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diff --git a/31272.txt b/31272.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e5c902 --- /dev/null +++ b/31272.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7622 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Threads of Grey and Gold, by Myrtle Reed + +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: Threads of Grey and Gold + +Author: Myrtle Reed + +Illustrator: Clara M. Burd + +Release Date: February 14, 2010 [EBook #31272] +[Last updated: May 28, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREADS OF GREY AND GOLD *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + + + + + + + + THREADS OF GREY + AND GOLD + + BY + + MYRTLE REED + + Author of + + Lavender and Old Lace + The Master's Violin + Old Rose and Silver + A Weaver of Dreams + Flower of the Dusk + At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern + The Shadow of Victory + Etc. + + New York + + GROSSET & DUNLAP + + Publishers + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1902 + BY + MYRTLE REED + + + BY MYRTLE REED: + + A Weaver of Dreams Sonnets to a Lover + Old Rose and Silver Master of the Vineyard + Lavender and Old Lace Flower of the Dusk + The Master's Violin At the Sign of the Jack-O'Lantern + Love Letters of a Musician A Spinner in the Sun + The Spinster Book Later Love Letters of a Musician + The Shadow of Victory Love Affairs of Literary Men + Myrtle Reed Year Book + + This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers + G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON + + + + + [Illustration: GEORGE WASHINGTON AND MARTHA CURTIS. + From a drawing by Clara M. Burd. (Page 34)] + + + + + TO THE READERS OF + THE ROMANCES OF MYRTLE REED. + + +--A world-wide circle comprising probably not less than two million +sympathetic admirers-- + +This volume, which presents some of the writer's most typical +utterances--utterances characterised by the combination of wisdom, +humour, and sentiment that belongs to all the writings of the gifted +author, + + IS DEDICATED BY + THE EDITOR. + + CHICAGO, + _January, 1913._ + + + + +IN MEMORY OF A WEAVER OF DREAMS. + + +A tribute to Myrtle Reed in recognition of her beautiful and valuable +contributions to English literature. + + As the spinner of silk weaves his sunbeams of gold, + Blending sunset and dawn in its silvery fold, + So she wove in the woof of her wonderful words + The soft shimmer of sunshine and music of birds. + With the radiance of moonlight and perfume of flowers, + She lent charm to the springtime and gladdened the hours. + + She spoke cheer to the suffering, joy to the sad; + She gave rest to the weary, made the sorrowful glad. + The sweet touch of her sympathy soothed every pain, + And her words in the drouth were like showers of rain. + For she lovingly poured out her blessings in streams + As a fountain of waters--a weaver of dreams. + + Her bright smiles were bejewelled, her tears were empearled, + And her thoughts were as stars giving light to the world; + Her fond dreams were the gems that were woven in gold, + And the fabric she wrought was of value untold. + Every colour of beauty was radiantly bright, + Blending faith, hope, and love in its opaline light. + + And she wove in her woof the great wealth of her heart, + For the cord of her life gave the life to each part; + And the beauty she wrought, which gave life to the whole, + Was her spirit made real--she gave of her soul. + So the World built a temple--a glorious shrine-- + A Taj Mahal of love to the woman divine. + + ADDISON BLAKELY. + + + + +Editorial note + + +The Editor desires to make grateful acknowledgment to the editors and +publishers of the several periodicals in which the papers contained in +this volume were first brought into print, for their friendly courtesy +in permitting the collection of these papers for preservation in book +form. + + CHICAGO, + _January, 1913_. + + + + +Contents + + + PAGE + + HOW THE WORLD WATCHES THE NEW + YEAR COME IN 3 + THE TWO YEARS. (Poem) 23 + THE COURTSHIP OF GEORGE + WASHINGTON 26 + THE OLD AND THE NEW. (Poem) 44 + THE LOVE STORY OF "THE SAGE OF + MONTICELLO" 46 + COLUMBIA. (Poem) 59 + STORY OF A DAUGHTER'S LOVE 60 + THE SEA VOICE. (Poem) 75 + MYSTERY OF RANDOLPH'S COURTSHIP 77 + HOW PRESIDENT JACKSON WON HIS + WIFE 91 + THE BACHELOR PRESIDENT'S LOYALTY + TO A MEMORY 105 + DECORATION DAY. (Poem) 118 + ROMANCE OF LINCOLN'S LIFE 119 + SILENT THANKSGIVING. (Poem) 135 + IN THE FLASH OF A JEWEL 137 + THE COMING OF MY SHIP. (Poem) 156 + ROMANCE AND THE POSTMAN 158 + A SUMMER REVERIE. (Poem) 171 + A VIGNETTE 172 + MEDITATION. (Poem) 175 + POINTERS FOR THE LORDS OF CREATION 176 + TRANSITION. (Poem) 187 + THE SUPERIORITY OF MAN 189 + THE YEAR OF MY HEART. (Poem) 196 + THE AVERAGE MAN 197 + THE BOOK OF LOVE. (Poem) 202 + THE IDEAL MAN 204 + GOOD-NIGHT, SWEETHEART. (Poem) 209 + THE IDEAL WOMAN 211 + SHE IS NOT FAIR. (Poem) 220 + THE FIN-DE SIECLE WOMAN 222 + THE MOON MAIDEN. (Poem) 229 + HER SON'S WIFE 230 + A LULLABY. (Poem) 247 + THE DRESSING-SACK HABIT 248 + IN THE MEADOW. (Poem) 259 + ONE WOMAN'S SOLUTION OF THE + SERVANT PROBLEM 260 + TO A VIOLIN. (Poem) 283 + THE OLD MAID 284 + THE SPINSTER'S RUBAIYAT. (Poem) 291 + THE RIGHTS OF DOGS 293 + TWILIGHT. (Poem) 298 + WOMEN'S CLOTHES IN MEN'S BOOKS 299 + MAIDENS OF THE SEA. (Poem) 320 + TECHNIQUE OF THE SHORT STORY 321 + TO DOROTHY. (Poem) 333 + WRITING A BOOK 334 + THE MAN BEHIND THE GUN. (Poem) 355 + QUAINT OLD CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS 357 + CONSECRATION. (Poem) 371 + + + + + How the World Watches the + New Year Come In + + +The proverbial "good resolutions" of the first of January which are +usually forgotten the next day, the watch services in the churches, +and the tin horns in the city streets, are about the only formalities +connected with the American New Year. The Pilgrim fathers took no note +of the day, save in this prosaic record: "We went to work betimes"; +but one Judge Sewall writes with no small pride of the blast of +trumpets which was sounded under his window, on the morning of January +1st, 1697. + +He celebrated the opening of the eighteenth century with a very bad +poem which he wrote himself, and he hired the bellman to recite the +poem loudly through the streets of the town of Boston; but happily +for a public, even now too much wearied with minor poets, the custom +did not become general. + +In Scotland and the North of England the New Year festivities are of +great importance. Weeks before hand, the village boys, with great +secrecy, meet in out of the way places and rehearse their favourite +songs and ballads. As the time draws near, they don improvised masks +and go about from door to door, singing and cutting many quaint +capers. The thirty-first of December is called "Hogmanay," and the +children are told that if they go to the corner, they will see a man +with as many eyes as the year has days. The children of the poorer +classes go from house to house in the better districts, with a large +pocket fastened to their dresses, or a large shawl with a fold in +front. + +Each one receives an oaten cake, a piece of cheese, or sometimes a +sweet cake, and goes home at night heavily laden with a good supply of +homely New Year cheer for the rest of the family. + +The Scottish elders celebrate the day with a supper party, and as the +clock strikes twelve, friend greets friend and wishes him "a gude New +Year and mony o' them." + +Then with great formality the door is unbarred to let the Old Year out +and the New Year in, while all the guests sally forth into the streets +to "first foot" their acquaintances. + +The "first foot" is the first person to enter a house after midnight +of December 31st. If he is a dark man, it is considered an omen of +good fortune. Women generally are thought to bring ill luck, and +in some parts of England a light-haired man, or a light-haired, +flat-footed man is preferred. In Durham, this person must bring a +piece of coal, a piece of iron, and a bottle of whiskey. He gives +a glass of whiskey to each man and kisses each woman. + +In Edinburgh, a great crowd gathers around the church in Hunter Square +and anxiously watches the clock. There is absolute silence from the +first stroke of twelve until the last, then the elders go to bed, but +the young folks have other business on hand. Each girl expects the +"first foot" from her sweetheart and there is occasionally much +stratagem displayed in outwitting him and arranging to have some +grandmother or serving maid open the door for him. + +During the last century, all work was laid aside on the afternoon of +the thirty-first, and the men of the hamlet went to the woods and +brought home a lot of juniper bushes. Each household also procured a +pitcher of water from "the dead and living ford," meaning a ford in +the river by which passengers and funerals crossed. This was brought +in perfect silence and was not allowed to touch the ground in its +progress as contact with the earth would have destroyed the charm. + +The next morning, there were rites to protect the household against +witchcraft, the evil eye, and other machinations of his satanic +majesty. The father rose first, and, taking the charmed water and a +brush, treated the whole family to a generous sprinkling, which was +usually acknowledged with anything but gratitude. + +Then all the doors and windows were closed, and the juniper boughs put +on the fire. When the smoke reached a suffocating point, the fresh air +was admitted. The cattle were fumigated in the same way and the +painful solemnities of the morning were over. + +The Scots on the first of the year consult the Bible before breakfast. +They open it at random and lay a finger on a verse which is supposed +to be, in some way, an augury for the coming year. If a lamp or a +candle is taken out of the house on that day, some one will die during +the year, and on New Year's day a Scotchman will neither lend, borrow +nor give anything whatsoever out of his house, for fear his luck may +go with it, and for the same reason the floor must not be swept. Even +ashes or dirty water must not be thrown out until the next day, and if +the fire goes out it is a sign of death. + +The ancient Druids distributed among the early Britons branches of the +sacred mistletoe, which had been cut with solemn ceremony in the night +from the oak trees in a forest that had been dedicated to the gods. + +Among the ancient Saxons, the New Year was ushered in with friendly +gifts, and all fighting ceased for three days. + +In Banffshire the peat fires are covered with ashes and smoothed down. +In the morning they are examined closely, and if anything resembling a +human footprint is found in the ashes, it is taken as an omen. If the +footprint points towards the door, one of the family will die or leave +home during the year. If they point inward, a child will be born +within the year. + +In some parts of rural England, the village maidens go from door to +door with a bowl of wassail, made of ale, roasted apples, squares of +toast, nutmeg, and sugar. The bowl is elaborately decorated with +evergreen and ribbons, and as they go they sing: + + "Wassail, wassail to our town, + The cup is white and the ale is brown, + The cup is made of the ashen tree, + And so is the ale of the good barley. + + "Little maid, little maid, turn the pin, + Open the door and let us in; + God be there, God be here; + I wish you all a Happy New Year." + +In Yorkshire, the young men assemble at midnight on the thirty-first, +blacken their faces, disguise themselves in other ways, then pass +through the village with pieces of chalk. They write the date of the +New Year on gates, doors, shutters, and wagons. It is considered lucky +to have one's property so marked and the revellers are never +disturbed. + +On New Year's Day, Henry VI received gifts of jewels, geese, turkeys, +hens, and sweetmeats. "Good Queen Bess" was fairly overwhelmed with +tokens of affection from her subjects. One New Year's morning, she was +presented with caskets studded with gems, necklaces, bracelets, gowns, +mantles, mirrors, fans, and a wonderful pair of black silk stockings, +which pleased her so much that she never afterward wore any other +kind. + +Among the Romans, after the reformation of the calendar, the first +day, and even the whole month, was dedicated to the worship of the god +Janus. He was represented as having two faces, and looking two +ways--into the past and into the future. In January they offered +sacrifices to Janus upon two altars, and on the first day of the month +they were careful to regulate their speech and conduct, thinking it an +augury for the coming year. + +New Year's gifts and cards originated in Rome, and there is a record +of an amusing lawsuit which grew out of the custom. A poet was +commissioned by a Roman pastry-cook to write the mottoes for the New +Year day bonbons. He agreed to supply five hundred couplets for six +sesterces, and though the poor poet toiled faithfully and the mottoes +were used, the money was not forthcoming. He sued the pastry-cook, and +got a verdict, but the cook regarded himself as the injured party. +Crackers were not then invented, but we still have the mottoes--those +queer heart-shaped things which were the delight of our school-days. + +The Persians remember the day with gifts of eggs--literally a "lay +out!" + +In rural Russia, the day begins as a children's holiday. The village +boys get up at sunrise and fill their pockets with peas and wheat. +They go from house to house and as the doors are never locked, +entrance is easy. They throw the peas upon their enemies and sprinkle +the wheat softly upon their sleeping friends. + +After breakfast, the finest horse in the little town is decorated with +evergreens and berries and led to the house of the greatest nobleman, +followed by the pea and wheat shooters of the early morning. The lord +admits both horse and people to his house, where the whole family is +gathered, and the children of his household make presents of small +pieces of silver money to those who come with the horse. This is the +greeting of the peasants to their lord and master. + +Next comes a procession of domestic animals, an ox, cow, goat, and +pig, all decorated with evergreens and berries. These do not enter the +house but pass slowly up and down outside, that the master and his +family may see. Then the old women of the village bring barnyard fowls +to the master as presents, and these are left in the house which the +horse has only recently vacated. Even the chickens are decorated with +strings of berries around their necks and bits of evergreen fastened +to their tails. + +The Russians have also a ceremony which is more agreeable. On each New +Year's Day, a pile of sheaves is heaped up over a large pile of grain, +and the father, after seating himself behind it, asks the children if +they can see him. They say they cannot, and he replies that he hopes +the crops for the coming year will be so fine that he will be hidden +in the fields. + +In the cities there is a grand celebration of mass in the morning and +the rest of the day is devoted to congratulatory visits. Good wishes +which cannot be expressed in person are put into the newspapers in the +form of advertisements, and in military and official circles +ceremonial visits are paid. + +The Russians are very fond of fortune-telling, and on New Year's eve +the young ladies send their servants into the street to ask the names +of the first person they meet, and many a bashful lover has hastened +his suit by taking good care to be the first one who is met by the +servant of his lady love. At midnight, each member of the family +salutes every other member with a kiss, beginning with the head of the +house, and then they retire, after gravely wishing each other a Happy +New Year. + +Except that picturesque rake, Leopold of Belgium, every monarch of +Europe has for many years begun the New Year with a solemn appeal to +the Almighty, for strength, guidance, and blessing. + +The children in Belgium spend the day in trying to secure a "sugar +uncle" or a "sugar aunt." The day before New Year, they gather up all +the keys of the household and divide them. The unhappy mortal who is +caught napping finds himself in a locked room, from which he is not +released until a ransom is offered. This is usually money for sweets +and is divided among the captors. + +In France, no one pays much attention to Christmas, but New Year's day +is a great festival and presents are freely exchanged. The President +of France also holds a reception somewhat similar to, and possibly +copied from, that which takes place in the White House. + +In Germany, complimentary visits are exchanged between the merest +acquaintances, and New Year's gifts are made to the servants. The +night of the thirty-first is called _Sylvester Aben_ and while many of +the young people dance, the day in more serious households takes on a +religious aspect. During the evening, there is prayer at the family +altar, and at midnight the watchman on the church tower blows his +horn to announce the birth of the New Year. + +At Frankfort-on-the-Main a very pretty custom is observed. On New +Year's eve the whole city keeps a festival with songs, feasting, +games, and family parties in every house. When the great bell in the +cathedral tolls the first stroke of midnight, every house opens wide +its windows. People lean from the casements, glass in hand, and from a +hundred thousand throats comes the cry: "_Prosit Neujahr!_" At the +last stroke, the windows are closed and a midnight hush descends upon +the city. + +The hospitable Norwegians and Swedes spread their tables heavily; for +all who may come in at Stockholm there is a grand banquet at the +Exchange, where the king meets his people in truly democratic fashion. + +The Danes greet the New Year with a tremendous volley of cannon, and +at midnight old Copenhagen is shaken to its very foundations. It is +considered a delicate compliment to fire guns and pistols under the +bedroom windows of one's friends at dawn of the new morning. + +The dwellers in Cape Town, South Africa, are an exception to the +general custom of English colonists, and after the manner of the early +Dutch settlers they celebrate the New Year during the entire week. +Every house is full of visitors, every man, woman, and child is +dressed in gay garments, and no one has any business except pleasure. +There are picnics to Table Mountain, and pleasure excursions in boats, +with a dance every evening. At the end of the week, everybody settles +down and the usual routine of life is resumed. + +In the Indian Empire, the day which corresponds to our New Year is +called "Hooly" and is a feast in honour of the god Krishna. Caste +temporarily loses ground and the prevailing colour is red. Every one +who can afford it wears red garments, red powder is thrown as if it +were _confetti_, and streams of red water are thrown upon the +passers-by. It is all taken in good part, however, as snowballing is +with us. + +Even "farthest North," where the nights are six months long, there is +recognition of the New Year. The Esquimaux come out of their snow huts +and ice caves in pairs, one of each pair being dressed in women's +clothes. They gain entrance into every _igloo_ in the village, moving +silently and mysteriously. At last there is not a light left in the +place, and having extinguished every fire they can find, they kindle a +fresh one, going through in the meantime solemn ceremonies. From this +one source, all the fires and lights in the district are kindled anew. + +One wonders if there may not be some fear in the breasts of these +Children of the North, when for an instant they stand in the vastness +of the midnight, utterly without fire or light. + +The most wonderful ceremonies connected with the New Year take place +in China and Japan. In these countries and in Corea the birth of the +year is considered the birthday of the whole community. When a child +is born he is supposed to be a year old, and he remains thus until the +changing seasons bring the annual birthday of the whole Mongolian +race, when another year is credited to his account. + +In the Chinese quarter of the large cities, the New Year celebrations +are dreaded by the police, since where there is so much revelry there +is sure to be trouble. In the native country, the rejoicings absorb +fully a month, during the first part of which no hunger is allowed to +exist within the Empire. + +The refreshments are light in kind--peanuts, watermelon seeds, +sweetmeats, oranges, tea and cakes. Presents of food are given to the +poor, and "brilliant cakes," supposed to help the children in their +studies, are distributed from the temples. + +The poor little Chinamen must sadly need some assistance, in view of +the fact that every word in their language has a distinct root, and +their alphabet contains over twenty thousand letters. + +At an early hour on New Year's morning, which according to their +calendar comes between the twenty-first of January and the nineteenth +of February, they propitiate heaven and earth with offerings of rice, +vegetables, tea, wine, oranges, and imitation of paper money which +they burn with incense, joss-sticks, and candles. + +Strips of scarlet paper, bearing mottoes, which look like Chinese +laundry checks, are pasted around and over doors and windows. Blue +strips among the red, mean that a death has occurred in the family +since the last celebration. + +New Year's calls are much in vogue in China, where every denizen of +the Empire pays a visit to each of his superiors, and receives them +from all of his inferiors. Sometimes cards are sent, and, as with us, +this takes the place of a call. + +Images of gods are carried in procession to the beating of a deafening +gong, and mandarins go by hundreds to the Emperor and the Dowager +Empress, with congratulatory addresses. Their robes are gorgeously +embroidered and are sometimes heavy with gold. After this, they +worship their household gods. + +Illuminations and fireworks make the streets gorgeous at night, and a +monstrous Chinese dragon, spouting flame, is drawn through the +streets. + +People salute each other with cries of "Kung-hi! Kung-hi!" meaning I +humbly wish you joy, or "Sin-hi! Sin-hi!" May joy be yours. + +Many amusements in the way of theatricals and illumination are +provided for the public. + +In both China and Japan, all debts must be paid and all grudges +settled before the opening of the New Year. Every one is supposed to +have new clothes for the occasion, and those who cannot obtain them +remain hidden in their houses. + +In Japan, the conventional New Year costume is light blue cotton, and +every one starts out to make calls. Letters on rice paper are sent to +those in distant places, conveying appropriate greetings. + +The Japanese also go to their favourite tea gardens where bands play, +and wax figures are sold. Presents of cooked rice and roasted peas, +oranges, and figs are offered to every one. The peas are scattered +about the houses to frighten away the evil spirits, and on the +fourth day of the New Year, the decorations of lobster, signifying +reproduction, cabbages indicating riches, and oranges, meaning good +luck, are taken down and replaced with boughs of fruit trees and +flowers. + +Strange indeed is the country in which the milestones of Time pass +unheeded. In spite of all the mirth and feasting, there is an +undercurrent of sadness which has been most fitly expressed by Charles +Lamb: + + "Of all the sounds, the most solemn and touching is the peal + which rings out the old year. I never hear it without + gathering up in my mind a concentration of all the images + that have been diffused over the past twelve months; all + that I have done or suffered, performed, or neglected, in + that regretted time. I begin to know its worth as when a + person dies. It takes a personal colour, nor was it a + poetical flight in a contemporary, when he exclaimed: 'I saw + the skirts of the departing year!'" + + + + +The Two Years + + + Tread softly, ye throngs with hurrying feet, + Look down, O ye stars, in your flight, + And bid ye farewell to a time that was sweet, + For the year lies a-dying to-night. + + In a shroud of pure snow lie the quickly-fled hours-- + The children of Time and of Light; + Stoop down, ye fair moon, and scatter sweet flowers, + For the year lies a-dying to-night. + + Hush, O ye rivers that sweep to the sea, + From hill and from blue mountain height; + The flood of your song should be sorrow, not glee, + For the year lies a-dying to-night. + + Good night, and good-bye, dear, mellow, old year, + The new is beginning to dawn. + But we'll turn and drop on thy white grave a tear, + For the sake of the friend that is gone. + + All hail to the New! He is coming with gladness, + From the East, where in light he reposes; + He is bringing a year free from pain and from sadness, + He is bringing a June with her roses. + + A burst of sweet music, the listeners hear, + The stars and the angels give warning-- + He is coming in beauty, this joyful New Year, + O'er the flower-strewn stairs of the morning. + + He is bringing a day with glad pulses beating, + For the sorrow and passion are gone, + And Love and Life have a rapturous meeting + In the rush and the gladness of dawn. + + The Old has gone out with a crown that is hoary, + The New in his brightness draws near; + Then let us look up in the light and the glory, + And welcome this royal New Year. + + + + + The Courtship of George + Washington + + +The quaint old steel engraving which shows George and Martha +Washington sitting by a table, while the Custis children stand +dutifully by, is a familiar picture in many households, yet few of us +remember that the first Lady of the White House was not always first +in the heart of her husband. + +The years have brought us, as a people, a growing reverence for him +who was in truth the "Father of His Country." Time has invested him +with godlike attributes, yet, none the less, he was a man among men, +and the hot blood of youth ran tumultuously in his veins. + +At the age of fifteen, like many another schoolboy, Washington +fell in love. The man who was destined to be the Commander of the +Revolutionary Army, wandered through the shady groves of Mount Vernon +composing verses which, from a critical standpoint, were very bad. +Scraps of verse were later mingled with notes of surveys, and +interspersed with the accounts which that methodical statesman kept +from his school-days until the year of his death. + +In the archives of the Capitol on a yellowed page, in Washington's own +handwriting, these lines are still to be read: + + "Oh, Ye Gods, why should my Poor Resistless Heart + Stand to oppose thy might and Power, + At last surrender to Cupid's feather'd Dart, + And now lays bleeding every Hour + For her that's Pityless of my grief and Woes, + And will not on me, pity take. + I'll sleep amongst my most inveterate Foes, + And with gladness never wish to wake. + In deluding sleepings let my Eyelids close, + That in an enraptured Dream I may + In a soft lulling sleep and gentle repose + Possess those joys denied by Day." + +Among these boyish fragments there is also an incomplete acrostic, +evidently intended for Miss Frances Alexander, which reads as follows: + + "From your bright sparkling Eyes I was undone; + Rays, you have, rays more transparent than the Sun + Amidst its glory in the rising Day; + None can you equal in your bright array; + Constant in your calm, unspotted Mind; + Equal to all, but will to none Prove kind, + So knowing, seldom one so young you'll Find. + + "Ah, woe's me that I should Love and conceal-- + Long have I wished, but never dare reveal, + Even though severely Love's Pains I feel; + Xerxes that great wast not free from Cupid's Dart, + And all the greatest Heroes felt the smart." + +He wrote at length to several of his friends concerning his youthful +passions. In the tell-tale pages of the diary, for 1748, there is this +draft of a letter: + + "DEAR FRIEND ROBIN: My place of Residence is at present at + His Lordship's where I might, was my heart disengag'd, pass + my time very pleasantly, as there's a very agreeable Young + Lady Lives in the same house (Col. George Fairfax's Wife's + Sister); but as that's only adding fuel to fire, it makes me + the more uneasy, for by often and unavoidably being, in + Company with her revives my former Passion for your Lowland + Beauty; whereas was I to live more retired from young Women + I might in some measure aliviate my sorrows by burying that + chaste and troublesome Passion in the grave of oblivion or + eternal forgetfulness, for as I am very well assured, that's + the only antidote or remedy, that I shall be relieved by, as + I am well convinced, was I ever to ask any question, I + should only get a denial which would be adding grief to + uneasiness." + +The "Lowland Beauty" was Miss Mary Bland. Tradition does not say +whether or not she ever knew of Washington's admiration, but she +married Henry Lee. + +"Light Horse Harry," that daring master of cavalry of Revolutionary +fame, was the son of the "Lowland Beauty," and some tender memories of +the mother may have been mingled with Washington's fondness for the +young soldier. It was "Light Horse Harry" also, who said of the +Commander-in-Chief that he was "first in war, first in peace, and +first in the hearts of his countrymen!" + +By another trick of fate the grandson of the "Lowland Beauty" was Gen. +Robert E. Lee. Who can say what momentous changes might have been +wrought in history had Washington married his first love? + +Miss Gary, the sister of Mrs. Fairfax, was the "agreeable young lady" +of whom he speaks. After a time her charm seems to have partially +mitigated the pain he felt over the loss of her predecessor in his +affections. Later he writes of a Miss Betsey Fauntleroy, saying that +he is soon to see her, and that he "hopes for a revocation of her +former cruel sentence." + +When Braddock's defeat brought the soldier again to Mount Vernon, to +rest from the fatigues of the campaign, there is abundant evidence to +prove that he had become a personage in the eyes of women. For +instance, Lord Fairfax writes to him, saying: + + "If a Satterday Night's Rest cannot be sufficient to enable + your coming hither to-morrow the Lady's will try to get + Horses to equip our Chair or attempt their strength on Foot + to Salute you, so desirious are they with loving Speed + to have an occular Demonstration of your being the same + identical Gent--that lately departed to defend his Country's + Cause." + +A very feminine postscript was attached to this which read as follows: + + "DEAR SIR + + "After thanking Heaven for your safe return, I must accuse + you of great unkindness in refusing us the pleasure of + seeing you this night. I do assure you nothing but our being + satisfied that our company would be disagreeable, should + prevent us from trying if our Legs would not carry us to + Mount Vernon this night, but if you will not come to us, + to-morrow morning very early we shall be at Mount Vernon. + + "SALLY FAIRFAX + ANN SPEARING + ELIZ'TH DENT" + +Yet, in spite of the attractions of Virginia we find him journeying to +Boston, on military business, by way of New York. + +The hero of Braddock's stricken field found every door open before +him. He was feted in Philadelphia, and the aristocrats of Manhattan +gave dinners in honour of the strapping young soldier from the wilds +of Virginia. + +At the house of his friend, Beverly Robinson, he met Miss Mary +Philipse, and speedily surrendered. She was a beautiful, cultured +woman, twenty-five years old, who had travelled widely and had seen +much of the world. He promptly proposed to her, and was refused, but +with exquisite grace and tact. + +Graver affairs however soon claimed his attention, and he did not go +back, though a friend wrote to him that Lieutenant-Colonel Morris was +besieging the citadel. She married Morris, and their house in +Morristown became Washington's headquarters, in 1776--again, how +history might have been changed had Mary Philipse married her Virginia +lover! + +In the spring of 1758, Washington met his fate. He was riding on +horseback from Mount Vernon to Williamsburg with important despatches. +In crossing a ford of the Pamunkey he fell in with a Mr. Chamberlayne, +who lived in the neighbourhood. With true Virginian hospitality he +prevailed upon Washington to take dinner at his house, making the +arrangement with much difficulty, however, since the soldier was +impatient to get to Williamsburg. + +Once inside the colonial house, whose hospitable halls breathed +welcome, his impatience, and the errand itself, were almost forgotten. +A negro servant led his horse up and down the gravelled walk in front +of the house; the servant grew tired, the horse pawed and sniffed with +impatience, but Washington lingered. + +A petite hazel-eyed woman--she who was once Patsy Dandridge, but then +the widow of Daniel Parke Custis--was delaying important affairs. At +night-fall the distracted warrior remembered his mission, and made a +hasty adieu. Mr. Chamberlayne, meeting him at the door, laid a +restraining hand upon his arm. "No guest ever leaves my house after +sunset," he said. + +The horse was put up, the servant released from duty, and Washington +remained until the next morning, when, with new happiness in his +heart, he dashed on to Williamsburg. + +We may well fancy that her image was before him all the way. She had +worn a gown of white dimity, with a cluster of Mayblossoms at her +belt, and a little white widow's cap half covered her soft brown hair. + +She was twenty-six, some three months younger than Washington; she +had wealth, and two children. Mr. Custis had been older than his +Patsy, for she was married when she was but seventeen. He had been a +faithful and affectionate husband, but he had not appealed to her +imagination, and it was doubtless through her imagination, that the +big Virginia Colonel won her heart. + +She left Mr. Chamberlayne's and went to her home--the "White +House"--near William's Ferry. The story is that when Washington came +from Williamsburg, he was met at the ferry by one of Mrs. Custis's +slaves. "Is your mistress at home?" he inquired of the negro who was +rowing him across the river. + +"Yes, sah," replied the darkey, then added slyly, "I recon you am de +man what am expected." + +It was late in the afternoon of the next day when Washington took his +departure, but he had her promise and was happy. A ring was ordered +from Philadelphia, and is duly set down in his accounts: "One +engagement ring, two pounds, sixteen shillings." + +Then came weary months of service in the field, and they saw each +other only four times before they were married. There were doubtless +frequent letters, but only one of them remains. It is the letter of a +soldier: + + "We have begun our march for the Ohio, [he wrote]. A courier + is starting for Williamsburg, and I embrace the opportunity + to send a few words to one whose life is now inseparable + from mine. + + "Since that happy hour, when we made our pledges to each + other, my thoughts have been continually going to you as to + another self. That an All-powerful Providence may keep us + both in safety is the prayer of your ever faithful and + affectionate Friend, + + "G. WASHINGTON + + "20th of July + Mrs. Martha Custis." + +On the sixth of the following January they were married in the little +church of St. Peter. Once again Dr. Mossum, in full canonicals, +married "Patsy" Dandridge to the man of her choice. The bridegroom +wore a blue cloth coat lined with red silk and ornamented with silver +trimmings. His vest was embroidered white satin, his shoe- and +knee-buckles were of solid gold, his hair was powdered, and a dress +sword hung at his side. + +The bride was attired in heavy brocaded white silk inwoven with a +silver thread. She wore a white satin quilted petticoat with heavy +corded white silk over-skirt, and high-heeled shoes of white satin +with buckles of brilliants. She had ruffles of rich point lace, pearl +necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, and was attended by three +bridesmaids. + +The aristocracy of Virginia was out in full force. One of the +most imposing figures was Bishop, the negro servant, who had led +Washington's horse up and down the gravelled path in front of Mr. +Chamberlayne's door while the master lingered within. He was in the +scarlet uniform of King George's army, booted and spurred, and he held +the bridle rein of the chestnut charger that was forced to wait while +his rider made love. + +On leaving the church, the bride and her maids rode back to the "White +House" in a coach drawn by six horses, and guided by black post-boys +in livery, while Colonel Washington, on his magnificent horse, and +attended by a brilliant company, rode by her side. + +There was no seer to predict that some time the little lady in white +satin, brocade silk, and rich laces, would spend long hours knitting +stockings for her husband's army, and that night after night would +find her, in a long grey cloak, at the side of the wounded, hearing +from stiffening lips the husky whisper, "God bless you, Lady +Washington!" + +All through the troublous times that followed, Washington was the +lover as well as the husband. He took a father's place with the little +children, treating them with affection, but never swerving from the +path of justice. With the fondness of a lover, he ordered fine clothes +for his wife from London. + +After his death, Mrs. Washington destroyed all of his letters. There +is only one of them to be found which was written after their +marriage. It is in an old book, printed in New York in 1796, when the +narrow streets around the tall spire of Trinity were the centre of +social life, and the busy hum of Wall Street was not to be heard for +fifty years! + +One may fancy a stately Knickerbocker stopping at a little bookstall +where the dizzy heights of the Empire Building now rise, or down near +the Battery, untroubled by the white cliff called "The Bowling Green," +and asking pompously enough, for the _Epistles; Domestic, +Confidential, and Official, from General Washington_. + +The pages are yellowed with age, and the "f" used in the place of the +"s", as well as the queer orthography and capitalisation, look strange +to twentieth-century eyes, but on page 56 the lover-husband pleads +with his lady in a way that we can well understand. + +The letter is dated "June 24, 1776," and in part is as follows: + + "MY DEAREST LIFE AND LOVE:-- + + "You have hurt me, I know not how much, by the insinuation + in your last, that my letters to you have been less frequent + because I have felt less concern for you. + + "The suspicion is most unjust; may I not add, is most + unkind. Have we lived, now almost a score of years, in the + closest and dearest conjugal intimacy to so little purpose, + that on the appearance only, of inattention to you, and + which you might have accounted for in a thousand ways more + natural and more probable, you should pitch upon that single + motive which is alone injurious to me? + + "I have not, I own, wrote so often to you as I wished and as + I ought. + + "But think of my situation, and then ask your heart if I be + _without excuse_? + + "We are not, my dearest, in circumstances the most favorable + to our happiness; but let us not, I beseech of you, make + them worse by indulging suspicions and apprehensions which + minds in distress are apt to give way to. + + "I never was, as you have often told me, even in my better + and more disengaged days, so attentive to the little + punctillios of friendship, as it may be, became me; but my + heart tells me, there never was a moment in my life, since I + first knew you, in which it did not cleave and cling to you + with the warmest affection; and it must cease to beat ere it + can cease to wish for your happiness, above anything on + earth. + + "Your faithful and tender husband, G. W." + +"'Seventy-six!" The words bring a thrill even now, yet, in the midst +of those stirring times, not a fortnight before the Declaration was +signed, and after twenty years of marriage, he could write her like +this. Even his reproaches are gentle, and filled with great +tenderness. + +And so it went on, through the Revolution and through the stormy days +in which the Republic was born. There were long and inevitable +separations, yet a part of the time she was with him, doing her duty +as a soldier's wife, and sternly refusing to wear garments which were +not woven in American looms. + +During the many years they lived at Mount Vernon, they attended divine +service at Christ Church, Alexandria, Virginia, one of the quaint +little landmarks of the town which is still standing. For a number of +years he was a vestryman of the church, and the pew occupied by him is +visited yearly by thousands of tourists while sight-seeing in the +national Capitol. Indeed all the churches, so far as known, in which +he once worshipped, have preserved his pew intact, while there are +hundreds of tablets, statues, and monuments throughout the country. + +In the magnificent monument at Washington, rising to a height of more +than 555 feet, the various States of the Union have placed stone +replicas of their State seals, and these, with other symbolic devices, +constitute the inscriptions upon one hundred and seventy-nine of these +memorial stones. Not only this, but Europe and Asia, China and Japan +have honoured themselves by erecting memorials to the great American. + +When at last his long years of service for his country were ended, he +and his beloved wife returned again to their beautiful home at Mount +Vernon, to wait for the night together. The whole world knows how the +end came, with her loving ministrations to the very last of the three +restful years which they at this time spent together at the old home, +and how he looked Death bravely in the face, as became a soldier and a +Christian. + + + + +The Old and the New + + + Grandmother sat at her spinning wheel + In the dust of the long ago, + And listened, with scarlet dyeing her cheeks, + For the step she had learned to know. + A courtly lover, was he who came, + With frill and ruffle and curl-- + They dressed so queerly in the days + When grandmother was a girl! + + "Knickerbockers" they called them then, + When they spoke of the things at all-- + Grandfather wore them, buckled and trim, + When he sallied forth to call. + Grandmother's eyes were youthful then-- + His "guiding stars," he said; + While she demurely watched her wheel + And spun with a shining thread. + + Frill, and ruffle, and curl are gone, + But the "knickers" are with us still-- + And so is love and the spinning wheel, + But we ride it now--if you will! + In grandfather's "knickers" I sit and watch + For the gleam of a lamp afar; + And my heart still turns, as theirs, methinks, + To my wheel and my guiding star. + + + + + The Love Story of the "Sage of + Monticello" + + +American history holds no more beautiful love-story than that of +Thomas Jefferson, third President of the United States, and author of +the Declaration of Independence. It is a tale of single-hearted, +unswerving devotion, worthy of this illustrious statesman. His love +for his wife was not the first outpouring of his nature, but it was +the strongest and best--the love, not of the boy, but of the man. + +Jefferson was not particularly handsome as a young man, for he was +red-haired, awkward, and knew not what to do with his hands, though he +played the violin passably well. But his friend, Patrick Henry, suave, +tactful and popular, exerted himself to improve Jefferson's manners +and fit him for general society, attaining at last very pleasing +results, although there was a certain roughness in his nature, shown +in his correspondence, which no amount of polishing seemed able to +overcome. + +John Page was Jefferson's closest friend, and to him he wrote very +fully concerning the state of his mind and heart, and with a certain +quaint, uncouth humour, which to this day is irresistible. + +For instance, at Fairfield, Christmas day, 1762, he wrote to his +friend as follows: + + "DEAR PAGE + + "This very day, to others the day of greatest mirth and + jolity, sees me overwhelmed with more and greater + misfortunes than have befallen a descendant of Adam for + these thousand years past, I am sure; and perhaps, after + excepting Job, since the creation of the world. + + "You must know, Dear Page, that I am now in a house + surrounded by enemies, who take counsel together against my + soul; and when I lay me down to rest, they say among + themselves, 'Come let us destroy him.' + + "I am sure if there is such a thing as a Devil in this + world, he must have been here last night, and have had some + hand in what happened to me. Do you think the cursed rats + (at his instigation I suppose) did not eat up my pocket + book, which was in my pocket, within an inch of my head? And + not contented with plenty for the present, they carried away + my gemmy worked silk garters, and half a dozen new minuets I + had just got, to serve, I suppose, as provision for the + winter. + + "You know it rained last night, or if you do not know it, I + am sure I do. When I went to bed I laid my watch in the + usual place, and going to take her up after I arose this + morning, I found her in the same place, it is true, but all + afloat in water, let in at a leak in the roof of the house, + and as silent, and as still as the rats that had eaten my + pocket book. + + "Now, you know if chance had anything to do in this matter, + there were a thousand other spots where it might have + chanced to leak as well as this one which was + perpendicularly over my watch. But I'll tell you, it's my + opinion that the Devil came and bored the hole over it on + purpose. + + "Well, as I was saying, my poor watch had lost her speech. I + would not have cared much for this, but something worse + attended it--the subtle particles of water with which the + case was filled had, by their penetration, so overcome the + cohesion of the particles of the paper, of which my dear + picture, and watch patch paper, were composed, that in + attempting to take them out to dry them, my cursed fingers + gave them such a rent as I fear I shall never get over. + + "... And now, though her picture be defaced, there is so + lively an image of her imprinted in my mind, that I shall + think of her too often, I fear for my peace of mind; and too + often I am sure to get through old Coke this winter, for I + have not seen him since I packed him up in my trunk in + Williamsburg. Well, Page, I do wish the Devil had old Coke + for I am sure I never was so tired of the dull old scoundrel + in my life.... + + "I would fain ask the favor of Miss Bettey Burwell to give + me another watch paper of her own cutting, which I should + esteem much more though it were a plain round one, than the + nicest in the world cut by other hands; however I am afraid + she would think this presumption, after my suffering the + other to get spoiled. If you think you can excuse me to her + for this, I should be glad if you would ask her...." + +Page was a little older than Jefferson, and the young man thought much +of his advice. Six months later we find Page advising him to go to +Miss Rebecca Burwell and "lay siege in form." + +There were many objections to this--first, the necessity of keeping +the matter secret, and of "treating with a ward before obtaining +the consent of her guardian," which at that time was considered +dishonourable, and second, Jefferson's own state of suspense and +uneasiness, since the lady had given him no grounds for hope. + + "If I am to succeed [he wrote], the sooner I know it the + less uneasiness I shall have to go through. If I am to meet + with disappointment, the sooner I know it, the more of life + I shall have to wear it off; and if I do meet with one, I + hope and verily believe it will be the last. + + "I assure you that I almost envy you your present freedom + and I assure you that if Belinda will not accept of my + heart, it shall never be offered to another." + +In his letters he habitually spoke of Miss Burwell as "Belinda," +presumably on account of the fear which he expresses to Page, that the +letters might possibly fall into other hands. In some of his letters +he spells "Belinda" backward, and with exaggerated caution, in Greek +letters. + +Finally, with much fear and trembling, he took his friend's advice, +and laid siege to the fair Rebecca in due form. The day +afterward--October 7, 1763--he confided in Page: + + "In the most melancholy fit that ever a poor soul was, I sit + down to write you. Last night, as merry as agreeable company + and dancing with Belinda could make me, I never could have + thought that the succeeding sun would have seen me so + wretched as I now am! + + "I was prepared to say a great deal. I had dressed up in my + own mind, such thoughts as occurred to me, in as moving + language as I knew how, and expected to have performed in a + tolerably creditable manner. But ... when I had an + opportunity of venting them, a few broken sentences, uttered + in great disorder, and interrupted by pauses of uncommon + length were the too visible marks of my strange confusion! + + "The whole confab I will tell you, word for word if I can + when I see you which God send, may be soon." + +After this, he dates his letters at "Devilsburg," instead of +Williamsburg, and says in one of them, "I believe I never told you +that we had another occasion." This time he behaved more creditably, +told "Belinda" that it was necessary for him to go to England, +explained the inevitable delays and told how he should conduct himself +until his return. He says that he asked no questions which would admit +of a categorical answer--there was something of the lawyer in this +wooing! He assured Miss Rebecca that such a question would one day be +asked. In this letter she is called "Adinleb" and spoken of as "he." + +Miss Burwell did not wait, however, until Jefferson was in a position +to seek her hand openly, but was suddenly married to another. The news +was a great shock to Jefferson, who refused to believe it until Page +confirmed it; but the love-lorn swain gradually recovered from his +disappointment. + +With youthful ardour they had planned to buy adjoining estates and +have a carriage in common, when each married the lady of his love, +that they might attend all the dances. A little later, when Page was +also crossed in love, both forswore marriage forever. + +For five or six years, Jefferson was faithful to his vow--rather an +unusual record. He met his fate at last in the person of a charming +widow--Martha Skelton. + +The death of his sister, his devotion to his books, and his +disappointment made him a sadder and a wiser man. His home at Shadwell +had been burned, and he removed to Monticello, a house built on the +same estate on a spur of the Blue Ridge Mountains, five hundred feet +above the common level. + +He went often to visit Mrs. Skelton who made her home with her father +after her bereavement. Usually he took his violin under his arm, and +out of the harmonies which came from the instrument and the lady's +spinet came the greater one of love. + +They were married in January of 1772. The ceremony took place at "The +Forest" in Charles City County. The chronicles describe the bride as a +beautiful woman, a little above medium height, finely formed, and with +graceful carriage. She was well educated, read a great deal, and +played the spinet unusually well. + +The wedding journey was a strange one. It was a hundred miles from +"The Forest" to Monticello, and years afterward their eldest daughter, +Martha Jefferson Randolph, described it as follows: + + "They left 'The Forest' after a fall of snow, light then, + but increasing in depth as they advanced up the country. + They were finally obliged to quit the carriage and proceed + on horseback. They arrived late at night, the fires were all + out, and the servants had retired to their own houses for + the night. The horrible dreariness of such a house, at the + end of such a journey, I have often heard both relate." + +Yet, the walls of Monticello, that afterwards looked down upon so much +sorrow and so much joy, must have long remembered the home-coming of +master and mistress, for the young husband found a bottle of old wine +"on a shelf behind some books," built a fire in the open fireplace, +and "they laughed and sang together like two children." + +And that life upon the hills proved very nearly ideal. They walked and +planned and rode together, and kept house and garden books in the most +minute fashion. + +Births and deaths followed each other at Monticello, but there was +nothing else to mar the peace of that happy home. Between husband and +wife there was no strife or discord, not a jar nor a rift in that +unity of life and purpose which welds two souls into one. + +Childish voices came and went, but two daughters grew to womanhood, +and in the evening, the day's duties done, violin and harpsichord +sounded sweet strains together. + +They reared other children besides their own, taking the helpless +brood of Jefferson's sister into their hearts and home when Dabney +Carr died. Those three sons and three daughters were educated with his +own children, and lived to bless him as a second father. + +One letter is extant which was written to one of the nieces whom +Jefferson so cheerfully supported. It reads as follows: + + "PARIS, June 14, 1787. + + "I send you, my dear Patsey, the fifteen livres you desired. + You propose this to me as an anticipation of five weeks' + allowance, but do you not see, my dear, how imprudent it is + to lay out in one moment what should accommodate you for + five weeks? This is a departure from that rule which I wish + to see you governed by, thro' your whole life, of never + buying anything which you have not the money in your pocket + to pay for. + + "Be sure that it gives much more pain to the mind to be in + debt than to do without any article whatever which we may + seem to want. + + "The purchase you have made is one I am always ready to make + for you because it is my wish to see you dressed always + cleanly and a little more than decently; but apply to me + first for the money before making the purchase, if only to + avoid breaking through your rule. + + "Learn yourself the habit of adhering vigorously to the + rules you lay down for yourself. I will come for you about + eleven o'clock on Saturday. Hurry the making of your gown, + and also your redingcote. You will go with me some day next + week to dine at the Marquis Fayette. Adieu, my dear + daughter, + + "Yours affectionately, + "TH. JEFFERSON" + +Mrs. Jefferson's concern for her husband, the loss of her children, +and the weary round of domestic duties at last told upon her strong +constitution. + +After the birth of her sixth child, Lucy Elizabeth, she sank rapidly, +until at last it was plain to every one, except the distracted +husband, that she could never recover. + +Finally the blow fell. His daughter Martha wrote of it as follows: + + "As a nurse no female ever had more tenderness or anxiety. + He nursed my poor mother in turn with Aunt Carr, and her own + sister--sitting up with her and administering her medicines + and drink to the last. + + "When at last he left his room, three weeks after my + mother's death, he rode out, and from that time, he was + incessantly on horseback, rambling about the mountain." + +Shortly afterward he received the appointment of Plenipotentiary to +Europe, to be associated with Franklin and Adams in negotiating peace. +He had twice refused the same appointment, as he had promised his wife +that he would never again enter public life, as long as she lived. + + + + +Columbia + + + She comes along old Ocean's trackless way-- + A warrior scenting conflict from afar + And fearing not defeat nor battle-scar + Nor all the might of wind and dashing spray; + Her foaming path to triumph none may stay + For in the East, there shines her morning star; + She feels her strength in every shining spar + As one who grasps his sword and waits for day. + + Columbia, Defender! dost thou hear? + The clarion challenge sweeps the sea + And straight toward the lightship doth she steer, + Her steadfast pulses sounding jubilee; + Arise, Defender! for thy way is clear + And all thy country's heart goes out to thee. + + + + +The Story of a Daughter's Love + + +Aaron Burr was past-master of what Whistler calls "the gentle art of +making enemies!" Probably no man ever lived who was more bitterly +hated or more fiercely reviled. Even at this day, when he has been +dead more than half a century, his memory is still assailed. + +It is the popular impression that he was a villain. Perhaps he was, +since "where there is smoke, there must be fire," but happily we have +no concern with the political part of his life. Whatever he may have +been, and whatever dark deeds he may have done, there still remains a +redeeming feature which no one has denied him--his love for his +daughter, Theodosia. + +One must remember that before Burr was two years old, his father, +mother, and grandparents were all dead. He was reared by an uncle, +Timothy Edwards, who doubtless did his best, but the odds were against +the homeless child. Neither must we forget that he fought in the +Revolution, bravely and well. + +From his early years he was very attractive to women. He was handsome, +distinguished, well dressed, and gifted in many ways. He was generous, +ready at compliments and gallantry, and possessed an all-compelling +charm. + +In the autumn of 1777, his regiment was detailed for scouting duty in +New Jersey, which was then the debatable ground between colonial and +British armies. In January of 1779, Colonel Burr was given command of +the "lines" in Westchester County, New York. It was at this time that +he first met Mrs. Prevost, the widow of a British officer. She lived +across the Hudson, some fifteen miles from shore, and the river was +patrolled by the gunboats of the British, and the land by their +sentries. + +In spite of these difficulties, however, Burr managed to make two +calls upon the lady, although they were both necessarily informal. He +sent six of his trusted soldiers to a place on the Hudson, where there +was an overhanging bank under which they moored a large boat, well +supplied with blankets and buffalo robes. At nine o'clock in the +evening he left White Plains on the smallest and swiftest horse he +could procure, and when he reached the rendezvous, the horse was +quickly bound and laid in the boat. Burr and the six troopers stepped +in, and in half an hour they were across the ferry. The horse was +lifted out, and unbound, and with a little rubbing he was again ready +for duty. + +Before midnight, Burr was at the house of his beloved, and at four in +the morning he came back to the troopers awaiting him on the river +bank, and the return trip was made in the same manner. + +For a year and a half after leaving the army, Burr was an invalid, but +in July, 1782, he married Mrs. Prevost. She was a widow with two +sons, and was ten years older than her husband. Her health was +delicate and she had a scar on her forehead, but her mind was finely +cultivated and her manners charming. + +Long after her death he said that if his manners were more graceful +than those of some men, it was due to her influence, and that his wife +was the truest woman, and most charming lady he had ever known. + +It has been claimed by some that Burr's married life was not a happy +one, but there are many letters still extant which passed between them +which seemed to prove the contrary. Before marriage he did not often +write to her, but during his absences afterward, the fondest wife +could have no reason to complain. + +For instance: + + "This morning came your truly welcome letter of Monday + evening," he wrote her at one time. "Where did it loiter so + long? + + "Nothing in my absence is so flattering to me as your health + and cheerfulness. I then contemplate nothing so eagerly as + my return, amuse myself with ideas of my own happiness, and + dwell upon the sweet domestic joys which I fancy prepared + for me. + + "Nothing is so unfriendly to every species of enjoyment as + melancholy. Gloom, however dressed, however caused, is + incompatible with friendship. They cannot have place in the + mind at the same time. It is the secret, the malignant foe + of sentiment and love." + +He always wrote fondly of the children: + + "My love to the smiling little girl," he said in one letter. + "I continually plan my return with childish impatience, and + fancy a thousand incidents which are most interesting." + +After five years of married life the wife wrote him as follows: + + "Your letters always afford me a singular satisfaction, a + sensation entirely my own. This was peculiarly so. It + wrought strangely upon my mind and spirits. My Aaron, it was + replete with tenderness and with the most lively affection. + I read and re-read till afraid I should get it by rote, and + mingle it with common ideas." + +Soon after Burr entered politics, his wife developed cancer of the +most virulent character. Everything that money or available skill +could accomplish was done for her, but she died after a lingering and +painful illness, in the spring of 1794. + +They had lived together happily for twelve years, and he grieved for +her deeply and sincerely. Yet the greatest and most absorbing passion +of his life was for his daughter, Theodosia, who was named for her +mother and was born in the first year of their marriage. When little +Theodosia was first laid in her father's arms, all that was best in +him answered to her mute plea for his affection, and later, all that +was best in him responded to her baby smile. + +Between those two, there was ever the fullest confidence, never +tarnished by doubt or mistrust, and when all the world forsook him, +Theodosia, grown to womanhood, stood proudly by her father's side and +shared his blame as if it had been the highest honour. + +When she was a year or two old, they moved to a large house at the +corner of Cedar and Nassau Streets, in New York City. A large garden +surrounded it and there were grapevines in the rear. Here the child +grew strong and healthy, and laid the foundations of her girlish +beauty and mature charm. When she was but three years old her mother +wrote to the father, saying: + + "Your dear little Theodosia cannot hear you spoken of + without an apparent melancholy; insomuch, that her nurse is + obliged to exert her invention to divert her, and myself + avoid the mention of you in her presence. She was one whole + day indifferent to everything but your name. Her attachment + is not of a common nature." + +And again: + + "Your dear little daughter seeks you twenty times a day, + calls you to your meals, and will not suffer your chair to + be filled by any of the family." + +The child was educated as if she had been a boy. She learned to +read Latin and Greek fluently, and the accomplishments of her time +were not neglected. When she was at school, the father wrote her +regularly, and did not allow one of her letters to wait a day for +its affectionate answer. He corrected her spelling and her grammar, +instilled sound truths into her mind, and formed her habits. From this +plastic clay, with inexpressible love and patient toil, he shaped his +ideal woman. + +She grew into a beautiful girl. Her features were much like her +father's. She was petite, graceful, plump, rosy, dignified, and +gracious. In her manner, there was a calm assurance--the air of +mastery over all situations--which she doubtless inherited from him. + +When she was eighteen years of age, she married Joseph Alston of +South Carolina, and, with much pain at parting from her father, she +went there to live, after seeing him inaugurated as Jefferson's +Vice-President. His only consolation was her happiness, and when he +returned to New York, he wrote her that he approached the old house +as if it had been the sepulchre of all his friends. "Dreary, solitary, +comfortless--it was no longer home." + +After her mother's death, Theodosia had been the lady of his household +and reigned at the head of his table. When he went back there was no +loved face opposite him, and the chill and loneliness struck him to +the heart. + +For three years after her marriage, Theodosia was blissfully +happy. A boy was born to her, and was named Aaron Burr Alston. +The Vice-President visited them in the South and took his namesake +unreservedly into his heart. "If I can see without prejudice," he +said, "there never was a finer boy." + +His last act before fighting the duel with Hamilton, was writing to +his daughter--a happy, gay, care-free letter, giving no hint of what +was impending. To her husband he wrote in a different strain, begging +him to keep the event from her as long as possible, to make her happy +always, and to encourage her in those habits of study which he +himself had taught her. + +She had parted from him with no other pain in her heart than the +approaching separation. When they met again, he was a fugitive from +justice, travel-stained from his long journey in an open canoe, +indicted for murder in New York, and in New Jersey, although still +President of the Senate, and Vice-President of the United States. + +The girl's heart ached bitterly, yet no word of censure escaped her +lips, and she still held her head high. When his Mexican scheme was +overthrown, Theodosia sat beside him at his trial, wearing her +absolute faith, so that all the world might see. + +When he was preparing for his flight to Europe, Theodosia was in New +York, and they met by night, secretly, at the house of friends. Just +before he sailed, they spent a whole night together, making the best +of the little time that remained to them before the inevitable +separation. Early in June they parted, little dreaming that they +should see each other no more. + +During the years of exile, Theodosia suffered no less than he. Mr. +Alston had lost his faith in Aaron Burr, and the woman's heart +strained beneath the burden. Her health failed, her friends shrank +from her, yet openly and bravely she clung to her father. + +Public opinion showed no signs of relenting, and his evil genius +followed him across the sea. He was expelled from England, and in +Paris he was almost a prisoner. At one time he was obliged to live +upon potatoes and dry bread, and his devoted daughter could not help +him. + +He was despised by his countrymen, but Theodosia's adoring love never +faltered. In one of her letters she said: + + "I witness your extraordinary fortitude with new wonder at + every misfortune. Often, after reflecting on this subject, + you appear to me so superior, so elevated above other men--I + contemplate you with such a strange mixture of humility, + admiration, reverence, love, and pride, that a very little + superstition would be necessary to make me worship you as a + superior being, such enthusiasm does your character excite + in me. + + "When I afterward revert to myself, how insignificant do my + best qualities appear! My own vanity would be greater if I + had not been placed so near you, and yet, my pride is in our + relationship. I had rather not live than not to be the + daughter of such a man." + +She wrote to Mrs. Madison and asked her to intercede with the +President for her father. The answer gave the required assurance, and +she wrote to her father, urging him to go boldly to New York and +resume the practice of his profession. "If worse comes to worst," she +wrote, "I will leave everything to suffer with you." + +He landed in Boston and went on to New York in May of 1812, where his +reception was better than he had hoped, and where he soon had a +lucrative practice. They planned for him to come South in the summer, +and she was almost happy again, when her child died and her mother's +heart was broken. + +She had borne much, and she never recovered from that last blow. Her +health failed rapidly, and though she was too weak to undertake the +trip, she insisted upon going to New York to see her father. + +Thinking the voyage might prove beneficial, her husband reluctantly +consented, and passage was engaged for her on a pilot-boat that had +been out privateering, and had stopped for supplies before going on to +New York. + +The vessel sailed--and a storm swept the Atlantic coast from Maine to +Florida. It was supposed that the ship went down off Cape Hatteras, +but forty years afterward, a sailor, who died in Texas, confessed on +his death-bed that he was one of a crew of mutineers who took +possession of the _Patriot_ and forced the passengers, as well as the +officers and men, to walk the plank. He professed to remember Mrs. +Alston well, and said she was the last one who perished. He never +forgot her look of despair as she stepped into the sea--with her head +held high even in the face of death. + +Among Theodosia's papers was found a letter addressed to her husband, +written at a time when she was weary of the struggle. On the envelope +was written: "My Husband. To be delivered after my death. I wish this +to be read immediately and before my burial." + +He never saw the letter, for he never had the courage to go through +her papers, and after his death it was sent to her father. It came to +him like a message from the grave: + + "Let my father see my son, sometimes," she had written. "Do + not be unkind to him whom I have loved so much, I beseech of + you. Burn all my papers except my father's letters, which I + beg you to return to him." + +A long time afterward, her father married Madame Jumel, a rich New +York woman who was many years his junior, but the alliance was +unfortunate, and was soon annulled. Through all the rest of his life, +he never wholly gave up the hope that Theodosia might return. He clung +fondly to the belief that she had been picked up by another ship, and +some day would be brought back to him. + +Day by day, he haunted the Battery, anxiously searching the faces of +the incoming passengers, asking some of them for tidings of his +daughter, and always believing that the next ship would bring her +back. + +He became a familiar figure, for he was almost always there--a bent, +shrunken little man, white-haired, leaning heavily upon his cane, +asking questions in a thin piping voice, and straining his dim eyes +forever toward the unsounded waters, from whence the idol of his heart +never came. + + For out within those waters, cruel, changeless, + She sleeps, beyond all rage of earth or sea; + A smile upon her dear lips, dumb, but waiting, + And I--I hear the sea-voice calling me. + + + + +The Sea-Voice + + + Beyond the sands I hear the sea-voice calling + With passion all but human in its pain, + While from my eyes the bitter tears are falling, + And all the summer land seems blind with rain; + For out within those waters, cruel, changeless, + She sleeps, beyond all rage of earth or sea, + A smile upon her dear lips, dumb, but waiting, + And I--I hear the sea-voice calling me. + + The tide comes in. The moonlight flood and glory + Of that unresting surge thrill earth with bliss, + And I can hear the passionate sweet story + Of waves that waited round her for her kiss. + Sweetheart, they love you; silent and unseeing, + Old Ocean holds his court around you there, + And while I reach out through the dark to find you + His fingers twine the sea-weed in your hair. + + The tide goes out and in the dawn's new splendour + The dreams of dark first fade, then pass away, + And I awake from visions soft and tender + To face the shuddering agony of day + For out within those waters, cruel, changeless, + She sleeps, beyond all rage of earth or sea; + A smile upon her dear lips, dumb, but waiting, + And I--I hear the sea-voice calling me. + + + + + The Mystery of Randolph's + Courtship + + +It is said that in order to know a man, one must begin with his +ancestors, and the truth of the saying is strikingly exemplified in +the case of "John Randolph of Roanoke," as he loved to write his name. + +His contemporaries have told us what manner of man he was--fiery, +excitable, of strong passions and strong will, capable of great +bitterness, obstinate, revengeful, and extremely sensitive. + +"I have been all my life," he says, "the creature of impulse, the +sport of chance, the victim of my own uncontrolled and uncontrollable +sensations, and of a poetic temperament." + +He was sarcastic to a degree, proud, haughty, and subject to fits of +Byronic despair and morbid gloom. For these traits we must look back +to the Norman Conquest from which he traced his descent in an unbroken +line, while, on the side of his maternal grandmother, he was the +seventh in descent from Pocahontas, the Indian maiden who married John +Rolfe. + +The Indian blood was evident, even in his personal appearance. He was +tall, slender, and dignified in his bearing; his hands were thin, his +fingers long and bony; his face was dark, sallow, and wrinkled, oval +in shape and seamed with lines by the inward conflict which forever +raged in his soul. His chin was pointed but firm, and his lips were +set; around his mouth were marked the tiny, almost imperceptible lines +which mean cruelty. His nose was aquiline, his ears large at the top, +tapering almost to a point at the lobe, and his forehead unusually +high and broad. His hair was soft, and his skin, although dark, +suffered from extreme sensitiveness. + + "There is no accounting for thinness of skins in different + animals, human, or brute [he once said]. Mine, I believe to + be more tender than many infants of a month old. Indeed I + have remarked in myself, from my earliest recollection, a + delicacy or effeminacy of complexion, which but for a spice + of the devil in my temper would have consigned me to the + distaff or the needle." + +"A spice of the devil" is mild indeed, considering that before he was +four years old he frequently swooned in fits of passion, and was +restored to consciousness with difficulty. + +His most striking feature was his eyes. They were deep, dark, and +fiery, filled with passion and great sadness at the same time. "When +he first entered an assembly of people," said one who knew him, "they +were the eyes of the eagle in search of his prey, darting about from +place to place to see upon whom to light. When he was assailed they +flashed fire and proclaimed a torrent of rage within." + +The voice of this great statesman was a rare gift: + + "One might live a hundred years [says one,] and never hear + another like it. The wonder was why the sweet tone of a + woman was so harmoniously blended with that of a man. His + very whisper could be distinguished above the ordinary tones + of other men. His voice was so singularly clear, distinct, + and melodious that it was a positive pleasure to hear him + articulate anything." + +Such was the man who swayed the multitude at will, punished offenders +with sarcasm and invective, inspired fear even in his equals, and +loved and suffered more than any other prominent man of his +generation. + +He had many acquaintances, a few friends, and three loves--his mother, +his brother, and the beautiful young woman who held his heart in the +hollow of her hand, until the Gray Angel, taking pity, closed his eyes +in the last sleep. + +His mother, who was Frances Bland, married John Randolph in 1769, and +John Randolph, of Roanoke, was their third son. + +Tradition tells us of the unusual beauty of the mother-- + + "the high expanded forehead, the smooth arched brow; the + brilliant dark eyes; the well defined nose; the full round + laughing lips; the tall graceful figure, the beautiful dark + hair; an open cheerful countenance--suffused with that deep, + rich Oriental tint which never seems to fade, all of which + made her the most beautiful and attractive woman of her + age." + +She was a wife at sixteen, and at twenty-six a widow. Three years +after the death of her husband, she married St. George Tucker, of +Bermuda who proved to be a kind father to her children. + +In the winter of 1781, Benedict Arnold, the traitor who had spread +ruin through his native state, was sent to Virginia on an expedition +of ravage. He landed at the mouth of the James, and advanced toward +Petersburg. Matoax, Randolph's home, was directly in the line of the +invading army, so the family set out on a cold January morning, and at +night entered the home of Benjamin Ward, Jr. + +John Randolph was seven years old, and little Maria Ward had just +passed her fifth birthday. The two children played together happily, +and in the boy's heart was sown the seed of that grand passion which +dominated his life. + +After a few days, the family went on to Bizarre, a large estate on +both sides of the Appomattox, and here Mrs. Tucker and her sons spent +the remainder of the year, while her husband joined General Greene's +army, and afterward, the force of Lafayette. + +In 1788, John Randolph's mother died, and his first grief swept over +him in an overwhelming torrent. The boy of fifteen spent bitter +nights, his face buried in the grass, sobbing over his mother's grave. +Years afterward, he wrote to a friend, "I am a fatalist. I am all but +friendless. Only one human being ever knew me. _She_ only knew me." + +He kept his mother's portrait always in his room, and enshrined her in +loving remembrance in his heart. He had never seen his father's face +to remember it distinctly, and for a long time he wore his miniature +in his bosom. In 1796, his brother Richard died, and the unexpected +blow crushed him to earth. More than thirty years afterward he wrote +to his half-brother, Henry St. George Tucker, the following note: + + "DEAR HENRY + + "Our poor brother Richard was born in 1770. He would have + been fifty-six years old the ninth of this month. I can no + more. + + "J. R. OF R." + +At some time in his early manhood he came into close relationship with +Maria Ward. She had been an attractive child, and had grown into a +woman so beautiful that Lafayette said her equal could not be found in +North America. Her hair was auburn, and hung in curls around her face; +her skin was exquisitely fair; her eyes were dark and eloquent. Her +mouth was well formed; she was slender, graceful, and coquettish, +well-educated, and in every way, charming. + +To this woman, John Randolph's heart went out in passionate, adoring +love. He might be bitter and sarcastic with others, but with her he +was gentleness itself. Others might know him as a man of affairs, keen +and logical, but to her he was only a lover. + +Timid and hesitating at first, afraid perhaps of his fiery wooing, +Miss Ward kept him for some time in suspense. All the treasures of his +mind and soul were laid before her; that deep, eloquent voice which +moved the multitude to tears at its master's will was pleading with a +woman for her love. + +What wonder that she yielded at last and promised to marry him? Then +for a time everything else was forgotten. The world lay before him to +be conquered when he might choose. Nothing would be too great for him +to accomplish--nothing impossible to that eager joyous soul enthroned +at last upon the greatest heights of human happiness. And then--there +was a change. He rode to her home one day, tying his horse outside as +was his wont. A little later he strode out, shaking like an aspen, +his face white in agony. He drew his knife from his pocket, cut the +bridle of his horse, dug his spurs into the quivering sides, and was +off like the wind. What battle was fought out on that wild ride is +known only to John Randolph and his God. What torture that fiery soul +went through, no human being can ever know. When he came back at +night, he was so changed that no one dared to speak to him. + +He threw himself into the political arena in order to save his reason. +Often at midnight, he would rise from his uneasy bed, buckle on his +pistols, and ride like mad over the country, returning only when his +horse was spent. He never saw Miss Ward again, and she married Peyton +Randolph, the son of Edmund Randolph, who was Secretary of State under +Washington. + +The entire affair is shrouded in mystery. There is not a letter, nor a +single scrap of paper, nor a shred of evidence upon which to base even +a presumption. The separation was final and complete, and the +white-hot metal of the man's nature was gradually moulded into that +strange eccentric being whose foibles are so well known. + +Only once did Randolph lift even a corner of the veil. In a letter to +his dearest friend he spoke of her as: + + "One I loved better than my own soul, or Him who created it. + My apathy is not natural, but superinduced. There was a + volcano under my ice, but it burnt out, and a face of + desolation has come on, not to be rectified in ages, could + my life be prolonged to patriarchal longevity. + + "The necessity of loving and being loved was never felt by + the imaginary beings of Rousseau and Byron's creation, more + imperiously than by myself. My heart was offered with a + devotion that knew no reserve. Long an object of + proscription and treachery, I have at last, more mortifying + to the pride of man, become an object of utter + indifference." + +The brilliant statesman would doubtless have had a large liberty of +choice among the many beautiful women of his circle, but he never +married, and there is no record of any entanglement. To the few women +he deemed worthy of his respect and admiration, he was deferential and +even gallant. In one of his letters to a young relative he said: + + "Love to god-son Randolph and respectful compliments to Mrs. + R. She is indeed a fine woman, one for whom I have felt a + true regard, unmixed with the foible of another passion. + + "Fortunately or unfortunately for me, when I knew her, I + bore a charmed heart. Nothing else could have preserved me + from the full force of her attractions." + +For much of the time after his disappointment, he lived alone with +his servants, solaced as far as possible by those friends of all +mankind--books. When the spirit moved him, he would make visits to the +neighbouring plantations, sometimes dressed in white flannel trousers, +coat, and vest, and with white paper wrapped around his beaver hat! +When he presented himself in this manner, riding horseback, with his +dark eyes burning, he was said to have presented "a most ghostly +appearance!" + +An old lady who lived for years on the banks of the Staunton, near +Randolph's solitary home, tells a pathetic story: + +She was sitting alone in her room in the dead of winter, when a +beautiful woman, pale as a ghost, dressed entirely in white, suddenly +appeared before her, and began to talk about Mr. Randolph, saying he +was her lover and would marry her yet, as he had never proved false to +his plighted faith. She talked of him incessantly, like one deranged, +until a young gentleman came by the house, leading a horse with a +side-saddle on. She rushed out, and asked his permission to ride a few +miles. Greatly to his surprise, she mounted without assistance, and +sat astride like a man. He was much embarrassed, but had no choice +except to escort her to the end of her journey. + +The old lady who tells of this strange experience says that the young +woman several times visited Mr. Randolph, always dressed in white and +usually in the dead of winter. He always put her on a horse and sent +her away with a servant to escort her. + +In his life there were but two women--his mother and Maria Ward. While +his lips were closed on the subject of his love, he did not hesitate +to avow his misery. "I too am wretched," he would say with infinite +pathos; and after her death, he spoke of Maria Ward as his "angel." + +In a letter written sometime after she died, he said, strangely +enough: "I loved, aye, and was loved again, not wisely, but too well." + +His brilliant career was closed when he was sixty years old, and in +his last illness, during delirium, the name of Maria was frequently +heard by those who were anxiously watching with him. But, true to +himself and to her, even when his reason was dethroned, he said +nothing more. + +He was buried on his own plantation, in the midst of "that boundless +contiguity of shade," with his secret locked forever in his tortured +breast. "John Randolph of Roanoke," was all the title he claimed; but +the history of those times teaches us that he was more than that--he +was John Randolph, of the Republic. + + + + + How President Jackson Won + His Wife + + +In October of 1788, a little company of immigrants arrived in +Tennessee. The star of empire, which is said to move westward, had not +yet illumined Nashville, and it was one of the dangerous points "on +the frontier." + +The settlement was surrounded on all sides by hostile Indians. Men +worked in the fields, but dared not go out to their daily task without +being heavily armed. When two men met, and stopped for a moment to +talk, they often stood back to back, with their rifles cocked ready +for instant use. No one stooped to drink from a spring unless another +guarded him, and the women were always attended by an armed force. + +Col. John Donelson had built for himself a blockhouse of unusual size +and strength, and furnished it comfortably; but while surveying a +piece of land near the village, he was killed by the savages, and his +widow left to support herself as best she could. + +A married daughter and her husband lived with her, but it was +necessary for her to take other boarders. One day there was a vigorous +rap upon the stout door of the blockhouse, and a young man whose name +was Andrew Jackson was admitted. Shortly afterward, he took up his +abode as a regular boarder at the Widow Donelson's. + +The future President was then twenty-one or twenty-two. He was tall +and slender, with every muscle developed to its utmost strength. He +had an attractive face, pleasing manners, and made himself agreeable +to every one in the house. + +The dangers of the frontier were but minor incidents in his +estimation, for "desperate courage makes one a majority," and he had +courage. When he was but thirteen years of age, he had boldly defied a +British officer who had ordered him to clean some cavalry boots. + +"Sir," said the boy, "I am a prisoner of war, and I claim to be +treated as such!" + +With an oath the officer drew his sword, and struck at the child's +head. He parried the blow with his left arm, but received a severe +wound on his head and another on his arm, the scars of which he always +carried. + +The protecting presence of such a man was welcome to those who dwelt +in the blockhouse--Mrs. Donelson, Mr. and Mrs. Robards, and another +boarder, John Overton. Mrs. Donelson was a good cook and a notable +housekeeper, while her daughter was said to be "the best story teller, +the best dancer, the sprightliest companion, and the most dashing +horsewoman in the western country." + +Jackson, as the only licensed lawyer in that part of Tennessee, soon +had plenty of business on his hands, and his life in the blockhouse +was a happy one until he learned that the serpent of jealousy lurked +by that fireside. + +Mrs. Robards was a comely brunette, and her dusky beauty carried with +it an irresistible appeal. Jackson soon learned that Captain Robards +was unreasonably and even insanely jealous of his wife, and he learned +from John Overton that before his arrival there had been a great deal +of unhappiness because of this. + +At one time Captain Robards had written to Mrs. Donelson to take her +daughter home, as he did not wish to live with her any longer; but +through the efforts of Mr. Overton a reconciliation had been effected +between the pair, and they were still living together at Mrs. +Donelson's when Jackson went there to board. + +In a short time, however, Robards became violently jealous of Jackson +and talked abusively to his wife, even in the presence of her mother +and amidst the tears of both. Once more Overton interfered, assured +Robards that his suspicions were groundless, and reproached him for +his unmanly conduct. + +It was all in vain, however, and the family was in as unhappy a state +as before, when they were living with the Captain's mother who had +always taken the part of her daughter-in-law. + +At length Overton spoke to Jackson about it, telling him it was better +not to remain where his presence made so much trouble, and offered to +go with him to another boarding-place. Jackson readily assented, +though neither of them knew where to go, and said that he would talk +to Captain Robards. + +The men met near the orchard fence, and Jackson remonstrated with the +Captain who grew violently angry and threatened to strike him. Jackson +told him that he would not advise him to try to fight, but if he +insisted, he would try to give him satisfaction. Nothing came of the +discussion, however, as Robards seemed willing to take Jackson's +advice and did not dare to strike him. But the coward continued to +abuse his wife, and insulted Jackson at every opportunity. The result +was that the young lawyer left the house. + +A few months later, the still raging husband left his wife and went to +Kentucky, which was then a part of Virginia. Soon afterward, Mrs. +Robards went to live with her sister, Mrs. Hay, and Overton returned +to Mrs. Donelson's. + +In the following autumn there was a rumour that Captain Robards +intended to return to Tennessee and take his wife to Kentucky, at +which Mrs. Donelson and her daughter were greatly distressed. Mrs. +Robards wept bitterly, and said it was impossible for her to live +peaceably with her husband as she had tried it twice and failed. She +determined to go down the river to Natchez, to a friend, and thus +avoid her husband, who she said had threatened to haunt her. + +When Jackson heard of this arrangement he was very much troubled, for +he felt that he had been the unwilling cause of the young wife's +unhappiness, although entirely innocent of any wrong intention. So +when Mrs. Robards had fully determined to undertake the journey to +Natchez, accompanied only by Colonel Stark and his family, he offered +to go with them as an additional protection against the Indians who +were then especially active, and his escort was very gladly accepted. +The trip was made in safety, and after seeing the lady settled with +her friends, he returned to Nashville and resumed his law practice. + +At that time there was no divorce law in Virginia, and each separate +divorce required the passage of an act of the legislature before a +jury could consider the case. In the winter of 1791, Captain Robards +obtained the passage of such an act, authorising the court of Mercer +County to act upon his divorce. Mrs. Robards, hearing of this, +understood that the passage of the act was, in itself, divorce, and +that she was a free woman. Jackson also took the divorce for granted. +Every one in the country so understood the matter, and at Natchez, in +the following summer, the two were married. + +They returned to Nashville, settled down, and Jackson began in earnest +the career that was to land him in the White House, the hero of the +nation. + +In December of 1793, more than two years after their marriage, their +friend Overton learned that the legislature had not granted a divorce, +but had left it for the court to do so. Jackson was much chagrined +when he heard of this, and it was with great difficulty that he was +brought to believe it. In January of 1794, when the decree was finally +obtained, they were married again. + +It is difficult to excuse Jackson for marrying the woman without +positive and absolute knowledge of her divorce. He was a lawyer, and +could have learned the facts of the case, even though there was no +established mail service. Each of them had been entirely innocent of +any intentional wrong-doing, and their long life together, their +great devotion to each other, and General Jackson's honourable career, +forever silenced the spiteful calumny of his rivals and enemies of +early life. + +In his eyes his wife was the soul of honour and purity; he loved and +reverenced her as a man loves and reverences but one woman in his +lifetime, and for thirty-seven years he kept a pair of pistols loaded +for the man who should dare to breathe her name without respect. + +The famous pistol duel with Dickinson was the result of a quarrel +which had its beginning in a remark reflecting upon Mrs. Jackson, and +Dickinson, though a crack shot, paid for it with his life. + +Several of Dickinson's friends sent a memorial to the proprietors of +the _Impartial Review_, asking that the next number of the paper +appear in mourning, "out of respect for the memory, and regret for the +untimely death, of Mr. Charles Dickinson." + +"Old Hickory" heard of this movement, and wrote to the proprietors, +asking that the names of the gentlemen making the request be published +in the memorial number of the paper. This also was agreed to, and it +is significant that twenty-six of the seventy-three men who had signed +the petition called and erased their names from the document. + +"The Hermitage" at Nashville, which is still a very attractive spot +for visitors, was built solely to please Mrs. Jackson, and there she +dispensed gracious hospitality. Not merely a guest or two, but whole +families, came for weeks at a time, for the mistress of the mansion +was fond of entertaining, and proved herself a charming hostess. She +had a good memory, had passed through many and greatly varied +experiences, and above all she had that rare faculty which is called +tact. + +Though her husband's love for her was evident to every one, yet, in +the presence of others, he always maintained a dignified reserve. He +never spoke of her as "Rachel," nor addressed her as "My Dear." It +was always "Mrs. Jackson," or "wife." She always called him "Mr. +Jackson," never "Andrew" nor "General." + +Both of them greatly desired children, but this blessing was denied +them; so they adopted a boy, the child of Mrs. Jackson's brother, +naming him "Andrew Jackson," and bringing him up as their own child. + +The lady's portrait shows her to have been wonderfully attractive. It +does not reveal the dusky Oriental tint of her skin, the ripe red of +her lips, nor the changing lights in her face, but it shows the high +forehead, the dark soft hair, the fine eyes, and the tempting mouth +which was smiling, yet serene. A lace head-dress is worn over the +waving hair, and the filmy folds fall softly over neck and bosom. + +When Jackson was elected to the Presidency, the ladies of Nashville +organized themselves into sewing circles to prepare Mrs. Jackson's +wardrobe. It was a labour of love. On December 23, 1828, there was to +be a grand banquet in Jackson's honour, and the devoted women of their +home city had made a beautiful gown for his wife to wear at the +dinner. At sunrise the preparations began. The tables were set, the +dining-room decorated, and the officers and men of the troop that was +to escort the President-elect were preparing to go to the home and +attend him on the long ride into the city. Their horses were saddled +and in readiness at the place of meeting. As the bugle sounded the +summons to mount, a breathless messenger appeared on a horse flecked +with foam. Mrs. Jackson had died of heart disease the evening before. + +The festival was changed to a funeral, and the trumpets and drums that +were to have sounded salute were muffled in black. All decorations +were taken down, and the church bells tolled mournfully. The grief of +the people was beyond speech. Each one felt a personal loss. + +At the home the blow was terrible. The lover-husband would not leave +his wife. In those bitter hours the highest gift of his countrymen +was an empty triumph, for his soul was wrecked with the greatness of +his loss. + +When she was buried at the foot of a slope in the garden of "The +Hermitage," his bereavement came home to him with crushing strength. +Back of the open grave stood a great throng of people, waiting in the +wintry wind. The sun shone brightly on the snow, but "The Hermitage" +was desolate, for its light and laughter and love were gone. The +casket was carried down the slope, and a long way behind it came the +General, slowly and almost helpless, between two of his friends. + +The people of Nashville had made ready to greet him with the blare of +bugles, waving flags, the clash of cymbals, and resounding cheers. It +was for the President-elect--the hero of the war. The throng that +stood behind the open grave greeted him with sobs and tears--not the +President-elect, but the man bowed by his sixty years, bareheaded, +with his gray hair rumpled in the wind, staggering toward them in the +throes of his bitterest grief. + +In that one night he had grown old. He looked like a man stricken +beyond all hope. When his old friends gathered around him with the +tears streaming down their cheeks, wringing his hand in silent +sympathy, he could make no response. + +He was never the same again, though his strength of will and his +desperate courage fought with this infinite pain. For the rest of his +life he lived as she would have had him live--guided his actions by +the thought of what his wife, if living, would have had him do--loving +her still, with the love that passeth all understanding. + +He declined the sarcophagus fit for an emperor, that he might be +buried like a simple citizen, in the garden by her side. + +His last words were of her--his last look rested upon her portrait +that hung opposite his bed, and if there be dreaming in the dark, the +vision of her brought him peace at last. + + + + + The Bachelor President's Loyalty + to a Memory + + +The fifteenth President was remarkable among the men of his time +for his lifelong fidelity to one woman, for since the days of +knight-errantry such devotion has been as rare as it is beautiful. The +young lawyer came of Scotch-Irish parentage, and to this blending of +blood were probably in part due his deep love and steadfastness. There +was rather more of the Irish than of the Scotch in his face, and when +we read that his overflowing spirits were too much for the college in +which he had been placed, and that, for "reasons of public policy," +the honours which he had earned were on commencement day given to +another, it is evident that he may sometimes have felt that he owed +allegiance primarily to the Emerald Isle. + +Like others, who have been capable of deep and lasting passion, James +Buchanan loved his mother. Among his papers there was found a fragment +of an autobiography, which ended in 1816, when the writer was only +twenty-five years of age. He says his father was "a kind father, a +sincere friend, and an honest and religious man," but on the subject +of his mother he waxes eloquent: + + "Considering her limited opportunities in early life [he + writes], my mother was a remarkable woman. The daughter of a + country farmer, engaged in household employment from early + life until after my father's death, she yet found time to + read much, and to reflect deeply on what she read. + + "She had a great fondness for poetry, and could repeat with + ease all the passages in her favorite authors which struck + her fancy. These were Milton, Pope, Young, Cowper, and + Thompson. + + "I do not think, at least until a late period in life, she + had ever read a criticism on any one of these authors, and + yet such was the correctness of her natural taste, that she + had selected for herself, and could repeat, every passage + in them which has been admired.... + + "For her sons, as they grew up successively, she was a + delightful and instructive companion.... She was a woman of + great firmness of character, and bore the afflictions of her + later life with Christian philosophy.... It was chiefly to + her influence, that her sons were indebted for a liberal + education. Under Providence I attribute any little + distinction which I may have acquired in the world to the + blessing which He conferred upon me in granting me such a + mother." + +If Elizabeth Buchanan could have read these words, doubtless she would +have felt fully repaid for her many years of toil, self-sacrifice, and +devotion. + +After the young man left the legislature and took up the practice of +law, with the intention of spending his life at the bar, he became +engaged to Anne Coleman, the daughter of Robert Coleman, of Lancaster. + +She is said to have been an unusually beautiful girl, quiet, gentle, +modest, womanly, and extremely sensitive. The fine feelings of a +delicately organized nature may easily become either a blessing or a +curse, and on account of her sensitiveness there was a rupture for +which neither can be very greatly blamed. + +Mr. Coleman approved of the engagement, and the happy lover worked +hard to make a home for the idol of his heart. One day, out of the +blue sky a thunderbolt fell. He received a note from Miss Coleman +asking him to release her from her engagement. + +There was no explanation forthcoming, and it was not until long +afterward that he discovered that busy-bodies and gossips had gone to +Miss Coleman with stories concerning him which had no foundation save +in their mischief-making imaginations, and which she would not repeat +to him. After all his efforts at re-establishing the old relations had +proved useless, he wrote to her that if it were her wish to be +released from her engagement he could but submit, as he had no desire +to hold her against her will. + +The break came in the latter part of the summer of 1819, when he was +twenty-eight years old and she was in her twenty-third year. He threw +himself into his work with renewed energy, and later on she went to +visit friends in Philadelphia. + +Though she was too proud to admit it, there was evidence that the +beautiful and high-spirited girl was suffering from heartache. On the +ninth of December, she died suddenly, and her body was brought home +just a week after she left Lancaster. The funeral took place the next +day, Sunday, and to the suffering father of the girl, the heart-broken +lover wrote a letter which in simple pathos stands almost alone. It is +the only document on this subject which remains, but in these few +lines is hidden a tragedy: + + "LANCASTER, December 10, 1819. + + "MY DEAR SIR: + + "You have lost a child, a dear, dear child. I have lost the + only earthly object of my affections, without whom, life now + presents to me a dreary blank. My prospects are all cut off, + and I feel that my happiness will be buried with her in her + grave. + + "It is now no time for explanation, but the time will come + when you will discover that she, as well as I, has been + greatly abused. God forgive the authors of it! My feelings + of resentment against them, whoever they may be, are buried + in the dust. + + "I have now one request to make, and for the love of God, + and of your dear departed daughter, whom I loved infinitely + more than any human being could love, deny me not. Afford me + the melancholy pleasure of seeing her body before its + interment. I would not, for the world, be denied this + request. + + "I might make another, but from the misrepresentations that + have been made to you, I am almost afraid. I would like to + follow her remains, to the grave as a mourner. I would like + to convince the world, I hope yet to convince you, that she + was infinitely dearer to me than life. + + "I may sustain the shock of her death, but I feel that + happiness has fled from me forever. The prayer which I make + to God without ceasing is, that I yet may be able to show my + veneration for the memory of my dear, departed saint, by my + respect and attachment for her surviving friends. + + "May Heaven bless you and enable you to bear the shock with + the fortitude of a Christian. + + "I am forever, your sincere and grateful friend, + + "JAMES BUCHANAN." + +The father returned the letter unopened and without comment. Death had +only widened the breach. It would have been gratifying to know that +the two lovers were together for a moment at the end. + +For such a meeting as that there are no words but Edwin Arnold's: + + "But he--who loved her too well to dread + The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead-- + He lit his lamp, and took the key, + And turn'd it!--alone again--he and she!" + +For him there was not even a glimpse of her as she lay in her coffin, +nor a whisper that some day, like Evelyn Hope, she might "wake, and +remember and understand." With that love that asks only for the right +to serve, and feeling perhaps that no pen could do her justice, he +obtained permission to write a paragraph for a local paper, which was +published unsigned: + + "Departed this life, on Thursday morning last, in the + twenty-third year of her age, while on a visit to friends in + the city of Philadelphia, Miss Anne C. Coleman, daughter of + Robert Coleman, Esquire of this city. + + "It rarely falls to our lot to shed a tear over the remains + of one so much and so deservedly beloved as was the + deceased. She was everything which the fondest parent, or + the fondest friend could have wished her to be. + + "Although she was young and beautiful and accomplished, and + the smiles of fortune shone upon her, yet her native modesty + and worth made her unconscious of her own attractions. Her + heart was the seat of all the softer virtues which ennoble + and dignify the character of woman. + + "She has now gone to a world, where, in the bosom of her + God, she will be happy with congenial spirits. May the + memory of her virtues be ever green in the hearts of her + surviving friends. May her mild spirit, which on earth still + breathes peace and good will, be their guardian angel to + preserve them from the faults to which she was ever a + stranger. + + "The spider's most attenuated thread + Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie + On earthly bliss--it breaks at every breeze." + +How deeply he felt her death is shown by extracts from a letter +written to him by a friend in the latter part of December: + + "I am writing, I know not why, and perhaps had better not. I + write only to speak of the awful visitation of Providence + that has fallen upon you, and how deeply I feel it.... I + trust to your philosophy and courage, and to the elasticity + of spirits natural to most young men.... + + "The sun will shine again, though a man enveloped in gloom + always thinks the darkness is to be eternal. Do you remember + the Spanish anecdote? + + "A lady who had lost a favorite child remained for months + sunk in sullen sorrow and despair. Her confessor, one + morning visited her, and found her, as usual immersed in + gloom and grief. 'What,' said he, 'Have you not forgiven God + Almighty?' + + "She rose, exerted herself, joined the world again, and + became useful to herself and her friends." + +Time's kindly touch heals many wounds, but the years seemed to bring +to James Buchanan no surcease of sorrow. He was always under the +cloud of that misunderstanding, and during his long political career, +the incident frequently served as a butt for the calumnies of his +enemies. It was freely used in "campaign documents," perverted, +misrepresented, and twisted into every conceivable shape, though it is +difficult to conceive how any form of humanity could ever be so base. + +Next to the loss of the girl he loved, this was the greatest grief of +his life. To see the name of his "dear, departed saint" dragged into +newspaper notoriety was absolute torture. Denial was useless, and +pleading had no effect. After he had retired to his home at Wheatland, +and when he was past seventy--when Anne Coleman's beautiful body had +gone back to the dust, there was a long article in a newspaper about +the affair, accompanied by the usual misrepresentations. + +To a friend, he said, with deep emotion: "In my safety-deposit box in +New York there is a sealed package, containing papers and relics which +will explain everything. Sometime, when I am dead, the world will +know--and absolve." + +But after his death, when his executors found the package, there was a +direction on the outside: "To be burned unopened at my death." + +He chose silence rather than vindication at the risk of having Anne +Coleman's name again brought into publicity. In that little parcel +there was doubtless full exoneration, but at the end, as always, he +nobly bore the blame. + +It happened that the letter he had written to her father was not in +this package, but among his papers at Wheatland--otherwise that +pathetic request would also have been burned. + +Through all his life he remained true to Anne's memory. Under the +continual public attacks his grief became one that even his friends +forebore to speak of, and he had a chivalrous regard for all women, +because of his love for one. His social instincts were strong, +his nature affectionate and steadfast, yet it was owing to his +disappointment that he became President. At one time, when he was in +London, he said to an intimate friend: "I never intended to engage +in politics, but meant to follow my profession strictly. But my +prospects and plans were all changed by a most sad event, which +happened at Lancaster when I was a young man. As a distraction from my +grief, and because I saw that through a political following I could +secure the friends I then needed, I accepted a nomination." + +A beautiful side of his character is shown in his devotion to his +niece, Harriet Lane. He was to her always a faithful father. When she +was away at school or otherwise separated from him, he wrote to her +regularly, never failing to assure her of his affection, and received +her love and confidence in return. In 1865, when she wrote to him of +her engagement, he replied, in part, as follows: + + "I believe you say truly that nothing would have induced you + to leave me, in good or evil fortune, if I had wished you to + remain with me. + + "Such a wish on my part would be very selfish. You have long + known my desire that you should marry whenever a suitor + worthy of you should offer. Indeed, it has been my strong + desire to see you settled in the world before my death. You + have now made your own unbiased choice; and from the + character of Mr. Johnston, I anticipate for you a happy + marriage, because I believe from your own good sense, you + will conform to your conductor, and make him a good and + loving wife." + +The days passed in retirement at Wheatland were filled with quiet +content. The end came as peacefully as the night itself. He awoke from +a gentle sleep, murmured, "O Lord, God Almighty, as Thou wilt!" and +passed serenely into that other sleep, which knows not dreams. + +The impenetrable veil between us and eternity permits no lifting of +its folds; there is no parting of its greyness, save for a passage, +but perhaps, in "that undiscovered country from whose bourne no +traveller returns" Anne Coleman and her lover have met once more, and +the long life of faithfulness at last has won her pardon. + + + + +Decoration Day + + + The trees bow their heads in sorrow, + While their giant branches wave, + With the requiems of the forest, + To the dead in a soldier's grave. + + The pitying rain falls softly, + In grief for a nation's brave, + Who died 'neath the scourge of treason + And rest in a lonely grave. + + So, under the willow and cypress + We lay our dead away, + And cover their graves with blossoms, + But the debt we never can pay. + + All nature is bathed in tears, + On our sad Memorial day, + When we crown the valour of heroes + With flowers from the garments of May. + + + + + The Romance of the Life of + Lincoln + + +By the slow passing of years humanity attains what is called the +"historical perspective," but it is still a mooted question as to how +many years are necessary. + +We think of Lincoln as a great leader, and it is difficult to imagine +him as a lover. He was at the helm of "the Ship of State" in the most +fearful storm it ever passed through; he struck off the shackles of a +fettered people, and was crowned with martyrdom; yet in spite of his +greatness, he loved like other men. + +There is no record for Lincoln's earlier years of the boyish love +which comes to many men in their school days. The great passion of his +life came to him in manhood but with no whit of its sweetness gone. +Sweet Anne Rutledge! There are those who remember her well, and to +this day in speaking of her, their eyes fill with tears. A lady who +knew her says: "Miss Rutledge had auburn hair, blue eyes, and a fair +complexion. She was pretty, rather slender, and good-hearted, beloved +by all who knew her." + +Before Lincoln loved her, she had a sad experience with another man. +About the time that he came to New Salem, a young man named John +McNeil drifted in from one of the Eastern States. He worked hard, was +plucky and industrious, and soon accumulated a little property. He met +Anne Rutledge when she was but seventeen and still in school, and he +began to pay her especial attention which at last culminated in their +engagement. + +He was about going back to New York for a visit and leaving he told +Anne that his name was not McNeil, but McNamar--that he had changed +his name so that his dependent family might not follow him and settle +down upon him before he was able to support them. Now that he was in +a position to aid his parents, brothers, and sisters, he was going +back to do it and upon his return would make Anne his wife. + +For a long time she did not hear from him at all, and gossip was rife +in New Salem. His letters became more formal and less frequent and +finally ceased altogether. The girl's proud spirit compelled her to +hold her head high amid the impertinent questions of the neighbors. + +Lincoln had heard of the strange conduct of McNeil and concluding that +there was now no tie between Miss Rutledge and her quondam lover, he +began his own siege in earnest. Anne consented at last to marry him +provided he gave her time to write to McNamar and obtain a release +from the pledge which she felt was still binding upon her. + +She wrote, but there was no answer and at last she definitely accepted +Lincoln. + +It was necessary for him to complete his law studies, and after that, +he said, "Nothing on God's footstool shall keep us apart." + +He worked happily but a sore conflict seemed to be raging in Anne's +tender heart and conscience, and finally the strain told upon her to +such an extent that when she was attacked by a fever, she had little +strength to resist it. + +The summer waned and Anne's life ebbed with it. At the very end of her +illness, when all visitors were forbidden, she insisted upon seeing +Lincoln. He went to her--and closed the door between them and the +world. It was his last hour with her. When he came out, his face was +white with the agony of parting. + +A few days later, she died and Lincoln was almost insane with grief. +He walked for hours in the woods, refused to eat, would speak to no +one, and there settled upon him that profound melancholy which came +back, time and again, during the after years. To one friend he said: +"I cannot bear to think that the rain and storms will beat upon her +grave." + +When the days were dark and stormy he was constantly watched, as his +friends feared he would take his own life. Finally, he was persuaded +to go away to the house of a friend who lived at some distance, and +here he remained until he was ready to face the world again. + +A few weeks after Anne's burial, McNamar returned to New Salem. On his +arrival he met Lincoln at the post-office and both were sorely +distressed. He made no explanation of his absence, and shortly seemed +to forget about Miss Rutledge, but her grave was in Lincoln's heart +until the bullet of the assassin struck him down. + +In October of 1833, Lincoln met Miss Mary Owens, and admired her +though not extravagantly. From all accounts, she was an unusual woman. +She was tall, full in figure, with blue eyes and dark hair; she was +well educated and quite popular in the little community. She was away +for a time, but returned to New Salem in 1836, and Lincoln at once +began to call upon her, enjoying her wit and beauty. At that time she +was about twenty-eight years old. + +One day Miss Owens was out walking with a lady friend and when they +came to the foot of a steep hill, Lincoln joined them. He walked +behind with Miss Owens, and talked with her, quite oblivious to the +fact that her friend was carrying a heavy baby. When they reached the +summit, Miss Owens said laughingly: "You would not make a good +husband, Abe." + +They sat on the fence and a wordy discussion followed. Both were angry +when they parted, and the breach was not healed for some time. It was +poor policy to quarrel, since some time before he had proposed to Miss +Owens, and she had asked for time in which to consider it before +giving a final answer. His letters to her are not what one would call +"love-letters." One begins in this way: + + "MARY:--I have been sick ever since my arrival, or I should + have written sooner. It is but little difference, however, + as I have very little even yet to write. And more, the + longer I can avoid the mortification of looking in the + post-office for your letter, and not finding it, the better. + You see I am mad about that old letter yet. I don't like + very well to risk you again. I'll try you once more, + anyhow." + +The remainder of the letter deals with political matters and is signed +simply "Your Friend Lincoln." + +In another letter written the following year he says to her: + + "I am often thinking about what we said of your coming to + live at Springfield. I am afraid you would not be satisfied. + There is a great deal of flourishing about in carriages + here, which it would be your doom to see without sharing it. + You would have to be poor without the means of hiding your + poverty. Do you believe you could bear that patiently? + + "Whatever woman may cast her lot with mine, should any ever + do so, it is my intention to do all in my power to make her + happy and contented; and there is nothing I can imagine that + would make me more unhappy than to fail in the effort. + + "I know I should be much happier with you than the way I am, + provided I saw no signs of discontent in you. What you have + said to me may have been in the way of jest, or I may have + misunderstood it. + + "If so, then let it be forgotten; if otherwise I much wish + you would think seriously before you decide. For my part, I + have already decided. + + "What I have said I will most positively abide by, provided + you wish it. My opinion is that you would better not do it. + You have not been accustomed to hardship, and it may be more + severe than you now imagine. + + "I know you are capable of thinking correctly upon any + subject and if you deliberate maturely upon this before you + decide, then I am willing to abide by your decision." + +Matters went on in this way for about three months; then they met +again, seemingly without making any progress. On the day they parted, +Lincoln wrote her another letter, evidently to make his own position +clear and put the burden of decision upon her. + + "If you feel yourself in any degree bound to me [he said], I + am now willing to release you, provided you wish it; while, + on the other hand, I am willing and even anxious, to bind + you faster, if I can be convinced that it will in any + considerable degree add to your happiness. This, indeed, is + the whole question with me. Nothing would make me more + miserable than to believe you miserable--nothing more happy + than to know you were so." + +In spite of his evident sincerity, it is not surprising to learn that +a little later, Miss Owens definitely refused him. In April, of the +following year, Lincoln wrote to his friend, Mrs. L. H. Browning, +giving a full account of this grotesque courtship: + + "I finally was forced to give it up [he wrote] at which I + very unexpectedly found myself mortified almost beyond + endurance. + + "I was mortified it seemed to me in a hundred different + ways. My vanity was deeply wounded by the reflection that I + had so long been too stupid to discover her intentions, and + at the same time never doubting that I understood them + perfectly; and also, that she, whom I had taught myself to + believe nobody else would have, had actually rejected me, + with all my fancied greatness. + + "And then to cap the whole, I then, for the first time, + began to suspect that I was really a little in love with + her. But let it all go. I'll try and outlive it. Others have + been made fools of by the girls; but this can never with + truth be said of me. I most emphatically in this instance + made a fool of myself. I have now come to the conclusion + never again to think of marrying, and for this reason I can + never be satisfied with any one who would be blockhead + enough to have me!" + +The gist of the matter seems to be that at heart Lincoln hesitated at +matrimony, as other men have done, both before and since his time. In +his letter to Mrs. Browning he speaks of his efforts to "put off the +evil day for a time, which I really dreaded as much, perhaps more, +than an Irishman does the halter!" + +But in 1839 Miss Mary Todd came to live with her sister, Mrs. Ninian +Edwards, at Springfield. She was in her twenty-first year, and is +described as "of average height and compactly built." She had a +well-rounded face, rich dark brown hair, and bluish grey eyes. No +picture of her fails to show the full, well-developed chin, which, +more than any other feature is an evidence of determination. She +was strong, proud, passionate, gifted with a keen sense of the +ridiculous, well educated, and swayed only by her own imperious will. + +Lincoln was attracted at once, and strangely enough, Stephen A. +Douglas crossed his wooing. For a time the two men were rivals, the +pursuit waxing more furious day by day. Some one asked Miss Todd which +of them she intended to marry, and she answered laughingly: "The one +who has the best chance of becoming President!" + +She is said, however, to have refused the "Little Giant" on account of +his lax morality and after that the coast was clear for Lincoln. Miss +Todd's sister tells us that "he was charmed by Mary's wit and +fascinated by her quick sagacity, her will, her nature, and culture." +"I have happened in the room," she says, "where they were sitting, +often and often, and Mary led the conversation. Lincoln would listen, +and gaze on her as if drawn by some superior power--irresistibly so; +he listened, but scarcely ever said a word." + +The affair naturally culminated in an engagement, and the course of +love was running smoothly, when a distracting element appeared in the +shape of Miss Matilda Edwards, the sister of Mrs. Edwards's husband. +She was young and fair, and Lincoln was pleased with her appearance. +For a time he tried to go on as before, but his feelings were too +strong to be concealed. Mr. Edwards endeavoured to get his sister to +marry Lincoln's friend, Speed, but she refused both Speed and Douglas. + +It is said that Lincoln once went to Miss Todd's house, intending to +break the engagement, but his real love proved too strong to allow him +to do it. + +His friend, Speed, thus describes the conclusion of this episode. +"Well, old fellow," I said, "did you do as you intended?" + +"Yes, I did," responded Lincoln thoughtfully, "and when I told Mary I +did not love her, she, wringing her hands, said something about the +deceiver being himself deceived." + +"What else did you say?" + +"To tell you the truth, Speed, it was too much for me. I found the +tears trickling down my own cheeks. I caught her in my arms and kissed +her." + +"And that's how you broke the engagement. Your conduct was tantamount +to a renewal of it!" + +And indeed this was true, and the lovers again considered the time of +marriage. + +There is a story by Herndon to the effect that a wedding was arranged +for the first day of January, 1841, and then when the hour came +Lincoln did not appear, and was found wandering alone in the woods +plunged in the deepest melancholy--a melancholy bordering upon +insanity. + +This story, however, has no foundation; in fact, most competent +witnesses agree that no such marriage date was fixed, although some +date may have been considered. + +It is certain, however, that the relations between Lincoln and Miss +Todd were broken off for a time. He did go to Kentucky for a while, +but this trip certainly was not due to insanity. Lincoln was never so +mindless as some of his biographers would have us believe, and the +breaking of the engagement was due to perfectly natural causes--the +difference in temperament of the lovers, and Lincoln's inclination to +procrastinate. After a time the strained relations gradually improved. +They met occasionally in the parlor of a friend, Mrs. Francis, and it +was through Miss Todd that the duel with Shields came about. + +She wielded a ready and a sarcastic pen, and safely hidden behind a +pseudonym and the promise of the editor, she wrote a series of +satirical articles for the local paper, entitled: "Letters from Lost +Townships." In one of these she touched up Mr. Shields, the Auditor of +State, to such good purpose that believing that Lincoln had written +the article, he challenged him to a duel. Lincoln accepted the +challenge and chose "cavalry broadswords" as the weapons, but the +intervention of friends prevented any fighting, although he always +spoke of the affair as his "duel." + +As a result of this altercation with Shields, Miss Todd and the future +President came again into close friendship, and a marriage was decided +upon. + +The license was secured, the minister sent for, and on November 4, +1842, they became man and wife. + +It is not surprising that more or less unhappiness obtained in their +married life, for Mrs. Lincoln was a woman of strong character, proud, +fiery, and determined. Her husband was subject to strange moods and +impulses, and the great task which God had committed to him made him +less amenable to family cares. + +That married life which began at the Globe Tavern was destined to end +at the White House, after years of vicissitude and serious national +trouble. Children were born unto them, and all but the eldest died. +Great responsibilities were laid upon Lincoln and even though he met +them bravely it was inevitable that his family should also suffer. + +Upon the face of the Commander-in-chief rested nearly always a mighty +sadness, except when it was occasionally illumined by his wonderful +smile, or when the light of his sublime faith banished the clouds. + +Storm and stress, suffering and heartache, reverses and defeat were +the portion of the Leader, and when Victory at last perched upon the +National standard, her beautiful feet were all drabbled in blood, and +the most terrible war on the world's records passed down into history. +In the hour of triumph, with his great purpose nobly fulfilled, death +came to the great Captain. + +The United Republic is his monument, and that rugged, yet gracious +figure, hallowed by martyrdom, stands before the eyes of his +countrymen forever serene and calm, while his memory lingers like +a benediction in the hearts of both friend and foe. + + + + +Silent Thanksgiving + + + She is standing alone by the window-- + A woman, faded and old, + But the wrinkled face was lovely once, + And the silvered hair was gold. + As out in the darkness, the snow-flakes + Are falling so softly and slow, + Her thoughts fly back to the summer of life, + And the scenes of long ago. + + Before the dim eyes, a picture comes, + She has seen it again and again; + The tears steal over the faded cheeks, + And the lips that quiver with pain, + For she hears once more the trumpet call + And sees the battle array + As they march to the hills with gleaming swords-- + Can she ever forget that day? + + She has given her boy to the land she loves, + How hard it had been to part! + And to-night she stands at the window alone, + With a new-made grave in her heart. + And yet, it's the day of Thanksgiving-- + But her child, her darling was slain + By the shot and shell of the rebel guns-- + Can she ever be thankful again? + + She thinks once more of his fair young face, + And the cannon's murderous roll, + While hatred springs in her passionate heart, + And bitterness into her soul. + Then out of the death-like stillness + There comes a battle-cry-- + The song that led those marching feet + To conquer, or to die. + + "Yes, rally round the flag, boys!" + With tears she hears the song, + And her thoughts go back to the boys in blue, + That army, brave and strong-- + Then Peace creeps in amid the pain. + The dead are as dear as the living, + And back of the song is the silence, + And back of the silence--Thanksgiving. + + + + +In the Flash of a Jewel + + +Certain barbaric instincts in the human race seem to be ineradicable. +It is but a step from the painted savage, gorgeous in his beads and +wampum, to my lady of fashion, who wears a tiara upon her stately +head, chains and collars of precious stones at her throat, bracelets +on her white arms, and innumerable rings upon her dainty fingers. Wise +men may decry the baleful fascination of jewels, but, none the less, +the jeweller's window continues to draw the crowd. + +Like brilliant moths that appear only at night, jewels are tabooed in +the day hours. Dame Fashion sternly condemns gems in the day time as +evidence of hopelessly bad taste. No jewels are permitted in any +ostentatious way, and yet a woman may, even in good society, wear a +few thousand dollars' worth of precious stones, without seeming to be +overdressed, provided the occasion is appropriate, as in the case of +functions held in darkened rooms. + +In the evening when shoulders are bared and light feet tread fantastic +measures in a ball room, which is literally a bower of roses, there +seems to be no limit as regards jewels. In such an assembly a woman +may, without appearing overdressed, adorn herself with diamonds +amounting to a small fortune. + +During a season of grand opera in Chicago, a beautiful white-haired +woman sat in the same box night after night without attracting +particular attention, except as a woman of acknowledged beauty. At a +glance it might be thought that her dress, although elegant, was +rather simple, but an enterprising reporter discovered that her gown +of rare old lace, with the pattern picked out here and there with chip +diamonds, had cost over fifty-five thousand dollars. The tiara, +collar, and few rings she wore, swelled the grand total to more than +three hundred thousand dollars. + +Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, and opals--these +precious stones have played a tremendous part in the world's history. +Empires have been bartered for jewels, and for a string of pearls many +a woman has sold her soul. It is said that pearls mean tears, yet they +are favourite gifts for brides, and no maiden fears to wear them on +her way up the aisle where her bridegroom waits. + +A French writer claims that if it be true that the oyster can be +forced to make as many pearls as may be required of it, the jewel will +become so common that my lady will no longer care to decorate herself +with its pale splendour. Whether or not this will ever be the case, it +is certain that few gems have played a more conspicuous part in +history than this. + +Not only have we Cleopatra's reckless draught, but there is also a +story of a noble Roman who dissolved in vinegar and drank a pearl +worth a million sesterces, which had adorned the ear of the woman he +loved. But the cold-hearted chemist declares that an acid which could +dissolve a pearl would also dissolve the person who swallowed it, so +those two legends must vanish with many others that have shrivelled up +under the searching gaze of science. + +There is another interesting story about the destruction of a pearl. +During the reign of Elizabeth, a haughty Spanish ambassador was +boasting at the Court of England of the great riches of his king. Sir +Thomas Gresham, wishing to get even with the bragging Castilian, +replied that some of Elizabeth's subjects would spend as much at one +meal as Philip's whole kingdom could produce in a day! To prove this +statement, Sir Thomas invited the Spaniard to dine with him, and +having ground up a costly Eastern pearl the Englishman coolly +swallowed it. + +Going back to the dimness of early times, we find that many of the +ancients preferred green gems to all other stones. The emerald was +thought to have many virtues. It kept evil spirits at a distance, it +restored failing sight, it could unearth mysteries, and when it turned +yellow its owner knew to a certainty that the woman he loved was false +to him. + +The ruby flashes through all Oriental romances. This stone banished +sadness and sin. A serpent with a ruby in its mouth was considered an +appropriate betrothal ring. + +The most interesting ruby of history is set in the royal diadem of +England. It is called the Black Prince's ruby. In the days when the +Moors ruled Granada, when both the men and the women of that race +sparkled with gems, and even the ivory covers of their books were +sometimes set with precious stones, the Spanish king, Don Pedro the +Cruel, obtained this stone from a Moorish prince whom he had caused to +be murdered. + +It was given by Don Pedro to the Black Prince, and half a century +later it glowed on the helmet of that most picturesque of England's +kings, Henry V, at the battle of Agincourt. + +The Scotchman, Sir James Melville, saw this jewel during his famous +visit to the Court of Elizabeth, when the Queen showed him some of the +treasures in her cabinet, the most valued of these being the portrait +of Leicester. + +"She showed me a fair ruby like a great racket ball," he says. "I +desired she would send to my queen either this or the Earl of +Leicester's picture." But Elizabeth cherished both the ruby and the +portrait, so she sent Marie Stuart a diamond instead. + +Poets have lavished their fancies upon the origin of the opal, but no +one seems to know why it is considered unlucky. Women who laugh at +superstitions of all kinds are afraid to wear an opal, and a certain +jeweller at the head of one of the largest establishments in a great +city has carried his fear to such a length that he will not keep one +in his establishment--not only this, but it is said that he has even +been known to throw an opal ring out of the window. The offending +stone had been presented to his daughter, but this fact was not +allowed to weigh against his superstition. It is understood when he +entertains that none of his guests will wear opals, and this wish is +faithfully respected. + +The story goes that the opal was discovered at the same time that +kissing was invented. A young shepherd on the hills of Greece found +a pretty pebble one day, and wishing to give it to a beautiful +shepherdess who stood near him, he let her take it from his lips +with hers, as the hands of neither of them were clean. + +Many a battle royal has been waged for the possession of a diamond, +and several famous diamonds are known by name throughout the world. +Among these are the Orloff, the Koh-i-noor, the Regent, the Real +Paragon, and the Sanci, besides the enormous stone which was sent to +King Edward from South Africa. This has been cut but not yet named. + +The Orloff is perhaps the most brilliant of all the famous group. +Tradition says that it was once one of the eyes of an Indian idol and +was supposed to have been the origin of all light. A French grenadier +of Pondicherry deserted his regiment, adopted the religion and manners +of the Brahmans, worshipped at the shrine of the idol whose eyes were +light itself, stole the brightest one, and escaped. + +A sea captain bought it from him for ten thousand dollars and sold it +to a Jew for sixty thousand dollars. An Armenian named Shafras bought +it from the Jew, and after a time Count Orloff paid $382,500 for this +and a title of Russian nobility. + +He presented the wonderful refractor of light to the Empress Catherine +who complimented Orloff by naming it after him. This magnificent +stone, which weighs one hundred and ninety-five carats, now forms the +apex of the Russian crown. + +The Real Paragon was in 1861 the property of the Rajah of Mattan. +It was then uncut and weighed three hundred and seven carats. The +Governor of Batavia was very anxious to bring it to Europe. He offered +the Rajah one hundred and fifty thousand dollars and two warships with +their guns and ammunition, but the offer was contemptuously refused. +Very little is known of its history. It is now owned by the Government +of Portugal and is pledged as security for a very large sum of money. + +It has been said that one could carry the Koh-i-noor in one end of a +silk purse and balance it in the other end with a gold eagle and a +gold dollar, and never feel the difference in weight, while the value +of the gem in gold could not be transported in less than four dray +loads! + +Tradition says that Karna, King of Anga, owned it three thousand years +ago. The King of Lahore, one of the Indies, heard that the King of +Cabul, one of the lesser princes, had in his possession the largest +and purest diamond in the world. Lahore invited Cabul to visit him, +and when he had him in his power, demanded the treasure. Cabul, +however, had suspected treachery, and brought an imitation of the +Koh-i-noor. He of course expostulated, but finally surrendered the +supposed diamond. + +The lapidary who was employed to mount it pronounced it a piece of +crystal, whereupon the royal old thief sent soldiers who ransacked the +palace of the King of Cabul from top to bottom, in vain. At last, +however, after a long search, a servant betrayed his master, and the +gem was found in a pile of ashes. + +After the annexation of the Punjab in 1849, the Koh-i-noor was given +up to the British, and at a meeting of the Punjab Board was handed to +John (afterward Lord) Lawrence who placed it in his waistcoat pocket +and forgot the treasure. While at a public meeting some time later, he +suddenly remembered it, hurried home and asked his servant if he had +seen a small box which he had left in his waistcoat pocket. + +"Yes, sahib," the man replied; "I found it, and put in your drawer." + +"Bring it here," said Lawrence, and the servant produced it. + +"Now," said his master, "open it and see what it contains." + +The old native obeyed, and after removing the folds of linen, he said: +"There is nothing here but a piece of glass." + +"Good," said Lawrence, with a sigh of relief, "you can leave it with +me." + +The Sanci diamond belonged to Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, who +wore it in his hat at the battle of Nancy, where he fell. A Swiss +soldier found it and sold it for a gulden to a clergyman of Baltimore. +It passed into the possession of Anton, King of Portugal, who was +obliged to sell it, the price being a million francs. + +It shortly afterward became the property of a Frenchman named Sanci, +whose descendant being sent as an ambassador, was required by the King +to give the diamond as a pledge. The servant carrying it to the King +was attacked by robbers on the way and murdered, not, however, until +he had swallowed the diamond. His master, feeling sure of his +faithfulness, caused the body to be opened and found the gem in his +stomach. This gem came into the possession of the Crown of England, +and James II carried it with him to France in 1688. + +From James it passed to his friend and patron, Louis XIV, and to his +descendants, until the Duchess of Berry at the Restoration sold it to +the Demidoffs for six hundred and twenty-five thousand francs. + +It was worth a million and a half of francs when Prince Paul +Demidoff wore it in his hat at a great fancy ball given in honour +of Count Walewski, the Minister of Napoleon III--and lost it +during the ball! Everybody was wild with excitement when the loss +was announced--everybody but Prince Paul Demidoff. After an hour's +search the Sanci was found under a chair. + +After more than two centuries, "the Regent is," as Saint-Simon +described it in 1717, "a brilliant, inestimable and unique." Its +density is rather higher than that of the usual diamond, and it +weighs upwards of one hundred and thirty carats. This stone was found +in India by a slave, who, to conceal it, made a wound in his leg and +wrapped the gem in the bandages. Reaching the coast, he intrusted +himself and his secret to an English captain, who took the gem, threw +the slave overboard, and sold his ill-gotten gains to a native +merchant for five thousand dollars. + +It afterwards passed into the hands of Pitt, Governor of St. George, +who sold it in 1717 to the Duke of Orleans, then Regent of France, for +$675,000. Before the end of the eighteenth century the stone had more +than trebled in worth, and we can only wonder what it ought to bring +now with its "perfect whiteness, its regular form, and its absolute +freedom from stain or flaw!" + +The collection belonging to the Sultan of Turkey, which is probably +the finest in the world, dates prior to the discovery of America, and +undoubtedly came from Asia. One Turkish pasha alone left to the Empire +at his death, seven table-cloths embroidered with diamonds, and +bushels of fine pearls. + +In the war with Russia, in 1778, Turkey borrowed $30,000,000 from the +Ottoman Bank on the security of the crown jewels. The cashier of the +bank was admitted to the treasure-chamber and was told to help himself +until he had enough to secure his advances. + +"I selected enough," he says, "to secure the bank against loss in any +event, but the removal of the gems I took made no appreciable gap in +the accumulation." + +In the imperial treasury of the Sultan, the first room is the richest +in notable objects. The most conspicuous of these is a great throne or +divan of beaten gold, occupying the entire centre of the room, and set +with precious stones: pearls, rubies, and emeralds, thousands of them, +covering the entire surface in a geometrical mosaic pattern. This +specimen of barbaric magnificence was part of the spoils of war taken +from one of the shahs of Persia. + +Much more interesting and beautiful, however, is another canopied +throne or divan, placed in the upper story of the same building. This +is a genuine work of old Turkish art which dates from some time during +the second half of the sixteenth century. It is a raised square seat, +on which the Sultan sat cross-legged. At each angle there rises a +square vertical shaft supporting a canopy, with a minaret or pinnacle +surmounted by a rich gold and jewelled finial. The entire height of +the throne is nine or ten feet. The materials are precious woods, +ebony, sandal-wood, etc., with shell, mother-of-pearl, silver, and +gold. + +The entire piece is decorated inside and out with a branching +floriated design in mother-of-pearl marquetry, in the style of the +fine early Persian painted tiles, and the centre of each of the +principal leaves and flowers is set with splendid _cabochon_ gems, +fine balass rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and pearls. + +Pendant from the roof of the canopy, and in a position which would be +directly over the head of the Sultan, is a golden cord, on which is +hung a large heart-shaped ornament of gold, chased and perforated with +floriated work, and beneath it hangs a huge uncut emerald of fine +colour, but of triangular shape, four inches in diameter, and an inch +and a half thick. + +Richly decorated arms and armour form a conspicuous feature of the +contents of all three of these rooms. The most notable work in this +class in the first apartment is a splendid suit of mixed chain and +plate mail, wonderfully damascened and jewelled, worn by Sultan Murad +IV, in 1638, at the taking of Bagdad. + +Near to it is a scimetar, probably a part of the panoply of the same +monarch. Both the hilt and the greater part of the broad scabbard +of this weapon are incrusted with large table diamonds, forming +checkerwork, all the square stones being regularly and symmetrically +cut, of exactly the same size--upward of half an inch across. There +are many other sumptuous works of art which are similarly adorned. + +Rightfully first among the world's splendid coronets stands the State +Crown of England. It was made in 1838 with jewels taken from old +crowns and others furnished by command of the Queen. + +It consists of diamonds, pearls, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, set +in silver and gold. It has a crimson velvet cap with ermine border; +it is lined with white silk and weighs about forty ounces. The lower +part of the band above the ermine border consists of a row of one +hundred and ninety-nine pearls, and the upper part of this band has +one hundred and twelve pearls, between which, in the front of the +crown, is a large sapphire which was purchased for it by George IV. + +At the back is a sapphire of smaller size and six others, three on +each side, between which are eight emeralds. Above and below the +sapphires are fourteen diamonds, and around the eight emeralds are one +hundred and twenty-eight diamonds. Between the emeralds and sapphires +are sixteen ornaments, containing one hundred and sixty diamonds. +Above the band are eight sapphires, surmounted by eight diamonds, +between which are eight festoons, consisting of one hundred and +forty-eight diamonds. + +In the front of the crown and in the centre of a diamond Maltese cross +is the famous ruby of the Black Prince. Around this ruby to form the +cross are seventy-five brilliant diamonds. Three other Maltese +crosses, forming the two sides and back of the crown, have emerald +centres, and each contains between one and two hundred brilliant +diamonds. Between the four Maltese crosses are four ornaments in the +form of the French _fleur-de-lis_, with four rubies in the centre, and +surrounded by rose diamonds. + +From the Maltese crosses issue four imperial arches, composed of oak +leaves and acorns embellished with hundreds of magnificent jewels. +From the upper part of the arches are suspended four large pendant +pear-shaped pearls, with rose diamond caps. Above the arch stands the +mound, thickly set with brilliants. The cross on the summit has a +rose cut sapphire in the centre, surrounded by diamonds. + +A gem is said to represent "condensed wealth," and it is also +condensed history. The blood of a ruby, the faint moonlight lustre of +a pearl, the green glow of an emerald, and the dazzling white light +of a diamond--in what unfailing magic lies their charm? Tiny bits +of crystal as they appear to be--even the Orloff diamond could be +concealed in a child's hand--yet kings and queens have played for +stakes like these. Battle and murder have been done for them, honour +bartered and kingdoms lost, but the old magic beauty never fades, and +to-day, as always, sin and beauty, side, by side, are mirrored in the +flash of a jewel. + + + + +The Coming of My Ship + + + Straight to the sunrise my ship's sails are leaning, + Brave at the masthead her new colours fly; + Down on the shore, her lips trembling with meaning, + Love waits, but unanswering, I heed not her cry. + The gold of the East shall be mine in full measure, + My ship shall come home overflowing with treasure, + And love is not need, but only a pleasure, + So I wait for my ship to come in. + + Silent, half troubled, I wait in the shadow, + No sail do I see between me and the dawn; + Out in the blue and measureless meadow, + My ship wanders widely, but Love has not gone. + "My arms await thee," she cries in her pleading, + "Why wait for its coming, when I am thy needing?" + I pass by in stillness, all else unheeding, + And wait for my ship to come in. + + See, in the East, surrounded by splendour, + My sail glimmers whitely in crimson and blue; + I turn back to Love, my heart growing tender, + "Now I have gold and leisure for you. + Jewels she brings for thy white breast's adorning, + Measures of gold beyond a queen's scorning"-- + To-night I shall rest--joy comes in the morning, + So I wait for my ship to come in. + + Remembering waters beat cold on the shore, + And the grey sea in sadness grows old; + I listen in vain for Love's pleading once more, + While my ship comes with spices and gold. + The sea birds cry hoarsely, for this is their songing, + On masthead and colours their white wings are thronging, + But my soul throbs deep with love and with longing, + And I wait for my ship to come in. + + + + +Romance and the Postman + + +A letter! Do the charm and uncertainty of it ever fade? Who knows what +may be written upon the pages within! + +Far back, in a dim, dream-haunted childhood, the first letter came to +me. It was "a really, truly letter," properly stamped and addressed, +and duly delivered by the postman. With what wonder the chubby fingers +broke the seal! It did not matter that there was an inclosure to one's +mother, and that the thing itself was written by an adoring relative; +it was a personal letter, of private and particular importance, and +that day the postman assumed his rightful place in one's affairs. + +In the treasure box of many a grandmother is hidden a pathetic scrawl +that the baby made for her and called "a letter." To the alien eye, +it is a mere tangle of pencil marks, and the baby himself, grown +to manhood, with children of his own, would laugh at the yellowed +message, which is put away with his christening robe and his first +shoes, but to one, at least, it speaks with a deathless voice. + +It is written in books and papers that some unhappy mortals are +swamped with mail. As a lady recently wrote to the President of the +United States: "I suppose you get so many letters that when you see +the postman coming down the street, you don't care whether he has +anything for you or not." + +Indeed, the President might well think the universe had gone suddenly +wrong if the postman passed him by, but there are compensations in +everything. The First Gentleman of the Republic must inevitably miss +the pleasant emotions which letters bring to the most of us. + +The clerks and carriers in the business centres may be pardoned if +they lose sight of the potentialities of the letters that pass +through their hands. When a skyscraper is a postal district in +itself, there is no time for the man in grey to think of the burden he +carries, save as so many pounds of dead weight, becoming appreciably +lighter at each stop. But outside the hum and bustle, on quiet streets +and secluded by-ways, there are faces at the windows, watching eagerly +for the mail. + +The progress of the postman is akin to a Roman triumph, for in his +leathern pack lies Fate. Long experience has given him a sixth sense, +as if the letters breathed a hint of their contents through their +superscriptions. + +The business letter, crisp and to the point, has an atmosphere of its +own, even where cross lines of typewriting do not show through the +envelope. + +The long, rambling, friendly hand is distinctive, and if it has been +carried in the pocket a long time before mailing, the postman knows +that the writer is a married woman with a foolish trust in her +husband. + +Circulars addressed mechanically, at so much a thousand, never +deceive the postman, though the recipient often opens them with +pleasurable sensations, which immediately sink to zero. And the +love-letters! The carrier is a veritable Sherlock Holmes when it comes +to them. + +Gradually he becomes acquainted with the inmost secrets of those upon +his route. Friendship, love, and marriage, absence and return, death, +and one's financial condition, are all as an open book to the man +in grey. Invitations, cards, wedding announcements, forlorn little +letters from those to whom writing is not as easy as speech, childish +epistles with scrap pictures pasted on the outside, all give an +inkling of their contents to the man who delivers them. + +When the same bill comes to the same house for a long and regular +period, then ceases, even the carrier must feel relieved to know that +it has been paid. When he isn't too busy, he takes a friendly look at +the postal cards, and sometimes saves a tenant in a third flat the +weariness of two flights of stairs by shouting the news up the tube! + +If the dweller in a tenement has ingratiating manners, he may learn +how many papers, and letters are being stuffed into the letter-box, by +a polite inquiry down the tube when the bell rings. Through the subtle +freemasonry of the postman's voice a girl knows that her lover has not +forgotten her--and her credit is good for the "two cents due" if the +tender missive is overweight. + +"All the world loves a lover," and even the busy postman takes a +fatherly interest in the havoc wrought by Cupid along his route. The +little blind god knows neither times nor seasons--all alike are his +own--but the man in grey, old and spectacled though he may be, is his +confidential messenger. + +Love-letters are seemingly immortal. A clay tablet on which one of the +Pharaohs wrote, asking for the heart and hand of a beautiful foreign +princess, is now in the British Museum. But suppose the postman had +not been sure-footed, and all the clay letters had been smashed into +fragments in a single grand catastrophe! What a stir in high places, +what havoc in Church and State, and how many fond hearts broken, if +the postman had fallen down! + +"Nothing feeds the flame like a letter," said Emerson; "it has intent, +personality, secrecy." Flimsy and frail as it is, so easily torn or +destroyed, the love-letter many times outlasts the love. Even the +Father of his Country, though he has been dead this hundred years or +more, has left behind him a love-letter, ragged and faded, but still +legible, beginning: "My Dearest Life and Love." + +"Matter is indestructible," so the scientists say, but what of the +love-letter that is reduced to ashes? Does its passion live again in +some far-off violet flame, or, rising from its dust, bloom once more +in a fragrant rose, to touch the lips of another love? + +In countless secret places, the tender missives are hidden, for the +lover must always keep his joy in tangible form, to be sure that it +was not a dream. They fly through the world by day and night, like +white-winged birds that can say, "I love you"--over mountain, hill, +stream, and plain; past sea and lake and river, through the desert's +fiery heat and amid the throbbing pulses of civilisation, with never +a mistake, to bring exquisite rapture to another heart and wings of +light to the loved one's soul. + +Under the pillow of the maiden, her lover's letter brings visions of +happiness too great for the human heart to hold. Even in her dreams, +her fingers tighten upon his letter--the visible assurance of his +unchanging and unchangeable love. + +When the bugle sounds the charge, and dimly through the flash and +flame the flag signals "Follow!" many a heart, leaping to answer with +the hot blood of youth, finds a sudden tenderness in the midst of its +high courage, from the loving letter which lies close to the soldier's +breast. + +Bunker Hill and Gettysburg, Moscow and the Wilderness, Waterloo, +Mafeking, and San Juan--the old blood-stained fields and the modern +scenes of terror have all alike known the same message and the same +thrill. The faith and hope of the living, the kiss and prayer of the +dying, the cries of the wounded, and the hot tears of those who have +parted forever, are on the blood-stained pages of the love-letters +that have gone to war. + +"_Ich liebe Dich_," "_Je t'aime_," or, in our dear English speech, "I +love you,"--it is all the same, for the heart knows the universal +language, the words of which are gold, bedewed with tears that shine +like precious stones. + +Every attic counts old love-letters among its treasures, and when the +rain beats on the roof and grey swirls of water are blown against the +pane, one may sit among the old trunks and boxes and bring to light +the loves of days gone by. + +The little hair-cloth trunk, with its rusty lock and broken hinges, +brings to mind a rosy-cheeked girl in a poke bonnet, who went +a-visiting in the stage-coach. Inside is the bonnet itself--white, +with a gorgeous trimming of pink "lute-string" ribbon, which has faded +into ashes of roses at the touch of the kindly years. + +From the trunk comes a musty fragrance--lavender, sweet clover, +rosemary, thyme, and the dried petals of roses that have long since +crumbled to dust. Scraps of brocade and taffeta, yellowed lingerie, +and a quaint old wedding gown, daguerreotypes in ornate cases, and +then the letters, tied with faded ribbon, in a package by themselves. + +The fingers unconsciously soften to their task, for the letters are +old and yellow, and the ink has faded to brown. Every one was cut open +with the scissors, not hastily torn according to our modern fashion, +but in a slow and seemly manner, as befits a solemn occasion. + +Perhaps the sweet face of a great-grandmother grew much perplexed at +the sight of a letter in an unfamiliar hand, and perhaps, too, as is +the way of womankind, she studied the outside a long time before she +opened it. As the months passed by, the handwriting became familiar, +but a coquettish grandmother may have flirted a bit with the letter, +and put it aside--until she could be alone. + +All the important letters are in the package, from the first formal +note asking permission to call, which a womanly instinct bade the +maiden put aside, to the last letter, written when twilight lay upon +the long road they had travelled together, but still beginning: "My +Dear and Honoured Wife." + +Bits of rosemary and geranium, lemon verbena, tuberose, and +heliotrope, fragile and whitened, but still sweet, fall from the +opened letters and rustle softly as they fall. + +Far away in the "peace which passeth all understanding," the writer of +the letters sleeps, but the old love keeps a fragrance that outlives +the heart in which it bloomed. + +At night, when the fires below are lighted, and childish voices make +the old house ring with laughter, Memory steals into the attic to sing +softly of the past, as a mother croons her child to sleep. + +Rocking in a quaint old attic chair, with the dear familiar things of +home gathered all about her, Memory's voice is sweet, like a harp +tuned in the minor mode when the south wind sweeps the strings. + +Bunches of herbs swing from the rafters and fill the room with the +wholesome scent of an old-fashioned garden, where rue and heartsease +grew. With the fragrance comes the breath from that garden of +Mnemosyne, where the simples for heartache nod beside the River of +Forgetfulness. + +In a flash the world is forgotten, and into the attic come dear faces +from that distant land of childhood, where a strange enchantment +glorified the commonplace, and made the dreams of night seem real. +Footsteps that have long been silent are heard upon the attic floor, +and voices, hushed for years, whisper from the shadows from the other +end of the room. + +A moonbeam creeps into the attic and transfigures the haunted chamber +with a sheen of silver mist. From the spinning-wheel come a soft hum +and a delicate whir; then a long-lost voice breathes the first notes +of an old, old song. The melody changes to a minuet, and the lady in +the portrait moves, smiling, from the tarnished gilt frame that +surrounds her--then a childish voice says: "Mother, are you asleep?" + +Down the street the postman passes, bearing his burden of joy and +pain: letters from far-off islands, where the Stars and Stripes gleam +against a forest of palms; from the snow-bound fastnesses of the +North, where men are searching for gold; from rose-scented valleys and +violet fields, where the sun forever shines, and from lands across the +sea, where men speak an alien tongue--single messages from one to +another; letters that plead for pardon cross the paths of those that +are meant to stab; letters written in jest too often find grim earnest +at the end of their journey, and letters written in all tenderness +meet misunderstandings and pain, when the postman brings them home; +letters that deal with affairs of state and shape the destiny of a +nation; tidings of happiness and sorrow, birth and death, love and +trust, and the thousand pangs of trust betrayed; an hundred joys and +as many griefs are all in the postman's hands. + +No wonder, then, that there is a stir in the house, that eyes +brighten, hearts beat quickly, and eager steps hasten to the door of +destiny, when the postman rings the bell! + + + + +A Summer Reverie + + + I sit on the shore of the deep blue sea + As the tide comes rolling in, + And wonder, as roaming in sunlit dreams, + The cause of the breakers' din. + + For each of the foam-crowned billows + Has a wonderful story to tell, + And the surge's mystical music + Seems wrought by a fairy spell. + + I wander through memory's portals, + Through mansions dim and vast, + And gaze at the beautiful pictures + That hang in the halls of the past. + + And dream-faces gather around me, + With voices soft and low, + To draw me back to the pleasures + Of the lands of long ago. + + There are visions of beauty and splendour, + And a fame that I never can win-- + Far out on the deep they are sailing-- + My ships that will never come in. + + + + +A Vignette + + +It was a muddy down-town corner and several people stood in the cold, +waiting for a street-car. A stand of daily papers was on the sidewalk, +guarded by two little newsboys. One was much younger than the other, +and he rolled two marbles back and forth in the mud by the curb. +Suddenly his attention was attracted by something bright above him, +and he looked up into a bunch of red carnations a young lady held in +her hands. He watched them eagerly, seemingly unable to take his eyes +from the feast of colour. She saw the hungry look in the little face, +and put one into his hand. He was silent, until his brother said: "Say +thanky to the lady." He whispered his thanks, and then she bent down +and pinned the blossom upon his ragged jacket, while the big policeman +on the corner smiled approvingly. + +"My, but you're gay now, and you can sell all your papers," the bigger +boy said tenderly. + +"Yep, I can sell 'em now, sure!" + +Out of the crowd on the opposite corner came a tiny, dark-skinned +Italian girl, with an accordion slung over her shoulder by a dirty +ribbon; she made straight for the carnations and fearlessly cried, +"Lady, please give me a flower!" She got one, and quickly vanished in +the crowd. + +The young woman walked up the street to a flower-stand to replenish +her bunch of carnations, and when she returned, another dark-skinned +mite rushed up to her without a word, only holding up grimy hands with +a gesture of pathetic appeal. Another brilliant blossom went to her, +and the young woman turned to follow her; on through the crowd the +child fled, until she reached the corner where her mother stood, +seamed and wrinkled and old, with the dark pathetic eyes of sunny +Italy. She held the flower out to her, and the weary mother turned and +snatched it eagerly, then pressed it to her lips, and kissed it as +passionately as if it had been the child who brought it to her. + +Just then the car came, and the big grey policeman helped the owner of +the carnations across the street, and said as he put her on the car, +"Lady, you've sure done them children a good turn to-day." + + + + +Meditation + + + I sail through the realms of the long ago, + Wafted by fancy and visions frail, + On the river Time with its gentle flow, + In a silver boat with a golden sail. + + My dreams, in the silence are hurrying by + On the brooklet of Thought where I let them flow, + And the "lilies nod to the sound of the stream" + As I sail through the realms of the long ago. + + On the shores of life's deep-flowing stream + Are my countless sorrows and heartaches, too, + And the hills of hope are but dimly seen, + Far in the distance, near heaven's blue. + + I find that my childish thoughts and dreams + Lie strewn on the sands by the cruel blast + That scattered my hopes on the restless streams + That flow through the mystic realms of the past. + + + + +Pointers for the Lords of Creation + + +Some wit has said that the worst vice in the world is advice, and it +is also quite true that one ignorant, though well-meaning person can +sometimes accomplish more damage in a short time, than a dozen people +who start out for the purpose of doing mischief. + +The newspapers and periodicals of to-day are crowded with advice to +women, and while much of it is found in magazines for women, written +and edited by men, it is also true that a goodly quantity of it comes +from feminine writers; it is all along the same lines, however, the +burden of effort being to teach the weaker sex how to become more +attractive and more lovable to the lords of creation. It is, of +course, all intended for our good, for if we can only please the men, +and obey their slightest wish even before they take the trouble to +mention the matter, we can then be perfectly happy. + +A man can sit down any day and give us directions enough to keep us +busy for a lifetime, and we seldom or never return the compliment. +This is manifestly unfair, and so this little preachment is meant for +the neglected and deserving men, and for them only, so that all women +who have read thus far are invited to leave the matter right here and +turn their attention to the column of "Advice to Women" which they can +find in almost any periodical. + +In the first place, gentlemen, we must admit that you do keep us +guessing, though we do not sit up nights nor lose much sleep over your +queer notions. + +We can't ask you many questions, either, dear brethren, for, as you +know, you rather like to fib to us, and sometimes we are able to find +it out, and then we never believe you any more. + +We may venture, however, to ask small favours of you, and one of these +is that you do not wear red ties. You look so nice in quiet colours +that we dislike exceedingly to have you make crazy quilts of +yourselves, and that is just what you do when you begin experimenting +with colours which we naturally associate with the "cullud pussons." + +And a cane may be very ornamental, but it's of no earthly use, and we +would rather you would not carry it when you go out with us. + +Never tell us you haven't had time to come and see us, or write to us, +because we know perfectly well that if you wanted to badly enough, you +would take the time, so the excuse makes us even madder than does the +neglect. Still, when you don't want to come, we would not have you do +it for anything. + +There is an old saying that "absence makes the heart grow fonder"--so +it does--of the other fellow. We don't propose to shed any tears over +you; we simply go to the theatre with the other man and have an +extremely good time. When you are very, very bright, you can manage +some way not to allow us to forget you for a minute, nor give us much +time to think of anything else. + +When we are angry, for heaven's sake don't ask us why, because that +shows your lack of penetration. Just simply call yourself a brute, and +say you are utterly unworthy of even our faint regard, and you will +soon realise that this covers a lot of ground, and everything will be +all right in a few minutes. + +And whatever you do, don't show any temper yourself. A woman requires +of a man that he shall be as immovable as the rock of Gibraltar, no +matter what she does to him. And you play your strongest card when you +don't mind our tantrums--even though it's a state secret we are +telling you. + +Don't get huffy when you meet us with another man; in nine cases out +of ten, that's just what we do it for. And don't make the mistake of +retaliating by asking another girl somewhere. You'll have a perfectly +miserable time if you do, both then and afterward. + +When you do come to see us, it is not at all nice to spend the entire +evening talking about some other girl. How would you like to have the +graces of some other man continually dinned into your ears? Sometimes +we take that way in order to get a rest from your overweening raptures +over the absent girl. + +We have a well-defined suspicion that you talk us over with your chums +and compare notes. But, bless you, it can't possibly hold a candle to +the thorough and impartial discussions that some of you get when girls +are together, either in small bevies, or with only one chosen friend. +And we don't very much care what you say about us, for a man never +judges a woman by the opinion of any one else, but another woman's +opinion counts for a great deal with us, so you would better be +careful. + +If you are going to say things that you don't mean, try to stamp +them with the air of sincerity--if you can once get a woman to fully +believe in your sincerity, you have gone a long way toward her heart. + +Haven't you found out that women are not particularly interested in +anecdotes? Please don't tell us more than fifteen in the same evening. + +And don't begin to make love to us before you have had time to make a +favourable impression along several lines--a man, as well as a woman, +loses ground and forfeits respect by making himself too cheap. + +If a girl runs and screams when she has been caught standing under the +mistletoe, it means that she will not object; if she stiffens up and +glares at you, it means that she does. The same idea is sometimes +delicately conveyed by the point of a pin. But a woman will be able to +forgive almost anything which you can make her believe was prompted by +her own attractiveness, at least unless she knows men fairly well. + +You know, of course, that we will not show your letters, nor tell when +you ask us to marry you and are refused. This much a woman owes to +any man who has honoured her with an offer of marriage--to keep his +perfect trust sacredly in her own heart. Even her future husband has +no business to know of this--it is her lover's secret, and she has no +right to betray it. + +Keeping the love-letters and the offers of marriage from any +honourable man safe from a prying world are points of honour which all +good women possess, although we may sometimes quote certain things +from your letters, as you do from ours. + +There's nothing you can tell a woman which will please her quite so +much as that knowing her has made you better, especially if you can +prove it by showing a decided upward tendency in your morals. That's +your good right bower, but don't play it too often--keep it for +special occasions. + +There's one mistake you make, dear brethren, and that is telling a +woman you love her as soon as you find it out yourself, and the most +of you will do that very thing. There is one case on record where a +man waited fifteen minutes, but he nearly died of the strain. The +trouble is that you seldom stop to consider whether we are ready to +hear you or not, nor whether the coast is clear, nor what the chances +are in your favour. You simply relieve your mind, and trust in your +own wonderful charms to accomplish the rest. + +And we wish that when the proper time comes for you to speak your mind +you'd try to do it artistically. Of course you can't write it, unless +you are far away from her, for if you can manage an opportunity to +speak, a resort to the pen is cowardly. And don't mind our evading the +subject--we always do that on principle, but please don't be scared, +or at least don't show it, whatever you may feel. If there is one +thing a woman dislikes more than another it is a man who shows +cowardice at the crucial point in life. + +Every man, except yourself, dear reader, is conceited. And one +particular sort of it makes us very, very weary. You are so blinded by +your own perfections, so sure that we are desperately in love with +you, that you sometimes give us little unspoken suggestions to that +effect, and then our disgust is beyond words. + +Another cowardly thing you sometimes do, and that is to say that we +have spoiled your life--that we could have made you anything we +pleased--and that you are going straight to perdition. If one woman +is all that keeps you from going to ruin, you have secured a through +ticket anyway, and it's too late to save you. You don't want a woman +who might marry you only out of pity, and you are not going to die of +a broken heart. Men die of broken vanity, sometimes, but their hearts +are pretty tough, being made of healthy muscle. + +You get married very much as you go down town in the morning. You run, +like all possessed, until you catch your car, and then you sit down +and read your newspaper. When you think your wife looks unusually +well, it would not hurt you in the least to tell her so, and the way +you leave her in the morning is going to settle her happiness for the +day, though she may be too proud to let you know that it makes any +difference. Women are quick to detect a sham, and they don't want you +to say anything that you don't feel, but you are pretty sure to feel +tenderly toward her sometimes, careless though you may be, and then is +the time to tell her so. You don't want to wait until she is dead, and +then buy a lily to put on her coffin. You'd better bring her the lily +some time when you've been cross and grumpy. + +But don't imagine that a present of any kind ever atones for a hurt +that has been given in words. There's nothing you can say which is +more manly or which will do you both so much good as the simple +"forgive me" when you have been wrong. + +Rest assured, gentlemen, that you who spend the most of your evenings +in other company, and too often find fault with your meals when you +come home, are the cause of many sorrowful talks among the women who +are wise enough to know, even though your loyal wife may put up a +brave front in your defense. + +How often do you suppose the brave woman who loves you has been +actually driven in her agony to some married friend whom she can trust +and upon her sympathetic bosom has cried until she could weep no more, +simply because of your thoughtless neglect? How often do you think she +has planned little things to make your home-coming pleasant, which you +have never noticed? And how often do you suppose she has desperately +fought down the heartache and tried to believe that your absorption in +business is the reason for your forgetfulness of her? + +Do you ever think of these things? Do you ever think of the days +before you were sure of her, when you treasured every line of her +letters, and would have bartered your very hopes of heaven for the +earthly life with her? + +But perhaps you can hardly be expected to remember the wild sprint +that you made from the breakfast table to the street-car. + + + + +Transition + + + I am thy Pleasure. See, my face is fair-- + With silken strands of joy I twine thee round; + Life has enough of stress--forget with me! + Wilt thou not stay? Then go, thou art not bound. + + I am thy Pastime. Let me be to thee + A daily refuge from the haunting fears + That bind thee, choke thee, fill thy soul with woe. + Seek thou my hand, let me assuage thy tears. + + I am thy Habit. Nay, start not, thy will + Is yet supreme, for art thou not a man? + Then draw me close to thee, for life is brief-- + A little space to pass as best one can. + + I am thy Passion. Thou shalt cling to me + Through all the years to come. The silken cord + Of Pleasure has become a stronger bond, + Not to be cleft, nor loosened at a word. + + I am thy Master. Thou shalt crush for me + The grapes of truth for wine of sacrifice; + My clanking chains were forged for such as thee, + I am thy Master--yea, I am thy vice! + + + + +The Superiority of Man + + +Without pausing to inquire why savages and barbarians are capable of +producing college professors, who sneer at the source from which they +sprung, we may accept for the moment the masculine hypothesis of +intellectual superiority. Some women have been heard to say that they +wish they had been born men, but there is no man bold enough to say +that he would like to be a woman. + +If woman can produce a reasoning being, it follows that she herself +must be capable of reasoning, since a stream can rise no higher than +its fountain. And yet the bitter truth stares us in the face. We have +no Shakespeare, Michelangelo, or Beethoven; our Darwins, our Schumanns +are mute and inglorious; our Miltons, Raphaels, and Herbert Spencers +have not arrived. + +Call the roll of the great and how many women's names will be found +there? Scarcely enough to enable you to call the company mixed. + +No woman in her senses wishes to be merely the female of man. She +aspires to be distinctly different--to exercise her varied powers in +wholly different ways. Ex-President Roosevelt said: "Equality does not +imply identity of function." We do not care to put in telephones or to +collect fares on a street-car. + +Primitive man set forth from his cave to kill an animal or two, then +repaired to a secluded nook in the jungle, with other primitive men, +to discuss the beginnings of politics. Primitive woman in the cave +not only dressed his game, but she cooked the animal for food, +made clothing of its skin, necklaces and bracelets of its teeth, +passementerie of its claws, and needles of its sharper bones. What +wonder that she had no time for an afternoon tea? + +The man of the twentieth century has progressed immeasurably beyond +this, but his wife, industrially speaking, has not gone half so far. +Is she not still in some cases a cave-dweller, while he roams the +highways of the world? + +If a woman mends men's socks, should he not darn her lisle-thread +hosiery, and run a line of machine stitching around the middle of the +hem to prevent a disastrous run from a broken stitch? If she presses +his ties, why should he not learn to iron her bits of fine lace? + +Some one will say: "But he supports her. It is her duty." + +"Yes, dear friend, but similarly does he 'support' the servant who +does the same duties. He also gives her seven dollars every Monday +morning, or she leaves." Are we to suppose that a wife is a woman who +does general housework for board and clothes, with a few kind words +thrown in? + +A German lady, whom we well knew, worked all the morning attending to +the comforts of her liege lord. In the dining room he was stretched +out in an easy chair, while the queen of his heart brushed and +repaired his clothes--yes, and blacked his boots! Doubtless for a +single kiss, redolent of beer and sausages, she would have pressed his +trousers. Kind words and the fragrant osculation had already saved him +three dollars at his tailor's. + +By such gold-brick methods, dear friends, do men get good service +cheap. Would that we could do the same! Here, and gladly, we admit +masculine superiority. + +Our short-sightedness, our weakness for kind words, our graceful +acceptance of the entire responsibility for the home, have chained us +to the earth, while our lords soar. After having worked steadily for +some six thousand years to populate the earth passably, some of us may +now be excused from that duty. + +Motherhood is a career for which especial talents are required. Very +few women know how to bring up children properly. If you don't believe +it, look at the difference between our angelic offspring, and the +little imps next door! It is as unreasonable to suppose that all women +can be good mothers as it is to suppose that all women can sing in +grand opera. + +And yet, let us hug to our weary hearts, in our most discouraged +moments, the great soul-satisfying truth that men, no matter what they +say or write, think that we are smarter than they are. Otherwise, they +would not expect of us so much more than they can possibly do +themselves. + +In every field of woman's work outside the house, the same +illustration applies. They also think that we possess greater physical +strength. They chivalrously shield us from the exhausting effort of +voting, but allow us to stand in the street-cars, wash dishes, push a +baby carriage, and scrub the kitchen floor. Should we not be proud +because they consider us so much stronger and wiser than they? +Interruptions are fatal to their work, as the wife of even a business +man will testify. + +What would have become of Spencer's _Data of Ethics_ if, while he was +writing it, he had two dressmakers in the house? Should we have had +_Hamlet_, if at the completion of the first act Mr. Shakespeare had +given birth to twins, when he had made clothes for only one? + +The great charm of marriage, as of life itself, is its unexpectedness. +The only way to test a man is to marry him. If you live, it's a +mushroom; if you die, it's a toadstool! + +Or, as another saying goes: "Happiness after marriage is like the soap +in the bath-tub; you knew it was there when you got in." + +Man's clothes are ugly, but the styles change gradually. A judge on +the bench may try a case lasting two weeks, and his hat will not be +hopelessly behind the times when it is finished. A man can stoop to +pick up a fallen magazine without pausing to remember that his front +steels are not so flexible this year as they were last. + +He is not distressed by the fear that some other man may have a suit +just like his, or that the neighbours will think it is his last year's +suit dyed. + +We women fritter ourselves away upon a thousand unnecessary things. +We waste our creative energies and our inspired moments upon pursuits +so ephemeral that they are forgotten to-morrow. Our day's work counts +for nothing when tested by the standards of eternity. We are unjust, +not only to ourselves, but to the men who strive for us, for +civilisation must progress very slowly when half of us are dragged by +pots and pans. + +A house is a material fact, but a home is a fine spiritual essence +which may pervade even the humblest abode. If love means harmony, why +not try a little of it in the kitchen? Better a perfect salad than a +poor poem; better a fine picture than an immaculate house. + + + + +The Year of My Heart + + + A sigh for the spring, full flowered, promised spring, + Laid on the tender earth, and those dear days + When apple blossoms gleamed against the blue! + Ah, how the world of joyous robins sang: + "I love but you, Sweetheart, I love but you!" + + A sigh for summer fled. In warm, sweet air + Her thousand singers sped on shining wing; + And all the inward life of budding grain + Throbbed with a thousand pulses, while I cling + To you, my Sweet, with passion near to pain. + + A sigh for autumn past. The garnered fields + Lie desolate to-day. My heart is chill + As with a sense of dread, and on the shore + The waves beat grey and cold, and seem to say: + "No more, oh, waiting soul, oh nevermore!" + + A sigh for winter come. No singing bird, + Nor harvest field, is near the path I tread; + An empty husk is all I have to keep. + The largess of my giving left me bare, + And I ask God but for His Lethe--sleep. + + + + +The Average Man + + +The real man is not at all on the outskirts of civilisation. He is +very much in evidence and everybody knows him. He has faults and +virtues, and sometimes they get so mixed up that "you cannot tell one +from t'other." + +He is erratic and often queer. He believes, with Emerson, that "with +consistency a great soul has nothing to do." And he is, of course, "a +great soul." Logical, isn't it? + +The average man _thinks_ that he is a born genius at love-making. +Henders, in _The Professor's Love Story_, states it thus: + + "Effie, ye ken there are some men ha' a power o'er women.... + They're what ye might call 'dead shots.' Ye canna deny, + Effie, that I'm one o' those men!" + +Even though a man may be obliged to admit, in strict confidence +between himself and his mirror, that he is not at all handsome, +nevertheless he is certain that he has some occult influence over that +strange, mystifying, and altogether unreasonable organ--a woman's +heart. + +The real man is conceited. Of course you are not, dear masculine +reader, for you are one of the bright particular exceptions, but all +of your men friends are conceited--aren't they? + +And then he makes fun of his women folks because they spend so much +time in front of the mirror in arranging hats and veils. But when a +high wind comes up and disarranges coiffures and chapeaux alike, he +takes "my ladye fair" into some obscure corner, and saying, "Pardon +me, but your hat isn't quite straight," he will deftly restore that +piece of millinery to its pristine position. That's nice of him, isn't +it? He does very nice things quite often, this real man. + +He says women are fickle. So they are, but men are fickle too, and +will forget all about the absent sweetheart while contemplating the +pretty girls in the street. For while "absence makes the heart grow +fonder" in the case of a woman, it is presence that plays the mischief +with a man, and Miss Beauty present has a very unfair advantage over +Miss Sweetheart absent. + +The average man thinks he is a connoisseur of feminine attractiveness. +He thinks he has tact, too, but there never was a man who was blessed +with much of this valuable commodity. Still, as that is a favourite +delusion with so large a majority of the human race, the conceit of +the ordinary masculine individual ought not to be censured too +strongly. + +The real man is quite an expert at flattery. Every girl he meets, if +she is at all attractive, is considered the most charming lady that he +ever knew. He is sure she isn't prudish enough to refuse him a kiss, +and if she is, she wins not only his admiration, but that which is +vastly better--his respect. + +If she hates to be considered a prude and gives him the kiss, he is +very sweet and appreciative at the time, but later on he confides to +his chum that she is a silly sort of a girl, without a great deal of +self-respect! + +There are two things that the average man likes to be told. One is +that his taste in dress is exceptional; the other that he is a deep +student of human nature and knows the world thoroughly. This remark +will make him your lifelong friend. + +Again, the real man will put on more agony when he is in love than is +needed for a first-class tragedy. But there's no denying that most +women like that sort of thing, you, dear dainty feminine reader, being +almost the only exception to this rule. + +But, resuming the special line of thought, man firmly believes that +woman cannot sharpen a pencil, select a necktie, throw a stone, drive +a nail, or kill a mouse, and it is very certain that she cannot cook a +beef-steak in the finished style of which his lordship is capable. + +Yes, man has his faults as well as woman. There is a vast room for +improvement on both sides, but as long as this old earth of ours turns +through shadow and sunlight, through sorrow and happiness, men and +women will forgive and try to forget, and will cling to, and love each +other. + + + + +The Book of Love + + + I dreamt I saw an angel in the night, + And she held forth Love's book, limned o'er with gold, + That I might read of days of chivalry + And how men's hearts were wont to thrill of old. + + Half wondering, I turned the musty leaves, + For Love's book counts out centuries as years, + And here and there a page shone out undimmed, + And here and there a page was blurred with tears. + + I read of Grief, Doubt, Silence unexplained-- + Of many-featured Wrong, Distrust, and Blame, + Renunciation--bitterest of all-- + And yet I wandered not beyond Love's name. + + At last I cried to her who held the book, + So fair and calm she stood, I see her yet; + "Why write these things within this book of Love? + Why may we not pass onward and forget?" + + Her voice was tender when she answered me: + "Half child, half woman, earthy as thou art, + How should'st thou dream that Love is never Love + Unless these things beat vainly on the heart?" + + + + +The Ideal Man + + +He isn't nearly so scarce as one might think, but happy is the woman +who finds him, for he is often a bit out of the beaten paths, +sometimes in the very suburbs of our modern civilisation. He is, +however, coming to the front rather slowly, to be sure, but +nevertheless he is coming. + +He wouldn't do for the hero of a dime novel--he isn't melancholy in +his mien, nor Byronic in his morals. It is a frank, honest, manly face +that looks into the other end of our observation telescope when we +sweep the horizon to find something higher and better than the rank +and file of humanity. + +He is a gentleman, invariably courteous and refined. He is careful in +his attire, but not foppish. He is chivalrous in his attitude toward +woman, and as politely kind to the wrinkled old woman who scrubs his +office floor as to the aristocratic belle who bows to him from her +carriage. + +He is scrupulously honest in all his dealings with his fellow men, and +meanness of any sort is utterly beneath him. He has a happy way of +seeing the humorous side of life, and he is an exceedingly pleasant +companion. + +When the love light shines in his eyes, kindled at the only fire where +it may be lighted, he has nothing in his past of which he need be +ashamed. He stands beside her and pleads earnestly and manfully for +the treasure he seeks. Slowly he turns the pages of his life before +her, for there is not one which can call a blush to his cheek, or to +hers. + +Truth, purity, honesty, chivalry, the highest manliness--all these are +written therein, and she gladly accepts the clean heart which is +offered for her keeping. + +Her life is now another open book. To him her nature seems like a harp +of a thousand strings, and every note, though it may not be strong +and high, is truth itself, and most refined in tone. + +So they join hands, these two: the sweetheart becomes the wife; the +lover is the husband. + +He is still chivalrous to every woman, but to his wife he pays the +gentler deference which was the sweetheart's due. He loves her, and is +not ashamed to show it. He brings her flowers and books, just as he +used to do when he was teaching her to love him. He is broad-minded, +and far-seeing--he believes in "a white life for two." He knows his +wife has the same right to demand purity in thought, word, and deed +from him, as he has to ask absolute stainlessness from her. That is +why he has kept clean the pages of his life--why he keeps the record +unsullied as the years go by. + +He is tender in his feelings; if he goes home and finds his wife in +tears, he doesn't tell her angrily to "brace up," or say, "this is a +pretty welcome for a man!" He doesn't slam the door and whistle as if +nothing was the matter. But he takes her in his comforting arms and +speaks soothing words. If his comrades speak lightly of his devotion, +he simply thinks out other blessings for the little woman who presides +at his fireside. + +His wife is inexpressibly dear to him, and every day he shows this, +and takes pains, also, to tell her so. He admires her pretty gowns, +and is glad to speak appreciatively of the becoming things she wears. +He knows instinctively that it is the thoughtfulness and the little +tenderness which make a woman's happiness, and he tries to make her +realise that his love for her grew brighter, instead of fading, when +the sweetheart blossomed into the wife. For every woman, old, +wrinkled, and grey, or young and charming, likes to be loved. + +The ideal man will do his utmost to make his wife realise that his +devotion intensifies as the years go by. + +What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they +are joined for life--to strengthen each other in all labour, to rest +upon each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, +to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment +of the last parting? + +God bless the ideal man and hasten his coming in greater numbers. + + + + +Good-Night, Sweetheart + + + Good-night, Sweetheart; the winged hours have flown; + I have forgotten all the world but thee. + Across the moon-lit deep, where stars have shone, + The surge sounds softly from the sleeping sea. + + Thy heart at last hath opened to Love's key; + Remembered Aprils, glorious blooms have sown, + And now there comes the questing honey bee. + Good-night, Sweetheart; the winged hours have flown. + + My singing soul makes music in thine own, + Thy hand upon my harp makes melody; + So close the theme and harmony have grown + I have forsaken all the world for thee. + + Before thy whiteness do I bend the knee; + Thou art a queen upon a stainless throne, + Like Dian making royal jubilee, + Across the vaulted dark where stars are blown. + + Within my heart thy face shines out alone, + Ah, dearest! Say for once thou lovest me! + A whisper, even, like the undertone + The surge sings slowly from the rhythmic sea. + + Thy downcast eyes make answer to my plea; + A crimson mantle o'er thy cheek is thrown + Assurance more than this, there need not be, + For thus, within the silence, love is known. + Good-night, Sweetheart. + + + + +The Ideal Woman + + +The trend of modern thought in art and literature is toward the real, +but fortunately the cherishing of the ideal has not vanished. + +All of us, though we may profess to be realists, are at heart +idealists, for every woman in the innermost sanctuary of her thoughts +cherishes an ideal man. And every man, practical and commonplace +though he be, has before him in his quiet moments a living picture of +grace and beauty, which, consciously or not, is his ideal woman. + +Every man instinctively admires a beautiful woman. But when he seeks a +wife, he demands other qualities besides that wonderful one which is, +as the proverb tells us, "only skin deep." + +If men were not such strangely inconsistent beings, the world +would lose half its charm. Each sex rails at the other for its +inconsistency, when the real truth is that nowhere exists much of +that beautiful quality which is aptly termed a "jewel." + +But humanity must learn with Emerson to seek other things than +consistency, and to look upon the lightning play of thought and +feeling as an index of mental and moral growth. + +For those who possess the happy faculty of "making the best of +things," men are really the most amusing people in existence. To hear +a man dilate upon the virtues and accomplishments of the ideal woman +he would make his wife is a most interesting diversion, besides being +a source of what may be called decorative instruction. + +She must, first of all, be beautiful. No man, even in his wildest +moments, ever dreamed of marrying any but a beautiful woman, yet, in +nine cases out of ten when he does go to the altar, he is leading +there one who is lovely only in his own eyes. + +He has read Swinburne and Tennyson and is very sure he won't have +anything but "a daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinely +fair." Then, of course, there is the "classic profile," the "deep, +unfathomable eyes," the "lily-white skin," and "hair like the raven's +wing," not to mention the "swan-like neck" and "tapering, shapely +fingers." + +Mr. Ideal is really a man of refined taste, and the women who hear +this impassioned outburst are supremely conscious of their own +imperfections. + +But beauty is not the only demand of this fastidious gentleman; the +fortunate woman whom he deigns to honour must be a paragon of +sweetness and docility. No "woman's rights" or "suffrage rant" for +him, and none of those high-stepping professional women need apply +either--oh, no! And then all of her interests must be his, for of all +things on earth, he "does despise a woman with a hobby!" None of these +"broad-minded women" were ever intended for Mr. Ideal. He is very +certain of that, because away down in his secret heart he was sure he +had found the right woman once, but when he did, he learned also that +she was somewhat particular about the man she wanted to marry, and the +applicant then present did not fill the bill! He is therefore very +sure that "a man does not want an intellectual instructor: he wants a +wife." + +Just like the most of them after all, isn't he? + +The year goes round and Mr. Ideal goes away on a summer vacation. +There are some pleasant people in the little town to which he goes, +and there is a girl in the party with her mother and brother. Mr. +Ideal looks her over disapprovingly. She isn't pretty--no, she isn't +even good-looking. Her hair is almost red, her eyes are a pale blue, +and she wears glasses. Her nose isn't even straight, and it turns up +too much besides. Her skin is covered with tiny golden-brown blotches. +"Freckles!" exclaims Mr. Ideal, _sotto voce_. Her mouth isn't bad, the +lips are red and full and her teeth are white and even. She wears a +blue boating suit with an Eton jacket. "So common!" and Mr. Ideal goes +away from his secluded point of observation. + +A merry laugh reaches his ear, and he turns around. The tall +brother is chasing her through the bushes, and she waves a letter +tantalisingly at him as she goes, and finally bounds over a low fence +and runs across the field, with her big brother in close pursuit. +"Hoydenish!" and Mr. Ideal hums softly to himself and goes off to find +Smith. Smith is a good fellow and asks Mr. Ideal to go fishing. They +go, but don't have a bite, and come home rather cross. Does Smith know +the little red-headed girl who was on the piazza this morning? + +Yes, he has met her. She has been here about a week. "Rather nice, but +not especially attractive, you know." No, she isn't, but he will +introduce Mr. Ideal. + +Days pass, and Mr. Ideal and Miss Practical are much together. He +finds her the jolliest girl he ever knew. She is an enthusiastic +advocate of "woman" in every available sphere. + +She herself is going to be a trained nurse after she learns to "keep +house." "For you know that every woman should be a good housekeeper," +she says demurely. + +He doesn't exactly like "that trained nurse business," but he admits +to himself that, if he were ill, he should like to have Miss Practical +smooth his pillow and take care of him. + +And so the time goes on, and he is often the companion of the girl. At +times, she fairly scintillates with merriment, but she is so +dignified, and so womanly--so very careful to keep him at his proper +distance--that, well, "she is a type!" + +In due course of time, he plans to return to the city, and to the +theatres and parties he used to find so pleasant. All his friends are +there. No, Miss Practical is not in the city; she is right here. Like +a flash a revelation comes over him, and he paces the veranda angrily. +Well, there's only one thing to be done--he must tell her about it. +Perhaps--and he sees a flash of blue through the shrubbery, which he +seeks with the air of a man who has an object in view. + + * * * * * + +His circle of friends are very much surprised when he introduces Mrs. +Ideal, for she is surely different from the ideal woman about whom +they have heard so much. They naturally think he is inconsistent, but +he isn't, for some subtle alchemy has transfigured the homely little +girl into the dearest, best, and altogether most beautiful woman Mr. +Ideal has ever seen. + +She is domestic in her tastes now, and has abandoned the professional +nurse idea. She knows a great deal about Greek and Latin, and still +more about Shakespeare and Browning and other authors. + +But she neglects neither her books nor her housekeeping, and her +husband spends his evenings at home, not because Mrs. Ideal would cry +and make a fuss if he didn't, but because his heart is in her keeping, +and because his own fireside, with its sweet-faced guardian angel, is +to him the most beautiful place on earth, and he has sense enough to +appreciate what a noble wife is to him. + + * * * * * + +The plain truth is, when "any whatsoever" Mr. Ideal loves a woman, he +immediately finds her perfect, and transfers to her the attributes +which only exist in his imagination. His heart and happiness are +there--not with the creatures of his dreams, but the warm, living, +loving human being beside him, and to him, henceforth, the ideal is +the real. + +For "the ideal woman is as gentle as she is strong." She wins her way +among her friends and fellow human beings, even though they may be +strangers, by doing many a kindness which the most of us are too apt +to overlook or ignore. + +No heights of thought or feeling are beyond her eager reach, and no +human creature has sunk too low for her sympathy and her helping hand. +Even the forlorn and friendless dog in the alley looks instinctively +into her face for help. + +She is in every man's thoughts and always will be, as she always has +been--the ideal who shall lead him step by step, and star by star, to +the heights which he cannot reach alone. + +Ruskin says: "No man ever lived a right life who has not been +chastened by a woman's love, strengthened by her courage and guided by +her discretion." + +The steady flow of the twentieth-century progress has not swept away +woman's influence, nor has it crushed out her womanliness. She lives +in the hearts of men, a queen as royal as in the days of chivalry, and +men shall do and dare for her dear sake as long as time shall last. + +The sweet, lovable, loyal woman of the past is not lost; she is only +intensified in the brave wifehood and motherhood of our own times. The +modern ideal, like that of olden times, is and ever will be, above all +things--womanly. + + + + +She Is Not Fair + + + She is not fair to other eyes-- + No poet's dream is she, + Nor artist's inspiration, yet + I would not have her be. + She wanders not through princely halls, + A crown upon her hair; + Her heart awaits a single king + Because she is not fair. + + Dear lips, your half-shy tenderness + Seems far too much to win! + Yet, has your heart a tiny door + Where I may peep within? + That voiceless chamber, dim and sweet, + I pray may be my own. + Dear little Love, may I come in + And make you mine alone? + + She is not fair to other eyes-- + I would not have it so; + She needs no further charm or grace + Or aught wealth may bestow; + For when the love light shines and makes + Her dear face glorified-- + Ah Sweetheart! queens may come and go + And all the world beside. + + + + +The Fin-de-Siecle Woman + + +The world has fought step by step the elevation of woman from +inferiority to equality, but at last she is being recognised as a +potent factor in our civilisation. + +The most marked change which has been made in woman's position during +the last half century or more has been effected by higher education, +and since the universities have thrown open their doors to her, she +has been allowed, in many cases, to take the same courses that her +brother does. + +Still, the way has not been entirely smooth for educated and literary +women, for the public press has too often frowned upon their efforts +to obtain anything like equal recognition for equal ability. The +literary woman has, for years, been the target of criticism, and if we +are to believe her critics, she has been entirely shunned by the +gentlemen of her acquaintance; but the fact that so many of them are +wives and mothers, and, moreover, good wives and mothers, proves +conclusively that these statements are not trustworthy. + +It is true that some prefer the society of women who know just +enough to appreciate their compliments--women who deprecate their +"strong-minded" sisters, and are ready to agree implicitly with every +statement that the lords of creation may make; but this readiness is +due to sheer inability to produce a thought of their own. + +It is true that some men are afraid of educated women, but a man who +is afraid of a woman because she knows something is not the kind of a +man she wants to marry. He is not the kind of a man she would choose +for either husband or friend; she wants an intellectual companion, and +the chances are that she will find him, or rather that he will find +her. A woman need not be unwomanly in order to write books that will +help the world. + +She may be a good housekeeper, even if she does write for the +magazines, and the husbands of literary women are not, as some folks +would have us believe, neglected and forlorn-looking beings. On the +contrary, they carry brave hearts and cheerful faces with them always, +since their strength is reinforced by the quiet happiness of their own +firesides. + +The _fin-de-siecle_ woman is literary in one sense, if not in +another, for if she may not wield her pen, she can keep in touch with +the leading thinkers of the day, and she will prove as pleasant a +companion during the long winter evenings as the woman whose husband +chose her for beauty and taste in dress. + +The literary woman is not slipshod in her apparel, and she may, if she +chooses, be a society and club woman as well. Surely there is nothing +in literary culture which shall prevent neatness and propriety in +dress as well as in conduct. + +The devoted admirer of Browning is not liable to quote him in +a promiscuous company and though a lady may be familiar with +Shakespeare, it does not follow that she will discuss _Hamlet_ +in social gatherings. + +If she reads Greek as readily as she does her mother tongue, you may +rest assured she will not mention Homer in ordinary conversation, for +a cultivated woman readily recognises the fitness of things, and +accords a due deference to the tastes of others. She has her club and +her friends, as do the gentlemen of her acquaintance, but her children +are not neglected from the fact that she sometimes thinks of other +things. She is a helpmeet to her husband, and not a plaything, or a +slave. If duty calls her to the kitchen, she goes cheerfully, and, +moreover, the cook will not dread to see her coming; or if that +important person be absent, the table will be supplied with just as +good bread, and just as delicate pastry, as if the lady of the house +did not understand the chemicals of their composition. + +If trouble comes, she bears it bravely, for the cultured woman has a +philosophy which is equal to any emergency, and she does the best she +can on all occasions. + +If her husband leaves her penniless, she will, if possible, clothe her +children with her pen, but if her literary wares are a drug on the +market, she will turn bravely to other fields, and find her daily +bread made sweet by thankfulness. She does not hesitate to hold out +her hands to help a fellow-creature, either man or woman, for she is +in all things womanly--a wife to her husband and a mother to her +children in the truest sense of the words. + +Her knowledge of the classics does not interfere with the making of +dainty draperies for her home, and though she may be appointed to read +a paper before her club on some scholarly theme, she will listen just +as patiently to tales of trouble from childish lips, and will tie up +little cut fingers just as sympathetically as her neighbour who folds +her arms and who broadly hints that "wimmen's spear is to hum!" + +Whether the literary woman be robed in silk and sealskin, or whether +she rejoices in the possession of only one best gown, she may, +nevertheless, be contented and happy. + +Whether she lives in a modest cottage, or in a fashionable home, +she may be the same sweet woman, with cheerful face and pleasant +voice--with a broad human sympathy which makes her whole life glad. + +Be she princess, or Cinderella, she may be still her husband's +confidant and cherished friend, to whom he may confide his business +troubles and perplexities, certain always of her tender consolation +and ready sympathy. She may be quick and versatile, doing well +whatever she does at all, for her creed declares that "whatever is +honest is honourable." + +She glories in her womanhood and has no sympathy with anything which +tends to degrade it. + +All hail to the woman of the twentieth century; let _fin de siecle_ +stand for all that is best and noblest in womanhood: for liberty, +equality, and fraternity; for right, truth, and justice. + +All hail the widespread movement for the higher education of woman, +for in intellectual development is the future of posterity, in study +is happiness, through the open door of the college is the key of a +truer womanhood, a broader humanity, and a brighter hope. In education +along the lines of the broadest and wisest culture is to be found the +emancipation of the race. + + + + +The Moon Maiden + + + There's a wondrous land of misty gold + Beyond the sunset's bars. + There's a silver boat on a sea of blue, + And the tips of its waves are stars. + + And idly rocking to and fro, + Her cloud robes floating by, + There's a maiden fair, with sunny hair, + The queen of the dreamy sky. + + + + +Her Son's Wife + + +The venerable mother-in-law joke appears in the comic papers with +astonishing regularity. For a time, perhaps, it may seem to be lost in +the mists of oblivion, but even while one is rejoicing at its absence +it returns to claim its original position at the head of the +procession. + +There are two sides to everything, even to an old joke, and the artist +always pictures the man's dismay when his wife's mother comes for a +visit. Nobody ever sees a drawing of a woman's mother-in-law, and yet, +the bitterness and sadness lie mainly there--between the mother and +the woman his son has chosen for his wife. + +It is a pleasure to believe that the average man is a gentleman, and +his inborn respect for his own mother, if nothing else, will usually +compel an outward show of politeness to every woman, even though she +may be a constant source of irritation. Grey hair has its own claims +upon a young man's deference, and, in the business world, he is +obliged to learn to hold his tongue, hide his temper, and "assume a +virtue though he has it not." + +The mother's welcome from her daughter's husband depends much upon +herself. Her long years of marriage have been in vain if they have not +taught her to watch a man's moods and tenses; when to speak and when +to be silent, and how to avoid useless discussion of subjects on which +there is a pronounced difference of opinion. Leaving out the personal +equation, the older and more experienced woman is better fitted to get +along peaceably with a man than the young girl who has her wisdom yet +to acquire. + +Moreover, it is to the daughter's interest to cement a friendship +between her mother and her husband, and so she stands as a shield +between the two she holds dearest, to exercise whatever tact she may +possess toward an harmonious end. + + "A son's a son till he gets him a wife, + But a daughter's a daughter all the days of her life." + +Thus the old saying runs, and there is a measure of truth in it, +more's the pity. Marriage and a home of her own interfere but little +with a daughter's devotion to her mother, even though the daily +companionship be materially lessened. The feeling is there and remains +unchanged, unless it grows stronger through the new interests on both +sides. + +If a man has won his wife in spite of her mother's opposition, he can +well afford to be gracious and forget the ancient grudge. It is his +part, too, to prove to the mother how far she was mistaken, by making +the girl who trusted him the happiest wife in the world. The woman who +sees her daughter happy will have little against her son-in-law, +except that primitive, tribal instinct which survives in most of us, +and jealously guards those of our own blood from the aggression of +another family or individual. + +One may as well admit that a good husband is a very scarce article, +and that the mother's anxiety for her daughter is well-founded. No man +can escape the sensation of being forever on trial in the eyes of his +wife's mother, and woe to him if he makes a mistake or falters in his +duty! Things which a woman would gladly condone in her husband are +unpardonable sins in the man who has married her daughter, and taken +her from a mother's loving care. + +A good husband and a good man are not necessarily the same thing. Many +a scapegrace has been dearly loved by his wife, and many a highly +respected man has been secretly despised by his wife and children. +When the prison doors open to discharge the sinners who have served +long sentences, the wives of those who have been good husbands are +waiting for them with open arms. The others have long since taken +advantage of the divorce laws. + +Since women know women so well, perhaps it is only natural for a +mother to feel that no girl who is good enough for her son ever has +been born. All the small deceits, the little schemes and frailties, +are as an open book in the eyes of other women. + +"If you were a man," said one girl to another, "and knew women as well +as you do now, whom would you marry?" + +The other girl thought for a moment, and then answered unhesitatingly: +"I'd stay single." + +Women are always suspicious of each other, and the one who can deceive +another woman is entitled to her laurels for cleverness. With the keen +insight and quick intuition of the woman on either side of him, when +these women are violently opposed to each other, no man need look for +peace. + +In spite of their discernment, women are sadly deficient in analysis +when it comes to a question of self. Neither wife nor mother can +clearly see her relation to the man they both love. Blinded by +passionate devotion and eager for power, both women lose sight of the +truth, and torment themselves and each other with unfounded jealousy +and distrust. + +In no sense are wife and mother rivals, nor can they ever be so. +Neither could take the place of the other for a single instant, and +the wife foolishly guards the point where there is no danger, for, of +all the women in the world, his mother and sisters are the only ones +who could never by any possibility usurp her place. + +A woman need only ask herself if she would like to be the mother +of her husband--to exchange the love which she now has for filial +affection--for a temporary clearness of her troubled skies. The mother +need only ask herself if she would surrender her position for the +privilege of being her son's wife, if she seeks for light on her dark +path. + +Yet, in spite of this, the two are often open and acknowledged rivals. +A woman recently wrote to the "etiquette department" of a daily paper +to know whether she or her son's fiancee should make the first call. +In answering the question, the head of the department, who, by the +way, has something of a reputation for good sense, wrote as follows: +"It is your place to make the first call, and you have my sympathy in +your difficult task. You must be brave, for you are going to look into +the eyes of a woman whom your son loves better than he does you!" +"Better than he does you!" That is where all the trouble lies, for +each wishes to be first in a relation where no comparison is possible. + +When an American yacht first won the cup, Queen Victoria was watching +the race. When she was told that the _America_ was in the lead, she +asked what boat was second. "Your Majesty," replied the naval officer +sadly, "there is no second!" + +So, between wife and mother there is no second place, and it is +possible for each to own the whole of the loved one's heart, without +infringing or even touching upon the rights of the other. + +Few of the passengers on a lake steamer, during a trip in northern +waters a few years since, will ever forget a certain striking group. +Mother and son, and the son's fiancee, were off for a week's vacation. +The mother was tall and stately, with snow-white hair and a hard face +deeply seamed with wrinkles, and with the fire of southern countries +burning in her faded blue eyes. The son was merely a nice boy, with a +pleasant face, and the girl, though not pretty, had a fresh look about +her which was very attractive. + +She wore an engagement ring, so he must have cared for her, but +otherwise no one would have suspected it. From beginning to end, his +attention was centred upon his mother. He carried his mother's wraps, +but the girl carried her own. He talked to the mother, and the girl +could speak or not, just as she chose. Never for an instant were the +two alone together. They sat on the deck until late at night, with the +mother between them. When they changed, the son took his own chair +and his mother's, while the girl dragged hers behind them. At the end +of their table in the cabin, the mother sat between them at the head. +Once, purely by accident, the girl slipped into the nearest chair, +which happened to be the mother's, and the deadly silence could be +felt even two tables away. The girl turned pale, then the son said: +"You'll take the head of the table, won't you, mother?" + +The steely tone of her voice could be heard by every one as she said, +"No!" + +The girl ate little, and soon excused herself to go to her stateroom, +but the next day things were as before, and the foolish old mother had +her place next to her son. + +Discussion was rife among the passengers, till an irreverent youth +ended it by saying: "Mamma's got the rocks; that's the why of it!" + +Perhaps it was, but one wonders why a man should slight his promised +wife so publicly, even to please a mother with "rocks!" + +To the mother who adores her son, every girl who smiles at him has +matrimonial designs. When he falls in love, it is because he has been +entrapped--she seldom considers him as being the aggressive one of the +two. The mother of the girl feels the same way, and, in the lower +circles, there is occasionally an illuminating time when the two +mothers meet. + +Each is made aware how the other's offspring has given the entrapped +one no peace, and how the affair has been the scandal of two separate +neighbourhoods, more eligible partners having been lost by both sides. + +In the Declaration of Independence there is no classification of the +rights of the married, but the clause regarding "life, liberty, and +the pursuit of happiness" has been held pointedly to refer to the +matrimonial state. If the mother would accord to her daughter-in-law +the same rights she claimed at the outset of her own married life, the +relation would be perceptibly smoother in many instances. + +When a woman marries, she has a right to expect the love of her +husband, material support, a home of her own, even though it be only +two tiny rooms, and absolute freedom from outside interference. It is +her life, and she must live it in her own way, and a girl of spirit +_will_ live it in her own way, without taking heed of the +consequences, if she is pushed too far. + +On the other hand, the mother who bore him still has proprietary +rights. She may reasonably claim a share of his society, a part of his +earnings, if she needs financial assistance, and his interest in all +that nearly concerns her. If she expects to be at the head of his +house, with the wife as a sort of a boarder, she need not be surprised +if there is trouble. + +Marriage brings to a girl certain freedom, but it gives her no +superiority to her husband's family. A chain is as strong as its +weakest link, and the members of a family do not rise above the +general level. Every one of them is as good as the man she has +married, and she is not above any of them, unless her own personality +commands a higher position. + +She treasonably violates the confidence placed in her if she makes +a discreditable use of any information coming to her through her +association with her husband's family. There are skeletons in every +closet, and she may not tell even her own mother of what she has seen +in the other house. A single word breathed against her husband's +family to an outsider stamps her as a traitor, who deserves a +traitor's punishment. + +The girl who tells her most intimate friend that the mother of her +fiance "is an old cat," by that act has lowered herself far below the +level of any self-respecting cat. Even if outward and visible disgrace +comes to the family of her husband, she is unworthy if she does not +hold her head high and let the world see her loyalty. + +Marriage gives her no right to criticise any member of her husband's +family; their faults are out of her reach except by the force of +tactful example. Her concern is with herself and him, not his family, +and a wise girl, at the beginning of her married life, will draw a +sharp line between her affairs and those of others, and will stay on +her own side of the line. + +When a man falls in love with a thoughtless butterfly, his womenfolk +may be pardoned if they stand aghast a moment before they regain their +self-command. In a way it is like a guest who is given the freedom of +the house, and who, when her visit is over, tells her friends that the +parlour carpet was turned, and the stairs left undusted. + +Another household is intimately opened to the woman whom the son has +married, and the members of it can make no defence. She can betray +them if she chooses; there is nothing to shield them except her love +for her husband, and too often that is insufficient. + +A girl seldom stops to think what she owes to her husband's mother. +Twenty-five or thirty years ago, the man she loves was born. Since +then there has been no time, sleeping or waking, when he has not been +in the thoughts of the mother who has sought to do her best by him. +She gave her life wholly to the demands of her child, without a +moment's hesitation. + +She has sacrificed herself in countless ways, all through those years, +in order that he might have his education, his pleasures, and his +strong body. With every day he has grown nearer and dearer to her; +every day his loss would have been that much harder to bear. + +In quiet talks in the twilight, she teaches him to be gentle and +considerate, to be courteous to every woman because a woman gave him +life; to be brave, noble, and tender; to be strong and fine; to choose +honour with a crust, rather than shame with plenty. + +Then comes the pretty butterfly, with whom her son is in love. Is it +strange that the heart of the mother tightens with sudden pain? + +With never a thought, the girl takes it all as her due. She would +write a gracious note of thanks to the friend who sent her a pretty +handkerchief, but for the woman who is the means of satisfying her +heart's desire she has not even toleration. All the sweetness and +beauty of his adoring love are a gift to her, unwilling too often, +perhaps, but a gift nevertheless, from his mother. + +Long years of life have taught the mother what it may mean and what, +alas, it does too often mean. Memories only are her portion; she need +expect nothing now. He may not come to see his mother for an old +familiar talk, because his wife either comes with him, or expects +him to be at home. He has no time for his mother's interests or his +mother's friends; there is scant welcome in his home for her, because +between them has come an alien presence which never yields or softens. + +Strangely, and without any definite idea of the change, he comes to +see his mother as she is. Once, she was the most beautiful woman in +the world, and her roughened hands were lovely because they had +toiled for him. Once, her counsel was wise, her judgment good, and the +gift of feeling which her motherhood brought her was seen as generous +sympathy. + +Now, by comparison with a bright, well-dressed wife, he sees what an +"old frump" his mother is. She is shabby and old-fashioned, clinging +to obsolete forms of speech, hysterical and emotional. When the mists +of love have cleared from her boy's eyes, she may just as well give +up, because there is no return, save in that other mist which comes +too late, when mother is at rest. + +The wife who tries to keep alive her husband's love for his family, +not only in his heart, but in outward observance as well, serves her +own interests even better than theirs. The love of the many comes with +the love of the one, and just as truly as he loves his sweetheart +better because of his mother and sisters, he may love them better +because of her. + +The poor heart-hungry mother, who stands by with brimming eyes, +fearful that the joy of her life may be taken from her, will be +content with but little if she may but keep it for her own. It is only +a little while at the longest, for the end of the journey is soon, but +sunset and afterglow would have some of the rapture of dawn, if her +son's wife opened the door of her young heart and said with true +sincerity and wells of tenderness: "Mother--Come!" + + + + +A Lullaby + + + Sleep, baby, sleep, + The twilight breezes blow, + The flower bells are ringing, + The birds are twittering low, + Sleep, baby, sleep. + + Sleep, baby, sleep, + The whippoorwill is calling, + The stars are twinkling faintly, + The dew is softly falling, + Sleep, baby, sleep. + + Sleep, baby, sleep, + Upon your pillow lying, + The rushes whisper to the stream, + The summer day is dying, + Sleep, baby, sleep. + + + + +The Dressing-Sack Habit + + +Someone has said that a dressing-sack is only a Mother Hubbard with a +college education. Accepting this statement as a great truth, one is +inclined to wonder whether education has improved the Mother Hubbard, +since another clever person has characterised a college as "a place +where pebbles are polished and diamonds are dimmed!" + +The bond of relationship between the two is not at first apparent, yet +there are subtle ties of kinship between the two. If we take a Hubbard +and cut it off at the hips, we have only a dressing-sack with a yoke. +The dressing-sack, however, cannot be walked on, even when the wearer +is stooping, and in this respect it has the advantage of the other; it +is also supposed to fit in the back, but it never does. + +Doubtless in the wise economy of the universe, where every weed has +its function, even this garment has its place--else it would not be. + +Possibly one may take a nap, or arrange one's crown of glory to better +advantage in a "boudoir negligee," or an invalid may be thus tempted +to think of breakfast. Indeed, the habit is apt to begin during +illness, when a friend presents the ailing lady with a dainty affair +of silk and lace which inclines the suffering soul to frivolities. +Presently she sits up, takes notice, and plans more garments of the +sort, so that after she fully recovers all the world may see these +becoming things! + +The worst of the habit is that all the world does see. Fancy runs riot +with one pattern, a sewing-machine, and all the remnants a single +purse can compass. The lady with a kindly feeling for colour browses +along the bargain counter and speedily acquires a rainbow for her own. +Each morning she assumes a different phase, and, at the end of the +week, one's recollection of her is lost in a kaleidoscopic whirl. + +Red, now--is anything prettier than red? And how the men admire it! +Does not the dark lady build wisely who dons a red dressing-sack on a +cold morning, that her husband may carry a bright bit of colour to the +office in his fond memories of home? + +A book with a red cover, a red cushion, crimson draperies, and scarlet +ribbons, are all notoriously pleasing to monsieur--why not a red +dressing-sack? + +If questioned, monsieur does not know why, yet gradually his passion +for red will wane, then fail. Later in the game, he will be affronted +by the colour, even as the gentleman cow in the pasture. It is not the +colour, dear madame, but the shiftless garment, which has wrought this +change. + +There are few who dare to assume pink, for one must have a complexion +of peaches and cream, delicately powdered at that, before the rosy +hues are becoming. Yet, the sallow lady, with streaks of grey in her +hair, crow's feet around her eyes, and little time tracks registered +all over her face, will put on a pink dressing-sack when she gets +ready for breakfast. She would scream with horror at the thought of a +pink and white organdie gown, made over rosy taffeta, but the kimono +is another story. + +Green dressing-sacks are not often seen, but more's the pity, for in +the grand array of colour nothing should be lacking, and the wearers +of these garments never seem to stop to think whether or not they are +becoming. What could be more cheerful on a cloudy morning than a +flannel negligee of the blessed shade of green consecrated to the +observance of the seventeenth of March? + +It looks as well as many things which are commonly welded into +dressing-sacks; then why this invidious distinction? + +When we approach blue in our dressing-sack rainbow, speech becomes +pitifully weak. Ancient maidens and matrons, with olive skins, +proudly assume a turquoise negligee. Blue flannel, with cascades of +white lace--could anything be more attractive? It has only one +rival--the garment of lavender eiderdown flannel, the button-holes +stitched with black yarn, which the elderly widow too often puts on +when the tide of her grief has turned. + +The combination of black with any shade of purple is well fitted to +produce grief, even as the cutting of an onion will bring tears. Could +the dear departed see his relict in the morning, with lavender +eiderdown environment, he would appreciate his mercies as never +before. + +The speaking shades of yellow and orange are much affected by German +ladies for dressing-sacks, and also for the knitted tippets which our +Teutonic friends wear, in and out of the house, from October to July. +Canary yellow is delicate and becoming to most, but it is German taste +to wear orange. + +At first, perhaps, with a sense of the fitness of things, the negligee +is worn only in one's own room. She says: "It's so comfortable!" +There are degrees in comfort, varying from the easy, perfect fit of +one's own skin to a party gown which dazzles envious observers, and +why is the adjective reserved for the educated but abbreviated Mother +Hubbard? + +"The apparel oft proclaims the man," and even more is woman dependent +upon her clothes for physical, moral, and intellectual support. An +uncorseted body will soon make its influence felt upon the mind. The +steel-and-whalebone spine which properly reinforces all feminine +vertebra is literally the backbone of a woman's self-respect. + +Would the iceman or the janitor hesitate to "talk back" to the +uncorseted lady in a pink dressing-sack?--Hardly! + +But confront the erring man with a quiet, dignified woman in a crisp +shirt-waist and a clean collar--verily he will think twice before he +ventures an excuse for his failings. + +The iceman and the grocery boy see more dressing-sacks than most +others, for they are privileged to approach the back doors of +residences, and to hold conversations with the lady of the house, +after the departure of him whose duty and pleasure it is to pay for +the remnants. And in the lower strata they are known by their clothes. + +"Fifty pounds for the red dressing-sack," says the iceman to his +helper, "and a hundred for the blue. Step lively now!" + +And how should madame know that her order for a steak, a peck of +potatoes, and two lemons, is registered in the grocery boy's book +under the laconic title, "Pink"? + + * * * * * + +After breakfast, when she sits down to read the paper and make her +plans for the day, the insidious dressing-sack gets in its deadly +work. + +"I won't dress," she thinks, "until I get ready to go out." After +luncheon, she is too tired to go out, and too nearly dead to dress. + +Friends come in, perhaps, and say: "Oh, how comfortable you look! +Isn't that a dear kimono?" Madame plumes herself with conscious pride, +for indeed it is a dear kimono, and already she sees herself with a +reputation for "exquisite negligee." + +The clock strikes six, and presently the lord of the manor comes home +to be fed. "I'm dreadfully sorry, dear, you should find me looking +so," says the lady of his heart, "but I just haven't felt well enough +to dress. You don't mind, do you?" + +The dear, good, subdued soul says he is far from minding, and dinner +is like breakfast as far as dressing-sacks go. + +Perhaps, in the far depths of his nature, the man wonders why it was +that, in the halcyon days of courtship, he never beheld his beloved in +the midst of a gunny--no, a dressing-sack. Of course, then, she didn't +have to keep house, and didn't have so many cares to tire her. Poor +little thing! Perhaps she isn't well! + +Isn't she? Let another woman telephone that she has tickets for the +matinee, and behold the transformation! Within certain limits and +barring severe headaches, a woman is always well enough to do what she +wants to do--and no more. + +As the habit creeps upon its victim, she loses sight of the fact +that there are other clothes. If she has a golf cape, she may venture +to go to the letter-box or even to market in her favourite garment. +After a while, when the habit is firmly fixed, a woman will wear a +dressing-sack all the time--that is, some women will, except on rare +and festive occasions. Sometimes in self-defence, she will say that +her husband loves soft, fluffy feminine things, and can't bear to see +her in a tailor-made outfit. This is why she wears the "soft fluffy +things," which, with her, always mean dressing-sacks, all the time he +is away from home, as well as when he is there. + +It is a mooted question whether shiftlessness causes dressing-sacks, +or dressing-sacks cause shiftlessness, but there is no doubt about the +loving association of the two. The woman who has nothing to do, and +not even a shadow of a purpose in life, will enshrine her helpless +back in a dressing-sack. She can't wear corsets, because, forsooth, +they "hurt" her. She can't sit at the piano, because it's hard on her +back. She can't walk, because she "isn't strong enough." She can't +sew, because it makes a pain between her shoulders, and indeed why +should she sew when she has plenty of dressing-sacks? + +This type of woman always boards, _if she can_, or has plenty of +servants at her command, and, in either case, her mind is free to +dwell upon her troubles. + +First, there is her own weak physical condition. Just wait until she +tells you about the last pain she had. She doesn't feel like dressing +for dinner, but she will try to wash her face, if you will excuse her! +When she returns, she has plucked up enough energy to change her +dressing-sack! + +The only cure for the habit is a violent measure which few indeed are +brave enough to adopt. Make a bonfire of the offensive garments, dear +lady; then stay away from the remnant counters, and after a while you +will become immune. + +Nothing is done in a negligee of this sort which cannot be done +equally well in a shirt-waist, crisp and clean, with a collar and +belt. + +There is a popular delusion to the effect that household tasks +require slipshod garments and unkempt hair, but let the frowsy ones +contemplate the trained nurse in her spotless uniform, with her snowy +cap and apron and her shining hair. Let the doubtful ones go to a +cooking school, and see a neat young woman, in a blue gingham gown and +a white apron, prepare an eight-course dinner and emerge spotless from +the ordeal. We get from life, in most cases, exactly what we put into +it. The world is a mirror which gives us smiles or frowns, as we +ourselves may choose. The woman who faces the world in a shirt-waist +will get shirt-waist appreciation, while for the dressing-sack there +is only a slipshod reward. + + + + +In the Meadow + + + The flowers bow their dainty heads, + And see in the shining stream + A vision of sky and silver clouds, + As bright as a fairy's dream. + + The great trees nod their sleepy boughs, + The song birds come and go, + And all day long, to the waving ferns + The south wind whispers low. + + All day among the blossoms sweet, + The laughing sunbeams play, + And down the stream, in rose-leaf boats + The fairies sail away. + + + + + One Woman's Solution of the + Servant Problem + + +Being a professional woman, my requirements in the way of a housemaid +were rather special. While at times I can superintend my small +household, and direct my domestic affairs, there are long periods +during which I must have absolute quiet, untroubled by door bell, +telephone, or the remnants of roast beef. + +There are two of us, in a modern six room apartment, in a city where +the servant problem has forced a large and ever-increasing percentage +of the population into small flats. We have late breakfasts, late +dinners, a great deal of company, and an amount of washing, both house +and personal, which is best described as "unholy." + +Five or six people often drop in informally, and unexpectedly, for +the evening, which means, of course, a midnight "spread," and an +enormous pile of dishes to be washed in the morning. There are, +however, some advantages connected with the situation. We have a +laundress besides the maid; we have a twelve-o'clock breakfast on +Sunday instead of a dinner, getting the cold lunch ourselves in the +evening, thus giving the girl a long afternoon and evening; and we are +away from home a great deal, often staying weeks at a time. + +The eternal "good wages to right party" of the advertisements was our +inducement also, but, apparently, there were no "right parties!" + +The previous incumbent, having departed in a fit of temper at half an +hour's notice, and left me, so to speak, "in the air," with dinner +guests on the horizon a day ahead, I betook myself to an intelligence +office, where, strangely enough, there seems to be no intelligence, +and grasped the first chance of relief. + +Nothing more unpromising could possibly be imagined. The new maid was +sad, ugly of countenance, far from strong physically, and in every way +hopeless and depressing. She listened, unemotionally, to my glowing +description of the situation. Finally she said, "Ay tank Ay try it." + +She came, looked us over, worked a part of a week, and announced that +she couldn't stay. "Ay can't feel like home here," she said. "Ay am +not satisfied." + +She had been in her last place for three years, and left because "my's +lady, she go to Europe." I persuaded her to try it for a while longer, +and gave her an extra afternoon or two off, realising that she must be +homesick. + +After keeping us on tenter-hooks for two weeks, she sent for her +trunk. I discovered that she was a fine laundress, carefully washing +and ironing the things which were too fine to go into the regular +wash; a most excellent cook, her kitchen and pantry were at all times +immaculate; she had no followers, and few friends; meals were ready +on the stroke of the hour, and she had the gift of management. + +Offset to this was a furious temper, an atmosphere of gloom and +depression which permeated the house and made us feel funereal, +impertinence of a quality difficult to endure, and the callous, +unfeeling, almost inhuman characteristics which often belong in a high +degree to the Swedes. + +For weeks I debated with myself whether or not I could stand it to +have her in the house. I have spent an hour on my own back porch, when +I should have been at work, because I was afraid to pass through the +room which she happened to be cleaning. Times without number, a crisp +muffin, or a pot of perfect coffee, has made me postpone speaking the +fateful words which would have separated us. She sighed and groaned +and wept at her work, worried about it, and was a fiend incarnate if +either of us was five minutes late for dinner. We often hurried +through the evening meal so as to leave her free for her evening out, +even though I had long since told her not to wash the dishes after +dinner, but to pile them neatly in the sink and leave them until +morning. + +Before long, however, the strictly human side of the problem began to +interest me. I had cherished lifelong theories in regard to the +brotherhood of man and the uplifting power of personal influence. I +had at times been tempted to try settlement work, and here I had a +settlement subject in my own kitchen. + +There was not a suggestion of fault with the girl's work. She kept her +part of the contract, and did it well; but across the wall between us, +she glared at--and hated--me. + +But, deliberately, I set to work in defence of my theory. I ignored +the impertinence, and seemingly did not hear the crash of dishes and +the banging of doors. When it came to an issue, I said calmly, though +my soul quaked within me: "You are not here to tell me what you will +do and what you won't. You are here to carry out my orders, and when +you cannot, it is time for you to go." + +If she asked me a question about her work which I could not answer +offhand, I secretly consulted a standard cook-book, and later gave her +the desired information airily. I taught her to cook many of the +things which I could cook well, and imbued her with a sort of sneaking +respect for my knowledge. Throughout, I treated her with the perfect +courtesy which one lady accords to another, ignoring the impertinence. +I took pains to say "please" and "thank you." Many a time I bit my +lips tightly against my own rising rage, and afterward in calmness +recognised a superior opportunity for self-discipline. + +For three or four months, while the beautiful theory wavered in the +balance, we fought--not outwardly, but beneath the surface. Daily, I +meditated a summary discharge, dissuaded only by an immaculate house +and perfectly cooked breakfasts and dinners. I still cherished a +lingering belief in personal influence, in spite of the wall which +reared itself between us. + +A small grey kitten, with wobbly legs and an infantile mew, made the +first breach in the wall. She took care of it, loved it, petted it, +and began to smile semi-occasionally. She, too, said "please" and +"thank you." My husband suggested that we order ten kittens, but I let +the good work go on with one, for the time being. Gradually, I learned +that the immovable exterior was the natural protection against an +abnormal sensitiveness both to praise and blame. Besides the cat, she +had two other "weak spots"--an unswerving devotion to a widowed sister +with two children, whom she partially supported, and a love for +flowers almost pathetic. + +As I could, without seeming to make a point of it, I sent things to +the sister and the children--partially worn curtains, bits of ribbons, +little toys, and the like. I made her room as pretty and dainty as my +own, though the furnishings were not so expensive, and gave her a +potted plant in a brass jar. When flowers were sent to me, I gave her +a few for the vase in her room. She began to say "we" instead of +"you." She spoke of "our" spoons, or "our" table linen. She asked, +what shall "we" do about this or that? what shall "we" have for +dinner? instead of "what do _you_ want?" She began to laugh when she +played with the kitten, and even to sing at her work. + +When she did well, I praised her, as I had all along, but instead of +saying, "Iss dat so?" when I remarked that the muffins were delicious +or the dessert a great success, her face began to light up, and a +smile take the place of the impersonal comment. The furious temper +began to wane, or, at least, to be under better control. Guests +occasionally inquired, "What have you done to that maid of yours?" + +Five times we have left her, for one or two months at a time, on full +salary, with unlimited credit at the grocery, and with from fifty to +one hundred dollars in cash. During the intervals we heard nothing +from her. We have returned each time to an immaculate house, a +smiling maid, a perfectly cooked and nicely served meal, and an +account correct to a penny, with vouchers to show for it, of the sum +with which she had been intrusted. + +I noticed each time a vast pride in the fact that she had been so +trusted, and from this developed a gratifying loyalty to the +establishment. I had told her once to ask her sister and children to +spend the day with her while we were gone. It seems that the children +were noisy, and the lady in the apartment below us came up to object. + +An altercation ensued, ending with a threat from the lady downstairs +to "tell Mrs. M. when she came home." Annie told me herself, with +flashing eyes and shaking hands. I said, calmly: "The children must +have been noisy, or she would not have complained. You are used to +them, and besides it would sound worse downstairs than up here. But it +doesn't amount to anything, for I had told you you could have the +children here, and if I hadn't been able to trust you I wouldn't have +left you." Thus the troubled waters were calmed. + +The crucial test of her qualities came when I entered upon a long +period of exhaustive effort. The first day, we both had a hard time, +as her highly specialised Baptist conscience would not permit her to +say I was "not at home," when I was merely writing a book. After she +thoroughly understood that I was not to be disturbed unless the house +took fire, further quiet being insured by disconnecting the doorbell +and muffling the telephone, things went swimmingly. + +"Annie," I said, "I want you to run this house until I get through +with my book. Here is a hundred dollars to start with. Don't let +anybody disturb me." She took it with a smile, and a cheerful "all +right." + +From that moment to the end, I had even less care than I should have +had in a well-equipped hotel. Not a sound penetrated my solitude. If +I went out for a drink of water, she did not speak to me. We had +delicious dinners and dainty breakfasts which might have waited for +us, but we never waited a moment for them. She paid herself regularly +every Monday morning, kept all receipts, sent out my husband's +laundry, kept a strict list of it, mended our clothes, managed our +household as economically as I myself could have done it, and, best of +all, insured me from any sort of interruption with a sort of fierce +loyalty which is beyond any money value. + +Once I overheard a colloquy at my front door, which was briefly and +decisively terminated thus: "Ay already tell you dat you _not see +her_! She says to me, 'Annie, you keep dose peoples off from me,' and +Ay _keep dem off_!" I never have known what dear friend was thus +turned away from my inhospitable door. + +Fully appreciating my blessings, the night I finished my work I went +into the kitchen with a crisp, new, five-dollar bill. "Annie," I said, +"here is a little extra money for you. You've been so nice about the +house while I've been busy." + +She opened her eyes wide, and stared. "You don't have to do dat," she +said. + +"I know I don't," I laughed, "but I like to do it." + +"You don't have to do dat," she repeated. "Ay like to do de +housekeeping." + +"I know," I said again, "and I like to do this. You've done lots of +things for me you didn't have to do. Why shouldn't I do something for +you?" + +At that she took it, offering me a rough wet hand, which I took +gravely. "Tank you," she said, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. + +"You've earned it," I assured her, "and you deserve it, and I'm very +glad I can give it to you." + +From that hour she has been welded to me in a bond which I fondly hope +is indestructible. She laughs and sings at her work, pets her beloved +kitten, and diffuses through my six rooms the atmosphere of good +cheer. She "looks after me," anticipates my wishes, and dedicates to +me a continual loyal service which has no equivalent in dollars and +cents. She asked me, hesitatingly, if she might not get some one to +fill her place for three months while she went back to Sweden. I +didn't like the idea, but I recognised her well-defined right. + +"Ay not go," she said, "if you not want me to. Ay tell my sister dat +I want to stay wid Mrs. M. until she send me away." + +I knew she would have to go some time before she settled down to +perpetual residence in an alien land, so I bade her God-speed. She +secured the substitute and instructed her, arranged the matter of +wages, and vouched for her honesty, but not for her work. + +Before she left the city, I found that the substitute was hopelessly +incompetent and stupid. When Annie came to say "good-bye" to me, I +told her about the new girl. She broke down and wept. "Ay sorry Ay try +to go," she sobbed. "Ay tell my sister dere iss nobody what can take +care of Mrs. M. lak Ay do!" + +I was quite willing to agree with her, but I managed to dry her tears. +Discovering that she expected to spend two nights in a day coach, and +remembering one dreadful night when I could get no berth, I gave her +the money for a sleeping-car ticket both ways, as a farewell gift. The +tears broke forth afresh. "You been so good to me and to my sister," +she sobbed. "Ay can't never forget dat!" + +"Cheer up," I answered, wiping the mist from my own eyes. "Go on, and +have the best time you ever had in your life, and don't worry about +me--I'll get along somehow. And if you need money while you are away, +write to me, and I'll send you whatever you need. We'll fix it up +afterward." + +Once again she looked at me, with the strangest look I have ever seen +on the human face. + +"Tank you," she said slowly. "Dere iss not many ladies would say dat." + +"Perhaps not," I replied, "but, remember, Annie, I can trust you." + +"Yes," she cried, her face illumined as by some great inward light, +"you can trust me!" + +I do not think she loves us yet, but I believe in time she will. + +The day the new girl came, I happened to overhear a much valued +reference to myself: "Honestly," she said, "Ay been here more dan one +year, and Ay never hear a wrong word between her and him, nor between +her and me. It's shust wonderful. Ay isn't been see anyting like it +since Ay been in diss country." + +"Is it so wonderful?" I asked myself, as I stole away, my own heart +aglow with the consciousness of a moral victory, "and is the lack of +self-control and human kindness at the bottom of the American servant +problem? Are we women such children that we cannot deal wisely with +our intellectual inferiors?" And more than all I had given her, as I +realised then for the first time, was the power of self-discipline +and self-control which she, all unknowingly, had developed in me. + +I have not ceased the "treatment," even though the patient is nearly +well. It costs me nothing to praise her when she deserves it, to take +an occasional friend into her immaculate kitchen, and to show the +shining white pantry shelves (without papers), while she blushes and +smiles with pleasure. It costs me nothing to see that she overhears +me while I tell a friend over the telephone how capable she has been +during the stress of my work, or how clean the house is when we come +home after a long absence. It costs me nothing to send her out for a +walk, or a visit to a nearby friend, on the afternoons when her work +is finished and I am to be at home--nothing to call her attention to a +beautiful sunset or a perfect day, or to tell her some amusing story +that her simple mind can appreciate. It costs me nothing to tell +her how well she looks in her cap and apron (only I call the cap a +"hair-bow"), nor that one of the guests said she made the best cake +she had ever eaten in her life. + +It costs me little to give her a pretty hatpin, or some other girlish +trifle at Easter, to bring her some souvenir of our travels, to give +her a fresh ribbon for her belt from my bolt, or some little toy "for +de children." + +It means only a thought to say when she goes out, "Good-bye! Have a +good time!" or to say when I go out, "Good-bye! Be good!" It means +little to me to tell her how much my husband or our guests have +enjoyed the dinner, or to have him go into the kitchen sometimes, +while she is surrounded by a mountain of dishes, with a cheery word +and a fifty-cent piece. + +It isn't much out of my way to do a bit of shopping for her when I am +shopping for myself, and no trouble at all to plan for her new gowns, +or to tell her that her new hat is very pretty and becoming. + +When her temper gets the better of her these days, I can laugh her +out of it. "To think," I said once, "of a fine, capable girl like you +flying into a rage because some one has borrowed your clothesline +without asking for it!" + +The clouds vanished with a smile. "Dat iss funny of me," she said. + +When her work goes wrong, as of course it sometimes does, though +rarely, and she is worrying for fear I shall be displeased, I say: +"Never mind, Annie; things don't always go right for any of us. Don't +worry about it, but be careful next time." + +It has cost me time and effort and money, and an infinite amount of +patience and tact, not to mention steady warfare with myself, but in +return, what have I? A housemaid, as nearly perfect, perhaps, as they +can ever be on this faulty earth, permanently in my service, as I hope +and believe. + +If any one offers her higher wages, I shall meet the "bid," for she is +worth as much to me as she can be to any one else. Besides giving me +superior service, she has done me a vast amount of good in furnishing +me the needed material for the development of my character. + +On her own ground, she respects my superior knowledge. Once or twice +I have heard her say of some friend, "Her's lady, she know nodding at +all about de housekeeping--no, nodding at all!" + +The airy contempt of the tone is quite impossible to describe. + +A neighbour whom she assisted in a time of domestic stress, during my +absence, told me amusedly of her reception in her own kitchen. "You +don't have to come all de time to de kitchen to tell me," remarked +Annie. + +"Doesn't Mrs. M. do that?" queried my neighbour, lightly. + +"Ay should say not," returned the capable one, indignantly. "She nefer +come in de kitchen, and _she know, too_!" + +While that was not literally true, because I do go into my kitchen if +I want to, and cook there if I like, I make a point of not intruding. +She knows what she is to do, and I leave her to do it, in peace and +comfort. + +Briefly summarised, the solution from my point of view is this. _Know +her work yourself, down to the last detail_; pay the wages which other +people would be glad to pay for the same service; keep your temper, +and, in the face of everything, _be kind_! Remember that housework is +hard work--that it never stays done--that a meal which it takes half a +day to prepare is disposed of in half an hour. Remember, too, that it +requires much intelligence and good judgment to be a good cook, and +that the daily tasks lack inspiration. The hardest part of housework +must be done at a time when many other people are free for rest and +enjoyment, and it carries with it a social bar sinister when it is +done for money. The woman who does it for her board and clothes, in +her own kitchen, does not necessarily lose caste, but doing it for a +higher wage, in another's kitchen, makes one almost an outcast. +Strange and unreasonable, but true. + +It was at my own suggestion that she began to leave the dishes piled +up in the sink until morning. When the room is otherwise immaculate, +a tray of neatly piled plates, even if unwashed, does not disturb my +aesthetic sense. + +Ordinarily, she is free for the evening at half-past seven or a +quarter of eight--always by eight. Her evenings are hers, not +mine,--unless I pay her extra, as I always do. A dollar or so counts +for nothing in the expense of an entertainment, and she both earns and +deserves the extra wage. + +If I am to entertain twenty or thirty people--the house will hold no +more, and I cannot ask more than ten to dinner--I consult with her, +decide upon the menu, tell her that she can have all the help she +needs, and go my ways in peace. I can order the flowers, decorate the +table, put on my best gown, and receive my guests, unwearied, with an +easy mind. + +When I am not expecting guests, I can leave the house immediately +after breakfast, without a word about dinner, and return to the right +sort of a meal at seven o'clock, bringing a guest or two with me, if I +telephone first. + +I can work for six weeks or two months in a seclusion as perfect as I +could have in the Sahara Desert, and my household, meanwhile, will +move as if on greased skids. I can go away for two months and hear +nothing from her, and yet know that everything is all right at home. I +think no more about it, so far as responsibility is concerned, when I +am travelling, than as if I had no home at all. When we leave the +apartment alone in the evening, we turn on the most of the lights, +being assured by the police that burglars will never molest a +brilliantly illuminated house. + +The morose countenance of my ugly maid has subtly changed. It +radiates, in its own way, beauty and good cheer. Her harsh voice is +gentle, her manner is kind, her tastes are becoming refined, her ways +are those of a lady. + +My friends and neighbours continually allude to the transformation as +"a miracle." The janitor remarked, in a burst of confidence, that he +"never saw anybody change so." He "reckoned," too, that "it must be +the folks she lives with!" Annie herself, conscious of a change, +recently said complacently: "Ay guess Ay wass one awful crank when Ay +first come here." + +And so it happens that the highest satisfaction is connected with the +beautiful theory, triumphantly proven now, against heavy odds. +Whatever else I may have done, I have taught one woman the workman's +pride in her work, shown her where true happiness lies, and set her +feet firmly on the path of right and joyous living. + + + + +To a Violin + +(Antonius Stradivarius, 1685.) + + + What flights of years have gone to fashion thee, + My violin! What centuries have wrought + Thy sounding fibres! What dead fingers taught + Thy music to awake in ecstasy + Beyond our human dreams? Thy melody + Is resurrection. Every buried thought + Of singing bird, or stream, or south wind, fraught + With tender message, or of sobbing sea, + Lives once again. The tempest's solemn roll + Is in thy passion sleeping, till the king + Whose touch is mastery shall sound thy soul. + The organ tones of ocean shalt thou bring, + The crashing chords of thunder, and the whole + Vast harmony of God. Ah, Spirit, sing! + + + + +The Old Maid + + +One of the best things the last century has done for woman is to make +single-blessedness appear very tolerable indeed, even if it be not +actually desirable. + +The woman who didn't marry used to be looked down upon as a sort of a +"leftover" without a thought, apparently, that she may have refused +many a chance to change her attitude toward the world. But now, the +"bachelor maid" is welcomed everywhere, and is not considered +eccentric on account of her oneness. + +With the long records of the divorce courts before their eyes, it is +not very unusual for the younger generation of women nowadays +deliberately to choose spinsterhood as their independent lot in life. + +A girl said the other day: "It's no use to say that a woman can't +marry if she wants to. Look around you, and see the women who _have_ +married, and then ask yourself if there is anybody who can't!" + +This is a great truth very concisely stated. It is safe to say that no +woman ever reached twenty-five years of age, and very few have passed +twenty, without having an opportunity to become somebody's mate. + +A very small maiden with very bright eyes once came to her mother with +the question: "Mamma, do you think I shall ever have a chance to get +married?" + +And the mother answered: "Surely you will, my child; the woods are +full of offers of marriage--no woman can avoid them." + +And ere many years had passed the maiden had learned that the wisdom +of her mother's prophecy was fully vindicated. + +Every one knows that a woman needs neither beauty, talent, nor money +to win the deepest and sincerest love that man is capable of giving. + +Single life is, with rare exceptions, a matter of choice and not of +necessity; and while it is true that a happy married life is the +happiest position for either man or woman, there are many things which +are infinitely worse than being an old maid, and chiefest among these +is marrying the wrong man! + +The modern woman looks her future squarely in the face and decides +according to her best light whether her happiness depends upon +spinsterhood or matrimony. This decision is of course influenced very +largely by the quality of her chances in either direction, but if the +one whom she fully believes to be the right man comes along, he is +likely to be able to overcome strong objections to the married state. +If love comes to her from the right source, she takes it gladly; +otherwise she bravely goes her way alone, often showing the world that +some of the most mother-hearted women are not really mothers. Think of +the magnificent solitude of such women as Florence Nightingale and our +own splendid Frances Willard! Who shall say that these, and thousands +of others of earth's grandest souls, were not better for their +single-heartedness in the service of humanity? + +A writer in a leading journal recently said: "The fact that a woman +remains single is a tribute to her perception. She gains an added +dignity from being hard to suit." + +This, from the pen of a man, is somewhat of a revelation, in the light +of various masculine criticisms concerning superfluous women. No woman +is superfluous. God made her, and put her into this world to help her +fellow-beings. There is a little niche somewhere which she, and she +alone, can fill. She finds her own completeness in rounding out the +lives of others. + +It has been said that the average man may be piloted through life by +one woman, but it must be admitted that several of him need somewhere +near a dozen of the fair sex to wait upon him at the same time. His +wife and mother are kept "hustling," while his "sisters and his aunts" +are likely to be "on the keen jump" from the time his lordship enters +the house until he leaves it! + +But to return to the "superfluous woman,"--although we cannot +literally return to her because she does not exist. Of the "old maid" +of to-day, it is safe to say that she has her allotted plane of +usefulness. She isn't the type our newspaper brethren delight to +caricature. She doesn't dwell altogether upon the subject of "woman's +sphere," which, by the way, comes very near being the plane of the +earth's sphere, and she need not, for her position is now well +recognised. + +She doesn't wear corkscrew curls and hideous reform garments. She is a +dainty, feminine, broad-minded woman, and a charming companion. Men +are her friends, and often her lovers, in her old age as well as in +her youth. + +Every old maid has her love story, a little romance that makes her +heart young again as she dreams it over in the firelight, and it +calls a happy smile to the faded face. + +Or, perhaps, it is the old, sad story of a faithless lover, or a +happiness spoiled by gossips--or it may be the scarcely less sad story +of love and death. + +Ibsen makes two of his characters, a young man and woman who love each +other, part voluntarily on the top of a high mountain in order that +they may be enabled to keep their high ideals and uplifting love for +each other. + +So the old maid keeps her ideals, not through fulfilment, but through +memory, and she is far happier than many a woman who finds her ideal +surprisingly and disagreeably real. + +The bachelor girl and the bachelor man are much on the increase. +Marriage is not in itself a failure, but the people who enter unwisely +into this solemn covenant too often are not only failures, but bitter +disappointments to those who love them best. + +Life for men and women means the highest usefulness and happiness, for +the terms are synonymous, neither being able to exist without the +other. + +The model spinster of to-day is philanthropic. She is connected, not +with innumerable charities, but with a few well-chosen ones. She gives +freely of her time and money in many ways, where her left hand +scarcely knoweth what her right doeth, and the record of her good +works is not found in the chronicles of the world. + +She is literary, musical, or artistic. She is a devoted and loyal club +member, and is well informed on the leading topics of the day, while +the resources of her well-balanced mind are always at the service of +her friends. + +And when all is said and done, the highest and truest life is within +the reach of us all. Doing well whatever is given us to do will keep +us all busy, and married or single, no woman has a right to be idle. +The old maid may be womanly and mother-hearted as well as the wife and +mother. + + + + +The Spinster's Rubaiyat + + + I + + Wake! For the hour of hope will soon take flight + And on your form and features leave a blight; + Since Time, who heals full many an open wound, + More oft than not is impolite. + + II + + Before my relatives began to chide, + Methought the voice of conscience said inside: + "Why should you want a husband, when you have + A cat who seldom will at home abide?" + + III + + And, when the evening breeze comes in the door, + The lamp smokes like a chimney, only more; + And yet the deacon of the church + Is telling every one my parrot swore. + + IV + + Behold, my aunt into my years inquires, + Then swiftly with my parents she conspires, + And in the family record changes dates-- + In that same book that says all men are liars. + + V + + Come, fill the cup and let the kettle sing! + What though upon my finger gleams no ring, + Save that cheap turquoise that I bought myself? + The coming years a gladsome change may bring. + + VI + + Here, minion, fill the steaming cup that clears + The skin I will not have exposed to jeers, + And rub this wrinkle vigorously until + The maddening crow's-foot wholly disappears. + + VII + + And let me don some artificial bloom, + And turn the lamps down low, and make a gloom + That spreads from library to hall and stair; + Thus do I look my best--but ah, for whom? + + + + +The Rights of Dogs + + +We hear a great deal about the "rights of men" and still more, +perhaps, about the "rights of women," but few stop to consider those +which properly belong to the friend and companion of both--the dog. + +According to our municipal code, a dog must be muzzled from June 1st +to September 30th. The wise men who framed this measure either did not +know, or did not stop to consider, that a dog perspires and "cools +off" only at his mouth. + +Man and the horse have tiny pores distributed all over the body, but +in the dog they are found only in the tongue. + +Any one who has had a fever need not be told what happened when these +pores ceased to act; what, then, must be the sufferings of a dog on a +hot day, when, securely muzzled, he takes his daily exercise? + +Even on the coolest days, the barbarous muzzle will fret a +thoroughbred almost to insanity, unless, indeed, he has brains to free +himself, as did a brilliant Irish setter which we once knew. This wise +dog would run far ahead of his human guardian, and with the help of +his forepaws slip the strap over his slender head, then hide the +offending muzzle in the gutter, and race onward again. When the loss +was discovered, it was far too late to remedy it by any search that +could be instituted. + +And still, without this uncomfortable encumbrance, it is unsafe for +any valuable dog to be seen, even on his own doorsteps, for the +"dog-catcher" is ever on the look-out for blue-blooded victims. + +The homeless mongrel, to whom a painless death would be a blessing, is +left to get a precarious living as best he may from the garbage boxes, +and spread pestilence from house to house, but the setter, the collie, +and the St. Bernard are choked into insensibility with a wire noose, +hurled into a stuffy cage, and with the thermometer at ninety in the +shade, are dragged through the blistering city, as a sop to that +Cerberus of the law which demands for its citizens safety from dogs, +and pays no attention to the lawlessness of men. + +The dog tax which is paid every year is sufficient to guarantee the +interest of the owner in his dog. Howells has pitied "the dogless +man," and Thomas Nelson Page has said somewhere that "some of us know +what it is to be loved by a dog." + +Countless writers have paid tribute to his fidelity and devotion, and +to the constant forgiveness of blows and neglect which spring from the +heart of the commonest cur. + +The trained hunter, who is as truly a sportsman as the man who brings +down the birds he finds, can be easily fretted into madness by the +injudicious application of the muzzle. + +The average dog is a gentleman and does not attack people for the +pleasure of it, and it is lamentably true that people who live in +cities often find it necessary to keep some sort of a dog as a +guardian to life and property. In spite of his loyalty, which every +one admits, the dog is an absolute slave. Men with less sense, and +less morality, constitute a court from which he has no appeal. + +Four or five years of devotion to his master's interests, and four or +five years of peaceful, friendly conduct, count for absolutely nothing +beside the perjured statement of some man, or even woman, who, from +spite against the owner, is willing to assert, "the dog is vicious." + + "He is very imprudent, a dog is," said Jerome K. Jerome. "He + never makes it his business to inquire whether you are in + the right or wrong--never bothers as to whether you are + going up or down life's ladder--never asks whether you are + rich or poor, silly or wise, saint or sinner. You are his + pal. That is enough for him, and come luck or misfortune, + good repute or bad, honour or shame, he is going to stick to + you, to comfort you, guard you, and give his life for you, + if need be--foolish, brainless, soulless dog! + + "Ah! staunch old friend, with your deep, clear eyes, and + bright quick glances that take in all one has to say, before + one has time to speak it, do you know you are only an animal + and have no mind? + + "Do you know that dull-eyed, gin-sodden lout leaning against + the post out there is immeasurably your intellectual + superior? Do you know that every little-minded selfish + scoundrel, who never had a thought that was not mean and + base--whose every action is a fraud and whose every + utterance is a lie; do you know that these are as much + superior to you as the sun is to the rush-light, you + honourable, brave-hearted, unselfish brute? + + "They are men, you know, and men are the greatest, noblest, + wisest, and best beings in the universe. Any man will tell + you that." + +Are the men whom we elect to public office our masters or our +servants? If the former, let us change our form of government; if the +latter, let us hope that from somewhere a little light may penetrate +their craniums and that they may be induced to give the dog a chance. + + + + +Twilight + + + The birds were hushed into silence, + The clouds had sunk from sight, + And the great trees bowed to the summer breeze + That kissed the flowers good-night. + + The stars came out in the cool still air, + From the mansions of the blest, + And softly, over the dim blue hills, + Night came to the world with rest. + + + + +Women's Clothes in Men's Books + + +When asked why women wrote better novels than men, Mr. Richard Le +Gallienne is said to have replied, more or less conclusively, "They +don't"; thus recalling _Punch's_ famous advice to those about to +marry. + +Happily there is no segregation in literature, and masculine and +feminine hands alike may dabble in fiction, as long as the publishers +are willing. + +If we accept Zola's dictum to the effect that art is nature seen +through the medium of a temperament, the thing is possible to many, +though the achievement may differ both in manner and degree. For women +have temperament--too much of it--as the hysterical novelists daily +testify. + +The gentleman novelist, however, prances in boldly, where feminine +feet well may fear to tread, and consequently has a wider scope for +his writing. It is not for a woman to mingle in a barroom brawl and +write of the thing as she sees it. The prize-ring, the interior of a +cattle-ship, Broadway at four in the morning--these and countless +other places are forbidden by her innate refinement as well as by the +Ladies' Own, and all the other aunties who have taken upon themselves +the guardianship of the Home with a big H. + +Fancy the outpouring of scorn upon the luckless offender's head if one +should write to the Manners and Morals Department of the Ladies' Own +as follows: "Would it be proper for a lady novelist, in search of +local colour and new experiences, to accept the escort of a strange +man at midnight if he was too drunk to recognise her afterward?" Yet a +man in the same circumstances would not hesitate to put an intoxicated +woman into a sea-going cab, and would plume himself for a year and a +day upon his virtuous performance. + +All things are considered proper for a man who is about to write a +book. Like the disciple of Mary McLane who stole a horse in order to +get the emotions of a police court, he may delve deeply not only into +life, but into that under-stratum which is not spoken of, where +respectable journals circulate. + +Everything is fish that comes into his net. If conscientious, he may +even undertake marriage in order to study the feminine personal +equations at close range. Woman's emotions, singly and collectively, +are pilloried before his scientific gaze. He cowers before one +problem, and one only--woman's clothes! + +Carlyle, after long and painful thought, arrives at the conclusion +that "cut betokens intellect and talent; colour reveals temper and +heart." + +This reminds one of the language of flowers, and the directions given +for postage-stamp flirtation. If that massive mind had penetrated +further into the mysteries of the subject, we might have been told +that a turnover collar indicated that the woman was a High Church +Episcopalian who had embroidered two altar cloths, and that suede +gloves show a yielding but contradictory nature. + +Clothes are, undoubtedly, indices of character and taste, as well as a +sop to conventionality, but this only when one has the wherewithal to +browse at will in the department store. Many a woman with ermine +tastes has only a rabbit-fur pocket-book, and thus her clothes wrong +her in the sight of gods and women, though men know nothing about it. + +Once upon a time there was a notion to the effect that women dressed +to please men, but that idea has long since been relegated to the +limbo of forgotten things. + +Not one man in a thousand can tell the difference between Brussels +point at thirty dollars a yard, and imitation Valenciennes at ten or +fifteen cents a yard which was one of the "famous Friday features in +the busy bargain basement." + +But across the room, yea, even from across the street, the eagle eye +of another woman can unerringly locate the Brussels point and the +mock Valenciennes. + +A man knows silk by the sound of it and diamonds by the shine. He will +say that his heroine "was richly dressed in silk." Little does he wot +of the difference between taffeta at eighty-five cents a yard and +broadcloth at four dollars. Still less does he know that a white +cotton shirt-waist represents financial ease, and a silk waist of +festive colouring represents poverty, since it takes but two days to +"do up" a white shirt-waist in one sense, and thirty or forty cents to +do it up in the other! + +One listens with wicked delight to men's discourse upon woman's +clothes. Now and then a man will express his preference for a tailored +gown, as being eminently simple and satisfactory. Unless he is married +and has seen the bills for tailored gowns, he also thinks they are +inexpensive. + +It is the benedict, wise with the acquired knowledge of the serpent, +who begs his wife to get a new party gown and let the tailor-made go +until next season. He also knows that when the material is bought, the +expense has scarcely begun, whereas the ignorant bachelor thinks that +the worst is happily over. + +In _A Little Journey through the World_ Mr. Warner philosophised thus: +"How a woman in a crisis hesitates before her wardrobe, and at last +chooses just what will express her innermost feelings!" + +If all a woman's feelings were to be expressed by her clothes, the +benedicts would immediately encounter financial shipwreck. On account +of the lamentable scarcity of money and closets, one is eternally +adjusting the emotion to the gown. + +Some gown, seen at the exact psychological moment, fixes forever in a +man's mind his ideal garment. Thus we read of blue calico, of +pink-and-white print, and more often still, of white lawn. Mad colour +combinations run riot in the masculine fancy, as in the case of a man +who boldly described his favourite costume as "red, with black ruffles +down the front!" + +Of a hat, a man may be a surpassingly fine critic, since he recks not +of style. Guileful is the woman who leads her liege to the millinery +and lets him choose, taking no heed of the price and the attendant +shock until later. + +A normal man is anxious that his wife shall be well dressed because it +shows the critical observer that his business is a great success. +After futile explorations in the labyrinth, he concerns himself simply +with the fit, preferring always that the clothes of his heart's +dearest shall cling to her as lovingly as a kid glove, regardless of +the pouches and fulnesses prescribed by Dame Fashion. + +In the writing of books, men are at their wits' end when it comes to +women's clothes. They are hampered by no restrictions--no thought of +style or period enters into their calculations, and unless they have a +wholesome fear of the unknown theme, they produce results which +further international gaiety. + +Many an outrageous garment has been embalmed in a man's book, simply +because an attractive woman once wore something like it when she fed +the novelist. Unbalanced by the joy of the situation, he did not +accurately observe the garb of the ministering angel, and hence we +read of "a clinging white gown" in the days of stiff silks and rampant +crinoline; of "the curve of the upper arm" when it took five yards for +a pair of sleeves, and of "short walking skirts" during the reign of +bustles and trains! + +In _The Blazed Trail_, Mr. White observes that his heroine was clad in +brown which fitted her slender figure perfectly. As Hilda had yellow +hair, "like corn silk," this was all right, and if the brown was of +the proper golden shade, she was doubtless stunning when Thorpe first +saw her in the forest. But the gown could not have fitted her as the +sheath encases the dagger, for before the straight-front corsets there +were the big sleeves, and still further back were bustles and +_bouffant_ draperies. One does not get the impression that _The_ +_Blazed Trail_ was placed in the days of crinolines, but doubtless +Hilda's clothes did not fit as Mr. White seems to think they did. + +That strenuous follower of millinery, Mr. Gibson, might give lessons +to his friend, Mr. Davis, with advantage to the writer, if not to the +artist. In _Captain Macklin_, the young man's cousin makes her first +appearance in a thin gown, and a white hat trimmed with roses, +reminding the adventurous captain of a Dresden statuette, in spite of +the fact that she wore heavy gauntlet gloves and carried a trowel. The +lady had been doing a hard day's work in the garden. No woman outside +the asylum ever did gardening in such a costume, and Mr. Davis +evidently has the hat and gown sadly mixed with some other pleasant +impression. + +The feminine reader immediately hides Mr. Davis' mistake with the +broad mantle of charity, and in her own mind clothes Beatrice properly +in a short walking skirt, heavy shoes, shirt-waist, old hat tied down +over the ears with a rumpled ribbon, and a pair of ancient masculine +gloves, long since discarded by their rightful owner. Thus does lovely +woman garden, except on the stage and in men's books. + +In _The Story of Eva_, Mr. Payne announces that Eva climbed out of a +cab in "a fawn-coloured jacket," conspicuous by reason of its newness, +and a hat "with an owl's head upon it!" + +The jacket was possibly a coat of tan covert cloth with strapped +seams, but it is the startling climax which claims attention. An owl! +Surely not, Mr. Payne! It may have been a parrot, for once upon a +time, before the Audubon Society met with widespread recognition, +women wore such things, and at afternoon teas where many fair +ones were gathered together the parrot garniture was not without +significance. But an owl's face, with its glaring glassy eyes, is +too much like a pussy cat's to be appropriate, and one could no +wear it at the back without conveying an unpleasant impression +of two-facedness, if the coined word be permissible. + +Still the owl is no worse than the trimming suggested by a funny +paper. The tears of mirth come yet at the picture of a hat of rough +straw, shaped like a nest, on which sat a full-fledged Plymouth Rock +hen, with her neck proudly, yet graciously curved. Perhaps Mr. Payne +saw the picture and forthwith decided to do something in the same +line, but there is a singular inappropriateness in placing the bird of +Minerva upon the head of poor Eva, who made the old, old bargain in +which she had everything to lose, and nothing save the bitterest +experience to gain. A stuffed kitten, so young and innocent that its +eyes were still blue and bleary, would have been more appropriate on +Eva's bonnet, and just as pretty. + +In _The Fortunes of Oliver Horn_, Margaret Grant wears a particularly +striking costume: + + "The cloth skirt came to her ankles, which were covered with + yarn stockings, and her feet were encased in shoes that gave + him the shivers, the soles being as thick as his own and + the leather as tough. + + "Her blouse was of grey flannel, belted to the waist by a + cotton saddle-girth, white and red, and as broad as her + hand. The tam-o-shanter was coarse and rough, evidently + home-made, and not at all like McFudd's, which was as soft + as the back of a kitten and without a seam." + +With all due respect to Mr. Smith, one must insist that Margaret's +shoes were all right as regards material and build. She would have +been more comfortable if they had been "high-necked" shoes, and, in +that case, the yarn hosiery would not have troubled him, but that is a +minor detail. The quibble comes at the belt, and knowing that Margaret +was an artist, we must be sure that Mr. Smith was mistaken. It may +have been one of the woven cotton belts, not more than two inches +wide, which, for a dizzy moment, were at the height of fashion, and +then tottered and fell, but a "saddle-girth"--never! + +In that charming morceau, _The Inn of the Silver Moon_, Mr. Viele puts +his heroine into plaid stockings and green knickerbockers--an +outrageous costume truly, even for wheeling. + +As if recognising his error, and, with veritable masculine +stubbornness, refusing to admit it, Mr. Viele goes on to say that the +knickerbockers were "tailor-made!" And thereby he makes a bad matter +very much worse. + +In _The Wings of the Morning_, Iris, in spite of the storm through +which the _Sirdar_ vainly attempts to make its way, appears throughout +in a "lawn dress"--white, undoubtedly, since all sorts and conditions +of men profess to admire white lawn! + +How cold the poor girl must have been! And even if she could have been +so inappropriately gowned on shipboard, she had plenty of time to put +on a warm and suitable tailor-made gown before she was shipwrecked. +This is sheer fatuity, for any one with Mr. Tracy's abundant ingenuity +could easily have contrived ruin for the tailored gown in time for +Iris to assume masculine garb and participate bravely in that fearful +fight on the ledge. + +Whence, oh whence, comes this fondness for lawn? Are not organdies, +dimities, and embroidered muslins fully as becoming to the women who +trip daintily through the pages of men's books? Lawn has been a back +number for many a weary moon, and still we read of it! + +"When in doubt, lead trumps," might well be paraphrased thus: "When in +doubt, put her into white lawn!" Even "J. P. M.," that gentle spirit +to whom so many hidden things were revealed, sent his shrewish "Kate" +off for a canter through the woods in a white gown, and, if memory +serves, it was lawn! + +In _The Master_, Mr. Zangwill describes Eleanor Wyndwood as "the +radiant apparition of a beautiful woman in a shimmering amber gown, +from which her shoulders rose dazzling." + +So far so good. But a page or two farther on, that delightful minx, +Olive Regan, wears "a dress of soft green-blue cut high, with yellow +roses at the throat." One wonders whether Mr. Zangwill ever really saw +a woman in any kind of a gown "with yellow roses at the throat," or +whether it is but the slip of an overstrained fancy. The fact that he +has married since writing this gives a goodly assurance that by this +time he knows considerably more about gowns. + +Still there is always a chance that the charm may not work, for Mr. +Arthur Stringer, who has been reported as being married to a very +lovely woman, takes astonishing liberties in _The Silver Poppy_: + + "She floated in before Reppellier, buoyant, smiling, like a + breath of open morning itself, a confusion of mellow + autumnal colours in her wine-coloured gown, and a hat of + roses and mottled leaves. + + "Before she had as much as drawn off her gloves--and they + were always the most spotless of white gloves--she glanced + about in mock dismay, and saw that the last of the righting + up had already been done." + +Later, we read that the artist pinned an American Beauty upon her +gown, then shook his head over the colour combination and took it +off. If the American Beauty jarred enough for a man to notice it, the +dress must have been the colour of claret, or Burgundy, rather than +the clear soft gold of sauterne. + +This brings us up with a short turn before the hat. What colour were +the roses? Surely they were not American Beauties, and they could not +have been pink. Yellow roses would have been a fright, so they must +have been white ones, and a hat covered with white roses is altogether +too festive to wear in the morning. The white gloves also would have +been sadly out of place. + +What a comfort it would be to all concerned if the feminine reader +could take poor Cordelia one side and fix her up a bit! One could pat +the artistic disorder out of her beautiful yellow hair, help her out +of her hideous clothes into a grey tailor-made, with a shirt-waist of +mercerised white cheviot, put on a stock of the same material, give +her a "ready-to-wear" hat of the same trig-tailored quality, and, as +she passed out, hand her a pair of grey suede gloves which exactly +matched her gown. + +Though grey would be more becoming, she might wear tan as a concession +to Mr. Stringer, who evidently likes yellow. + +In the same book, we find a woman who gathers up her "yellow skirts" +and goes down a ladder. It might have been only a yellow taffeta +drop-skirt under tan etamine, but we must take his word for it, as we +did not see it and he did. + +As the Chinese keep the rat tails for the end of the feast, the worst +clothes to be found in any book must come last by way of climax. Mr. +Dixon, in _The Leopard's Spots_, has easily outdone every other knight +of the pen who has entered the lists to portray women's clothes. +Listen to the inspired description of Miss Sallie's gown! + + "She was dressed in a morning gown of a soft red material, + trimmed with old cream lace. The material of a woman's dress + had never interested him before. He knew calico from silk, + but beyond that he never ventured an opinion. To colour + alone he was responsive. This combination of red and creamy + white, _with the bodice cut low, showing the lines of her + beautiful white shoulders_, and the great mass of dark hair + rising in graceful curves from her full round neck, + heightened her beauty to an extraordinary degree. + + "As she walked, the clinging folds of her dress, outlining + her queenly figure, seemed part of her very being, and to be + imbued with her soul. He was dazzled with the new revelation + of her power over him." + +The fact that she goes for a ride later on, "dressed in pure white," +sinks into insignificance beside this new and original creation of Mr. +Dixon's. A red morning gown, trimmed with cream lace, cut low enough +to show the "beautiful white shoulders"--ye gods and little fishes! +Where were the authorities, and why was not "Miss Sallie" taken to the +detention hospital, pending an inquiry into her sanity? + +It would seem that any man, especially one who writes books, could be +sure of a number of women friends. Among these there ought to be at +least one whom he could take into his confidence. The gentleman +novelist might go to the chosen one and say: "My heroine, in moderate +circumstances, is going to the matinee with a girl friend. What shall +she wear?" + +Instantly the discerning woman would ask the colour of her eyes and +hair, and the name of the town she lived in, then behold! + +Upon the writer's page would come a radiant feminine vision, clothed +in her right mind and in proper clothes, to the joy of every woman who +reads the book. + +But men are proverbially chary of their confidence, except when they +are in love, and being in love is supposed to put even book women out +of a man's head. Perhaps in the new Schools of Journalism which are to +be inaugurated, there will be supplementary courses in millinery +elective, for those who wish to learn the trade of novel writing. + +If a man knows no woman to whom he can turn for counsel and advice at +the critical point in his book, there are only two courses open to +him, aside from the doubtful one of evasion. He may let his fancy run +riot and put his heroine into clothes that would give even a dumb +woman hysterics, or he may follow the example of Mr. Chatfield-Taylor, +who says of one of his heroines that "her pliant body was enshrouded +in white muslin with a blue ribbon at the waist." + +Lacking the faithful hench-woman who would gladly put them straight, +the majority of gentlemen novelists evade the point, and, so far as +clothes are concerned, their heroines are as badly off as the Queen of +Spain was said to be for legs. + +They delve freely into emotional situations, and fearlessly attempt +profound psychological problems, but slide off like frightened crabs +when they strike the clothesline. + +After all, it may be just as well, since fashion is transient and +colours and material do not vary much. Still, judging by the painful +mistakes that many of them have made, the best advice that one can +give the gallant company of literary craftsmen is this: "When you come +to millinery, crawfish!" + + + + +Maidens of the Sea + + + Far out in the ocean, deep and blue, + Where the winds dance wild and free, + In coral caves, dwells a beautiful band-- + The maidens of the sea. + + There are stories old, of the mystic tide, + And legends strange, of the deep, + How the witching sound of the siren's song + Can lull the tempest to sleep. + + When moonlight falls on a crystal sea, + When the clouds have backward rolled, + The mermaids sing their low sweet songs, + And their harp strings are of gold. + + The billows come from the vast unknown-- + From their far-away unseen home; + The waves bring shells to the sandy bar, + And the fairies dance on the foam. + + + + +The Technique of the Short Story + + +An old rule for those who would be well-dressed says: "When you have +finished, go to the mirror and see what you can take off." The same +rule applies with equal force to the short story: "When you have +written it out, go over it carefully, and see what you can take out." + +Besides being the best preparation for the writing of novels, +short-story writing is undoubtedly, at the present time, the best +paying and most satisfactory form of any ephemeral literary work. The +qualities which make it successful are to be attained only by constant +and patient practice. The real work of writing a story may be brief, +but years of preparation must be worked through before a manuscript, +which may be written in an hour or so, can present an artistic result. + +The first and most important thing to consider is the central idea. +There are only a few ideas in the world, but their ramifications are +countless, and one need never despair of a theme. Your story may be +one of either failure or success, but it must have the true ring. +Given the man and the circumstances, we should know his action. + +The plot must unfold naturally; otherwise it will be a succession of +distinct sensations, rather than a complete and harmonious whole. + +There is no better way to produce this effect than to follow Edmund +Russell's rule of colour in dress: "When a contrasting colour is +introduced, there should be at least two subordinate repetitions of +it." + +Each character should appear, or be spoken of, at least twice before +his main action. Following this rule makes one of the differences +between artistic and sensational literature. + +The heroine of a dime novel always finds a hero to rescue her in the +nick of time, and perhaps she never sees him again. In the artistic +novel, while the heroine may see the rescuer first at the time she +needs him most, he never disappears altogether from the story. + +Description is a thing which is much abused. There is no truer +indication of an inexperienced hand than a story beginning with a +description of a landscape which is not necessary to the plot. If the +peculiarities of the scenery must be understood before the idea can be +developed, the briefest possible description is not out of place. +Subjectively, a touch of landscape or weather is allowable, but it +must be purely incidental. Weather is a very common thing and is apt +to be uninteresting. + +It is a mistake to tell anything yourself which the people in the +story could inform the reader without your assistance. A conversation +between two people will bring out all the facts necessary as well as +two pages of narration by the author. + +There is a way also of telling things from the point of view of the +persons which they concern. Those who have studied Latin will find +the "indirect discourse" of Cicero a useful model. + +The people in the story can tell their own peculiarities better than +the author can do it for them. It is not necessary to say that a woman +is a snarling, grumpy person. Bring the old lady in, and let her +snarl, if she is in your story at all. + +The choice of words is not lightly to be considered. Never use two +adjectives where one will do, or a weak word where a stronger one is +possible. Fallows' _100,000 Synonyms and Antonyms_ and Roget's +_Thesaurus of Words and Phrases_ will prove invaluable to those who +wish to improve themselves in this respect. + +Analysis of sentences which seem to you particularly strong is a good +way to strengthen your vocabulary. Take, for instance, the oft-quoted +expression of George Eliot's: "Inclination snatches argument to make +indulgence seem judicious choice." Substitute "takes" for "snatches" +and read the sentence again. Leave out "seem" and put "appear" in its +place. "Proper" is a synonym for "judicious"; substitute it, and put +"selection" in the place of "choice." + +Reading the sentence again we have: "Inclination takes argument to +make indulgence appear proper selection." The strength is wholly gone +although the meaning is unchanged. + +Find out what you want to say, and then say it, in the most direct +English at your command. One of the best models of concise expressions +of thought is to be found in the essays of Emerson. He compresses a +whole world into a single sentence, and a system of philosophy into an +epigram. + +"Literary impressionism," which is largely the use of onomatopoetic +words, is a valuable factor in the artistic short story. It is +possible to convey the impression of a threatening sky and a stormy +sea without doing more than alluding to the crash of the surf against +the shore. The mind of the reader accustomed to subtle touches will at +once picture the rest. + +An element of strength is added also by occasionally referring an +impression to another sense. For instance, the newspaper poet writes: +"The street was white with snow," and makes his line commonplace +doggerel. Tennyson says: "The streets were _dumb_ with snow," and his +line is poetry. + +"Blackening the background" is a common fault with story writers. In +many of the Italian operas, everybody who does not appear in the final +scene is killed off in the middle of the last act. This wholesale +slaughter is useless as well as inartistic. The true artist does not, +in order that his central figure may stand out prominently, make his +background a solid wall of gloom. Yet gloom has its proper place, as +well as joy. + +In the old tragedies of the Greeks, just before the final catastrophe, +the chorus is supposed to advance to the centre of the theatre and +sing a bacchanal of frensied exultation. + +In the _Antigone_ of Sophocles, just before the death of Antigone and +her lover, the chorus sings an ode which makes one wonder at its +extravagant expression. When the catastrophe occurs, the mystery is +explained. Sophocles meant the sacrifice of Antigone to come home with +its full force; and well he attained his end by use of an artistic +method which few of our writers are subtle enough to recognise and +claim for their own purposes. + +"High-sounding sentences," which an inexperienced writer is apt to put +into the mouths of his people, only make them appear ridiculous. The +schoolgirl in the story is too apt to say: "The day has been most +unpleasant," whereas the real schoolgirl throws her books down with a +bang, and declares that she has "had a perfectly horrid time!" + +Her grammar may be incorrect, but her method of expression is true to +life, and there the business of the writer ends. + +Put yourself in your hero's place and see what you would do under +similar circumstances. If you were in love with a young woman, you +wouldn't get down on your knees, and swear by all that was holy that +you would die if she didn't marry you, at the same time tearing your +hair out by handfuls, and then endeavour to give her a concise +biography of yourself. + +You would put your arm around her, the first minute you had her to +yourself, if you felt reasonably sure that she cared for you, and tell +her what she meant to you--perhaps so low that even the author of the +story couldn't hear what you said, and would have to describe what +he saw afterward in order to let his reader guess what had really +happened. + +It is a lamentable fact that the description of a person's features +gives absolutely no idea of his appearance. It is better to give a +touch or two, and let the imagination do the rest. "Hair like raven's +wing," and the "midnight eyes," and many similar things, may be very +well spared. The personal charms of the lover may be brought out +through the mediations of the lovee, much better than by pages of +description. + +The law of compensation must always have its place in the artistic +story. Those who do wrong must suffer wrong--those who work must be +rewarded, if not in the tangible things they seek, at least in the +conscious strength that comes from struggling. And "poetic justice," +which metes out to those who do the things that they have done, is +relentless and eternal, in art, as well as in life. + +"Style" is purely an individual matter, and, if it is anything at all, +it is the expression of one's self. Zola has said that, "art is nature +seen through the medium of a temperament," and the same is true of +literature. Bunner's stories are as thoroughly Bunner as the man who +wrote them, and _The Badge of Courage_ is nothing unless it be the +moody, sensitive, half-morbid Stephen Crane. + +Observation of things nearest at hand and the sympathetic +understanding of people are the first requisites. Do not place the +scene of a story in Europe if you have never been there, and do not +assume to comprehend the inner life of a Congressman if you have never +seen one. Do not write of mining camps if you have never seen a +mountain, or of society if you have never worn evening dress. + +James Whitcomb Riley has made himself loved and honoured by writing of +the simple things of home, and Louisa Alcott's name is a household +word because she wrote of the little women whom she knew. Eugene Field +has written of the children that he loved and understood, and won +a truer fame than if he had undertaken _The Master_ of Zangwill. +Kipling's life in India has given us _Plain Tales from the Hills_ and +_The Jungle Book_, which Mary E. Wilkins could not have written in +spite of the genius which made her New England stories the most +effective of their kind. Joel Chandler Harris could not have written +_The Prisoner of Zenda_, but those of us who have enjoyed the wiles of +that "monstus soon beast, Brer Rabbit," would not have it otherwise. + + * * * * * + +You cannot write of love unless you have loved, of suffering unless +you have suffered, or of death unless some one who was near to you has +learned the heavenly secret. A little touch of each must teach you the +full meaning of the great thing you mean to write about, or your work +will be lacking. There are few of us to whom the great experiences do +not come sooner or later, and, in the meantime, there are the little +everyday happenings, which are full of sweetness and help, if they are +only seen properly, to last until the great things come to test our +utmost strength, to crush us if we are not strong, and to make us +broader, better men and women if we withstand the blow. + +And lastly, remember this, that merit is invariably recognised. If +your stories are worth printing, they will fight their way through +"the abundance of material on hand." The light of the public square +is the unfailing test, and a good story is sure to be published +sooner or later, if a fair amount of literary instinct is exercised in +sending it out. Meteoric success is not desirable. Slow, hard, +conscientious work will surely win its way, and those who are now near +the bottom of the ladder are gradually ascending to make room for the +next generation of story-writers on the rounds below. + + + + +To Dorothy + + + There's a sleepy look in your violet eyes, + So the sails of our ship we'll unfurl, + And turn the prow to the Land of Rest, + My dear little Dorothy girl. + + Twilight is coming soon, little one, + The sheep have gone to the fold; + See! where our white sails bend and dip + In the sunset glow of gold. + + The roses nod to the sound of the waves, + And the bluebells sweet are ringing; + Do you hear the music, Dorothy dear? + The song that the angels are singing? + + The fairies shall weave their drowsy spell + On the shadowy shore of the stream; + Dear little voyager say "good-night," + For the birds are beginning to dream. + + O white little craft, with sails full spread, + My heart goes out with thee; + God keep thee strong with thy precious freight, + My Dorothy--out at sea. + + + + +Writing a Book + + +Having written a few small books which have been published by a +reputable house, and which have been pleasantly received by both the +press and the public, and having just completed another which I +devoutly pray may meet the same fate, I feel that I may henceforth +deem myself an author. + +I have been considered such for some time among my numerous +acquaintances ever since I made my literary bow with a short story +in a literary magazine, years and years ago. Being of the feminine +persuasion, I am usually presented to strangers as "an authoress." It +is at these times that I wish I were a man. + +The social side of authorship is extremely interesting. At least once +a week, I am asked how I "came to write." + +This is difficult, for I do not know. When I so reply, my questioner +ascertains by further inquiries where I was educated and how I have +been trained. Never having been through a "School of Journalism," my +answer is not satisfactory. + +"You must read a great deal in order to get all those ideas," is +frequently said to me. I reply that I do read a great deal, being +naturally bookish, but that it is the great object of my life to avoid +getting ideas from books. To an author, "Plagiarist" is like the old +cry of "Wolf," and when an idea is once assimilated it is difficult +indeed to distinguish it from one's own. + +I am often asked how long it takes me to write a book. I am ashamed to +tell, but sometimes the secret escapes, since I am naturally truthful, +and find it hard to parry a direct question. The actual time of +composition is always greeted with astonishment, and I can read the +questioner's inference, that if I can do so much in so short a time, +how much could I do if I actually worked! + +This is always distasteful, so I hasten to add that the composition +is really a very small part of the real writing of a book, and that +authors' methods differ. My own practice is not to begin to write +until my material is fully arranged in my mind, and I often use notes +which I have been making for a period of months. Such a report is +seldom convincing, however, to my questioners. I am gradually +learning, when this inquiry comes, to smile inscrutably. + +It seems strange to many people that I do not work all the time. If I +can write a short story in two hours and be paid thirty dollars for +it, I am an idiot indeed if I do not write at least three in a day! +Ninety dollars a day might easily mount up into a very comfortable +income. + +Still, there are some who understand that an author cannot write +continuously any more than a spider or a silkworm can spin all the +time. These people ask me when, and where, and how, I get my +material. + +"Getting material" is supposed to be a secret process, and I am +thought a gay deceiver when I say I make no particular effort to get +it--that it comes in the daily living--like the morning cream! I am +then asked if I rely wholly upon "inspiration." I answer that +"inspiration" doubtless has its value as well as hard work, and that +the author who would derive all possible benefit from the rare flashes +of it must have the same command of technique that a good workman has +of his tools. + +The majority learn with surprise that there is more to a book than is +self-evident. It was once my happy lot to put this fact into the +understanding of a lady from the country. + +With infinite pains I told her of the constant study of words, +illustrated the fine shades of distinction between synonyms, spoke of +the different ways in which characters and events might be introduced, +and of the subordinate repetition of contrasting themes. She listened +in breathless wonder, and then turned to her daughter: "There, Mame," +she said, "I told you there was something in it!" + +There is nothing so pathetic as the widespread literary ambition among +people whose future is utterly hopeless. It is sad enough for one who +has attained a small success to see the heights which are ever beyond, +and it makes one gentle indeed to those who come seeking aid. + +One ambitious soul once asked me if I would teach her to write. I +replied that I did not know of any way in which it could be taught, +but that I would gladly help her if I could. She said she had +absolutely no imagination, and asked me if that would make any +difference. I told her it was certainly an unfortunate circumstance +and advised her to cultivate that quality before she attempted +extensive writing. I suppose she is still doing it, for I have not +been asked for further assistance. + +People often inquire what qualities I deem essential to literary +success. Imagination is, of course, the first, observation, the +second, and ambition, perseverance and executive ability are +indispensable. Besides these I would place the sense of humour, of +proportion, sympathy, insight,--indeed, there is nothing admirable in +human nature which would come amiss in the equipment of a writer. + +The necessity for the humourous sense was recently brought home to me +most forcibly. A woman brought me the manuscript of a novel which she +asked me to read. She felt that something was wrong with it, but she +did not know just what it was. She said it needed "a few little +touches," she thought, such as my experience would have fitted me to +give, and she would be grateful, indeed, if I would revise it. She +added that, owing to the connection which I had formed with my +publishing house, it would be an easy matter for me to get it +published, and she generously offered to divide the royalties with me +if I would consummate the arrangement! + +I began to read the manuscript, and had not gone far when I discovered +that it was indeed rare. The entire family read it, or portions of it, +with screams of laughter, and with tears in their eyes, although it +was not intended to be a funny book at all. To this day, certain +phrases from that novel will upset any one of us, even at a solemn +time. + +Of course it was badly written. Characters appeared, talked for a few +pages, and were never seen or heard from again. + +Long conversations were intruded which had no connection with such +plot as there was. Commonplace descriptions of scenery, also useless, +were frequent. Many a time the thread of the story was lost. There +were no distinguishing traits in any one of the characters--they all +talked very much alike. But the supreme defect was the author's lack +of humour. With all seriousness, she made her people say and do +things which were absolutely ridiculous and not by any means true to +life. + +I think I must have an unsuspected bit of tact somewhere for I +extricated myself from the situation, and the woman is still my +friend. I did not hurt her feelings about her book, nor did I send it +to my publishers with a letter of recommendation. I remarked that her +central idea was all right, which was true, since it was a love story, +but that it had not been properly developed and that she needed to +study. She thanked me for my counsel and said she would rewrite it. I +wish it might be printed just as it was, however, for it is indeed a +sodden and mirthless world in which we live and move. + +As the editors say on the refusal blanks, "I am always glad to read +manuscripts," although, as a rule, it makes an enemy for me if I try +to help the author by criticism, when only praise was expected or +desired. + +Having written some verse which has landed in respectable places, I +am also asked about poetry. Poems written in trochaic metre with the +good old rhymes, "trees and breeze," "light and night," soldered on at +the end of the lines, are continually brought to me for revision and +improvement. + +Once, for the benefit of the literary aspirant, I brought out my +rhyming dictionary, but I shall never do it again. He looked it over +carefully, while I explained the advantage for the writer in having +before him all the available rhymes, so that the least common might +be quickly chosen and the verse made to run smoothly. + +"Humph!" he said; "it's just the book. Anybody can write poetry with +one of these books!" + +My invaluable thesaurus is chained to my desk in order that it may not +escape, and I frequently have to justify its existence when aliens +penetrate my den. "It's no wonder you can write," was said to me once. +"Here's all the English language right on your desk, and all you've +got to do is to put it together." + +"Yes," I answered wickedly, "but it's all in the dictionary too." + +Last week I had a rare treat. I met a woman who had "never seen a +literary person before," and who said "it was quite a novelty!" I +beamed upon her, for it is very nice to be a "novelty," and after a +while we became quite confidential. + +"I want you to tell me just how you write," she said, "so's I can tell +the folks at home. I'm going to buy some of your books to give away." + +Mindful of "royalty to author," I immediately became willing to tell +anything I could. + +"Well, I want to know how you write. Do you just sit down and do it?" + +"Yes, I just sit down and do it." + +"Do you write any special time?" + +"No, mornings, usually; but any time will do." + +"What do you write with--a pen or a pencil?" + +"Neither, I always use a typewriter." + +"Why, can you write on a typewriter?" + +"Yes, it's much easier than a pen, and it keeps the ink off your +hands. You can write with both hands at once, you know." + +"You have to write it all out with a pencil, first, don't you?" + +"No, I just think into the keys." + +"Wouldn't it be easier to write it with a pencil first and then copy +it?" + +"No, or I'd do it that way." + +"Do you dress any special way when you write?" + +"No, only I must be neat and also comfortable. I usually wear a +shirt-waist and take off my collar. Can't write with a collar on, but +I must be well groomed otherwise." + +There was a long silence. The little lady was digesting the +information which she had just received. + +"It seems easy enough," she said. "I should think any one could write. +What do you do when it is done?" + +"Oh, I go all over it and revise very carefully." + +"Why, do you have to go all over it, after it is done?" + +"Certainly." + +"Then it takes you longer than it does most people, doesn't it?" + +"I cannot say as to that. Everybody revises." + +"Why, when I write a letter, if I go over it I always scratch out so +much that I have to do it over." + +"That's the idea, exactly," I replied. "I go over it until there isn't +a thing to be scratched out, or a word to be changed." + +"But you've got lots left," she said, enviously. "When I go over a +letter there's hardly anything left." + +Innumerable questions followed these, but at last she had her +curiosity partially satisfied and turned away from me. I trust, +however, that I shall some day meet her again, for she too is "a +novelty!" + +The mechanical part of a book is a source of great wonder to the +uninitiated. My galley proofs were once passed around among the guests +at a summer hotel as if they were some new strange animal. They did +not understand page proofs nor plates, nor how I could ever know when +it was right. + +The cover is frequently commented upon as a thing of beauty (which +with my publishers it always is), and I am asked if I did it. I am +always sorry that I do not know enough to do covers, so I have to +explain that an artist does that--that I often do not see it until the +first copies come from the bindery, and that I am of such small +importance that I am not often consulted in relation to the +matter--being merely the poor worm who wrote the book. + +There are many people who seem to be afraid to talk before me lest +their pearly utterances be transformed into copy. Time and time again +I have heard this: "We must be very careful what we say now, or Miss +---- will put us into a book!" + +People are strangely literal. An author gets no credit whatever for +inventive faculty--his characters and stories are supposedly real +people and real things. I am asked how I came to know so much about +such and such a thing. I once wrote a love story with an unhappy +ending and it was at once assumed that I had been disappointed in +love! + +When my first book came from the press I was pointed out at a +reception as the author of it. The man surveyed me long and carefully, +then he announced: "That's a mistake. That girl never wrote that book. +She's too frivolous and empty headed!" + +I have tried, until I am discouraged, to make people understand that a +book does not have to be a verity in order to be true--that a story +must be possible, instead of actual, and that actual circumstances may +be too unreal for literature. + +There are always people who will ask that things, even books, may be +written especially for them. People often want to tell me a story and +let me write it up into a nice book and divide the royalties with +them! During a summer at the coast, I had endless opportunities to +write biographical sketches of the guests at the hotel--to write a +story and put them all into it, or to write something about anything, +that they might have as "a souvenir!" As a matter of fact, there were +only two people at the hotel who could have been of any possible use +as copy, and one of these was a woman to whom only Mr. Stockton could +have done justice. + +It was hard to be always good-natured, but I lost my temper only once. +We stayed late into the autumn and were rewarded by a magnificent +storm. I put on my bathing suit and my mackintosh and went down to the +beach, in the teeth of a northwest gale. Little needles of sand were +blown in my face, and I lost my cap, but it was well worth the effort. +For over an hour we stood on the desolate beach, sheltered from the +sand by a bath house. I had never seen anything so grand--it was far +beyond words. At last it grew dark and I was soaked through and stiff +with the cold. So I went back to the hotel, my soul struck dumb by +the might and glory of the sea. My heart was too full to speak. The +majestic chords were still thundering in my ears; that tempest-tossed +ocean was still before my eyes. On my way upstairs I met a woman whom +I had formerly liked. + +"Oh, Miss ----, I want you to write me a description of that storm!" I +brushed past her, rudely, I fear, and she caught hold of the cape of +my mackintosh with elephantine playfulness. "You can't go," she said +coquettishly, "until you promise to write me a description of that +storm!" + +"I can't write it," I said coldly. "Please let me go." + +"You've got to write it," she returned. "I know you can, and I won't +let you go until you promise me." + +I wrenched myself away from her, white with wrath, and got to my room +before she did, though she was still pursuing me. I locked my door and +had a hard fight for my self-control. From the beach came the distant +boom of the surf, mingled with the liquid melody of the returning +breakers. + +Later, just as I had finished dressing for dinner, there was a tap at +my door. My friend (?) stood there beaming. "Have you got it done? You +know you promised to write me a description of that storm!" + +She remained only three days longer, and I stayed away from her as +much as possible, but occasional meetings were inevitable. When the +gladsome time of parting came, she hung about my neck. + +"I want you to come and see me," she said. "You know you haven't done +what you said you would. Don't you forget to write me a description of +that storm!" + +My business arrangements with my publishers are seemingly a matter of +public interest. I am asked how much it costs to print a book the size +of mine. People are surprised to find that I do not pay the expenses +and that I haven't the least idea of what it costs. + +Then they want to know if the publisher buys the book of me. I explain +that this is sometimes done, but that I myself am paid upon the +royalty basis, ---- per cent. on the list price of every copy sold. +This seems painfully small to the dear public, but it is comparatively +easy to demonstrate that the royalty on five or six thousand copies is +quite worth while. + +They shortly come to the conclusion, however, that the publishers make +more money than I do, and that seems to them to be very unfair. They +suggest that if I published it myself, I should make a great deal more +money! + +It is difficult for them to understand that writing books and selling +books are two very different propositions--that I don't know enough to +sell books, and that the imprint of a reputable house upon the +title-page is worth a great deal to any author. + +"Well," a man once said to me, "how much did you make out of your book +this year?" + +I explained that the percentage royalty basis was really an equal +division of the profits, everything considered, and that all the +financial risk was on one side. I named my few hundreds, with which I +was very well satisfied. He absorbed himself in a calculation on the +back of an envelope. + +"I figure out," said he, at length, "that they must have made at least +a third more than you did. That isn't fair!" + +My ire arose. "It is perfectly fair," I replied. "Paper is cheap, I +know, but composition isn't, and advertising isn't. They are welcome +to every penny they can make out of my books. I'd be glad to have them +make twice as much as they do now, even if my own income remained the +same." + +At this point, I became telepathically aware that I was considered +crazy, so I changed the subject. + +I am often asked how I happened to meet my publishers and "get in with +them," and as a very great favour to me, and to them, I am offered the +privilege of sending them some "splendid novel which was written by a +friend" of somebody--as they know me, "they have decided to let my +publishers have the book!" + +They are surprised to hear me say that I have never met any member of +the firm, though I was in the same city with them for over a year. +More than this, there is nothing on earth, except a green worm, which +would scare me so much as a summons to that publishing house. + +I have walked by in fear and trembling. I have seen a huge pile of my +books in the window, and on the bulletin board a poster which bore my +name in conspicuous letters, as if I had been cured of something. But +I should no more dare to go into that office than I should venture to +call upon the wife of the President with a shawl over my head, and my +fancywork tucked under my arm. + +This is incomprehensible to the uninitiated. The publishers have ever +been most courteous and kind. They are people with whom it is a +pleasure to have any sort of business dealings, but we are not bosom +friends--and I very much fear that they do not care to become chummy +with me. + +There may be some authors who have taken nerve tonics and are not +afraid to meet an editor or publisher. I have even read of some who +will walk cheerfully into an editorial sanctum--but I've never seen a +sanctum, nor an editor, nor a publisher. I don't even write to an +editor when I send him a piece--just put in a stamp. He usually knows +what to do with it. + +Fame, or long experience, may enable authors to meet the arbiters of +their destiny without becoming frightened, but I have had brief +experience, and still less fame. The admirable qualities of the +pachyderm may have been bestowed upon some authors--but not on this +one. + + + + +The Man Behind the Gun + + + Now let the eagle flap his wings + And let the cannon roar, + For while the conquering bullet sings + We pledge the commodore. + First battle of a righteous war + Right royally he won, + But here's a health to the jolly tar-- + To the man behind the gun! + + Now praise be to the flag-ship's spars-- + To the captain in command, + And honour to the Stripes and Stars + For whose defence they stand; + And for the pilot at his wheel + Let the streams of red wine run, + But here's a health to the man of steel-- + The man behind the gun! + + Here's to the man who does not swerve + In the face of any foe; + Here's to the man of iron nerve, + On deck and down below; + Here's to the man whose heart is glad + When the battle has begun; + Here's to the health of that daring lad-- + To the man behind the gun! + + Now let the Stars and Stripes float high + And let the eagle soar; + Until the echoes make reply + We pledge the commodore. + Here's to the chief and here's to war, + And here's to the fleet that won, + And here's a health to the jolly tar-- + To the man behind the gun! + + + + +Quaint Old Christmas Customs + + +Compared with the celebrations of our ancestors, the modern Christmas +becomes a very hurried thing. The rush of the twentieth century +forbids twelve days of celebration, or even two. Paterfamilias +considers himself very indulgent if he gives two nights and a day to +the annual festival, because, forsooth, "the office needs him!" + +One by one the quaint old customs have vanished. We still have the +Christmas tree, evergreens in our houses and churches, and the yawning +stocking still waits in many homes for the good St. Nicholas. + +But what is poor Santa Claus to do when the chimney leads to the +furnace? And what of the city apartment, which boasts a radiator and +gas grate, but no chimney? The myth evidently needs reconstruction to +meet the times in which we live, and perhaps we shall soon see +pictures of Santa Claus arriving in an automobile, and taking the +elevator to the ninth floor, flat B, where a single childish stocking +is hung upon the radiator. + +Nearly all of the Christmas observances began in ancient Rome. The +primitive Italians were wont to celebrate the winter solstice and +call it the feast of Saturn. Thus Saturnalia came to mean almost +any kind of celebration which came in the wake of conquest, and +these ceremonies being engrafted upon Anglo-Saxon customs assumed +a religious significance. + +The pretty maid who hesitates and blushes beneath the overhanging +branch of mistletoe, never stops to think of the grim festival with +which the Druids celebrated its gathering. + +In their mythology the plant was regarded with the utmost reverence, +especially when found growing upon an oak. + +At the time of the winter solstice, the ancient Britons, accompanied +by their priests, the Druids, went out with great pomp and rejoicing +to gather the mistletoe, which was believed to possess great curative +powers. These processions were usually by night, to the accompaniment +of flaring torches and the solemn chanting of the people. When an oak +was reached on which the parasite grew, the company paused. + +Two white bulls were bound to the tree and the chief Druid, clothed +in white to signify purity, climbed, more or less gracefully, to the +plant. It was severed from the oak, and another priest, standing +below, caught it in the folds of his robe. The bulls were then +sacrificed, and often, alas, human victims also. The mistletoe thus +gathered was divided into small portions and distributed among the +people. The tiny sprays were fastened above the doors of the houses, +as propitiation to the sylvan deities during the cold season. + +These rites were retained throughout the Roman occupation of Great +Britain, and for some time afterward, under the sovereignty of the +Jutes, the Saxons, and the Angles. + +In Scandinavian mythology there is a beautiful legend of the +mistletoe. Balder, the god of poetry, the son of Odin and Friga, one +day told his mother that he had dreamed his death was near at hand. +Much alarmed, the mother invoked all the powers of nature--earth, air, +water, fire, animals and plants, and obtained from them a solemn oath +that they would do her son no harm. + +Then Balder fearlessly took his place in the combats of the gods and +fought unharmed while showers of arrows were falling all about him. + +His enemy, Loake, determined to discover the secret of his +invulnerability, and, disguising himself as an old woman, went to the +mother with a question of the reason of his immunity. Friga answered +that she had made a charm and invoked all nature to keep from injuring +her son. + +"Indeed," said the old woman, "and did you ask all the animals and +plants? There are so many, it seems impossible." + +"All but one," answered Friga proudly; "all but a little insignificant +plant which grows upon the bark of the oak. This I did not think of +invoking, since so small a thing could do no harm." + +Much delighted, Loake went away and gathered mistletoe. Then he +entered the assembly of the gods and made his way to the blind Heda. + +"Why do you not shoot with the arrows at Balder?" asked Loake. + +"Alas," replied Heda, "I am blind and have no arms." + +Loake then gave him an arrow tipped with mistletoe and said: "Balder +is before thee." Heda shot and Balder fell, pierced through the heart. + +In its natural state, the plant is believed to be propagated by the +missel-thrush, which feeds upon its berries, but under favourable +climatic conditions one may raise one's own mistletoe by bruising the +berries on the bark of fruit trees, where they take root readily. It +must be remembered, however, that the plant is a true parasite and +will eventually kill whatever tree gives it nourishment. + +Kissing under the mistletoe was also a custom of the Druids, and in +those uncivilised days men kissed each other. For each kiss, a single +white berry was plucked from the spray, and kept as a souvenir by the +one who was kissed. + +The burning of the Yule log was an ancient Christmas ceremony borrowed +from the early Scandinavians. At their feast of Juul (pronounced +_Yuul_), at the time of the winter solstice, they were wont to kindle +huge bonfires in honour of their god Thor. The custom soon made its +way to England where it is still in vogue in many parts of the +country. + +One may imagine an ancient feudal castle, heavily fortified, standing +in splendid isolation upon a snowy hill, on that night of all others +when war was forgotten and peace proclaimed. Drawn by six horses, the +great Yule log was brought into the hall and rolled into the vast +fireplace, where it was lighted with the charred remnants of last +year's Yule log, religiously kept in some secure place as a charm +against fire. + +As the flames seize upon the oak and the light gleams from the castle +windows, a lusty procession of wayfarers passes through, each one +raising his hat as he passes the fire which burns all the evil out of +the hearts of men, and up to the rafters there rings a stern old Saxon +chant. + +When the song was finished, the steaming wassail bowl was brought out, +and all the company drank to a better understanding. + +Up to the time of Henry VI, and even afterward, the Yule log was +greeted with bards and minstrelsy. If a squinting person came into the +hall while the log was burning, it was sure to bring bad luck. The +appearance of a barefooted man was worse, and a flat-footed woman was +the worst of all. + +As an accompaniment to the Yule log, a monstrous Christmas candle was +burned on the table at supper; even now in St. John's College at +Oxford, there is an old candle socket of stone, ornamented with the +figure of a lamb. What generations of gay students must have sat +around that kindly light when Christmas came to Oxford! + +Snap-dragon was a favourite Christmas sport at this time. Several +raisins were put into a large shallow bowl and thoroughly saturated +with brandy. All other lights were extinguished and the brandy +ignited. By turns each one of the company tried to snatch a raisin +out of the flames, singing meanwhile. + +In Devonshire, they burn great bundles of ash sticks, while master and +servants sit together, for once on terms of perfect equality, and +drink spiced ale, and the season is one of great rejoicing. + +Another custom in Devonshire is for the farmer, his family, and +friends, to partake of hot cake and cider, and afterward go to the +orchard and place a cake ceremoniously in the fork of a big tree, when +cider is poured over it while the men fire off pistols and the women +sing. + +A similar libation, but of spiced ale, used to be sprinkled through +the orchards and meadows of Norfolk. Midnight of Christmas was the +time usually chosen for the ceremony. + +In Devon and Cornwall, a belief is current that, at midnight on +Christmas Eve, the cattle kneel in their stalls in honour of the +Saviour, as legend claims they did in Bethlehem. + +In Wales, they carry about at Christmas time a horse's skull gaily +adorned with ribbons, and supported on a pole by a man who is wholly +concealed by a white cloth. There is a clever contrivance for opening +and shutting the jaws, and this strange creature pursues and bites all +who come near it. + +The figure is usually accompanied by a party of men and boys +grotesquely dressed, who, on reaching a house, sing some verses, often +extemporaneous, demanding admittance, and are answered in the same +fashion by those within until rhymes have given out on one side or +the other. + +In Scotland, he who first opens the door on Christmas Day expects more +good luck than will fall to the lot of other members of the family +during the year, because, as the saying goes, he lets in Yule. + +In Germany, Christmas Eve is the children's night, and there is a tree +and presents. England and America appear to have borrowed the +Christmas tree from Germany, where the custom is ancient and very +generally followed. + +In the smaller towns and villages in northern Germany, the presents +are sent by all the parents to some one fellow who, in high buskins, +white robe, mask, and flaxen wig, personates the servant, Rupert. On +Christmas night he goes around to every house, and says that his +master sent him. The parents and older children receive him with pomp +and reverence, while the younger ones are often badly frightened. + +He asks for the children, and then demands of their parents a report +of their conduct during the past year. The good children are rewarded +with sugar-plums and other things, while for the bad ones a rod is +given to the parents with instructions to use it freely during the +coming year. + +In those parts of Pennsylvania where there are many German settlers, +the little sinners often find birchen rods suggestively placed in +their stockings on Christmas morning. + +In Poland, the Christmas gifts are hidden, and the members of the +family search for them. + +In Sweden and Norway, the house is thoroughly cleaned, and juniper or +fir branches are spread over the floor. Then each member of the family +goes in turn to the bake house, or outer shed, where he takes his +annual bath. + +But it is back to Old England, after all, that we look for the +merriest Christmas. For two or three weeks beforehand, men and boys +of the poorer class, who were called "waits," sang Christmas carols +under every window. Until quite recently these carols were sung all +through England, and others of similar import were heard in France and +Italy. + +The English are said to "take their pleasures sadly," but in the +matter of Christmas they can "give us cards and spades and still win." +Parties of Christmas drummers used to go around to the different +houses, grotesquely attired, and play all sorts of tricks. The actors +were chiefly boys, and the parish beadle always went along to insure +order. + +The Christmas dinner of Old England was a thing capable of giving the +whole nation dyspepsia if they indulged freely. + +The main dish was a boar's head, roasted to a turn, and preceded by +trumpets and minstrelsy. Mustard was indispensable to this dish. + +Next came a peacock, skinned and roasted. The beak was gilded, and +sometimes a bit of cotton, well soaked in spirits, was put into his +mouth, and when he was brought to the table this was ignited, so that +the bird was literally spouting fire. He was stuffed with spices, +basted with yolks of eggs, and served with plenty of gravy. + +Geese, capons, pheasants, carps' tongues, frumenty, and mince, or +"shred" pies, made up the balance of the feast. + +The chief functionary of Christmas was called "The Lord of Misrule." + +In the house of king and nobleman he held full sway for twelve days. +His badge was a fool's bauble and he was always attended by a page, +both of them being masked. So many pranks were played, and so much +mischief perpetrated which was far from being amusing, that an edict +was eventually issued against this form of liberty, not to say +license. + +The Lord of Misrule was especially reviled by the Puritans, one of +whom set him down as "a grande captain of mischiefe." One may easily +imagine that this stern old gentleman had been ducked by a party of +revellers following in the wake of the lawless "Captaine" because he +had refused to contribute to their entertainment. + +We need not lament the passing of Christmas pageantry, if the spirit +of the festival remains. Through the centuries that have passed since +the first Christmas, the spirit of it has wandered in and out like a +golden thread in a dull tapestry, sometimes hidden, but never wholly +lost. It behooves us to keep well and reverently such Christmas as we +have, else we shall share old Ben Jonson's lament in _The Mask of +Father Christmas_, which was presented before the English Court nearly +two hundred years ago: + + "Any man or woman ... that can give any knowledge, or tell + any tidings of an old, very old, grey haired gentleman + called Christmas, who was wont to be a very familiar ghest, + and visit all sorts of people both pore and rich, and used + to appear in glittering gold, silk and silver in the court, + and in all shapes in the theatre in Whitehall, and had + singing, feasts and jolitie in all places, both citie and + countrie for his coming--whosoever can tel what is become of + him, or where he may be found, let them bring him back again + into England." + + + + +Consecration + + + Cathedral spire and lofty architrave, + Nor priestly rite and humble reverence, + Nor costly fires of myrrh and frankincense + May give the consecration that we crave; + Upon the shore where tides forever lave + With grateful coolness on the fevered sense; + Where passion grows to silence, rapt, intense, + There waits the chrismal fountain of the wave. + + By rock-hewn altars where is said no word, + Save by the deep that calleth unto deep, + While organ tones of sea resound above; + The truth of truths our inmost souls have heard, + And in our hearts communion wine we keep, + For He Himself hath said it--"God is Love!" + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; +otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's +words and intent. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Threads of Grey and Gold, by Myrtle Reed + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREADS OF GREY AND GOLD *** + +***** This file should be named 31272.txt or 31272.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/2/7/31272/ + +Produced by D Alexander and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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