a cry
+of "Willy! Willy! Willy!" rising out of that gray-black depth, a cry of
+many voices, a cry that came from far and near, a cry at which the women
+huddled closer together and pressed each other's hands, and looked
+speechless love and pity at the woman who lay upon her best friend's
+breast, clutching it tighter and tighter. Of the men outside, the father
+leaned forward and clutched the arm of his chair. The others saw the
+great drops of sweat roll from his brow, and they turned their faces
+away from him and swore inaudibly.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then, as the deep below began to be alive with a faint dim light
+reflected from the half awakened heaven, the voices died away in the
+distance, and in their place the leaves of the great trees rustled and
+the birds twittered to the coming morn.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The day broke with the dull red that prophesies heat. As the hours wore
+on the prophecy was fulfilled. The moisture of the dew and the river
+mist rose toward the hot sky and vanished, but the dry haze remained and
+the low sun shone through it with a peculiar diffusion of coppery light.
+Even when it reached the zenith, the warm, faintly yellow dimness still
+rose high above the horizon, throwing its soft spell upon all objects
+far or near, and melting through the dim blue on the distant hilltop
+into the hot azure of the great dome above.
+
+For an hour the watchers on the hill remained undisturbed, talking in
+undertones. For the most part, they speculated on the significance of
+the faint sounds that came up from below. Sometimes they could trace the
+crash of a horse through dry underbrush; sometimes a tumultuous clamor
+of commanding voices would tell them that a flat boat was being worked
+across a broad creek or a pond; sometimes a hardly audible whirr, and
+the metallic clinking of a bicycle bell would tell them that the
+wheelmen were speeding on the search. But for the best part of the time
+only nature's harmony of sounds came up through the ever-lightening
+gloom.
+
+But with the first of daylight came the neighbors who had not been
+summoned, and they, of course, came running. It was also noticeable of
+this contingent that their attire was somewhat studied, and showed more
+or less elaborate preparation for starting on the already started hunt.
+Noticeable also it was, that after much sagacious questioning and
+profoundly wise discussion, the most of the new-comers either hung about
+peering out into the dawn and making startling discoveries at various
+points, or else went back to their houses to get bicycles, or horses, or
+forgotten suspenders. The little world of a suburban town sorts itself
+out pretty quickly and pretty surely. There are the men who do and the
+men who don't; and very few of the men who _did_, in that particular
+town, were in bed half an hour after the loss of that child was known.
+
+But, after all, the late arrivals were useful in their way, and their
+wives, who came along later, were still more useful. The men were
+fertile in suggestions for tempting and practicable breakfasts; and the
+women actually brought the food along; and by the time that the world
+was well alight, the early risers were bustling about and serving coffee
+and tea, and biscuits and fruit, and keeping up that semblance of
+activity and employment that alone can carry poor humanity through long
+periods of suspense and anxiety. And the first on the field were the
+last to eat and the least critical of their fare.
+
+It was eight o'clock when the first party of searchers returned to the
+hill. There were eight of them. They stopped a little below the crib and
+beckoned to Penrhyn to come down to them. He went, white-faced and a
+little unsteady on his feet; his guardians followed him and joined with
+the group in a busy serious talk that lasted perhaps five minutes--but
+vastly longer to the women who watched them from above. Then Penrhyn and
+two men went hastily down the hill, and the others came up to the crib
+and eagerly accepted the offer of a hasty breakfast.
+
+They had little to tell, and that little only served to deepen the doubt
+and trouble of the hour. Of all the complication of unkind chance the
+searchers had to face the worst and the most puzzling. As in many towns
+of old settlement a road ran around the town, roughly circumscribing it,
+much as the boulevards of Paris anciently circumscribed the old
+fortifications of the city. It was little more than a haphazard
+connection of roads, lanes, and avenues, each one of which had come into
+existence to serve some particular end, and the connection had ended in
+forming a circuit that practically defined the town limits. It had been
+made certain that the boy had wandered this whole round, and that he had
+not left it by any one of the converging roads which he must have
+crossed. Nor could the direction of his wandering be ascertained. The
+hard, dry macadam road, washed clean by a recent rainfall, showed no
+trace of his light, infantile footprints. But sure it was that he had
+been on the road not one hour, but two or three at least, and that he
+had started out with an armful of his tiny belongings. Here they had
+found his small pocket-handkerchief, there a gray giraffe from his
+Noah's ark; in another place a noseless doll that had descended to him
+from his eldest sister; then a top had been found--a top that he could
+not have spun for years to come. Would the years ever come when that
+lost boy should spin tops?
+
+There were other little signs which attested his passage around the
+circle--freshly broken stalks of milkweed, shreds of his brightly
+figured cotton dress on the thorns of the wayside blackberries, and even
+in one place the clear print of a muddy and bloody little hand on a
+white gate-post.
+
+There is no search more difficult than a search for a lost child five or
+six years of age. We are apt to think of these wee ones as feeble
+creatures, and we forget that their physical strength is proportionally
+much greater than that of grown-up people. We forget also that the child
+has not learned to attribute sensations of physical discomfort to their
+proper sources. The child knows that it suffers, but it does not know
+why. It is conscious of a something wrong, but the little brain is often
+unable to tell whether that something be weariness or hunger. If the
+wandering spirit be upon it, it wanders to the last limit of physical
+power, and it is surprising indeed to find how long it is before that
+limit is reached. A healthy, muscular infant of this age has been known
+to walk nearly eight or ten miles before becoming utterly exhausted. And
+when exhaustion comes, and the tiny form falls in its tracks, how small
+an object it is to detect in the great world of outdoors! A little
+bundle of dusty garments in a ditch, in a wayside hollow, in tall grass,
+or among the tufts and hummocks of a marsh--how easy it is for so
+inconspicuous an object to escape the eye of the most zealous searcher!
+A young animal lost cries incessantly; the lost child cries out his
+pitiful little cry, finds itself lifted to no tender bosom, soothed by
+no gentle voice, and in the end wanders and suffers in helpless,
+hopeless silence.
+
+As the morning wore on Dirck and Halford beat the swampy lands of the
+riverside with a thoroughness that showed their understanding of the
+difficulty of their work, and their conviction that the child had taken
+that direction. This conviction deepened with every hour, for the rest
+of the countryside was fairly open and well populated, and there the
+search should have been, for such a search, comparatively easy. Yet the
+sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, and no sound of guns fired in
+glad signal reached their ears. Hither and thither they went through the
+hot lowlands, meeting and parting again, with appointments to come
+together in spots known to them both, or separating without a word, each
+knowing well where their courses would bring them together. From time to
+time they caught glimpses of their companions on the hills above, who,
+from their height, could see the place of meeting on the still higher
+hill, and each time they signalled the news and got back the despairing
+sign that meant "None yet!"
+
+News enough there was, but not _the_ news. Mrs. Penrhyn still stayed,
+for her own house was so situated that the child could not possibly
+return to it, if he had taken the direction that now seemed certain,
+without passing through the crowd of searchers, and intelligence of his
+discovery must reach her soonest at that point. Perhaps there was
+another reason, too. Perhaps she could not bear to return to that
+silent house, where every room held some reminder of her loss. Certainly
+she remained at the Club, and perhaps she got some unreasoning comfort
+out of the rumors and reports that came to that spot from every side. It
+was but the idle talk that springs up and flies about on such occasions,
+but now and then it served as a straw for her drowning hope to clutch
+at. Word would come of a farmer who had seen a strange child in his
+neighbor's wagon. Then would come a story of an inn-keeper who had
+driven into town to ask if anybody had lost a boy. Then somebody would
+bring a report at third or fourth hand of a child rescued alive from the
+river. Of course story after story, report after report, came to
+nothing. The child seen in the wagon was a girl of fourteen. The
+inn-keeper had come to town to ask about the lost child, but it was only
+because he had heard the report and was curious. A child indeed had been
+rescued from the river, but the story was a week old. And so it went,
+and the hot sun rose to the zenith and declined, and the coppery haze
+grew dim, and the shadows lengthened, and the late afternoon was come
+with its awful threat of impending night.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Dirck and Halford, down in the riverside marsh, saw that dreaded change
+fall upon the landscape, and they paused in their search and looked at
+one another silently. They had been ceaselessly at work all day, and the
+work had left its marks on them. Their faces were burnt to a fiery red,
+they were torn and scratched in the brambles, their clothes were soaked
+in mud and water to the waist, and they had been bitten and stung by
+insects until they looked as though some strange fever had broken out on
+them.
+
+They had just met after a long beat, each having described the half of a
+circle around a piece of open water, and had sunk down in utter
+weariness on a little patch of dry ground, and for a minute looked at
+each other in silence. Then the younger man spoke.
+
+"Hal," he said, "he never came this far."
+
+By way of answer the other drew from his pocket a child's shoe, worn and
+wet, and held it up.
+
+"Where did you find it?" asked Dirck.
+
+"Right over there," said Halford, "near that old wagon-trail."
+
+Dirck looked at him with a question in his eyes, which found its answer
+in the grave inclination of the elder's head. Then Dirck shook his own
+head and whistled--one long, low, significant whistle.
+
+"Well," he said, "I thought so. Any trail?"
+
+"Not the least," replied Halford. "There's a strip of thick salt grass
+there, over two yards wide, and I found the shoe right in the middle of
+it. It was lying on its side when I found it, not caught in the grass."
+
+"Then they were carrying him, sure," said Dirck, decisively. "Now then,
+the question is, which way."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The two men went over to the abandoned roadway, a mere trail of ruts,
+where, in years before, ox-teams had hauled salt hay. Up and down the
+long strip of narrow grass that bordered it, they went backward and
+forward, hunting for traces of men's feet, for they knew by this time,
+almost beyond doubt, that the child was in the hands of tramps. The
+"tramp-hole" is an institution in all suburban regions which are
+bordered by stretches of wild and unfrequented country. These
+tramp-holes or camps are the headquarters of bands of wanderers who come
+year after year to dwell sometimes for a week, sometimes for months. The
+same spot is always occupied, and there seems to be an understanding
+among all the bands that the original territory shall not be exceeded.
+The tramps who establish these "holes" are invariably professionals,
+and never casual vagabonds; and apparently they make it a point of honor
+to conduct themselves with a certain propriety while they are in camp.
+Curiously enough, too, they seem to come to the tramp-hole, mainly for
+the purpose of doing what it is supposed that a tramp never does,
+namely: washing themselves and their clothes. I have seen on a chill
+November day, in one of these places, half a dozen men, naked to the
+waist, scrubbing themselves, or drying their wet shirts before the
+fire. I have always found them perfectly peaceable, and I have never
+known them to accost lonely passers-by, or women or children. If a
+shooting or fishing party comes along, however, large enough to put any
+accusation of terrorism out of the question, it is not uncommon for the
+"hoboes" to make a polite suggestion that the poor man would be the
+better for his beer; and so well is the reputation of these queer camps
+established that the applicant generally receives such a collection of
+five-cent pieces as will enable him to get a few quarts for himself and
+his companions.
+
+Still, in spite of the mysterious system of government that sways these
+banded wanderers on the face of the earth, it happens occasionally that
+the tramp of uncontrollable instincts finds his way into the tramp-hole,
+and there, if his companions are not numerous or strong enough to
+withstand him, commits some outrage that excites popular indignation and
+leads to the utter abolition of one of the few poor out-door homes that
+the tramp can call his own, by the grace and indulgence of the world of
+workers. That such a thing had happened now the two searchers for the
+lost child feared with an unspeakable fear.
+
+Dirck straightened himself up after a careful inspection of the strip of
+salt grass turf, and looking up at the ridge, blew a loud, shrill
+whistle on his two fingers. There was no answer. They had gone a full
+mile beyond call of their followers.
+
+"I'll tell you what, old man," said Dirck, with the light of battle
+coming into his young eyes, "we'll do this thing ourselves." His senior
+smiled, but even as he smiled he knit his brows.
+
+"I'll go you, my boy," he said, "so far as to look them up at the
+canal-boats. If they are not there we've got to go back and start the
+rest off. It may be a question of horses, and it may be a question of
+telegraphing."
+
+"Well, let's have one go at them, anyway," said Dirck. He was no less
+tender-hearted than his companion; he wanted to find the child, but also
+he wanted, being young and strong and full of fight, to hunt tramps.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were three tramp-holes by the riverside, but two were sheltered
+hollows used only in the winter-time. The third was a collection of
+abandoned canal-boats on the muddy strand of the river. Most of them
+were hopeless wrecks; in three or four a few patches of deck remained,
+enough to afford lodgment and shelter to the reckless wayfarers who made
+nothing of sleeping close to the polluted waters that permeated the
+rotten hulks with foul stains and fouler smells.
+
+From the largest of these long, clumsy carcasses of boats came a sound
+of muffled laughter. The two searchers crept softly up, climbed
+noiselessly to the deck and looked down the hatchway. The low, red sun
+poured in through a window below them, leaving them in shadow and making
+a picture in red light and black shades of the strange group below.
+
+Surrounded by ten tramps; ten dirty, uncouth, unshaven men of the road,
+sat the little Penrhyn boy, his little night-shirt much travel-stained
+and torn, his fat legs scratched and bruised, his soiled cheeks showing
+the traces of tears, his lips dyed with the juices of the berries he
+had eaten on his way, but happy, happy, happy--happier perhaps than he
+had ever been in his life before; for in his hand he held a clay pipe
+which he made persistent efforts to smoke, while one of the men, a big
+black-bearded animal who wore three coats, one on top of the other,
+gently withdrew it from his lips each time that the smoke grew
+dangerously thick. And the whole ten of them, sitting around him in
+their rags and dirt, cheered him and petted him and praised him, even as
+no polite assemblage had ever worshipped him before. No food, no drink
+could have been so acceptable to that delicately nurtured child of the
+house of Penrhyn as the rough admiration of those ten tramps. Whatever
+terrors, sufferings, or privations he had been through were all
+forgotten, and he crowed and shrieked with hysterical laughter. And when
+his two rescuers dropped down into the hole, instead of welcoming them
+with joy, he grabbed one of the collars of the big brute with the three
+coats and wept in dire disappointment and affright.
+
+"Fore God, boss!" said the spokesman of the gang, the sweat standing out
+on his brow, "we didn't mean him no harm, and we wouldn't have done him
+no harm neither. We found de little blokey over der in the ma'sh yonder,
+and we tuk him in and fed him de best we could. We was goin' to take him
+up to the man what keeps the gin-mill up the river there, for we hadn't
+no knowledge where he come from, and we didn't want to get none of you
+folks down on us. I know we oughter have took him up two hours ago, but
+he was foolin' that funny-like that we all got kinder stuck on it, see,
+and we kinder didn't want to shake him. That's all there was to it,
+boss. God in heaven be my judge, I ain't lyin', and that's the truth!"
+
+The faces of the ten tramps could not turn white, but they did show an
+ashen fear under their eyes--a deadly fear of the two men for whom any
+one of them would have been more than a match, but who represented the
+world from which they were outcasts, the world of Home, of whose most
+precious sweetness they had stolen an hour's enjoyment--the world so
+strong and terrible to avenge a wrong to its best beloved.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then the silence was broken by the voice of the child, wailing
+piteously:
+
+"I don't want to be tooken away from the raggedty gentlemen!"
+
+Dirck still looked suspicious as he took the weeping child, but Halford
+smiled grimly, thoughtfully and sadly, as he put his hand in his pocket
+and said: "I guess it's all right, boys, but I think you'd better get
+away for the present. Take this and get over the river and out of the
+county. The people have been searching for this baby all day, and I
+don't know whether they'll listen to my friend and me."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The level red light had left the valleys and low places, and lit alone
+the hilltop where the mother was watching, when a great shout came out
+of the darkness, spreading from voice to voice through the great expanse
+below, and echoed wildly from above, thrilling men's blood and making
+hearts stand still; and as it rose and swelled and grew toward her out
+of the darkness, the mother knew that her lost child was found.
+
+
+
+
+A LETTER TO TOWN
+
+                                           FERNSEED STATION.
+                                           ATLANTIS CO., NEW ----
+                                          _February 30, 189-._
+
+MY DEAR MODESTUS:--You write me that circumstances have decided you to
+move your household from New York to some inexpensively pleasant town,
+village, or hamlet in the immediate neighborhood, and you ask me the
+old, old innocent question:
+
+"Shall I like suburban life?"
+
+This question I can answer most frankly and positively:
+
+"No, certainly not. You will not like it at all."
+
+There is no such thing as _liking_ a country life--for I take it that
+you mean to remove to the real suburban countryside, and not to one of
+those abominable and abhorrent deserts of paved streets laid out at
+right angles, and all supplied with sewers and electric light wires and
+water-mains before the first lonely house escapes from the house-pattern
+books to tempt the city dweller out to that dreary, soulless waste which
+has all the modern improvements and not one tree. I take it, I say, that
+you are going to no such cheap back-extension of a great city, but that
+you are really going among the trees and the water-courses, severing all
+ties with the town, save the railway's glittering lines of steel--or,
+since I have thought of it, I might as well say the railway ties.
+
+If that is what your intent is, and you carry it out firmly, you are
+going to a life which you can never like, but which you may learn to
+love.
+
+How should it be possible that you should enjoy taking up a new life,
+with new surroundings, new anxieties, new responsibilities, new duties,
+new diversions, new social connections--new conditions of every
+kind--after living half a lifetime in New York? It is true that, being
+a born New Yorker, you know very little indeed of the great city you
+live in. You know the narrow path you tread, coming and going, from your
+house to your office, and from your office to your house. It follows, as
+closely as it may, the line of Broadway and Fifth Avenue. The elevated
+railroads bound it downtown; and uptown fashion has drawn a line a few
+hundred yards on either side, which you have only to cross, to east or
+to west, to find a strange exposition of nearsightedness come upon your
+friends. Here and there you do, perhaps, know some little by-path that
+leads to a club or a restaurant, or to a place of amusement. After a
+number of books have been written at you, you have ventured timorously
+and feebly into such unknown lands as Greenwich Village; or that poor,
+shabby, elbowing stretch of territory that used to be interesting, in a
+simple way, when it was called the French Quarter. It is now supposed to
+be the Bohemian Quarter, and rising young artists invite parties of
+society-ladies to go down to its table d'hote restaurants, and see the
+desperate young men of the bachelor-apartments smoke cigarettes and
+drink California claret without a sign of trepidation.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+As I say, that is pretty near all you know of the great, marvellous,
+multitudinous town you live in--a city full of strange people, of
+strange occupations, of strange habits of life, of strange contrasts of
+wealth and poverty; of a new life of an indescribable crudity, and of
+an old life that breeds to-day the very atmosphere of the historic
+past. Your feet have never strayed in the side paths where you might
+have learned something of the infinite and curious strangeness of this
+strange city.
+
+But, after all, this is neither here nor there. You have accustomed
+yourself to the narrow dorsal strip that is all New York to you. Therein
+are contained the means of meeting your every need, and of gratifying
+your every taste. There are your shops, your clubs, your libraries, your
+schools, your theatres, your art-galleries, and the houses of all your
+friends, except a few who have ventured a block or so outside of that
+magic line that I spoke of a little while ago. And now you are not only
+going to cross that line yourself, but to pass the fatal river beyond
+it, to burn your boats behind you, and to settle in the very wilderness.
+And you ask me if you will like it!
+
+No, Modestus, you will not. You have made up your mind, of course, to
+the tedium of the two railway journeys every weekday, and when you have
+made friends with your fellow-commuters, you will get to like it, for
+your morning trip in will take the place with you of your present
+afternoon call at your club. And you are pretty sure to enjoy the
+novelty of the first few months. You have moved out in the spring, and,
+dulled as your perceptions are by years of city life, you cannot fail to
+be astonished and thrilled, and perhaps a little bit awed, at the wonder
+of that green awakening. And when you see how the first faint, seemingly
+half-doubtful promise of perfect growth is fulfilled by the procession
+of the months, you yourself will be moved with the desire to work this
+miracle, and to make plants and flowers grow at your own will. You will
+begin to talk of what you are going to do next year--for you have taken
+a three years' lease, I trust--if only as an evidence of good faith. You
+will lay out a tract for your flower garden and your vegetable garden,
+and you will borrow your neighbor's seed-catalogue, and you will plan
+out such a garden as never blossomed since Eden.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+And in your leisure days, of course, you _will_ enjoy it more or less.
+You will sit on your broad veranda in the pleasant mornings and listen
+to the wind softly brushing the tree-tops to and fro, and look at the
+blue sky through the leaf-framed spaces in the cool, green canopy above
+you; and as you remember the cruel, hot, lifeless days of summer in your
+town house, when you dragged through the weeks of work that separated
+you from the wife and children at the sea-side or in the
+mountains--then, Modestus, you must look upon what is before you, and
+say: it is good.
+
+It is true that you can't get quite used to the sensation of wearing
+your tennis flannels at your own domestic breakfast table, and you
+cannot help feeling as if somebody had stolen your clothes, and you were
+going around in your pajamas. But presently your friend--for of course
+you have followed the trail of a friend, in choosing your new
+abode--your friend drops in clad likewise, and you take the children and
+start off for a stroll. As the pajama-feeling wears off, you become
+quite enthusiastic. You tell your friend that this is the life that you
+always wanted to lead; that a man doesn't really live in the city, but
+only exists; that it is a luxury to breathe such air, and enjoy the
+peaceful calm and perfect silence. Away inside of you something says
+that this is humbug, for, the fact is, the perfect silence strikes you
+as somewhat lonesome, and it even scares you a little. Then your
+children keep running up to you with strange plants and flowers, and
+asking you what they are; and you find it trying on the nerves to keep
+up the pretence of parental omniscience, and yet avoid the too-ready
+corrections of your friend.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Johnny-jumper!" he says, scornfully, when you have hazarded a guess out
+of your meagre botanical vocabulary: "Why, man, that's no Johnny-jumper,
+that's a wild geranium." Then he addresses himself to the other
+inquiring youngster: "No, my boy, that's not a chestnut; that's an
+acorn. You won't get chestnuts till the fall, and then you'll get them
+off the chestnut trees. That's an oak."
+
+And so the walk is not altogether pleasant for you, and you find it
+safest to confine your remarks on country life to generalizations
+concerning the air and the silence.
+
+No, Modestus, do not think for a moment that I am making game of you.
+Your friend would be no more at home at the uptown end of your little
+New York path than you are here in his little town; and he does not look
+on your ignorance of nature as sternly as you would look upon his
+unfamiliarity with your familiar landmarks. For his knowledge has grown
+upon him so naturally and unconsciously, that he hardly esteems it of
+any value.
+
+But you can have no idea of the tragico-comical disadvantage at which
+you will find yourself placed during your first year in the
+country--that is, the suburban country. You know, of course, when you
+move into a new neighborhood in the city you must expect to find the
+local butcher and baker and candlestick-maker ready to fall upon you,
+and to tear the very raiment from your back, until they are assured that
+you are a solvent permanency--and you have learned how to meet and repel
+their attacks. When you find that the same thing is done in the country,
+only in a different way, which you don't in the least understand, you
+will begin to experience a certain feeling of discouragement. Then, the
+humorous papers have taught you to look upon the Suburban Furnace as
+part of the machinery or property of a merry jest; and you will be
+shocked to discover that to the new-comer it is a stern and cold
+reality. I use the latter adjective deliberately and advisedly. There
+will surely come an awful night when you will get home from New York
+with Mrs. Modestus in the midnight train, too tired for anything but a
+drowsy chat by the lingering embers of the library fire over the
+festivities of the evening. You will open your broad hospitable door,
+and enter an abode of chill and darkness. Your long-slumbering
+household has let fires and lights go out; the thermometer in the
+children's room stands at forty-five degrees, and there is nothing for
+you to do but to descend to the cellar, arrayed in your wedding
+garments, and try your unskilful best to coax into feeble circulation a
+small, faintly throbbing heart of fire that yet glows far down in the
+fire-pot's darksome internals. Then, when you have done what you can at
+the unwonted and unwelcome task, you will see, by the feeble
+candle-light, that your black dress-coat is gray with fine cinder dust,
+and that your hands are red and raw from the handling of heavy
+implements of toil. And then you will think of city home-comings after
+the theatre or the ball; of the quiet half-hour in front of the dying
+cannel; of the short cigar and the little nightcap, and of the gentle
+passage bedward, so easy in that warm and slumberous atmosphere that you
+hardly know how you have passed from weariness to peaceful dreams. And
+there will come to your spirit a sudden passion of humiliation and
+revolt that will make you say to yourself: This is the end!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But you know perfectly well that it is _not_ the end, however ardently
+you may wish that it was. There still remain two years of your
+un-subletable lease; and you set yourself, courageously and firmly, to
+serving out the rest of your time. You resolve, as a good prisoner, to
+make the best of it. You set to work to apply a little plain
+common-sense to the problem of the furnace--and find it not so difficult
+of partial solution after all. You face your other local troubles with a
+determination to minimize them at least. You resolve to check your too
+open expressions of dissatisfaction with the life you are leading. You
+hardly know why you do this, but you have, half-unconsciously, read a
+gentle hint in the faces of your neighbors; and as you see those kindly
+faces gathering oftener and oftener about your fire as the winter nights
+go on, it may, perhaps, dawn upon your mind that the existence you were
+so quick to condemn has grown dear to some of them.
+
+But, whether you know it or not, that second year in the suburban house
+is a crisis and turning-point in your life, for it will make of you
+either a city man or a suburban, and it will surely save you from being,
+for all the rest of your days, that hideous betwixt-and-between thing,
+that uncanny creation of modern days of rapid transit, who fluctuates
+helplessly between one town and another; between town and city, and
+between town and city again, seeking an impossible and unattainable
+perfection, and scattering remonstrant servant-maids and disputed bills
+for repairs along his cheerless track.
+
+You have learned that the miseries of country life are not dealt out to
+you individually, but that they belong to the life, just as the
+troubles you fled from belong to the life of a great city. Of course,
+the realization of this fact only serves to make you see that you erred
+in making so radical a change in the current of your life. You perceive
+only the more clearly that as soon as your appointed time is up, you
+must reestablish yourself in urban conditions. There is no question
+about it; whatever its merits may be--and you are willing to concede
+that they are many--it is obvious that country life does not suit you,
+or that you do not suit country life, one or the other. And yet--somehow
+incomprehensibly--the understanding that you have only shifted the
+burden you bore among your old neighbors has put a strangely new face on
+things, and has made you so readily tolerant that you are really a
+little surprised at yourself.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The winter goes by; the ever welcome glory of the spring comes back, and
+with it comes the natural human longing to make a garden, which is
+really, although we treat it lightly, a sort of humble first-cousin to
+the love of children. In your own breast you repress this weakness. Why
+taste of a pleasure which in another short year you mean to put
+permanently out of your reach? But there is no resisting the entreaties
+of your children, nor your wife's ready interest in their schemes, and
+you send for Pat Brannigan, and order a garden made. Of course, it is
+only for the children, but it is strange how readily a desire to please
+the little ones spreads into a broader benevolence. When you look over
+your wife's list of plants and seeds, you are surprised to find how many
+of them are perennials. "They will please the next tenants here," says
+your wife; "think how nice it would have been for us to find some
+flowers all already for us, when we came here!" This may possibly lead
+you to reflecting that there might have been something, after all, in
+your original idea of suppressing the gardening instinct.
+
+But there, after a while, is the garden--for these stories of suburban
+gardens where nothing grows, are all nonsense. True, the clematis and
+the moonflower obstinately refuse to clothe your cot with beauty; the
+tigridia bulbs rot in the ground, and your beautiful collection of
+irises produces a pitiful pennyworth of bloom to an intolerable quantity
+of leaves. But the petunias and the sweet-williams, and the balsams, and
+all the other ill-bred and obtrusive flowers leap promptly into life and
+vigor, and fight each other for the ownership of the beds. And the
+ever-faithful and friendly nasturtium comes early and stays late, and
+the limp morning-glory may always be counted upon to slouch familiarly
+over everything in sight, window-blinds preferred. But, bless you dear
+urban soul, what do _you_ know about the relative values of flowers?
+When Mrs. Overtheway brings your wife a bunch of her superbest gladioli,
+you complacently return the compliment with a half-bushel of magenta
+petunias, and you wonder that she does not show more enthusiasm over the
+gift.
+
+In fact, during the course of the summer you have grown so friendly with
+your garden that, as you wander about its tangled paths in the late fall
+days, you cannot help feeling a twinge of yearning pain that makes you
+tremble to think what weakness you might have been guilty of had you not
+already burned your bridges behind you, and told the house agent that
+nothing would induce you to renew the lease next spring. You remember
+how fully and carefully you explained to him your position in the
+matter. With a glow of modest pride you recall the fact that you stated
+your case to him so convincingly, that he had to agree with you that a
+city life was the only life you and your family could possibly lead. He
+understood fully how much you liked the place and the people, and how,
+if this were only so, and that were only the other way, you would
+certainly stay. And you feel if the house agent agrees with you against
+his own interest, you must be right in your decision. Ah, dear Modestus!
+You know little enough about flowers; but oh, how little, little, little
+you know about suburban house agents!
+
+Let us pass lightly over the third winter. It is a period of hesitation,
+perplexity, expectancy, and general awkwardness. You are, and you are
+not. You belong nowhere, and to no one. You have renounced your new
+allegiance, and you really do not know when, how, or at what point you
+are going to take up the old one again. And, in point of fact, you do
+not regard this particular prospect with feelings of complete
+satisfaction. You remember, with a troubled conscience, the long list of
+social connections which you have found it too troublesome to keep up at
+long range. I say you, for I am quite sure that Mrs. Modestus will
+certify me that it was You and not She, who first declared that it was
+practically impossible to keep on going to the Smith's dinners or the
+Brown's receptions. You don't know this, my dear Modestus, but I assure
+you that you may take it for granted. You remember also that your return
+must carry with it the suggestion of the ignominy of defeat, and you
+know exactly the tone of kindly contemptuous, mildly assumed superiority
+with which your friends will welcome you back. And the approaching
+severance of your newer ties troubles your mind in another way. Your new
+friends do not try to dissuade you from going (they are too wise in a
+suburban way for that), but they say, and show in a hundred ways, that
+they are sorry to think of losing you. And this forbearance, so
+different from what you have to expect at the other end of your moving,
+reproaches and pains while it touches your heart. These people were all
+strangers to you two years and a half ago; they are chance rather than
+chosen companions. And yet, in this brief space of time--filled with
+little neighborly offices, with faithful services and tender sympathies
+in hours of sickness, and perhaps of death, with simple, informal
+companionship--you have grown into a closer and heartier friendship with
+them than you have ever known before, save with the one or two old
+comrades with whose love your life is bound up. When you learned to
+leave your broad house-door open to the summer airs, you opened,
+unconsciously, another door; and these friends have entered in.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is a sunny Saturday afternoon in early April, but not exactly an
+April afternoon, rather one of those precocious days of delicious warmth
+and full, summer-like sunshine, that come to remind us that May and June
+are close behind the spring showers. You and Mrs. Modestus sit on the
+top step of your front veranda, just as you sat there on such a day,
+nearly three years ago. As on that day, you are talking of the future;
+but you are in a very different frame of mind to-day. In a few short
+weeks you will be adrift upon a sea of domestic uncertainty. For weeks
+you have visited the noisy city, hunting the proud and lofty mansion and
+the tortuous and humiliating flat, and it has all come to this--a
+steam-heated "family-hotel," until such time when you can find summer
+quarters; and then, with the fall, a new beginning of the weary search.
+And then--and then----
+
+Coming and going along the street, your friends and neighbors give you
+cheery greeting, to which you respond somewhat absent-mindedly. You can
+hear the voices of your children and their little neighbor-friends
+playing in the empty garden plot. Your talk flags. You do not know just
+what you are thinking about; still less do you know what your wife is
+thinking about--but you know that you wish the children would stop
+laughing, and that the people would stop going by and nodding
+pleasantly.
+
+And now comes one who does not go by. He turns in at the gate and walks
+up the gravel path. He smiles and bows at you as if the whole world were
+sunshine--a trim little figure, dressed with such artistic care that
+there is cheerfulness in the crease of his trousers and suavity in his
+very shirt-front. He greets Mrs. Modestus with a world of courtesy, and
+then he sits confidentially down by your side and says: "My dear sir, I
+am come to talk a little business with you."
+
+No, you will not talk business. Your mind is firmly made up. Nothing
+will induce you to renew the lease.
+
+"But, my dear sir," he says, with an enthusiasm that would be as
+boisterous as an ocean wave, if it had not so much oil on its surface:
+"I don't want you to renew the lease. I have a much better plan than
+that! I want you to _buy the house_!"
+
+And then he goes on to tell you all about it; how the estate must be
+closed up; how the house may be had for a song; and he names a figure so
+small that it gives you two separate mental shocks; first, to realize
+that it is within your means; second, to find that he is telling the
+truth.
+
+He goes on talking softly, suggestively, telling you what a bargain it
+is, telling you all the things you have put out of your mind for many
+months; telling you--telling you nothing, and well he knows it. Three
+years of life under that roof have done his pleading for him.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then your wife suddenly reaches out her hand and touches you furtively.
+
+"Oh, buy it," she whispers, huskily, "if you can." And then she gathers
+up her skirts and hurries into the house.
+
+Then a little later you are all in the library, and you have signed a
+little plain strip of paper, headed "Memorandum of Sale." And then you
+and the agent have drunk a glass of wine to bind the bargain, and then
+the agent is gone, and you and your wife are left standing there,
+looking at each other with misty eyes and questioning smiles, happy and
+yet doubtful if you have done right or wrong.
+
+But what does it matter, my dear Modestus?
+
+For you could not help yourselves.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Jersey Street and Jersey Lane, by H. C. Bunner
+
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