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diff --git a/39407.txt b/39407.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..47cec65 --- /dev/null +++ b/39407.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16037 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Kentucky in American Letters, v. 2 of 2, by +John Wilson Townsend + +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/license + + +Title: Kentucky in American Letters, v. 2 of 2 + 1784-1912 + +Author: John Wilson Townsend + +Release Date: July 6, 2012 [EBook #39407] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KENTUCKY IN AMERICAN *** + + + + +Produced by Brian Sogard, Douglas L. Alley, III and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/Million Book Project) + + + + + + + + + + + +KENTUCKY IN +AMERICAN LETTERS + + +OTHER WORKS BY MR. TOWNSEND + + _Richard Hickman Menefee._ 1907 + _Kentuckians in History and Literature._ 1907 + _The Life of James Francis Leonard._ 1909 + _Kentucky: Mother of Governors._ 1910 + _Lore of the Meadowland._ 1911 + + + + +KENTUCKY IN +AMERICAN LETTERS + +1784-1912 + + +BY + +JOHN WILSON TOWNSEND + + +WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY + +JAMES LANE ALLEN + + +IN TWO VOLUMES + +VOL. II + + +THE TORCH PRESS +CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA +NINETEEN THIRTEEN + +_Of this edition one thousand sets have been printed, of which +this is number_ +241 + +COPYRIGHT 1913 +BY THE TORCH PRESS +PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 1913 + +[Illustration] + + + To + Mary Katherine Bullitt + and + Samuel Judson Roberts + and to their memories + + + + +CONTENTS + + + JAMES N. BASKETT 1 + "I 'OVES 'OO BEST, 'TAUSE 'OO BEAT 'EM ALL" 2 + + JAMES LANE ALLEN 4 + KING SOLOMON OF KENTUCKY: AN ADDRESS 9 + THE LAST CHRISTMAS TREE 13 + + NANCY HUSTON BANKS 17 + ANVIL ROCK 18 + THE OLD FASHIONED FIDDLERS 19 + + WILLIAM B. SMITH 20 + A SOUTHERN VIEW OF THE NEGRO PROBLEM 22 + THE MERMAN AND THE SERAPH 24 + + ANDERSON C. QUISENBERRY 27 + THE DEATH OF CRITTENDEN 27 + + ROBERT BURNS WILSON 29 + LOVINGLY TO ELIZABETH, MY MOTHER 32 + WHEN EVENING COMETH ON 32 + + DANIEL HENRY HOLMES 36 + BELL HORSES 39 + MY LADY'S GARDEN 40 + LITTLE BLUE BETTY 42 + THE OLD WOMAN UNDER THE HILL 44 + MARGERY DAW 45 + + WILLIAM H. WOODS 47 + SYCAMORES 48 + + ANDREW W. KELLEY 49 + THE OLD SCISSORS' SOLILOQUY 50 + LATE NEWS 52 + + YOUNG E. ALLISON 53 + ON BOARD THE DERELICT 54 + + HESTER HIGBEE GEPPERT 57 + THE GARDENER AND THE GIRL 58 + + HENRY C. WOOD 60 + THE WEAVER 61 + + WILLIAM E. CONNELLEY 63 + KANSAS HISTORY 65 + + CHARLES T. DAZEY 67 + THE FAMOUS KNOT-HOLE 70 + + JOHN P. FRUIT 72 + THE CLIMAX OF POE'S POETRY 72 + + HARRISON ROBERTSON 74 + TWO TRIOLETS 75 + STORY OF THE GATE 75 + + INGRAM CROCKETT 77 + AUDUBON 78 + THE LONGING 79 + DEAREST 80 + + ELIZA CALVERT OBENCHAIN 81 + "SWEET DAY OF REST" 82 + + KATE SLAUGHTER MCKINNEY 85 + A LITTLE FACE 85 + + CHARLES J. O'MALLEY 86 + ENCELADUS 88 + NOON IN KENTUCKY 90 + + LANGDON SMITH 91 + EVOLUTION 92 + + WILL J. LAMPTON 98 + THESE DAYS 98 + OUR CASTLES IN THE AIR 99 + CHAMPAGNE 100 + + MARY ANDERSON DE NAVARRO 101 + LAZY LOUISVILLE 102 + + MARY R. S. ANDREWS 104 + THE NEW SUPERINTENDENT 106 + + ELVIRA MILLER SLAUGHTER 110 + THE SOUTH AND SONG 111 + SUNDOWN LANE 113 + + JOSEPH S. COTTER 115 + NEGRO LOVE SONG 115 + + ETHELBERT D. WARFIELD 116 + CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 117 + + EVELYN S. BARNETT 119 + THE WILL 119 + + JOHN PATTERSON 123 + A CLUSTER OF GRAPES 124 + CHORAL ODE FROM EURIPIDES 125 + + WILLIAM E. BARTON 126 + A WEARY WINTER 128 + + BENJ. H. RIDGELY 129 + A KENTUCKY DIPLOMAT 131 + + ZOE A. NORRIS 135 + THE CABARET SINGER 137 + IN A MOMENT OF WEARINESS 138 + + LUCY CLEAVER MCELROY 139 + OLD ALEC HAMILTON 140 + + MARY F. LEONARD 142 + GOODBY 143 + + JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 144 + THE CALL OF THE DRUM 146 + + OSCAR W. UNDERWOOD 150 + THE PROTECTION OF PROFITS 151 + + ELIZABETH ROBINS 156 + A PROMISING PLAYWRIGHT 158 + + ELLEN CHURCHILL SEMPLE 162 + MAN A PRODUCT OF THE EARTH'S SURFACE 163 + + ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 165 + THE MAGIC KETTLE 167 + + EVA A. MADDEN 170 + THE END OF "THE I CAN SCHOOL" 170 + + JOHN FOX, JR. 172 + THE CHRISTMAS TREE ON PIGEON 176 + + FANNIE C. MACAULAY 181 + APPROACHING JAPAN 183 + + JAMES D. BRUNER 184 + THE FRENCH CLASSICAL DRAMA 185 + + MADISON CAWEIN 187 + CONCLUSION 191 + INDIAN SUMMER 192 + HOME 193 + LOVE AND A DAY 193 + IN A SHADOW GARDEN 195 + UNREQUITED 196 + A TWILIGHT MOTH 196 + + GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN 198 + EMMY LOU'S VALENTINE 199 + + MARY ADDAMS BAYNE 202 + THE COMING OF THE SCHOOLMASTER 203 + + ELIZABETH CHERRY WALTZ 205 + PA GLADDEN AND THE WANDERING WOMAN 207 + + REUBENA HYDE WALWORTH 209 + THE UNDERGROUND PALACE OF THE FAIRIES 210 + + CRITTENDEN MARRIOTT 211 + THE ARRIVAL OF THE ENEMY 213 + + ABBIE CARTER GOODLOE 217 + A COUNTESS OF THE WEST 218 + + GEORGE LEE BURTON 222 + AFTER PRISON--HOME 223 + + JAMES TANDY ELLIS 228 + YOUTHFUL LOVERS 229 + + GEORGE HORACE LORIMER 230 + HIS SON'S SWEETHEART 232 + + SISTER IMELDA 233 + A JUNE IDYL 234 + HEART MEMORIES 235 + A NUN'S PRAYER 235 + + HARRISON CONRAD 236 + IN OLD TUCSON 236 + A KENTUCKY SUNRISE 237 + A KENTUCKY SUNSET 237 + + ALICE HEGAN RICE 238 + THE OPPRESSED MR. OPP DECIDES 239 + + RICHARD H. WILSON 244 + SUSAN--VENUS OF CADIZ 245 + + LUCY FURMAN 247 + A MOUNTAIN COQUETTE 249 + + BERT FINCK 254 + BEHIND THE SCENES 254 + + OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN 255 + NEAR THE COTTAGE IN GREENOT WOODS 258 + + HARRY L. MARRINER 262 + WHEN MOTHER CUTS HIS HAIR 263 + SIR GUMSHOO 264 + + LUCIEN V. RULE 265 + WHAT RIGHT HAST THOU? 265 + THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD 266 + + EVA WILDER BRODHEAD 267 + THE RIVALS 269 + + CORDIA GREER PETRIE 273 + ANGELINE JINES THE CHOIR 274 + + MARIA THOMPSON DAVIESS 279 + MRS. MOLLY MORALIZES 281 + + CALE YOUNG RICE 284 + PETRARCA AND SANCIA 285 + + ROBERT M. MCELROY 289 + GEORGE ROGERS CLARK 290 + + EDWIN D. SCHOONMAKER 293 + THE PHILANTHROPIST 294 + + CREDO HARRIS 295 + BOLOGNA 295 + + HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES 297 + THE BISHOP SPEAKS 298 + + EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY 300 + THE RACE OF THE SWIFT 301 + + MILTON BRONNER 303 + MR. HEWLETT'S WOMEN 304 + + A. S. MACKENZIE 305 + A KELTIC TALE 306 + + LAURA SPENCER PORTOR 308 + THE LITTLE CHRIST 309 + BUT ONE LEADS SOUTH 310 + + LEIGH GORDON GILTNER 311 + THE JESTING GODS 311 + + MARGARET S. ANDERSON 318 + THE PRAYER OF THE WEAK 318 + NOT THIS WORLD 319 + WHISTLER 320 + + ABBY MEGUIRE ROACH 320 + UNREMEMBERING JUNE 321 + + IRVIN S. COBB 323 + THE BELLED BUZZARD 327 + + ISAAC F. MARCOSSON 343 + THE WAGON CIRCUS 344 + + GERTRUDE KING TUFTS 345 + SHIPWRECKED 346 + + CHARLES HANSON TOWNE 350 + SPRING 351 + SLOW PARTING 351 + OF DEATH 352 + + WILLIAM E. WALLING 353 + RUSSIA AND AMERICA 354 + + THOMPSON BUCHANAN 355 + THE WIFE WHO DIDN'T GIVE UP 358 + + WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT 363 + AN ACTRESS'S HEART 364 + + FRANK WALLER ALLEN 366 + A WOMAN ANSWERED 367 + + VENITA SEIBERT 368 + THE ORIGIN OF BABIES 369 + + CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK 371 + THE DOCTRINE ACCORDING TO JONESY 373 + + GEORGE BINGHAM 375 + HOGWALLOW NEWS 377 + + MABEL PORTER PITTS 379 + ON THE LITTLE SANDY 379 + + MARION FORSTER GILMORE 380 + THE CRADLE SONG 381 + + APPENDIX 383 + + MRS. AGNES B. MITCHELL 385 + WHEN THE COWS COME HOME 385 + + + + +KENTUCKY IN AMERICAN LETTER + + + + +JAMES NEWTON BASKETT + + +James Newton Baskett, novelist and scientist, was born near Carlisle, +Kentucky, November 1, 1849. He was taken to Missouri in early life by +his parents. He was graduated from the University of Missouri in 1872, +since which time he has devoted himself almost exclusively to fiction +and to comparative vertebrate anatomy, with ornithology as his +particular specialty. At the world's congress of ornithologists at the +Columbian Exposition in 1893, Mr. Baskett presented a paper on _Some +Hints at the Kinship of Birds as Shown by Their Eggs_, which won him the +respect of scientists from many lands. He has published three scientific +works and three novels: _The Story of the Birds_ (New York, 1896); _The +Story of the Fishes_ (New York, 1899); _The Story of the Amphibians and +Reptiles_ (New York, 1902); and his novels: _At You All's House_ (New +York, 1898); _As the Light Led_ (New York, 1900); and his most recent +book, _Sweet Brier and Thistledown_ (Boston, 1902). Of this trio of +tales the first one, _At You All's House_, is the best and the best +known, Mr. Baskett's masterpiece hitherto. For the Texas Historical +Society he wrote, in 1907, a series of papers upon the _Early Spanish +Expedition in the South and Southwest_. With the exception of three +years spent in Colorado for the benefit of his health, Mr. Baskett has +resided at Mexico, Missouri, since leaving Kentucky. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Athenaeum_ (July 28, 1900); _The Book Buyer_ + (October, 1900); _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909, + v. i). + + +"I 'OVES 'OO BEST, 'TAUS 'OO BEAT 'EM ALL"[1] + +[From _As the Light Led_ (New York, 1900)] + +They had been boy and girl together, not schoolmates nor next-farm +neighbors, but their homes were in the same region. Her father's house +was far enough away to make the boy's visits not so frequent as to +foster the familiarity which breeds contempt, yet they gave him an +occasional little journey out of the humdrum of home lanes, and away +from the monotonous sweep of the prairie's flat horizon. + +Hers was rather a timber farm, located on the other side of Flint +Creek, where the woods began to fringe out upon the treeless plain +again; but his was high out eastward upon the prairie swell, several +miles from water. From his place the wooded barrier between them +seemed only a brown level brush-stroke upon the sky's western margin. + +Sometimes, when he was tired from his day's work afield, he watched the +sun sink behind this border, which the distance made so velvety; and, if +the day were clear, it looked to him as if the great glowing ball were +lying down upon a cushion for its comfort. If it set in a bank of cloud +or storm, it seemed to send up long streaming, reaching stripes, as if +it waved a farewell to the sky, and stretched a last grasp at the day as +it left it, or shot a rocket of distress as it sank. + +When a child he had often sent her his good-will upon the westering +messenger, and he imagined that the beams, sometimes shot suddenly out +from beneath a low-hung cloudy curtain, were answers to his greetings. +Long after it was dreary at his place, he fancied the light was still +cuddling somewhere in the brush near her and that it was cheery yet +over there. + +When he was seven and she was three, he was visiting at her house one +day. She was sitting on a bench in the old, long porch, shouting to +him, her elder brother, and some others, as they came toward her from +a romp out in the orchard. Suddenly Bent bantered the boys for a race +to the baby; and, swinging their limp wool hats in their hands, they +sped toward her. The child caught the jubilance of the race, and when +Bent dropped first beside her, she grabbed him about the neck, laid +the rose of her cheek against the tan of his, and said: + +"I 'oves 'oo best, 'tause 'oo beat 'em all." + +The act was an infant tribute to prowess, a bound here in babyhood of +the heart which wants but does not weigh; of the body which asks but +does not question. The boy felt his heart go to meet hers, so that the +little girl stood ever after as his idol. As time went on, his +reverence for her as a lisper grew as she became a lass; and though, +out of the dawning to them of what the years might bring, there came +eras of pure embarrassment, wherein their firmness and trust wavered a +little, yet confiding companionship came anew and stayed, till some +new revelation of each to self or other barred for a time again their +ease and intimacy. They were man and woman now, with a consciousness +of much that the grown-up state must finally mean to them, if this +continued. There was the freedom from embarrassment which experience +brings; but there came with all this a sort of proximity of hopes and +aims, which, burdened sweetly with its own importance, persisted with +a presage of a crisis down the line. + +He could no longer ride up to her side as she left the stile at church, +and, without a previous engagement or the lubricant of a commonplace, +open a conversation right into the heart of things. When she responded +to him now it was with a shy sort of confidence which admits so much yet +defines so little. Yet never when they met did they fail to pick up the +thread, which tended to bind them closer and closer, and give it a +conscious snatch of greater strain, till, as either looked back at the +skein of incidents, there came a delightful feeling of hopeless +entanglement in this fibre of their fate. However, the ends of the +filament were free and floating yet, as the fray of a swirling gossamer +in the autumn wind. Day by day these two felt that these frayed ends +would meet sometime; and hold? or snap? and then? and then! + +Nothing had ever strongly tried their attachment. Yet there was +creeping now into the heart of each a sort of heaviness--a wondering, +at least--if the other was still holding true to the childish troth; a +definite sort of mental distrust was abiding between them, along with +a readiness to be equal to anything which an emergency might bring. +But in their hearts they were lovers still. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] Copyright, 1900, by the Macmillan Company. + + + + +JAMES LANE ALLEN + + +James Lane Allen, the foremost living American master of English +prose, was born near Lexington, Kentucky, December 21, 1849. His home +was situated some five miles from Lexington, on the old Parker's Mill +road, and it was burned to the ground more than thirty years ago. He +was the seventh and youngest child of Richard Allen, a Kentuckian, and +his wife, Helen Foster Allen, a native of Mississippi. Lane Allen, as +he was known in Kentucky until he became a distinguished figure in +contemporary letters, was interested in books and Nature when a boy +under his mother's tutelage. He was early at Kentucky University, now +rechristened with its ancient name, Transylvania. Mr. Allen was +valedictorian of the class of 1872; and five years later the degree of +Master of Arts was granted him, after an amusing quibble with the +faculty regarding the length of his oration, _The Survival of the +Fittest_. He began his career as teacher of the district school at the +rural village of Slickaway, which is now known as Fort Spring, about +two miles from his birthplace. He taught this school but one year, +when he went to Richmond, Missouri, to become instructor of Greek in +the high school there. A few years later he established a school for +boys at Lexington, Missouri. Mr. Allen returned to Kentucky to act as +tutor in a private family near Lexington; and in 1878, he was elected +principal of the Kentucky University Academy. He resigned this +position, in 1880, to accept the chair of Latin and English in Bethany +College, Bethany, West Virginia, which he occupied for two years, when +he returned once more to Lexington, Kentucky, to open a private school +for boys in the old Masonic Temple. In 1884 Mr. Allen discarded the +teacher's garb for that of a man of letters, and since that time he +has devoted his entire attention to literature. + +While his kinsfolk and acquaintances regarded him with quiet wonder, +if not alarmed astonishment, he carefully arranged his traveling bags +and set his face toward the city of his dreams and thoughts--New York. +Once there he shortly discovered that it was a deal easier to get into +the kingdom of heaven than into the pages of the great periodicals, +yet he had come to the city to make a name for himself in literature +and he was not to be denied. His struggle was most severe, but his +victory has been so complete that the bitterness of those days has +been blown aside. The first seven or eight years of his life as a +writer, Mr. Allen divided between New York, Cincinnati, and Kentucky. +He finally quit Kentucky in 1893, and he has not been in the state +since 1898, at which time his _alma mater_ conferred the honorary +degree of LL. D. upon him. He now resides in New York. + +Mr. Allen began with short essays for _The Critic_, _The Continent_, +_The Independent_, _The Manhattan_, and other periodicals; and he +contributed some strong and fine poems to _The Atlantic Monthly_, _The +Interior_, _Harper's Monthly_, _Lippincott's Magazine_, _The +Independent_, and elsewhere. But none of these represented the true +beginning of his work, of his career. His first short-story to attract +general attention was _Too Much Momentum_, published in _Harper's +Magazine_ for April, 1885. It, however, was naturally rather stiff, as +the author was then wielding the pen of a 'prentice. This was followed +by a charming essay, _The Blue-Grass Region of Kentucky_, in +_Harper's_ for February, 1886, and which really pointed the path he +was to follow so wonderfully well through the coming years. + +His first noteworthy story, _Two Gentlemen of Kentucky_, appeared in +_The Century Magazine_ for April, 1888. Then followed fast upon each +other's heels, _The White Cowl_; _King Solomon of Kentucky_, perhaps +the greatest short-story he has written; _Posthumous Fame_; _Flute +and Violin_; and _Sister Doloroso_, all of which were printed in the +order named, and in _The Century_, save _Flute and Violin_, which was +originally published in _Harper's Magazine_ for December, 1890. These +"Kentucky tales and romances" were issued as Mr. Allen's first book, +entitled _Flute and Violin_ (New York, 1891; Edinburgh, 1892, two +volumes). Many of the author's admirers have come to regard these +stories as the finest work he has done. As backgrounds for them he +wrote a series of descriptive and historical papers upon Kentucky, +originally published in _The Century_ and _Harper's_, and collected in +book form under the title of the first of them, _The Blue Grass Region +of Kentucky_ (New York, 1892). Up to this time Mr. Allen had written +nothing but short-stories, verses, and sketches. While living at +Cincinnati he wrote his first novelette, _John Gray_ (Philadelphia, +1893), which first appeared in _Lippincott's Magazine_ for June, 1892. +This is one of the author's strongest pieces of prose fiction, though +it has been well-nigh forgotten in its original form. + +These three books fitted Mr. Allen for the writing of an American +classic, _A Kentucky Cardinal_ (New York, 1894), another novelette, +which was published in two parts in _Harper's Magazine_ for May and +June, 1894, prior to its appearance in book form. This, with its +sequel, _Aftermath_ (New York, 1895), is the most exquisite tale of +nature yet done by an American hand. It at once defies all praise, or +adverse criticism, being wrought out as perfectly as human hands can +well do. At the present time the two stories may be best read in the +large paper illustrated edition done by Mr. Hugh Thomson, the +celebrated English artist, to which Mr. Allen contributed a charming +introduction. _Summer in Arcady_ (New York, 1896), which passed +through the _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ as _Butterflies_, was a rather +realistic story of love and Nature, and somewhat strongly drawn for +the tastes of many people. When his complete works appear in twelve +uniform volumes, in 1913 or 1914, this "tale of nature" will be +entitled _A Pair of Butterflies_. + +_The Choir Invisible_ (New York, 1897), Mr. Allen's first really long +novel, was an augmented _John Gray_, and it placed him in the forefront +of American novelists. Mr. Orson Lowell's illustrated edition of this +work is most interesting; and it was dramatized in 1899, but produced +without success, as the author had prophesied. Later in the same year +_Two Gentlemen of Kentucky_ appeared as a bit of a book, and was +cordially received by those of the author's admirers who continued to +regard it as his masterpiece. _The Reign of Law_ (New York, 1900), a +tale of the Kentucky hemp-fields, of love, and evolution, was published +in London as _The Increasing Purpose_, because of the Duke of Argyll's +prior appropriation of that title for his scientific treatise. The +prologue upon Kentucky hemp strengthened Mr. Allen's reputation as one +of the greatest writers of descriptive prose ever born out of Europe. It +was widely read and discussed--in at least one quarter of the +country--with unnecessary bitterness, if not with blind bigotry. + +_The Mettle of the Pasture_ (New York, 1903), which was first +announced as _Crypts of the Heart_, is a love story of great beauty, +saturated with the atmosphere of Kentucky to a wonderful degree, yet +it has not been sufficiently appreciated. For the five years following +the publication of _The Mettle_, Mr. Allen was silent; but he was +working harder than ever before in his life upon manuscripts which he +has come to regard as his most vital contributions to prose fiction. +In the autumn of 1908 his stirring speech at the unveiling of the +monument to remember his hero, King Solomon of Kentucky, was read; and +three months later _The Last Christmas Tree_, brief prelude to his +Christmas trilogy, appeared in _The Saturday Evening Post_. _The Bride +of the Mistletoe_ (New York, 1909), part first of the trilogy, is one +of the finest fragments of prose yet published in the United States. +It aroused criticism of various kinds in many quarters, one declaring +it to be one thing, and one another, but all agreeing that it was +something new and wonderful under our literary sun. The critics of +to-morrow may discover that _The Bride_ was the foundation-stone of +the now much-heralded _Chunk of Life School_ which has of late taken +London by the ears. Yet, between _The Bride_ and _The Widow of the Bye +Street_ a great gulf is fixed. Part two of the trilogy was first +announced as _A Brood of the Eagle_, but it was finally published as +_The Doctor's Christmas Eve_ (New York, 1910). This, one of Mr. +Allen's longest novels, was met by adverse criticism based on several +grounds, but upon none more pointedly than what was alleged to be the +unnatural precocity of the children, who do not appear to lightly flit +through the pages in a way that our old-fashioned conventions would +prescribe they should, but somewhat seem to clog the unfolding of the +tale. Whatever estimate one may place upon _The Doctor_, he can +scarcely be held to possess the subtile charm of _The Bride_. The +third and final part of this much-discussed trilogy will hardly be +published before 1914, or perhaps even subsequent to that date. + +_The Heroine in Bronze_ (New York, 1912), is Mr. Allen's latest novel. +It is an American love story with all of the author's exquisite +mastery of language again ringing fine and true. For the first time +Mr. Allen largely abandons Kentucky as a landscape for his story, the +action being in New York. The phrase "my country," that recurs +throughout the book, succeeds the "Shield," which, in _The Bride of +the Mistletoe_, was the author's appellation for Kentucky. The sequel +to _The Heroine_--the story the boy wrote for the girl--is now +preparing. + +Twenty years ago Mr. Allen wrote, "Kentucky has little or no +literature;" and while he did not write, perhaps, with the whole +horizon of its range before him, there was substantial truth in the +statement. The splendid sequel to his declaration is his own +magnificent works. He pointed out the lack of merit in our literature, +but he did a far finer and more fitting thing: he at once set out upon +his distinguished career and has produced a literature for the state. +He has created Kentucky and Kentuckians as things apart from the +outside world, a miniature republic within a greater republic; and no +one knows the land and the people other than imperfectly if one cannot +see and feel that his conception is clear and sentient. With a light +but firm touch he has caught the shimmering atmosphere of his own +native uplands and the idiosyncrasies of their people with all the +fidelity with which the camera gives back a material outline. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Stories of James Lane Allen_, by L. W. Payne, + Jr., in _The Sewanee Review_ (January, 1900); _James Lane Allen's + Country_, by Arthur Bartlett, _The Bookman_ (October, 1900); + _Famous Authors_, by E. F. Harkins (Boston, 1901); _Authors of Our + Day in Their Homes_, by F. W. Halsey (New York, 1902); _Social + Historians_, by H. A. Toulmin, Jr. (Boston, 1911). + + +KING SOLOMON OF KENTUCKY: AN ADDRESS[2] + +[From _The Outlook_ (December 19, 1908)] + +We are witnessing at present a revival of conflict between two ideas +in our civilization that have already produced a colossal war; the +idea of the greatness of our Nation as the welded and indissoluble +greatness of the States, and the idea of the separate dignity and +isolated power of each sovereign commonwealth. The spirit of the +Nation reaches out more and more to absorb into itself its own parts, +and each part draws back more and more into its own Attic supremacy +and independence, feeling that its earlier struggles were its own +struggles, that its heroes were its own heroes, and that it has +memories which refuse to blend with any other memories. It will +willingly yield the luster of its daily life to the National sun, but +by night it must see its own lighthouses around its frontiers--beacons +for its own wandering mariner sons and a warning to the Nation itself +that such lights are sacred wherever they stand and burn. + +But if the State more and more resists absorption into the Federal +life, then less and less can it expect the Nation to do what it +insists is its own peculiar work; the greater is the obligation +resting upon it to make known to the Nation its own peculiar past and +its own incommunicable greatness. Among the States of the Union none +belongs more wholly to herself and less to the Nation than does +Kentucky; none perhaps will resist more passionately the encroachments +of Federal control; and upon her rests the very highest obligation to +write her own history and make good her Attic aloofness. + +But there is no nobler or more eloquent way in which a State can set +forth its annals than by memorializing its great dead. The flag of a +nation is its hope; its monuments are its memories. But it is also true +that the flag of a country is its memory, and that its monuments are its +hopes. And both are needed. Each calls aloud to the other. If you should +go into any land and see it covered with monuments and nowhere see its +flag, you would know that its flag had gone down into the dust and that +its hope was ended. If you should travel in a land and everywhere see +its flag and nowhere its monuments, you would ask yourself, Has this +people no past that it cares to speak of? and if it has, why does it not +speak of it? But when you visit a country where you see the flag proudly +flying and proud monuments standing everywhere, then you say, Here is a +people who are great in both their hopes and in their memories, and who +live doubly through the deeds of their dead. + +Where are Kentucky's monuments for her battlefields? There are some; +where are the others? Where are her monuments for her heroes that she +insists were hers alone? Over her waves the flag of her hopes; where +are the monuments that are her memories? + +This man whom you memorialize to-day was not, in station or +habiliment, one of Kentucky's higher heroes; his battlefield was the +battlefield of his own character; but the honor rightly heaped upon +him at last makes one remember how many a battlefield and how many a +hero remain forgotten. Not alone the fields and heroes of actual war, +but of civic and moral and scientific and artistic leadership. These +ceremonies--whom will they incite to kindred action elsewhere? What +other monuments will they build? + +There is a second movement broader than any question of State or +National patriotism, in which these ceremonies also have their place. +It is the essential movement of our time in the direction of a new +philanthropy. + +No line of Shakespeare has ever been perhaps more quoted than this: +"The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with +their bones." It is true that he put the words into the mouth of a +Roman of old; but they were true of the England of his time and they +remained true for centuries after his death. But within the last one +hundred years or less an entirely new spirit has been developed; a +radically new way of looking at human history and at human character +has superseded the old. The spirit and genius of our day calls for the +recasting of Shakespeare's lines: Let the evil that men do be buried +with them; let the good they did be found out and kept alive. + +I wish to take one illustration of the truth of this from the history +of English literature. + +Do you know when and where it was that satire virtually ceased to exist +in English literature? It was at the birthplace and with the birth of +Charles Darwin. From Darwin's time, from the peak on which he stood, a +long slope of English literature sinks backward and downward toward the +past; and on that shadowy slope stand somewhere the fierce satirists of +English letters. Last of them all, and standing near where Darwin stood, +is the great form of Thackeray. All his life he sought for perfection in +human character and never found it. He searched England from the throne +down for the gentleman and never found the gentleman. The life-long +quest sometimes left him bitter, always left him sad. For all of +Thackeray's work was done under the influence of the older point of +view, that the frailties of men should be scourged out of them and +could be. Over his imagination brooded the shadow of a vast myth--that +man had thrown away his own perfection, that he was a fallen angel, who +wantonly refused to regain his own paradise. + +And now from the peak of the world's thought on which Darwin stood, +the other slope of English literature comes down to us and will pass +on into the future. And as marking the beginning of the modern spirit +working in literature, there on this side of Darwin, near to him as +Thackeray stood near to him on the other side, is the great form of +George Eliot. George Eliot saw the frailties of human nature as +clearly as Thackeray saw them; she loved perfection as greatly as he +loved perfection; but on her lips satire died and sympathy was born. +She was the first of England's great imaginative writers to breathe in +the spirit of modern life and of modern knowledge--that man himself is +a developing animal--a creature crawling slowly out of utter darkness +toward the light. You can satirize a fallen angel who willfully +refuses to regain his paradise; but you cannot satirize an animal who +is developing through millions of years his own will to be used +against his own instincts. + +And this new spirit of charity not only pervades the new literature of +the world, but has made itself felt in every branch of human action. + +It has affected the theatre and well-nigh driven the drama of satire +from the stage. Every judge knows that it goes with him to the bench; +every physician knows that it accompanies him into the sick-room; +every teacher knows that he must reckon with it as he tries to govern +and direct the young; every minister knows that it ascends with him +into his pulpit and takes wing with his prayer. + +And thus we come back around a great circle of the world's endeavor to +the simple ceremony of this hour and place. There is but one thing to +be said; it is all that need be said; it is an attempt to burnish one +corner of a hero's dimmed shield. + +It is autumn now, the season of scythe and sickle. Time, the Reaper, +long ago reaped from the field of this man's life its heroic deed; and +now after so many years it has come back to his grave and thrown down +the natural increase. On the day when King Solomon was laid here the +grass began to weave its seamless mantle across his frailties; but out +of his dust sprang what has since been growing--what no hostile hand can +pluck away, nor any wind blow down--the red flower of a man's passionate +service to his fellow-men when they were in direst need of him. + +And so, long honor to his name! A new peace to his ashes! + + +THE LAST CHRISTMAS TREE[3] + +[From _The Saturday Evening Post_ (Philadelphia, December 5, 1908)] + +The stars burn out one by one like candles in too long a night. + +Children, you love the snow. You play in it, you hunt in it; it brings +the tinkling of sleighbells, it gives white wings to the trees and new +robes to the world. Whenever it falls in your country, sooner or later +it vanishes: forever falling and rising, forming and falling and +melting and rising again--on and on through the ages. + +If you should start from your homes and travel northward, after a +while you would find that everything is steadily changing: the air +grows colder, living things begin to be left behind, those that remain +begin to look white, the music of the earth begins to die out; you +think no more of color and joy and song. On you journey, and always +you are traveling toward the silent, the white, the dead. And at last +you come to the land of sunlessness and silence--the reign of snow. + +If you should start from your homes and travel southward, as you crossed +land after land, in the same way you would begin to see that life was +failing, colors fading, the earth's harmonies being replaced by the +discords of Nature's lifeless forces, storming, crushing, grinding. And +at last you would reach the threshold of another world that you dared +not enter and that nothing alive ever faces--the home of the frost. + +If you should rise straight into the air above your housetops, as +though you were climbing the side of an unseen mountain, you would +find at last that you had ascended to a height where the mountain +would be capped with snow. All round the earth, wherever its mountains +are high enough, their summits are capped with the one same snow; for +above us, everywhere, lies the upper land of eternal cold. + +Some time in the future, we do not know when, but some time in the +future, the Spirit of the Cold at the north will move southward; the +Spirit of the Cold at the south will move northward; the Spirit of the +Cold in the upper air will move downward to meet the other two. When the +three meet there will be for the earth one whiteness and silence--rest. + + * * * * * + +A great time had passed--how great no one knew; there was none to +measure it. + +It was twilight and it was snowing. On a steep mountainside, near its +bald summit, thousands of feet above the line that any other living +thing had ever crossed, stood two glorious fir trees, strongest and last +of their race. They had climbed out of the valley below to this lone +height, and there had so rooted themselves in rock and soil that the +sturdiest gale had never been able to dislodge them; and now the twain +occupied that beetling rock as the final sentinels of mortal things. + +They looked out toward the land on one side of the mountain; at the +foot of it lay a valley, and there, in old human times, a village had +thriven, church spires had risen, bridal candles had twinkled at +twilight. On the opposite side they looked toward the ocean--once the +rolling, blue ocean, singing its great song, but level now and white +and still at last--its voice hushed with all other voices--the roar of +its battleships ended long ago. One fir tree grew lower down than the +other, its head barely reached up to its comrade's breast. They had +long shared with each other the wordless wisdom of their race; and +now, as a slow, bitter wind wandered across the delicate green harps +of their leaves, they began to chant--harping like harpers of old who +never tired of the past. + +The fir below, as the snowflakes fell on its locks and sifted closely +in about its throat, shook itself bravely and sang: + +"Comrade, the end for us draws nigh; the snow is creeping up. To-night +it will place its cap upon my head. I shall close my eyes and follow +all things into their sleep." + +"Yes," thrummed the fir above, "follow all things into their sleep. +If they were thus to sleep at last, why were they ever awakened? It is +a mystery." + +The whirling wind caught the words and bore them to the right and to +the left over land and over sea: + +"Mystery--mystery--mystery." + +Twilight deepened. The snow scarcely fell; the clouds trailed through +the trees so close and low that the flakes were formed amid the boughs +and rested where they were created. At intervals out of the clouds and +darkness the low musings went on: + +"Where now is the Little Brother of the Trees--him of the long +thoughts and the brief shadow?" + +"He thought that he alone of earthly things was immortal." + +"Our people, the Evergreens, were thrust forth on the earth a million +ages before he appeared; and we are still here, a million ages since +he left, leaving not a trace of himself behind." + +"The most fragile moss was born before he was born; and the moss +outlasted him." + +"The frailest fern was not so perishable." + +"Yet he believed he should have eternal youth." + +"That his race would return to some Power who had sent it forth." + +"That he was ever being borne onward to some far-off, divine event, +where there was justice." + +"Yes, where there was justice." + +"Of old it was their custom to heap white flowers above their dead." + +"Now white flowers cover them--the frozen white flowers of the sky." + +It was night now about the mountaintop--deep night above it. At +intervals the communing of the firs started up afresh: + +"Had they known how alone in the universe they were, would they not +have turned to each other for happiness?" + +"Would not all have helped each?" + +"Would not each have helped all?" + +"Would they have so mingled their wars with their prayers?" + +"Would they not have thrown away their weapons and thrown their arms +around one another? It was all a mystery." + +"Mystery--mystery." + +Once in the night they sounded in unison: + +"And all the gods of earth--its many gods in many lands with many +faces--they sleep now in their ancient temples; on them has fallen at +last their unending dusk." + +"And the shepherds who avowed that they were appointed by the Creator +of the universe to lead other men as their sheep--what difference is +there now between the sheep and the shepherds?" + +"The shepherds lie with the sheep in the same white pastures." + +"Still, what think you became of all that men did?" + +"Whither did Science go? How could it come to naught?" + +"And that seven-branched golden candlestick of inner light that was +his Art--was there no other sphere to which it could be transferred, +lovely and eternal?" + +"And what became of Love?" + +"What became of the woman who asked for nothing in life but love and +youth?" + +"What became of the man who was true?" + +"Think you that all of them are not gathered elsewhere--strangely +changed, yet the same? Is some other quenchless star their safe +habitation?" + +"What do we know; what did he know on earth? It was a mystery." + +"It was all a mystery." + +If there had been a clock to measure the hour it must now have been +near midnight. Suddenly the fir below harped most tenderly: + +"The children! What became of the children? Where did the myriads of +them march to? What was the end of the march of the earth's children?" + +"Be still!" whispered the fir above. "At that moment I felt the soft +fingers of a child searching my boughs. Was not this what in human +times they called Christmas Eve?" + +"Hearken!" whispered the fir below. "Down in the valley elfin horns +are blowing and elfin drums are beating. Did you hear that--faint and +far away? It was the bells of the reindeer! It passed: it was the +wandering soul of Christmas." + +Not long after this the fir below struck its green harp for the last +time: + +"Comrade, it is the end for me. Good-night!" + +Silently the snow closed over it. + +The other fir now stood alone. The snow crept higher and higher. It +bravely shook itself loose. Late in the long night it communed once +more, solitary: + +"I, then, close the train of earthly things. And I was the emblem of +immortality; let the highest be the last to perish! Power, that put +forth all things for a purpose, you have fulfilled, without explaining +it, that purpose. I follow all things into their sleep." + +In the morning there was no trace of it. + +The sun rose clear on the mountaintops, white and cold and at peace. + +The earth was dead. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[2] Copyright, 1908, by the Outlook Company. + +[3] Copyright, 1908, by the Curtis Publishing Company. + + + + +NANCY HUSTON BANKS + + +Mrs. Nancy Huston Banks, novelist, was born at Morganfield, Kentucky, +about 1850. She is the daughter of the late Judge George Huston, who +for many years was an attorney and banker of her native town. When a +young woman Miss Huston was married to Mr. James N. Banks, now a +lawyer of Henderson, Kentucky. Mrs. Banks's first book, _Stairs of +Sand_ (Chicago, 1890), has been forgotten by author and public alike, +but shortly after its publication, she went to New York, and there she +resided at the Hotel St. James for many years. At the present time she +is living in London. She became a contributor to magazines, her +critical paper on Mr. James Lane Allen and his novels, which appeared +in _The Bookman_ for June, 1895, being her first work to attract +serious attention. A few years later Mrs. Banks dropped her magazine +work in order to write her charming novel of life in southern +Kentucky, _Oldfield_ (New York, 1902). This story was highly praised +in this country and in England, the critics of London coining a +descriptive phrase for it that has stuck--"the Kentucky Cranford." Her +next novel, _'Round Anvil Rock_ (New York, 1903), was a worthy +follower of _Oldfield_. One reviewer called it "a blend of an +old-fashioned love story and an historical study." Mrs. Banks's most +recent novel is _The Little Hills_ (New York, 1905). The opening words +of this story: "The air was the breath of spice pinks," was seized +upon by the critics and set up as a sign-post for the book's tone. +Mrs. Banks has been a great traveler. She was sent to South Africa +during the Boer war by _Vanity Fair_ of London, and her letters to +that publication were most interesting. She knew Cecil Rhodes and +George W. Steevens, the war correspondent, and, with her beauty and +charm, she became a social "star" in the life about her. Mrs. Banks's +one eccentricity--according to the literary gossips of New York--is +her distaste for classical music; and that much of her success is due +to the fact that she knows how to handle editors and publishers, we +also learn from the same source. At least one of her contemporaries +once held--though he has since wholly relented and regretted +much--that, in a now exceedingly scarce first edition, she +out-ingramed Ingram! But, of course, that is another story. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Critic_ (September, 1902); _The Nation_ + (February 5, 1903); _The Bookman_ (February, 1904). + + +ANVIL ROCK[4] + +[From _'Round Anvil Rock_ (New York, 1903)] + +The courage and calmness which he had found in himself under this test, +heartened him and made him the more determined to control his wandering +fancy. Looking now neither to the right nor the left, he pressed on +through the clearing toward the buffalo track in the border of the +forest which would lead him into the Wilderness Road. Sternly setting +his thoughts on the errand that was taking him to the salt-works, he +began to think of the place in which they were situated, and to wonder +why so bare, so brown, and so desolate a spot should have been called +Green Lick. There was no greenness about it, and not the slightest sign +that there ever had been any verdure, although it still lay in the very +heart of an almost tropical forest. It must surely have been as it was +now since time immemorial. Myriads of wild beasts coming and going +through numberless centuries to drink the salt water, had trodden the +earth around it as hard as iron, and had worn it down far below the +surface of the surrounding country. The boy had seen it often, but +always by daylight, and never alone, so that he noted many things now +which he had not observed before. The huge bison must have gone over +that well-beaten track one by one, to judge by its narrowness. He could +see it dimly, running into the clearing like a black line beginning far +off between the bordering trees; but as he looked, the darkness +deepened, the mists thickened, and a look of unreality came over +familiar objects. And then through the wavering gloom there suddenly +towered a great dark mass topped by something which rose against the +wild dimness like a colossal blacksmith's anvil. It might have been +Vulcan's own forge, so strange and fabulous a thing it seemed! The boy's +heart leaped with his pony's leap. His imagination spread its swift +wings ere he could think; but in another instant he reminded himself. +This was not an awful apparition, but a real thing, wondrous and +unaccountable enough in its reality. It was Anvil Rock--a great, +solitary rock rising abruptly from the rockless loam of a level country, +and lifting its single peak, rudely shaped like a blacksmith's anvil, +straight up toward the clouds. + + +THE OLD-FASHIONED FIDDLERS + +[From the same] + +Those old-time country fiddlers--all of them, black or white--how +wonderful they were! They have always been the wonder and the despair +of all musicians who have played by rule and note. The very way that +the country fiddler held his fiddle against his chest and never +against his shoulder like the trained musician! The very way that the +country fiddler grasped his bow, firmly and squarely in the middle, +and never lightly at the end like a trained musician! The very way +that he let go and went off and kept on--the amazing, inimitable +spirit, the gayety, the rhythm, the swing! No trained musician ever +heard the music of the country fiddler without wondering at its power, +and longing in vain to know the secret of its charm. It would be worth +a good deal to know where and how they learned the tunes that they +played. Possibly these were handed down by ear from one to another; +some perhaps may have never been pent up in notes, and others may have +been given to the note reader under other names than those by which +the country fiddlers knew them. This is said to have been the case +with "Old Zip Coon," and the names of many of them would seem to prove +that they belonged to the time and the country. But there is a +delightful uncertainty about the origin and the history of almost all +of them--about "Leather Breeches" and "Sugar in the Gourd" and +"Wagoner" and "Cotton-eyed Joe," and so on through a long list. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[4] Copyright, 1903, by the Macmillan Company. + + + + +WILLIAM B. SMITH + + +William Benjamin Smith, perhaps the greatest scholar ever born on +Kentucky soil, first saw the light at Stanford, Kentucky, October 26, +1850. Kentucky (Transylvania) University conferred the degree of +Master of Arts upon him in 1871; and the University of Goettengen +granted him his Doctor of Philosophy degree in 1879. Dr. Smith was +professor of mathematics in Central College, Missouri, from 1881 to +1885, when he accepted the chair of physics in the University of +Missouri. In 1888 he was transferred to the department of mathematics +in the same institution, which he held until 1893, when he resigned +to accept a similar position at Tulane University. In 1906 Dr. Smith +was elected head of the department of philosophy at Tulane, which +position he holds at the present time. He was a delegate of the United +States government to the first Pan-American Scientific Congress, held +at Santiago, Chile, in 1908. Dr. Smith is the author of the following +books, the very titles of which will show his amazing versatility: +_Co-ordinate Geometry_ (Boston, 1885); _Clew to Trigonometry_ (1889); +_Introductory Modern Geometry_ (New York, 1893); _Infinitesimal +Analysis_ (New York, 1898); _The Color Line_ (New York, 1905), a +stirring discussion of the Negro problem from a rather new +perspective; two theological works, written originally in German, _Der +Vorchristliche Jesus_ (Jena, Germany, 1906); and _Ecce Deus_ (Jena, +Germany, 1911), the English translation of which was issued at London +and Chicago in 1912. These two works upon proto-Christianity have +placed Dr. Smith among the foremost scholars of his day and generation +in America. Besides his books he wrote two pamphlets of more than +fifty pages each upon _Tariff for Protection_ (Columbia, Missouri, +1888); and _Tariff Reform_ (Columbia, Missouri, 1892). These show the +author at his best. And his biography of James Sidney Rollins, founder +of the University of Missouri, was published about this time. During +the month of October, 1896, Dr. Smith published six articles in the +Chicago _Record_, on the sliver question and in defense of the gold +standard, which were certainly the most thorough brought out by the +presidential campaign of that year. Among his many public addresses, +essays, and articles, _The Pauline Codices F and G_ may be mentioned, +as well as his articles on _Infinitesimal Calculus_ and _New Testament +Criticism_ in the _Encyclopaedia Americana_ (New York, 1906); and he +compiled the mathematical definitions for the _New International +Dictionary_ (New York, 1908). Dr. Smith's fine poem, _The Merman and +the Seraph_, was crowned in the _Poet Lore_ competition of 1906. As a +mathematician, philosopher, sociologist, New Testament critic, +publicist, poet, and alleged prototype of _David_, hero of Mr. James +Lane Allen's _The Reign of Law_--which he most certainly was not!--Dr. +Smith stands supreme among the sons of Kentucky. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Current Literature_ (June, 1905); _The Nation_ + (November 23, 1911). + + +A SOUTHERN VIEW OF THE NEGRO PROBLEM[5] + +[From _The Color Line_ (New York, 1905)] + +It is idle to talk of education and civilization and the like as +corrective or compensative agencies. All are weak and beggarly as over +against the almightiness of heredity, the omniprepotence of the +transmitted germ-plasma. Let this be amerced of its ancient rights, +let it be shorn in some measure of its exceeding weight of ancestral +glory, let it be soiled in its millenial purity and integrity, and +nothing shall ever restore it; neither wealth, nor culture, nor +science, nor art, nor morality, nor religion--not even Christianity +itself. Here and there these may redeem some happy spontaneous +variation, some lucky freak of nature; but nothing more--they can +never redeem the race. If this be not true, then history and biology +are alike false; then Darwin and Spencer, Haeckel and Weismann, Mendel +and Pearson, have lived and laboured in vain. + +Equally futile is the reply, so often made by our opponents, that +miscegenation has already progressed far in the Southland, as witness +millions of Mulattoes. Certainly; but do not such objectors know in +their hearts that their reply is no answer, but is utterly irrelevant? +We admit and deplore the fact that unchastity has poured a broad stream +of white blood into black veins; but we deny, and perhaps no one will +affirm, that it has poured even the slenderest appreciable rill of Negro +blood into the veins of the Whites. We have no excuse whatever to make +for these masculine incontinences; we abhor them as disgraceful and +almost bestial. But, however degrading and even unnatural, they in +nowise, not even in the slightest conceivable degree, defile the +Southern Caucasian blood. That blood to-day is absolutely pure; and it +is the inflexible resolution of the South to preserve that purity, no +matter how dear the cost. We repeat, then, it is not a question of +individual morality, nor even of self-respect. He who commerces with a +negress debases himself and dishonours his body, the temple of the +Spirit; but he does not impair, in anywise, the dignity or integrity of +his race; he may sin against himself and others, and even against his +God, but not against the germ-plasma of his kind. + +Does some one reply that some Negroes are better than some Whites, +physically, mentally, morally? We do not deny it; but this fact, +again, is without pertinence. It may very well be that some dogs are +superior to some men. It is absurd to suppose that only the elect of +the Blacks would unite with only the non-elect of the Whites. Once +started, the _pamnixia_ would spread through all classes of society +and contaminate possibly or actually all. Even a little leaven may +leaven the whole lump. + +Far more than this, however, even if only very superior Negroes formed +unions with non-superior Whites, the case would not be altered; for it +is a grievous error to suppose that the child is born of its proximate +parents only; it is born of all its ancestry; it is the child of its +race. The eternal past lays hand upon it and upon all its descendants. +However weak the White, behind him stands Europe; however strong the +Black, behind lies Africa. + +Preposterous, indeed, is this doctrine that _personal excellence is +the true standard_, and that only such Negroes as attain a certain +grade of merit should or would be admitted to social equality. A +favourite evasion! _The Independent_, _The Nation_, _The Outlook_, the +whole North--all point admiringly to Mr. Washington, and exclaim: "But +only see what a noble man he is--so much better than his would-be +superiors!" So, too, a distinguished clergyman, when asked whether he +would let his daughter marry a Negro, replied: "We wish our daughters +to marry Christian gentlemen." Let, then, the major premise be, "All +Christian gentlemen are to be admitted to social equality;" and add, +if you will, any desired degree of refinement or education or +intellectual prowess as a condition. Does not every one see that any +such test would be wholly impracticable and nugatory? If Mr. +Washington be the social equal of Roosevelt and Eliot and Hadley, how +many others will be the social equals of the next circle, and the +next, and the next, in the long descent from the White House and +Harvard to the miner and the ragpicker? And shall we trust the hot, +unreasoning blood of youth to lay virtues and qualities so evenly in +the balance and decide just when some "olive-coloured suitor" is +enough a "Christian gentleman" to claim the hand of some +simple-hearted milk-maid or some school-ma'am "past her bloom?" The +notion is too ridiculous for refutation. If the best Negro in the land +is the social equal of the best Caucasian, then it will be hard to +prove that the lowest White is higher than the lowest Black; the +principle of division is lost, and complete social equality is +established. We seem to have read somewhere that, when the two ends of +one straight segment coincide with the two ends of another, the +segments coincide throughout their whole extent. + + +THE MERMAN AND THE SERAPH[6] + +[From _Poet-Lore_ (Boston, 1906)] + + I + + Deep the sunless seas amid, + Far from Man, from Angel hid, + Where the soundless tides are rolled + Over Ocean's treasure-hold, + With dragon eye and heart of stone, + The ancient Merman mused alone. + + II + + And aye his arrowed Thought he wings + Straight at the inmost core of things-- + As mirrored in his magic glass + The lightning-footed Ages pass-- + And knows nor joy nor Earth's distress, + But broods on Everlastingness. + + "Thoughts that love not, thoughts that hate not, + Thoughts that Age and Change await not, + All unfeeling, + All revealing, + Scorning height's and depth's concealing, + These be mine--and these alone!"-- + Saith the Merman's heart of stone. + + III + + Flashed a radiance far and nigh + As from the vortex of the sky-- + Lo! a maiden beauty-bright + And mantled with mysterious might + Of every power, below, above, + That weaves resistless spell of Love. + + IV + + Through the weltering waters cold + Shot the sheen of silken gold; + Quick the frozen heart below + Kindled in the amber glow; + Trembling heavenward Nekkan yearned, + Rose to where the Glory burned. + + "Deeper, bluer than the skies are, + Dreaming meres of morn thine eyes are; + All that brightens + Smile or heightens + Charm is thine, all life enlightens, + Thou art all the soul's desire"-- + Sang the Merman's heart of fire. + + "Woe thee, Nekkan! Ne'er was given + Thee to walk the ways of Heaven; + Vain the vision, + Fate's derision, + Thee that raps to realms elysian, + Fathomless profounds are thine"-- + Quired the answering voice divine. + + V + + Came an echo from the West, + Pierced the deep celestial breast; + Summoned, far the Seraph fled, + Trailing splendours overhead; + Broad beneath her flying feet, + Laughed the silvered ocean-street. + + VI + + On the Merman's mortal sight + Instant fell the pall of Night; + Sunk to the sea's profoundest floor + He dreams the vanished vision o'er, + Hears anew the starry chime, + Ponders aye Eternal Time. + + "Thoughts that hope not, thoughts that fear not, + Thoughts that Man and Demon veer not, + Times unending + Comprehending, + Space and worlds of worlds transcending, + These are mine--but these alone!"-- + Sighs the Merman's heart of stone. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[5] Copyright, 1905, by McClure, Phillips and Company. + +[6] Copyright, 1906, by Richard G. Badger. + + + + +ANDERSON C. QUISENBERRY + + +Anderson Chenault Quisenberry, historical writer, was born near +Winchester, Kentucky, October 26, 1850. He was educated at Georgetown +College, Georgetown, Kentucky. In 1870 Mr. Quisenberry engaged in +Kentucky journalism, being editor of several papers at different +periods, until 1889, when he went to Washington to accept a position +in the War Department; but he has continued his contributions to the +Kentucky press to the present time. His first volume was _The Life and +Times of Hon. Humphrey Marshall_ (Winchester, Kentucky, 1892). This +was followed by his other works: _Revolutionary Soldiers in Kentucky_ +(1896); _Genealogical Memoranda of the Quisenberry Family and Other +Families_ (Washington, D. C., 1897); _Memorials of the Quisenberry +Family in Germany, England, and America_ (Washington, D. C., 1900); +_Lopez's Expeditions to Cuba, 1850-51_ (Louisville, Kentucky, 1906), +one of the most attractive of the Filson Club publications; and +_History by Illustration: General Zachary Taylor and the Mexican War_ +(Frankfort, Kentucky, 1911), the most recent volume in the Kentucky +Historical Series of the State Historical Society. Mr. Quisenberry +resides at Hyattsville, Maryland, going into Washington every day for +his official duties. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Quisenberry to the present writer; + _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +THE DEATH OF CRITTENDEN[7] + +[From _Lopez's Expeditions to Cuba, 1850-1851_ (Louisville, Kentucky, +1906)] + +The victims, bound securely, were brought out of the boat twelve at a +time; of these, six were blindfolded and made to kneel down with their +backs to the soldiers, who stood some three or four paces from them. +These six executed, the other six were put through the same ghastly +ceremony; then twelve others were brought from the boat; and so on, +until the terrible and sickening tragedy was over. As each lot were +murdered their bodies were cast aside to make room for the next lot. + +An eyewitness says of these martyrs to liberty: "They behaved with +firmness, evincing no hesitation or trepidation whatever." Among those +shot was a lad of fifteen who begged earnestly on his knees that some +one be sent to him who could speak English, but not the slightest +attention was paid to him. One handsome young man desired that his +watch be sent to his sweetheart. After the first discharge those who +were not instantly killed were beaten upon the head until life was +extinct. One poor fellow received three balls in his neck, and, +raising himself in the agonies of death, was struck by a soldier with +the butt of a musket and his brains dashed out. + +Colonel Crittenden, as the leader of the party, was shot first, and +alone. One of the rabble pushed through the line of soldiers, and +rushed up to Crittenden and pulled his beard. The gallant Kentuckian, +with the utmost coolness, spit in the coward's face. He refused to +kneel or to be blindfolded, saying in a clear, ringing voice: "A +Kentuckian kneels to none except his God, and always dies facing his +enemy!"--an expression that became famous. Looking into the muzzles of +the muskets that were to slay him, standing heroically erect in the +very face of death, with his own hands, which had been unbound at his +request, he gave the signal for the fatal volley; and died, as he had +lived, "Strong in Heart." Captain Ker also refused to kneel. They +stood up, faced their enemies, were shot down, and their brains were +beaten out with clubbed muskets. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[7] Copyright, 1906, by the Filson Club. + + + + +ROBERT BURNS WILSON + + +Robert Burns Wilson, poet of distinction, the son of a Pennsylvania +father and a Virginia mother, was born in his grandfather's house near +Washington, Pennsylvania, October 30, 1850. When a very small child he +was taken to his mother's home in Virginia; and there the mother died +when her son was but ten years old, which event saddened his +subsequent life. Mr. Wilson was educated in the schools of Wheeling, +West Virginia, after which he went to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to +study art. When but nineteen he was painting portraits for a living. +In 1871 he and John W. Alexander, now the famous New York artist, +chartered a canoe and started down the Ohio river from Pittsburgh, +hoping in due course to dock at Louisville, Kentucky. They had hardly +reached the Kentucky shore, however, when they disagreed about +something or other, and young Alexander left him in the night and +returned to Pittsburgh. The next day Mr. Wilson ran his boat into a +bank in Union county, Kentucky; he lived in that county a year, when +he went up to Louisville. He gained more than a local reputation with +a crayon portrait of Henry Watterson, and he was actually making +considerable headway as an artist when he was discovered by the late +Edward Hensley, of Frankfort, Kentucky, who persuaded him to remove to +that town. Mr. Wilson settled at Frankfort in 1875, and he lived there +for the following twenty-five years. His literary and artistic labors +are inseparably interwoven with the history and traditions of that +interesting old town, for he was its "great man" for many years, and +its toast. As painter and poet he was heralded by the folk of +Frankfort until the outside world was attracted and nibbled at his +work. The first public recognition accorded his landscapes was at the +Louisville and New Orleans Expositions of 1883 and 1884. + +Mr. Wilson's first poem, _A Wild Violet in November_, was followed by +the finest flower of his genius, _When Evening Cometh On_, which was +originally printed in _Harper's Magazine_ for October, 1885. This is the +only Southern poem or, perhaps, American, that can be mentioned in the +same breath with Gray's _Elegy_. Many of his poems and prose papers were +published in _Harper's_, _The Century_, and other periodicals. His first +book, _Life and Love_ (New York, 1887), contained the best work he has +ever done. The dedicatory lines to the memory of his mother were lovely; +and there are many more poems to be found in the volume that are very +fine. _Chant of a Woodland Spirit_ (New York, 1894), a long poem of more +than fifty pages, portions of which had originally appeared in +_Harper's_ and _The Century_, was dedicated to John Fox, Jr., with whom +Mr. Wilson was friendly, and who spent a great deal of his time at the +poet's home in Frankfort. His second and most recent collection of +lyrics, _The Shadows of the Trees_ (New York, 1898), was widely read and +warmly received by all true lovers of genuine poesy. Mr. Wilson's +striking poem, _Remember the Maine_, provoked by the tragedy in Havana +harbor, was printed in _The New York Herald_; and another of his several +poems inspired by that fiasco of a fight that is remembered, _Such is +the Death the Soldier Dies_, appeared in _The Atlantic Monthly_. The +Kentucky poet's battle-hymns to the boys in blue were excelled by no +other American singer, unless it was by the late William Vaughn Moody. +Mr. Wilson's fourth and latest work, a novel, _Until the Day Break_ (New +York, 1900), is unreadable as a story, but the passages of nature prose +are many and exquisite. + +While he has always been a writing-man of very clear and definite gifts, +Mr. Wilson has painted many portraits and landscapes, working with equal +facility in oils, water-color, and crayon. He is held in esteem by many +competent critics as an artist of ability, but nearly all of his work in +any of three mediums indicated, is exceedingly moody and pessimistic; +and his water-colors, especially, are "muddy." It is greatly to be +regretted that he did not remain the poet he was born to be, instead of +drawing his dreams--many use a stronger word--in paints. + +As has been said, Mr. Wilson was the presiding genius of the town of +Frankfort during his life there; and he was a bachelor! Thereby hangs +a tale with a meaning and a moral. For many years the widows and the +other women past their bloom, burned incense at the shrine of the +mighty man who could wrap himself in his great-coat, dash through a +field and over a fence, punching plants with his never-absent stick, +and return to town with a poem pounding in his pulses, and another +landscape in his brain. Ah, he was a great fellow! But the tragedy of +it all: after all these years of adoration from ladies overanxious to +get him into their nets, they awoke one morning in 1901 to find that +little Anne Hendrick, schoolgirl, and daughter of a former +attorney-general of Kentucky, had married their heart's desire, that +their dreams were day-dreams after all. The marriage took place in New +York, after which they returned to Frankfort. The following year their +child, Elizabeth, was born; and a short time afterwards he removed to +New York, where he has lived ever since. Rumors of his art exhibitions +have reached Kentucky; but the only tangible things have been prose +papers and lyrics in the magazines. + +A short time before his death, Paul Hamilton Hayne, the famous +Southern poet, sent Wilson this greeting: "The old man whose head has +grown gray in the service of the Muses, who is about to leave the +lists of poetry forever, around whose path the sunset is giving place +to twilight, with no hope before him but 'an anchorage among the +stars,' extends his hand to a younger brother of his art with an +earnest _Te moriturus saluto_." These charming words were elicited by +_June Days_, and _When Evening Cometh On_. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Recent Movement in Southern Literature_, by C. + W. Coleman, Jr. (_Harper's Magazine_, May, 1887); _Who's Who in + America_ (1901-1902); _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, + v. xv, 1910), an excellent study by Mrs. Ida W. Harrison. + + +LOVINGLY TO ELIZABETH, MY MOTHER[8] + +[From _Life and Love. Poems_ (New York, 1887)] + + The green Virginian hills were blithe in May, + And we were plucking violets--thou and I. + A transient gladness flooded earth and sky; + Thy fading strength seemed to return that day, + And I was mad with hope that God would stay + Death's pale approach--Oh! all hath long passed by! + Long years! Long years! and now, I well know why + Thine eyes, quick-filled with tears, were turned away. + + First loved; first lost; my mother:--time must still + Leave my soul's debt uncancelled. All that's best + In me, and in my art, is thine:--Me-seems, + Even now, we walk afield. Through good and ill, + My sorrowing heart forgets not, and in dreams + I see thee, in the sun-lands of the blest. + +Frankfort, Kentucky, October 6, 1887. + + +WHEN EVENING COMETH ON + +[From the same] + + When evening cometh on, + Slower and statelier in the mellowing sky + The fane-like, purple-shadowed clouds arise; + Cooler and balmier doth the soft wind sigh; + Lovelier, lonelier to our wondering eyes + The softening landscape seems. The swallows fly + Swift through the radiant vault; the field-lark cries + His thrilling, sweet farewell; and twilight bands + Of misty silence cross the far-off lands + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Deeper and dreamier grows the slumbering dell, + Darker and drearier spreads the bristling wold, + Bluer and heavier roll the hills that swell + In moveless waves against the shimmering gold. + Out from their haunts the insect hordes, that dwell + Unseen by day, come thronging forth to hold + Their fleeting hour of revel, and by the pool + Soft pipings rise up from the grasses cool, + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Along their well-known paths with heavier tread + The sad-eyed, loitering kine unurged return; + The peaceful sheep, by unseen shepherds led, + Wend bleating to the hills, so well they learn + Where Nature's hand their wholesome couch hath spread; + And through the purpling mist the moon doth yearn; + Pale gentle radiance, dear recurring dream, + Soft with the falling dew falls thy faint beam, + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Loosed from the day's long toil, the clanking teams, + With halting steps, pass on their jostling ways, + Their gearings glinted by the waning beams; + Close by their heels the heedful collie strays; + All slowly fading in a land of dreams, + Transfigured specters of the shrouding haze. + Thus from life's field the heart's fond hope doth fade, + Thus doth the weary spirit seek the shade, + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Across the dotted fields of gathered grain + The soul of summer breathes a deep repose, + Mysterious murmurings mingle on the plain, + And from the blurred and blended brake there flows + The undulating echoes of some strain + Once heard in paradise, perchance--who knows? + But now the whispering memory sadly strays + Along the dim rows of the rustling maize + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Anon there spreads upon the lingering air + The musk of weedy slopes and grasses dank, + And odors from far fields, unseen but fair, + With scent of flowers from many a shadowy bank. + O lost Elysium, art thou hiding there? + Flows yet that crystal stream whereof I drank? + Ah, wild-eyed Memory, fly from night's despair; + Thy strong wings droop with heavier weight of care + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + No sounding phrase can set the heart at rest. + The settling gloom that creeps by wood and stream, + The bars that lie along the smouldering west, + The tall and lonely, silent trees that seem + To mock the groaning earth, and turn to jest + This wavering flame, this agonizing dream, + Ah, all bring sorrow as the clouds bring rain, + And evermore life's struggle seemeth vain + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Anear doth Life stand by the great unknown, + In darkness reaching out her sentient hands; + Philosophies and creeds, alike, are thrown + Beneath her feet, and questioning she stands, + Close on the brink, unfearing and alone, + And lists the dull wave breaking on the sands; + Albeit her thoughtful eyes are filled with tears, + So lonely and so sad the sound she hears + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Vain seems the world, and vainer wise men's thought. + All colors vanish when the sun goeth down. + Fame's purple mantle some proud soul hath caught + No better seems than doth the earth-stained gown + Worn by Content. All names shall be forgot. + Death plucks the stars to deck his sable crown. + The fair enchantment of the golden day + Far through the vale of shadows melts away + When evening cometh on. + + When evening cometh on, + Love, only love, can stay the sinking soul, + And smooth thought's racking fever from the brow: + The wounded heart Love only can console. + Whatever brings a balm for sorrow now, + So must it be while this vexed earth shall roll; + Take then the portion which the gods allow. + Dear heart, may I at last on thy warm breast + Sink to forgetfulness and silent rest + When evening cometh on? + +FOOTNOTE: + +[8] Copyright, 1887, by O. M. Dunham. + + + + +DANIEL HENRY HOLMES + + +Daniel Henry Holmes is, with the possible exceptions of Theodore O'Hara +and Madison Cawein, the foremost lyric poet Kentucky can rightfully +claim, although he happened to be born at New York City, July 16, 1851; +and that single fact is the only flaw in Kentucky's fee simple title to +his fame. His father, Daniel Henry Holmes, Senior, was a native of +Indiana; his mother was an Englishwoman. Daniel Henry Holmes, Senior, +settled at New Orleans when a young man as a merchant; but a year after +the birth of Daniel Henry Junior--as the future poet always signed +himself while his father lived--or in 1852, he purchased an old colonial +house back of Covington, Kentucky, as a summer place for his family, and +called it Holmesdale. So Daniel Henry Junior Holmes became a +warm-weather Kentuckian when but one year old; and he spent the +following nine summers at Holmesdale, returning each fall to New Orleans +for the winter. When the Civil War began his father, whose sympathies +were entirely Southern, removed his family to Europe, where eight years +were spent in Tours and Paris. In 1869, at the age of eighteen years, +Daniel Henry Junior, with his family, returned to the United States, and +entered his father's business at New Orleans. His dislike for +commercialism in any form became so great that his father wisely +permitted him to return to Holmesdale, which was then in charge of an +uncle, and to study law at Cincinnati. In the same year that he returned +to Holmesdale (1869), the house was rebuilt; and it remains intact +to-day. His family shortly afterwards joined him, and Holmesdale became +the manor-place of his people for many years. Holmes was graduated in +law in 1872, and he practiced in a desultory manner for some years. In +1883 he married Miss Rachel Gaff, of Cincinnati, daughter of one of the +old and wealthy families of that city. He and his bride spent the year +of their marriage at Holmesdale, and, in 1884, went abroad. + +Holmes's first and finest book of poems, written at Covington, was +entitled _Under a Fool's Cap: Songs_ (London, 1884), and contained one +hundred and forty-four pages in an edition that did not exceed five +hundred copies. The poet whimsically placed his boyhood name of +"Daniel Henry Junior" upon the title-page. This little volume is one +of the most unique things ever done by an American hand. Holmes took +twenty-four old familiar nursery jingles, which are printed in +black-face type at the top of the lyrics relating to them, and he +worked them over and turned them over and did everything but parody +them; and in only one of them--_Margery Daw_--did he discard the +original metres. He employed "three methods of dealing with his +nursery rhymes; he either made them the basis of a story, or he took +them as an allegory and gave the 'modern instance,' or he simply +continued and amplified. The last method is, perhaps, the most +effective and successful of all," the poems done in this manner being +far and away the finest in the book. Holmes spent the seven years +subsequent to the appearance of _Under a Fool's Cap_, in France, +Italy, and Germany. In 1890 his father gave him Holmesdale. He +returned to Kentucky, and the remaining years of his life were spent +at Covington, save several winters abroad. + +Holmes's second book of lyrics, _A Pedlar's Pack_ (New York, 1906), +which was largely written at Holmesdale, contained many exceedingly +clever and charming poems, but, with the exception of some fine +sonnets, _A Pedlar's Pack_ is verse, while _Under a Fool's Cap_ is +genuine poetry. Holmes was an accomplished musician, and his _Hempen +Homespun Songs_ (Cincinnati, 1906), mostly written in Dresden, +contained fourteen songs set to music, of which four had words by the +poet. Of the other ten songs, three were by W. M. Thackeray, two by +Alfred de Musset, and Austin Dobson, Henri Chenevers, W. E. Henley, +Edgar Allan Poe, and Alfred Tennyson were represented by having one of +their songs set to music. This was his only publication in the field +of music, and his third and final book. Holmes's last years were spent +at the old house in Covington, devoted to arranging his large library, +collected from the bookshops of the world, and to his music. His life +was one of endless ease, the universal pursuit of wealth being neither +necessary nor engaging. He had lived parts of more than forty years of +his life at Holmesdale when he left it for the last time in the fall +of 1908 to spend the winter at Hot Springs, Virginia, where he died +suddenly on December 14, 1908. He had hardly found his grave at +Cincinnati before lovers of poetry on both sides of the Atlantic arose +and demanded word of his life and works. This demand has been in part +supplied by Mr. Thomas B. Mosher, the Maine publisher, who has +exquisitely reprinted _Under a Fool's Cap_, and written this beautiful +tribute to the poet's memory: + + "One vital point of interest should be restated: the man who took + these old tags of nursery rhymes and fashioned out of them some of + the tenderest lyrics ever written was an American by birth and in + the doing of this unique thing did it perfectly. That he never + repeated these first fine careless raptures is nothing to his + discredit. That he _did_ accomplish what he set himself to do with + an originality and a proper regard to the quality of his work + rather than its quantity is the essential fact; and in his ability + to touch a vibrating chord in the hearts of all who have come + across these lyrics we feel that the mission of Daniel Henry + Holmes was fulfilled both in letter and in spirit." + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Hesperian Tree_, edited by J. J. Piatt + (Cincinnati, 1900); _The Cornhill Magazine_ (August, 1909), review + of _Under a Fool's Cap_, by Norman Roe; _The Bibelot_ (May, 1910); + _Under a Fool's Cap_ (Portland, Maine, 1910; 1911), lovely + reprints of the 1884 edition, with Mr. Roe's review and foreword + by Mr. Mosher; letters from Mrs. Holmes, the poet's widow, who has + recently reopened Holmesdale. + + +BELL HORSES + +[From _Under a Fool's Cap_ (London, 1884)] + + Bell horses, Bell horses, + What time of day? + One o'clock! Two o'clock! + Three! and away. + + I shall wait by the gate + To see you pass, + Closely press'd, three abreast, + Clanking with brass: + + With your smart red mail-cart + Hard at your heels, + Scarlet ground, fleck'd around + With the Queen's seals. + + Up the hills, down the hills, + Till the cart shrink + To a faint dab of paint + On the sky-brink, + + Never stop till you drop, + On to the town, + Bearing great news of state + To Lords and Crown. + + And down deep in the keep + Of your mail-cart, + There's a note that I wrote + To my sweetheart. + + I had no words that glow, + No penman's skill, + And high-born maids would scorn + Spelling so ill; + + But what if it be stiff + Of hand and thought, + And ink-blots mark the spots + Where kisses caught, + + He will read without heed + Of phrases' worth, + That I love him above + All things on earth. + + I must wait here, till late + Past Evensong, + Ere you come tearing home-- + Days are so long!-- + + But I'll watch, till I catch + Your bell's chime clear ... + If you'll bring _me_ something-- + Won't you please, dear? + + +MY LADY'S GARDEN + +[From the same] + + How does my Lady's garden grow? + How does my Lady's garden grow? + With silver bells, and cockle-shells, + And pretty girls all in a row. + + All fresh and fair, as the spring is fair, + And wholly unconscious they are so fair, + With eyes as deep as the wells of sleep, + And mouths as fragrant as sweet June air. + + They all have crowns and all have wings, + Pale silver crowns and faint green wings, + And each has a wand within her hand, + And raiment about her that cleaves and clings. + + But what have my Lady's girls to do? + What maiden toil or spinning to do? + They swing and sway the live-long day + While beams and dreams shift to and fro. + + And are so still that one forgets, + So calm and restful, one forgets + To think it strange they never change, + Mistaking them for Margarets. + + But when night comes and Earth is dumb, + When her face is veil'd, and her voice is dumb, + The pretty girls rouse from their summer drowse, + For the time of their magic toil has come. + + They deck themselves in their bells and shells, + Their silver bells and their cockle-shells, + Like pilgrim elves, they deck themselves + And chaunting Runic hymns and spells, + + They spread their faint green wings abroad, + Their wings and clinging robes abroad, + And upward through the pathless blue + They soar, like incense smoke, to God. + + Who gives them crystal dreams to hold, + And snow-white hopes and thoughts to hold, + And laughter spun of beams of the sun, + And tears that shine like molten-gold. + + And when their hands can hold no more, + Their chaliced hands can hold no more, + And when their bells, and cockle-shells, + With holy gifts are brimming o'er, + + With swift glad wings they cleave the deep, + As shafts of starlight cleave the deep, + Through Space and Night they take their flight + To where my Lady lies asleep; + + And there, they coil above her bed,-- + A fairy crown above her bed-- + While from their hands, like sifted sands, + Falls their harvest winnowed. + + And this is why my Lady grows, + My own sweet Lady daily grows, + In sorcery such, that at her touch, + Sweet laughter blossoms and songs unclose. + + And this is what the pretty girls do, + This is the toil appointed to do, + With silver bells, and cockle-shells, + Like Margarets all in a row. + + +LITTLE BLUE BETTY + +[From the same] + + Little Blue Betty lived in a lane, + She sold good ale to gentlemen. + Gentlemen came every day, + And little Blue Betty hopp'd away. + + A rare old tavern, this "Hand and Glove," + That Little Blue Betty was mistress of; + But rarer still than its far-famed taps + Were Betty's trim ankles and dainty caps. + + So gentlemen came every day-- + As much for the caps as the ale, they say-- + And call'd for their pots, and her mug to boot: + If it bettered their thirst they were welcome to't; + + For Betty, with none of those foolish qualms + Which come of inordinate singing of psalms, + Thought kissing a practice both hearty and hale, + To freshen the lips and smarten the ale. + + So gallants came, by the dozen and score, + To sit on the bench by the trellised door, + From the full high noon till the shades grew long, + With their pots of ale, and snatches of song. + + While little Blue Betty, in shortest of skirts, + And whitest of caps, and bluest of shirts, + Went hopping away, rattling pots and pence, + Getting kiss'd now and then as pleased Providence. + + How well I remember! I used to sit down + By the door, with Byronic, elaborate frown + Staring hard at her, as she whisk'd about me,-- + Being jealous as only calf-lovers can be, + + Till Betty would bring me my favourite mug, + Her lips all a-pucker, her shoulders a-shrug, + And wheedle and coax my young vanity back, + So I fancied myself the preferred of the pack. + + Ah! the dear old times! I turn'd out of my way, + As I travell'd westward the other day, + For a ramble among those boy-haunts of mine, + And a friendly nod to the crazy old sign. + + The inn was gone--to make room, alas! + For a railroad buffet, all gilding and glass, + Where sat a proper young person in pink, + Selling ale--which I hadn't the heart to drink. + + +THE OLD WOMAN UNDER THE HILL + +[From the same] + + There was an old woman lived under the hill, + And if she's not gone, she lives there still; + Baked apples she sold and cranberry pies, + And she's the old woman who never told lies. + + A queer little body, all shrivelled and brown, + In her earth-colour'd mantle and rain-colour'd gown, + Incessantly fumbling strange grasses and weeds, + Like a rickety cricket, a-saying its beads. + + In winter or summer, come shine or come rain, + When the bustles and beams into twilight wane, + To the top of her hill, one can see her climb, + To sit out her watch through the long night-time. + + The neighbourhood gossips have strange tales to tell-- + As they sit at their knitting and tongues waggle well + Of the queer little crone who lived under the hill + When the grannies among them were hoppy-thumbs still. + + She was once, they say, a young lassie, as fair + As white-wing'd hawthorn in April air, + When under the hill--one fine evening--she met + A stranger, the strangest maid ever saw yet: + + From his crown to his heels he was clad all in red, + And his hair like a flame on his shoulders was shed; + Not a word spake he, but clutching her hand, + Led her off through the darkness to Shadowland. + + What befell her there no mortal can tell, + But it must have been things indescribable, + For when she returned, at last, alone, + Her beauty was dead, and her youth was gone. + + They gather'd about her: she shook her head + --She had been through Hell--that was all she said + In answer to whens, and hows, and whys; + So they took her word, for she never told lies. + + And now, they say, when the sun goes down + This queer little woman, all shrivell'd and brown + Turns into a beautiful lass, once more, + With gold-stranded hair and soft eyes of yore, + + And out of the hills in the stills and the gloams + Her beautiful fabulous lover comes, + In scarlet doublet and red silken hose, + To woo her again--till the Chanticleer crows. + + And she, poor old crone, sits up on her hill + Through the long dreary night, till the dawn turns chill, + And suffers in silence and patience alway, + In the hope that God will forgive, some day. + + +MARGERY DAW + +[From the same] + + See-Saw! Margery Daw! + Sold her bed to lie upon straw; + Was she not a dirty slut + To sell her bed, and live in dirt? + + And yet perchance, were the circumstance + But known, of Margery's grim romance, + As sacred a veil might cover her then + As the pardon which fell on the Magdalen. + + It's a story told so often, so old, + So drearily common, so wearily cold: + A man's adventure,--a poor girl's fall-- + And a sinless scapegoat born--that's all. + + She was simple and young, and the song was sung + With so sweet a voice, in so strange a tongue, + That she follow'd blindly the Devil-song + Till the ground gave way, and she lay headlong. + + And then: not a word, not a plea for her heard, + Not a hand held out to the one who had err'd, + Her Christian sisters foremost to condemn-- + God pity the woman who falls before them! + + They closed the door for evermore + On the contrite heart which repented sore, + And she stood alone, in the outer night, + To feed her baby as best she might. + + So she sold her bed, for its daily bread, + The gown off her back, the shawl off her head, + Till her all lay piled on the pawner's shelf, + Then she clinch'd her teeth and sold herself. + + And so it came that Margery's name + Fell into a burden of Sorrow and Shame, + And Margery's face grew familiar in + The market-place where they trade in sin. + + What use to dwell on this premature Hell? + Suffice it to say that the child did well, + Till one night that Margery prowled the town, + Sickness was stalking, and struck her down. + + Her beauty pass'd, and she stood aghast + In the presence of want, and stripped, at the last, + Of all she had to be pawned or sold, + To keep her darling from hunger and cold. + + So the baby pined, till Margery, blind + With hunger of fever, in body and mind, + At dusk, when Death seem'd close at hand, + Snatch'd a loaf of bread from a baker's stand. + + Some Samaritan saw Margery Daw, + And lock'd her in gaol to lie upon straw: + Not a sparrow falls, they say--Oh well! + God was not looking when Margery fell. + + With irons girt, in her felon's shirt, + Poor Margery lies in sorrow and dirt, + A gaunt, sullen woman untimely gray, + With the look of a wild beast, brought to bay. + + See-saw! Margery Daw! + What a wise and bountiful thing, the Law! + It makes all smooth--for she's out of her head, + And her brat is provided for. It's dead. + + + + +WILLIAM H. WOODS + + +William Hervey Woods, poet, was born near Greensburg, Kentucky, +November 17, 1852, the son of a clergyman. He was educated at +Hampden-Sidney College, in Virginia, after which he studied for the +church at Union Theological Seminary, Richmond, Virginia. Mr. Woods +was ordained to the ministry of the Southern Presbyterian church in +1878; and since 1887 he has been pastor of the Franklin Square church +at Baltimore. For the past several years he has contributed poems to +_Scribner's_, _Harper's_, _The Century_, _The Atlantic Monthly_, _The +Youth's Companion_, _The Independent_, and several other periodicals. +This verse was collected and published in a pleasing little volume of +some hundred and fifty pages under the title of _The Anteroom and +Other Poems_ (Baltimore, 1911). As is true of the purely literary +labors of most clergymen, a few of the poems are somewhat marred by +the homiletical tone--they simply must point a moral, even though that +moral does not adorn the tale. Several of the poems reveal the +author's love for his birthplace, Kentucky; and, taken as a whole, the +book is one of which any of our singers might be proud. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Courier-Journal_ (January 16, 1912); + _Scribner's Magazine_ (July; August, 1912). + + +SYCAMORES[9] + +[From _The Anteroom and Other Poems_ (Baltimore, 1911)] + + They love no crowded forest dark, + They climb no mountains high, + But ranged along the pleasant vale + Where shining waters lie, + Their brown coats curling open show + A silvery undergleam, + Like the white limbs of laughing boys + Half ready for the stream. + + What if they yield no harvests sweet, + Nor massive timbers sound, + And all their summer leafage casts + But scanty shade around; + Their slender boughs with zephyrs dance, + Their young leaves laugh in tune, + And there's no lad in all the land + Knows better when 'tis June. + + They come from groves of Arcady, + Or some lost Land of Mirth, + That Work-a-day and Gain and Greed + May not possess the earth, + And though they neither toil nor spin, + Nor fruitful duties pay, + They also serve, mayhap, who help + The world keep holiday. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[9] Copyright, 1911, by the Author. + + + + +ANDREW W. KELLEY + + +Andrew W. Kelley ("Parmenas Mix"), poet preeminent of life on a country +newspaper, was born in the state of New York about 1852. When twenty +years of age he left Schenectady, New York, for Tennessee, but in 1873 +he settled at Franklin, Kentucky, where he spent the remainder of his +life. He was associate editor of Opie Read's paper, _The Patriot_, for +some time, but when that sheet died, he drifted from pillar to post +until a kindly death discovered him. The gossips of the quiet little +town of Franklin will to-day tell the enquirer for facts regarding +Kelley's life that he was engaged to a New York girl, all things were +ready for the celebration of the ceremony, when the bride-to-be suddenly +changed her mind, and poor _Parmenas Mix_ was thus started in the +drunkard's path. He planned to go East for several years prior to his +death, to seek his literary fortunes, but he sat in his room and dreamed +his life away. Kelley died at Franklin, Kentucky, in 1885. He was buried +in the potter's field, a pauper and an outcast, which condition was +wholly caused by excessive drinking. The very place of his grave can +only be guessed at to-day. Kelley wrote many poems, nearly all of which +celebrated some phase of life on a country newspaper, but his +masterpiece is _The Old Scissors' Soliloquy_, which was originally +published in _Scribner's Monthly_--now _The Century Magazine_--for +April, 1876. It appeared in the "Bric-a-Brac Department," illustrated +with a single tail-piece sketch of editorial scissors "lying at rest" +upon newspaper clippings, with "a whopping big rat in the paste." Many +of his other poems were also published in _Scribner's_. _The New +Doctor_, _Accepted and Will Appeal_, and _He Came to Pay_, done in the +manner of Bret Harte's _The Aged Stranger_, are exceedingly clever. A +slender collection of his poems could be easily made, and should be. +Opie Read wrote a tender tribute to the memory of his former friend, in +which his merits were thus summed up: "The country has surely produced +greater poets than 'Parmenas Mix,' but I doubt if we shall ever know a +truer lover of Nature's divine impulses. He lightened the heart and made +it tender, surely a noble mission; he talked to the lowly, he flashed +the diamond of his genius into many a dark recess. He preached the +gospel of good will; he sang a beautiful song." + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Blades o' Blue Grass_, by Fannie P. Dickey + (Louisville, 1892); _Poetry of American Wit and Humor_, by R. L. + Paget (Boston, 1899). + + +THE OLD SCISSORS' SOLILOQUY + +[From _Scribner's Monthly_, April, 1876] + + I am lying at rest in the sanctum to-night,-- + The place is deserted and still,-- + To my right lie exchanges and manuscripts white, + To my left are the ink and the quill-- + Yes, the quill, for my master's old-fashioned and quaint, + And refuses to write with a pen; + He insists that old Franklin, the editor saint, + Used a quill, and he'll imitate Ben. + + I love the old fellow--together for years + We have managed the _Farmer's Gazette_, + And although I am old, I'm his favorite shears + And can crowd the compositors yet. + But my duties are rather too heavy, I think, + And I oftentimes envy the quill + As it lazily leans with its nib in the ink + While I'm slashing away with a will. + + But when I was new,--I remember it well, + Though a score of long years have gone by,-- + The heaviest share of the editing fell + On the quill, and I think with a sigh + Of the days when I'd scissor an extract or two + From a neighboring editor's leader, + Then laugh in my sleeve at the quill as it flew + In behalf of the general reader. + + I am being paid off for my merriment then, + For my master is wrinkled and gray, + And seldom lays hold on his primitive pen + Except when he wishes to say: + "We are needing some money to run this machine, + And subscribers will please to remit;" + Or, "That last load of wood that Jones brought us was green, + And so knotty it couldn't be split." + + He is nervous and deaf and is getting quite blind + (Though he hates to acknowledge the latter), + And I'm sorry to say it's a puzzle to find + Head or tale to the most of his matter. + The compositors plague him whenever they see + The result of a luckless endeavor, + But the darling old rascal just lays it to me, + And I make no remonstrance whatever. + + Yes, I shoulder the blame--very little I care + For the jolly compositor's jest, + For I think of a head with the silvery hair + That will soon, very soon be at rest. + He has labored full long for the true and the good + 'Mid the manifold troubles that irk us-- + His only emolument raiment and food, + And--a pass, now and then, to the circus. + + Heigho! from the past comes a memory bright + Of a lass with the freshness of clover + Who used me to clip from her tresses one night + A memorial lock for her lover. + That dear little lock is still glossy and brown, + But the lass is much older and fatter, + And the youth--he's an editor here in the town-- + I'm employed on the staff of the latter. + + I am lying at rest in the sanctum to-night-- + The place is deserted and still-- + The stars are abroad and the moon is in sight + Through the trees on the brow of the hill. + Clouds hurry along in undignified haste + And the wind rushes by with a wail-- + Hello! there's a whooping big rat in the paste-- + How I'd like to shut down on his tail! + + +LATE NEWS + +[From _Scribner's Monthly_, December, 1876] + + In the sanctum I was sitting, + Engaged in thought befitting + A gentleman of letters--dunning letters, by the way-- + When a seedy sort of fellow, + Middle-aged and rather mellow, + Ambled in and questioned loudly, "Well, sir, what's the news to-day?" + + Then I smiled on him serenely-- + On the stranger dressed so meanly-- + And I told him that the Dutch had taken Holland, sure as fate; + And that the troops in Flanders, + Both privates and commanders, + Had been dealing very freely in profanity of late. + + Then the stranger, quite demurely, + Said, "That's interesting, surely; + Your facilities for getting news are excellent, that's clear; + Though excuse me, sir, for stating + That the facts you've been narrating + Are much fresher than the average of items gathered here!" + + + + +YOUNG E. ALLISON + + +Young Ewing Allison, one of the most versatile of the Kentucky writers +of the present school, was born at Henderson, Kentucky, December 23, +1853. He left school at an early age to become the "devil" in a +Henderson printing office. At seventeen years of age Mr. Allison was a +newspaper reporter. At different times he has been connected with _The +Journal_, of Evansville, Indiana; city and dramatic editor of _The +Courier-Journal_; editor of _The Louisville Commercial_; and from 1902 +to 1905 he was editor of _The Louisville Herald_. Mr. Allison founded +_The Insurance Field_ at Louisville, in 1887, and has since edited it. +He has thus been a newspaper man for more than forty years; and though +always very busy, he has found time to write fiction, verse, literary +criticism, history, and librettos. In prose fiction Mr. Allison is best +known by three stories: _The Passing of Major Kilgore_, which was +published as a novelette in _Lippincott's Magazine_ in 1888; _The +Longworth Mystery_ (_Century Magazine_, October, 1889); and _Insurance +at Piney Woods_ (Louisville, 1896). In half-whimsical literary criticism +he has published two small volumes which are known in many parts of the +world: _The Delicious Vice_ (Cleveland, 1907, first series; Cleveland, +1909, second series). These papers are "pipe dreams and adventures of an +habitual novel-reader among some great books and their people." Mr. +Allison's libretto, _The Ogallallas_, a romantic opera, was produced by +the Bostonians Opera Company in 1894; and his _Brother Francisco_, a +libretto of tragic opera, was presented at the Royal Opera House, +Berlin, by order of Emperor William II. The music to both of these +operas was composed by Mr. Henry Waller, Liszt's distinguished pupil. In +history Mr. Allison has written _The City of Louisville and a Glimpse of +Kentucky_ (Louisville, 1887); and _Fire Underwriting_ (Louisville, +1907). Of his lyrics, _The Derelict_, a completion of the four famous +lines in Robert Louis Stevenson's _Treasure Island_, has been printed by +almost every newspaper and magazine in the English-speaking world, set +to music by Mr. Waller, and an illustrated _edition de luxe_ has +recently appeared. _The Derelict_ and _The Delicious Vice_ have firmly +fixed Mr. Allison's fame. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Confessions of a Tatler_, by Elvira M. Slaughter + (Louisville, 1905); letter from Mr. Allison to the writer. + + +ON BOARD THE DERELICT + +A Reminiscence of _Treasure Island_ + +[From a leaflet edition] + + _Fifteen men on the Dead Man's chest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!_ + --[_Cap'n Billy Bones his song_] + + Fifteen men on the Dead Man's chest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + The mate was fixed by the bos'n's pike, + The bos'n brained with a marlinspike, + And the Cookey's throat was marked belike + It had been gripped + By fingers ten; + And there they lay, + All good dead men, + Like break-o'-day in a boozin' ken-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men of a whole ship's list-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Dead and bedamned, and the rest gone whist! + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + The skipper lay with his nob in gore + Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore, + And the scullion he was stabbed times four. + And there they lay + And the soggy skies + Dreened all day long + In up-staring eyes-- + At murk sunset and at foul sunrise-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Ten of the crew had the Murder mark-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + 'Twas a cutlass swipe, or an ounce of lead, + Or a yawing hole in a battered head-- + And the scuppers glut with a rotting red. + And there they lay-- + Aye, damn my eyes!-- + All lookouts clapped + On paradise, + All souls bound just the contra'wise-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men of 'em good and true-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Every man Jack could ha' sailed with Old Pew-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + There was chest on chest full of Spanish gold, + With a ton of plate in the middle hold, + And the cabins riot of loot untold. + And they lay there + That had took the plum + With sightless glare + And their lips struck dumb, + While we shared all by the rule of thumb-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + _More was seen through the sternlight screen-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Chartings undoubt where a woman had been-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + A flimsy shift on a bunker cot, + With a thin dirk slot through the bosom spot, + And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot. + Or was she wench ... + Or some shuddering maid...? + That dared the knife + And that took the blade?... + By God! she was stuff for a plucky jade!-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!_ + + Fifteen men on the Dead Man's chest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + We wrapp'd 'em all in a mains'l tight, + With twice ten turns of a hawser's bight + And we heaved 'em over and out of sight-- + With a yo-heave-ho! + And a fare-you-well! + And a sullen plunge + In the sullen swell, + Ten-fathoms deep on the road to hell-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + + + +HESTER HIGBEE GEPPERT + + +Mrs. Hester Higbee Geppert ("Dolly Higbee"), newspaper woman and +novelist, was born near Edina, Missouri, March 12, 1854. She was the +daughter of James Parker Higbee, a Kentuckian, and his second wife, +Martha Lane (Galleher) Higbee, a woman of Virginian parentage. Both of +Miss Higbee's parents died before she was fourteen years old, and she +came to Lexington, Kentucky, to live in the family of Dr. Samuel H. +Chew, who had married her half-sister. Dr. Chew's farm was situated +some seven miles from Lexington, and there Miss Higbee lived for ten +years. She was educated in Midway, Kentucky, and then taught for +several years. She detested teaching and, "in January, 1878, while it +was still quite dark, I stole down stairs with five dollars in my +pocket and such luggage as I could carry in a handbag, tiptoed into +the drizzle and 'lit out.'" The flip of a nickle determined that her +new home should be Louisville, and to that city she went. Miss Higbee +was the first woman in Kentucky, if not in the South, to adopt +journalism as a profession. The following fourteen years of her life +were spent in the daily grind of newspaperdom, she having held almost +every position on _The Courier-Journal_, save that of editor-in-chief. +In the four hottest weeks of the year, and in the brief intervals of +leisure she could snatch from her daily duties, Miss Higbee wrote her +now famous novel, _In God's Country_ (New York, 1890). After the +Lippincotts had refused this manuscript, _Belford's Monthly Magazine_ +accepted it by telegram, paying the author two hundred dollars for it, +and publishing it in the issue for November, 1889; and in the +following May the story appeared in book form. Colonel Henry Watterson +wrote a review of _In God's Country_ that was afterwards published as +an introduction for it, and this did much to bring the tale into wide +notice. Miss Higbee went to Chicago in 1893 to accept a position on +_The Tribune_. On April 4, 1894, she was married to Mr. William +Geppert of Atlanta, and the first five years of their married life +were spent at Atlanta. It was during this time that Mrs. Geppert's +best story was written, _Burton's Scoop_, one of the first American +stories written upon hypnotism and related phenomena. The opening +chapters of this appeared in the author's little literary magazine, +_The Autocrat_, which she conducted at Atlanta for about two years, +but it has never been published in book form. Two musical romances, +entitled _The Scherzo in B-Flat Minor_ (Atlanta, 1895), and _Un Ze +Studio_ (Atlanta, 1895), attracted considerable attention, and a third +was announced as _Side Lights_, but was never published. _In God's +Country_ was dramatized, with Miss Catherine Gray cast in the role of +_Lydia_, and opened at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, September +5, 1897, but the work of the playwright and actors was most +displeasing to the author. In 1900 Mr. Geppert became one of the +editors of the New York _Musical Courier_, and he and his wife have +since resided at Croton-on-the-Hudson. Mrs. Geppert has abandoned +literature, but _In God's Country_ has given her a permanent place +among the writers of Kentucky.[10] + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Confessions of a Tatler_, by Elvira M. Slaughter + (Louisville, 1905); _Lexington Leader_ (July 25, 1909). + + +THE GARDENER AND THE GIRL[11] + +[From _In God's Country_ (New York, 1890)] + +Her hair had come down and was tumbling about her neck; she whipped it +out and caught it back with a hairpin, took up the guitar, and +skirted the shadowy porch to the room over the kitchen. The window was +open and she could see Karl sitting in the middle of the room with his +head bowed upon his hands. She tapped lightly on the pane. He looked +up and saw her standing in the dim light with the guitar in her hand. + +"Karl," she said, "I want you to sing me that song before you go--the +one you sung me that day for your dinner." + +He came forward and took the instrument. He saw she had been crying, but +the experience of the summer had been so crushing, he was so subdued by +her past behavior, that he did not dream the tears were for him. + +"You are grieved for someding," he said, with touching sympathy. + +He opened the door and gave her a chair, and, sitting near her on the +sill of the window, began to sing the song with all the tenderness and +pathos his own yearning and bitter disappointment could put into it. It +brought back all the old tumult. She saw now, when it was too late, that +she had overestimated her strength. When he finished, she was sobbing; +and in an instant he was kneeling by her chair, raising to her a face +sad, searching, but shining with the tremulous glow of a hope just born. + +"You weep. Liebchen, is it for me?" + +She did not answer, but laid a hand gently on his head and looked at +him, with all the pent yearning of her full heart, all the agony of +that long, weary struggle, and all the pathos of defeat in her eyes. +It was no use. At that moment it seemed that there was nothing else in +the world but him. Everything else was remote, dim, and unreal. + +He clasped her with a fierce, exultant joy. + +"You love me in spite of dis?" he asked, looking down at his coarse +attire. "You love me in spite of dat I am your nigga?" + +"In spite of all," she faltered. + +It was out at last: the crest of victory sank in inglorious surrender. +Her humiliation was his triumph. + +He looked at her with a face radiant, shining with a beauty not of +earth. + +"Liebchen," he whispered, "it is divine." + +"You vill gome mit me to mein gountry?" he asked presently. + +She laid a finger on his lips. "Don't," she said; "I can't bear it." + +"I vill not be a vagabond in mein own gountry; we vill be very happy. +Gome mit me, Liebchen." + +He would not be a vagabond in his own country. The information that +would have been worth much to her once was worth nothing now. She +scarcely heard it. + +"I can't do that," she said. "You must go, and I must stay here and do +as I have promised; but I wanted to tell you that I know I have been +very cruel, and that I am very sorry. It was hard for me, too, and I +could not trust myself to be kind." + +It seemed but a moment she had been sitting there with his arms around +her and his head upon her breast, but the east was red and the sun was +almost up. Lydia rose wearily. The sense of defeat, that was more +fatiguing than the struggle, clung to her. "It's time you were gone," +she said. He took her hands in his and asked, with searching +earnestness, + +"If you love me, vy vill you not gome mit me?" + +"I can't," she answered, too tired for explanation. + +"Is it your fader?" he asked. + +She nodded, and said good-bye, looking up at him with a tender glow on +her face. The hair streaming about her shoulders had caught the flame +of sunrise like a torch. He stooped and touched it with his lips as +reverently as he would have kissed the garment of a saint. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[10] Mrs. Geppert died at Scarsborough-on-the-Hudson, New York, +February 23, 1913. Her remains were not brought to Kentucky for +interment. + +[11] Copyright, 1890, by the Belford Company. + + + + +HENRY C. WOOD + + +Henry Cleveland Wood, novelist and verse-maker, was born at +Harrodsburg, Kentucky, in January, 1855. His mother was a writer of +local reputation. In 1874 Mr. Wood's poems and stories began to appear +in English and American magazines; and he has continued his work for +them until this day. Seven of his novels have been serialized by the +following publications: _Pretty Jack and_ _Ugly Carl_ (_The +Courier-Journal_); _Impress of Seal and Clay_ (_New York Ledger_, in +collaboration with his uncle, Henry W. Cleveland, author of a +biography of Alexander H. Stephens); _The Kentucky Outlaw_, and _Love +that Endured_ (_New York Ledger_); _Faint Heart and Fair Lady_ (_The +Designer_); _The Night-Riders_ (_Taylor-Trotwood Magazine_); and _Weed +and War_ (_The Home and Farm_). Of these only one has been issued in +book form, _The Night Riders_ (Chicago, 1908). This was a tale of love +and adventure, depicting the protest against the toll-gate system in +Kentucky years ago, with a brief inclusion of the more recent tobacco +troubles. Mr. Wood's verse has been printed in _Harper's Weekly_, +_Cosmopolitan_, _Ainslee's Magazine_, _The Smart Set_, _The Youth's +Companion_, and other periodicals. Two of his librettos, _The Sultan's +Gift_ and _Amor_, have been set to music; and at least one of his +plays has been produced, entitled _The Pretty Shakeress_. Mr. Wood +conducts a little bookshop in his native town of Harrodsburg. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Blades o' Blue Grass_, by Fannie P. Dickey + (Louisville, 1892); _Illustrated Kentuckian_ (November, 1894). + + +THE WEAVER + +[From _The Quiver_ (London, England)] + + The sun climbed up the eastern hills, + And through the dewy land + Shot gleams that fell athwart the rills + That sang on every hand. + + Upon the wood and in the air + There hung a mystic spell, + And on the green sward, every where, + Soft shadows lightly fell. + + And in a cottage where the bloom + Of roses on the wall + Filled all the air, there was a loom + Well built of oak and tall. + + All through the fragrant summer day + A maiden, blithe and fair, + Sat at the loom and worked away, + And hummed a simple air;-- + + "Oh! idle not, ye leafy trees, + Weave nets of yellow sun, + And kiss me oft, O! balmy breeze, + My task is but begun." + + Still higher in the hazy sky + The sun climbed on and on, + And autumn winds came rushing by, + The summer's bloom was gone; + + Now sat a mother at the loom, + The shuttle flew along, + With whirr that filled the little room + Together with her song;-- + + "O! shuttle! faster, faster fly, + For know ye not the sun + Is climbing high across the sky, + And yet my work's not done?" + + The sun shot gleams of amber light + Along the barren ground, + And shadows of the coming night + Fell softly all around. + + And in the little cottage room + From early dawn till night, + A woman sat before the loom + With hair of snowy white. + + The hands were palsied now that threw + The shuttle to and fro, + While as the fabric longer grew + She sang both sweet and low;-- + + "Half hidden in the rosy west + I see the golden sun, + And I shall soon begin my rest, + My task is almost done!" + + * * * * * + + The spring again brought joy and bloom, + And kissed each vale and hill; + But in the little cottage room + The oaken beam was still. + + The swaying boughs with rays of gold + Wove nets of yellow sun, + And cast them where a headstone told-- + The weaver's task was done. + + + + +WILLIAM E. CONNELLEY + + +William Elsey Connelley, historian and antiquarian, was born near +Paintsville, Kentucky, March 15, 1855, the son of a soldier. At the +age of seventeen he became a teacher in his native county of Johnson; +and for the following ten years he continued in that work. John C. C. +Mayo, the mountain millionaire, was one of his pupils. In April, 1881, +Mr. Connelley went to Kansas; and two years later he was elected clerk +of Wyandotte county, of which Kansas City, Kansas, is the county-seat. +In 1888 he engaged in the lumber business in Missouri; and four years +thereafter he surrendered that business in order to devote himself to +his banking interests, which have hitherto required a considerable +portion of his time. In 1905 Mr. Connelley wrote the call for the +first meeting of the oil men of Kansas, which resulted in the +organization of an association that began a crusade upon the Standard +Oil Company, and which subsequently resulted in the dissolution of +that corporation by the Supreme Court of the United States. This is +set down here because Mr. Connelley is, perhaps, prouder of it than of +of any other thing he has done. He is well-known by students of +Western history, but, of course, his fame as a writer has not reached +the general reader. He is a member of many historical societies and +associations, including the American, Nebraska, Missouri, Ohio, and +Kansas, of which he was president in 1912. Mr. Connelley has made +extensive investigations into the language and history of several of +the Indian tribes of Kansas, his vocabulary of the Wyandot tongue +being the first one ever written. He has many original documents +pertaining to the history of eastern Kentucky; and the future +historian of that section of the state cannot proceed far without +consulting his collection. The novelist of the mountains, John Fox, +Jr., has sat at the feet of the historian and learned of his people. +Mr. Connelley lives at Topeka, Kansas. A complete list of his works +is: _The Provisional Government of Nebraska Territory_ (Topeka, 1899); +_James Henry Lane, the Grim Chieftain of Kansas_ (Topeka, 1899); +_Wyandot Folk-Lore_ (Topeka, 1899); _Kansas Territorial Governors_ +(Topeka, 1900); _John Brown--the Story of the Last of the Puritans_ +(Topeka, 1900); _The Life of John J. Ingalls_ (Kansas City, Missouri, +1903); _Fifty Years in Kansas_ (Topeka, 1907); _The Heckewelder +Narrative_ (Cleveland, Ohio, 1907), being the narrative of John G. E. +Heckewelder (1743-1823), concerning the mission of the United Brethren +among the Delaware and Mohegan Indians from 1740 to the close of +1808, and the finest book ever issued by a Western publisher, +originally selling for twenty dollars a copy, but now out of print and +very scarce; _Doniphan's Expedition_ (Topeka, 1907); _The Ingalls of +Kansas: a Character Study_ (Topeka, 1909); _Quantrill and the Border +Wars_ (Cedar Rapids, 1910), one of his best books; and _Eastern +Kentucky Papers_ (Cedar Rapids, 1910), "the founding of Harman's +Station, with an account of the Indian Captivity of Mrs. Jennie +Wiley." In 1911 Baker University conferred the honorary degree of A. +M. upon him. For the last three years Mr. Connelley has been preparing +a biography of Preston B. Plumb, United States Senator from Kansas for +a generation, which will be published in 1913. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913); letters from Mr. + Connelley to the writer. + + +KANSAS HISTORY + +[From _History as an Asset of the State_ (Topeka, Kansas, 1912)] + +Kansas history is like that of no other State. The difference is +fundamental--not a dissimilarity in historical annals. This fact has +been long recognized. A quarter of a century ago Ware wrote that-- + + Of all the States, but three will live in story: + Old Massachusetts with her Plymouth Rock, + And old Virginia with her noble stock, + And sunny Kansas with her woes and glory. + +The south line of Kansas is the modified line between free soil and +slave territory as those divisions existed down to the abolition of +slavery. For almost half a century it was the policy of the Government +to send here the remnants of the Indian tribes pushed west by our +occupation of their country. The purpose in this was to make the +Western prairies the Indian country of America and thus prevent its +settlement until the slave-power was ready to utilize it for its +peculiar institution. Many things occurred which had not been counted +on, and the country was forced open before the South was ready to +undertake its settlement. While the crisis was premature, the +slave-power entered upon the contest with confidence. It had never +lost a battle in its conflict with the free-soil portion of the Union, +and it expected to win in Kansas. The struggle was between the two +antagonistic predominant ideas developed in our westward expansion, +and ended in a war which involved the entire nation and threatened the +existence of the Union. Politically, Kansas was the rock about which +the troubled waters surged for ten years. The Republican party grew +largely out of the conditions and influence of Kansas. When +hostilities began the Kansans enlisted in the armies of the Union in +greater proportion to total population than did the people of any +other State. Here the war was extremely bitter, and in some instances +it became an effort for extermination. Kansas towns were sacked, and +non-combatants were ruthlessly butchered. The border embraced at that +time all the settled portion of the State, and it would be difficult +indeed to make the people of this day comprehend what occurred here. +Kansas was founded in and by a bloody struggle, which, within her +bounds, continued for ten years. No other State ever fought so well. +Kansas was for freedom. She won, and the glory of it is that the +victory gave liberty to America. That is why we maintain that Kansas +history stands alone in interest and importance in American annals. + +The history of a State is a faithful account of the events of its +formation and development. If the account is set out in sufficient +detail there will be preserved the fine delineations of the emotions +which moved the people. These emotions arise out of the experiences of +the people. And the pioneers fix the lines of their experiences. They +lay the pattern and mark out the way the State is to go, and this way +can never be altered, and can, moreover, be but slightly modified for +all time. These emotions produce ideals which become universal and the +common aim of the State, and they wield a wonderful influence on its +progress, growth, and achievement. A people devoid of ideals can +scarcely be found, but ideals differ just as the experiences which +produced the emotions from which they result differed. If there be no +particular principle to be striven for in the founding of a State, +then no ideals will appear, and such as exist among the people will be +found to have come over the lines from other and older States. Or, if +by chance any be developed they will be commonplace and ordinary, and +will leave the people in lethargy and purposeless so far as the +originality of the thought of the State is concerned. The ideals +developed by a fierce struggle for great principles are lofty, sublime +in their conception and intent. The higher the ideals, the greater the +progress; the more eminent the achievement, the more marked the +individuality, the stronger the characteristics of the people. + + + + +CHARLES T. DAZEY + + +Charles Turner Dazey, author of _In Old Kentucky_, was born at Lima, +Illinois, August 13, 1855, the son and grandson of Kentuckians. When a +lad the future dramatist was brought to Kentucky for a visit at the +home of his grandparents in Bourbon county, whom he was to visit again +before returning to Kentucky, in 1872, to enter the Agricultural and +Mechanical College of Kentucky University, where he studied for a +year. In the fall of 1873 young Dazey matriculated in the Arts College +of the University. Ill-health caused him to miss the following year, +but he returned in 1875 and remained a student in the University until +the summer of 1877. He was a member of the old Periclean Society, the +society of James Lane Allen and John Fox, Jr., while at the +University. When he left Lexington he lacked two years of graduation. +Mr. Dazey later went to Harvard University, where he was one of the +editors of the _Harvard Advocate_, and the poet of his class of 1881. +While a Senior at Cambridge he had begun dramatic composition, and +after leaving the University he became a full-fledged playwright. His +plays include: _An American King_; _That Girl from Texas_--first +called _A Little Maverick_--with Maggie Mitchell in the title-role; +_The War of Wealth_; _The Suburban_; _Home Folks_; _The Stranger_, in +which Wilton Lackaye played for two seasons; _The Old Flute-Player_; +and _Love Finds a Way_. In collaboration with Oscar Weil Mr. Dazey +wrote _In Mexico_, a comic opera, produced by The Bostonians; and with +George Broadhurst he wrote two plays: _An American Lord_, with William +H. Crane as the star; and _The Captain_, played by N. C. Goodwin. + +The play by Mr. Dazey in which we are especially interested here, is, +of course, _In Old Kentucky_, a drama in four acts, first written to +order for Katie Putnam, a soubrette star, who was very popular a +quarter of a century ago. She, however, did not consider the play +suited to her, and it was then offered to several managers without +success, until it was finally accepted by Jacob Litt. When first +produced by Mr. Litt at St. Paul on August 4, 1892, it had a most +distinguished cast: Julia Arthur, the beautiful, appeared as _Barbara +Holton_; Louis James as _Col. Doolittle_; Frank Losee as _Joe Lorey_; +and Marion Elmore made a most alluring _Madge Brierly_. This was only +a trial production, and the play went into the store-house for a year, +when, in August, 1893, it began its first annual tour at the Bijou +Theatre (now the Lyceum), at Pittsburgh. In that first regular company +Bettina Gerard played _Madge_; Burt Clark, _Col. Doolittle_; George +Deyo, _Joe Lorey_; William McVey, _Horace Holton_; Harrison J. Wolfe, +_Frank Layson_; Charles K. French, _Uncle Neb_; Edith Athelston, +_Barbara_; and Lottie Winnett was _Aunt Alathea_. Mr. Litt and his +associate, A. W. Dingwall, have always mounted _In Old Kentucky_ +handsomely, and this has been an important element in its great +success. For twenty years this drama of the bluegrass and the +mountains has held the boards, more than seven million people have +seen it, and even to-day it is being produced almost daily with no +signs of loss in popular interest. It is the only play Mr. Dazey has +written with a Kentucky background, and it would be "a hazard of new +fortunes" for him to attempt to do so; he could hardly improve upon +his masterpiece. In 1897 Mr. Litt had a small edition of _In Old +Kentucky_ privately printed from the prompt-books; and in 1910 Mr. +Dazey collaborated with Edward Marshall in a novelization of the play, +which was published as an attractive romance by the G. W. Dillingham +Company, of New York. With Mr. Marshall he also novelized _The Old +Flute-Player_ (New York, 1910). Mr. Dazey has recently dramatized +_Fran_, John Breckinridge Ellis's popular novel; and at the present +time he is engaged upon a new play, which he thinks, promises better +than anything he has so far written. Mr. Dazey was in Kentucky several +times between 1877 and 1898, the date of his most recent visit, at +which time he found John Fox, Jr., giving one of his inevitable +readings in Lexington, and James Lane Allen looking for the last time, +mayhap, upon the scenes of his books. He spent several weeks with +friends and relatives near Paris; and, like all good Kentuckians, he +"hopes to revisit the dear old state in the near future." Mr. Dazey +has an attractive home at Quincy, Illinois. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Who's Who in the Theatre_, by John Porter (Boston, + 1912); letters from Mr. Dazey to the writer. + + +THE FAMOUS KNOT-HOLE[12] + +[From _In Old Kentucky_ (1897)] + +_Act III, Scene IV. The exterior of the race-track. Fence, tree, etc._ + + _Colonel._ (_Enter L._) I didn't go in. I kept my word, though it + nearly finished me. (_Shouts heard._) They're bringing out the + horses. (_Looks through knot-hole._) I can't see worth a cent. + It's not hole enough for me. To Hades with dignity! I'll inspect + that tree. (_Goes to tree; puts arm around it._) + +[_Enter_ Alathea, _R._] + + _Alathea._ (_Pauses, R. C._) Everyone's at the races. I'm + perfectly safe. There is that blessed knot-hole. (_Goes to hole; + looks through._) + + _Col._ (_Comes from behind tree; sees Alathea._) A woman, by all + that's wonderful--a woman at my knot-hole. (_Approaches._) Madam! + (_Lays hand on her shoulder._) + + _Alathea._ (_Indignantly._) Sir! (_Turns._) Col. Sundusky + Doolittle! + + _Col._ Miss Alathea Layson! (_Bus. bows._) + + _Alathea._ Colonel, what are you all doing here? + + _Col._ Madam, what are you all doing here? + + _Alathea._ Colonel, I couldn't wait to hear the result. + + _Col._ No more could I. + + _Alathea._ But I didn't enter the race-track. + + _Col._ I was equally firm. + + _Alathea._ Neb. told me of the knot-hole. + + _Col._ The rascal, he told me, too! + + _Alathea._ Colonel, we must forgive each other. If you really must + look, there is the knot-hole. + + _Col._ No, Miss Lethe, I resign the knot-hole to you. I shall + climb the tree. + + _Alathea._ (_As Colonel climbs tree._) Be careful, Colonel, don't + break your neck, but get where you can see. + + _Col._ (_Up tree._) Ah, what a gallant sight! There's Catalpa, + Evangeline--and there's Queen Bess! (_Shouts heard._) + + _Alathea._ What's that? (_To tree._) + + _Col._ A false start. They'll make it this time. (_Shouts heard._) + They're off--off! Oh, what a splendid start! + + _Alathea._ Who's ahead? Who's ahead? (_To tree._) + + _Col._ Catalpa sets the pace, the others lying well back. + + _Alathea._ Why doesn't Queen Bess come to the front? Oh, if I were + only on that mare. (_Back to fence._) + + _Col._ At the half, Evangeline takes the lead--Catalpa next--the + rest bunched. Oh, great heavens!--(_Lethe to tree._)--there's a + foul--a jam--and Queen Bess is left behind ten lengths! She hasn't + the ghost of a show! Look! (_Lethe back to tree._) She's at it + again. But she can't make it up. It's beyond anything mortal. And + yet she's gaining--gaining! + + _Alathea._ (_Bus._) Keep it up--keep it up! + + _Col._ At the three quarters; she's only five lengths behind the + leader, and gaining still! + + _Alathea._ (_Bus._) Oh, push!--push!--I can't stand it! I've got + to see! (_Climbs tree._) + + _Col._ Coming up, Miss Lethe! All right, don't break your neck, + but get where you can see. In the stretch. Her head's at Catalpa's + crupper--now her saddle-bow, but she can't gain another inch! But + look--look! she lifts her--and, Great Scott! she wins! + +(_As he speaks, flats forming fence are drawn. Horses dash past, Queen +Bess in the lead. Drop at back shows grand stand, with fence in front +of same. Spectators back of fence._ Neb. _and_ Frank. _Band playing +"Dixie."_ Holton _standing near, chagrined._ Col. _waves hat and_ +Alathea _handkerchief, in tree. Spectators shout._) + +(_For second curtain_, Madge _returns on Queen Bess_. Col. _and_ +Alathea _down from tree and passing near. Other horses enter as +curtain falls._) + +[_Curtain_] + +FOOTNOTE: + +[12] Copyright, 1897, by Jacob Litt. + + + + + +JOHN P. FRUIT + + +John Phelps Fruit, the distinguished Poe scholar, was born at +Pembroke, Kentucky, November 22, 1855. He was graduated from Bethel +College, Russellville, Kentucky, in 1878, after which he became a +teacher. For two years Professor Fruit was president of Liberty +College, Glasgow, Kentucky; and from 1883 to 1897 he was professor of +English in his _alma mater_, Bethel College. In 1895 the University of +Leipzig granted him the Ph. D. degree; and three years later he was +elected to the chair of English in William Jewell College, Liberty, +Missouri, which he still occupies. Dr. Fruit's first work was an +edition of Milton's _Lycidas_ (Boston, 1894), and this was followed by +his edition of Coleridge's _The Ancient Mariner_ (Boston, 1899). Both +of these little volumes have been used in many schools and colleges. +Dr. Fruit devoted many years to the study of Edgar Allan Poe and his +works, and his researches he brought together in _The Mind and Art of +Poe's Poetry_ (New York, 1899). This book gave Dr. Fruit a foremost +place among the Poe scholars of his time. His work was officially +recognized by the University of Virginia, the poet's college, and it +has been widely and cordially reviewed. At the present time Dr. Fruit +is engaged in a comprehensive study of Nathaniel Hawthorne, his +pamphlet, entitled _Hawthorne's Immitigable_ (Louisville, Kentucky, n. +d.), having attracted a deal of attention. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913); letters from + Prof. Fruit to the writer. + + +THE CLIMAX OF POE'S POETRY[13] + +[From _The Mind and Art of Poe's Poetry_ (New York, 1899)] + +Accustomed as we are, from infancy up, to so much "rhyme without +reason," in our nursery jingles and melodies, we associate some of +Poe's poetry, remotely, at first blush, with the negroes singing "in +the cotton and the corn." So much sound makes us suspicious of the +sense, but a little closer ear appreciates delicate and telling +onomatopoetic effects. Liquids and vowels join hands in sweetest +fellowship to unite "the hidden soul of harmony." + +As if, at last, to give the world assurance that he had been trifling +with rhythm and rhyme, he wrote _The Bells_. + +The secret of the charm resides in the humanizing of the tones of the +bells. It is not personification, but the speaking in person to our +souls. To appreciate this more full, observe how Ruskin humanizes the +sky for us. "Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful, +never the same for two moments together; almost human in its passions, +almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost divine in its infinity, its +appeal to what is immortal in us, is as distinct, as its ministry of +chastisement or of blessing to what is mortal is essential." + +Poe made so much of music in his doctrine of poetry, yet he never +humanized the notes of a musical instrument.... + +He took the common bells,--the more praise for his artistic +judgment,--and rang them through all the diapason of human sentiment. + +If we have imagined a closer correspondence between expression and +conception, in the previously considered poems, than really exists, +there can be no doubt on that point, even to the mind of the wayfaring +man, in reading _The Bells_. + +If it be thought that the poet could harp on only one theme, let the +variety of topic in _The Bells_ protest. + +Again, Poe's doctrine of "rhythm and rhyme" finds its amplest +verification in _The Bells_. Reason and not "ecstatic intuition," led +him to conclude that English versification is exceedingly simple; that +"one-tenth of it, possibly, may be called ethereal; nine-tenths, +however, appertain to the mathematics; and the whole is included +within the limits of the commonest common-sense." + +It must be believed that Poe appropriated, with the finest artistic +discernment, the vitalizing power of rhythm and rhyme, and nowhere +with more skill than in _The Bells_. It is the climax of his art on +its technical side. + +Read the poem and think back over the course of the development of +poet's art-instincts. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[13] Copyright, 1899, by A. S. Barnes and Company. + + + + +HARRISON ROBERTSON + + +Thomas Harrison Robertson, erstwhile poet and novelist, and now a +well-known journalist, was born at Murfreesboro, Tennessee, January +16, 1856. He was educated at the University of Virginia, after which +he settled at Louisville, Kentucky, as a newspaper man, verse-maker, +and fictionist. Mr. Robertson has held almost every position on _The +Courier-Journal_, being managing editor at the present time. He won +his first fame with a Kentucky racing story, the best one ever +written, entitled _How the Derby Was Won_, which was originally +published in _Scribner's Magazine_ for August, 1889. Ten years later +his first long novel, _If I Were a Man_ (New York, 1899), "the story +of a New-Southerner," appeared, and it was followed by _Red Blood and +Blue_ (New York, 1900); _The Inlander_ (New York, 1901); _The +Opponents_ (New York, 1902); and his most recent novel, _The Pink +Typhoon_ (New York, 1906), an automobile love story of slight merit. +In the early eighties "T. H. Robertson" wrote some of the very +cleverest verse, so-called society verse for the most part, that has +ever been done by a Kentucky hand; but he soon abandoned "Thomas" and +the Muse. The writer has always held that our literature lost a +charming poet to win a feeble fictionist when Harrison Robertson +changed literary steads, although his _How the Derby Was Won_ must not +be forgotten. Now, however, he has given up the literary life for the +daily grind of a great newspaper; and he may never publish another +poem or novel. More's the pity! + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Book Buyer_ (April, 1900; April, 1901); + _Scribner's Magazine_ (October, 1907); _The Bookman_ (December, + 1910). + + +TWO TRIOLETS[14] + +[From _A Vers de Societe Anthology_, by Caroline Wells (New York, +1907)] + + I + + What He Said: + + This kiss upon your fan I press-- + Ah! Sainte Nitouche, you don't refuse it? + And may it from its soft recess-- + This kiss upon your fan I press-- + Be blown to you, a shy caress, + By this white down, whene'er you use it. + This kiss upon your fan I press-- + Ah, Sainte Nitouche, you _don't_ refuse it! + + II + + What She Thought: + + To kiss a fan! + What a poky poet! + The stupid man, + To kiss a fan, + When he knows that--he--can-- + Or ought to know it-- + To kiss a _fan_! + What a poky poet! + + +STORY OF THE GATE + +[From the same] + + Across the pathway, myrtle-fringed, + Under the maple, it was hinged-- + The little wooden gate; + 'Twas there within the quiet gloam, + When I had strolled with Nelly home, + I used to pause and wait. + + Before I said to her good-night + Yet loath to leave the winsome sprite + Within the garden's pale; + And there, the gate between us two, + We'd linger as all lovers do, + And lean upon the rail. + + And face to face, eyes close to eyes, + Hands meeting hands in feigned surprise, + After a stealthy quest,-- + So close I'd bend, ere she'd retreat, + That I'd grow drunken from the sweet + Tuebrose upon her breast. + + We'd talk--in fitful style, I ween-- + With many a meaning glance between + The tender words and low; + We'd whisper some dear, sweet conceit, + Some idle gossip we'd repeat, + And then I'd move to go. + + "Good-night," I'd say; "good-night--good-by!" + "Good-night"--from her with half a sigh-- + "Good-night!" "_Good_-night!" And then-- + And then I do _not_ go, but stand, + Again lean on the railing, and-- + Begin it all again. + + Ah! that was many a day ago-- + That pleasant summer-time--although + The gate is standing yet; + A little cranky, it may be, + A little weather-worn--like me-- + Who never can forget + + The happy--"End?" My cynic friend, + Pray save your sneers--there was no "end." + Watch yonder chubby thing! + That is our youngest, hers and mine; + See how he climbs, his legs to twine + About the gate and swing. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[14] Copyright, 1907, by Charles Scribner's Sons. + + + + +INGRAM CROCKETT + + +Ingram Crockett, whom a group of critics have hailed as one of the most +exquisite poets of Nature yet born in Kentucky, first saw the light at +Henderson, Kentucky, February 10, 1856. His father, John W. Crockett, +was a noted public speaker in his day and generation, and a member of +the Confederate Congress from Kentucky. Ingram Crockett was educated in +the schools of his native town, but he never went to college. For many +years past Mr. Crockett has been cashier of the Planters State Bank, +Henderson, but the jingle of the golden coins has not seared the spirit +of song within his soul. In 1888 he began his literary career by +editing, with the late Charles J. O'Malley, the Kentucky poet and +critic, _Ye Wassail Bowle_, a pamphlet anthology of Kentucky poems and +prose pieces. A small collection of Mr. Crockett's poems, entitled _The +Port of Pleasant Dreams_ (Henderson, 1892), was followed by a long poem, +_Rhoda, an Easter Idyl_. The first large collection of his lyrics was +_Beneath Blue Skies and Gray_ (New York, 1898). This volume won the poet +friends in all parts of the country, and proclaimed him a true +interpreter of many-mooded Nature. _A Year Book of Kentucky Woods and +Fields_ (Buffalo, New York, 1901), a prose-poem, contains some excellent +writing. A story of the Christiandelphians of western Kentucky, _A +Brother of Christ_ (New York, 1905), is Mr. Crockett's only novel, and +it was not overly successful. _The Magic of the Woods and Other Poems_ +(Chicago, 1908), is his most recent volume of verse. "It contains poems +as big as the world," one enthusiastic critic exclaimed, but it has not +brought the author the larger recognition that he so richly deserves. +This work surely contains Mr. Crockett's best work so far. One does not +have to travel far in any direction in Kentucky in order to find many +persons declaring that Ingram Crockett is the finest poet living in the +state to-day. His latest book, _The Greeting and Goodbye of the Birds_ +(New York, 1912), is a small volume of prose-pastels, somewhat after the +manner of his _Year Book_. It again reveals the author's close +companionship with Nature, and his exquisite expression of what it all +means to him. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Blades o' Blue Grass_, by Fannie P. Dickey + (Louisville, 1892); _The Courier-Journal_ (August 3, 1912). + + +AUDUBON[15] + +[From _Beneath Blue Skies and Gray_ (New York, 1898)] + + Not with clash of arms, + Not 'midst war's alarms, + Thy splendid work was done, + Thy great victory won. + + Unknown, thro' field and brake, + By calm or stormy lake, + Lured by swift passing wings-- + Songs that a new world sings-- + + Thou didst untiring go + Led by thine ardor's glow, + Cheered by thy kindling thought + Beauty thy hand had wrought. + + Leaving thy matchless page + Gift to a later age + That would revere thy name-- + Build for thee, surely fame. + + O, to have been with thee, + In that wild life and free, + While all the birds passed by + Under the new world sky! + + O, to have heard the song + Of that glad-hearted throng, + Ere yet the settlers came + Giving the woods to flame! + + O, to have with thee gone + Up the white steps of Dawn! + Or where the burning west + Crimsoned the wild drake's breast! + + Yet better than bays we bring + Are the woods whispering + When life and leaf are new + Under the tender blue! + + Master, awake! for May + Comes on her rainbowed way-- + Hear thou bird-song again + Sweeter than praise of men! + + +THE LONGING[16] + +[From _The Magic of the Woods and Other Poems_ (Chicago, 1908)] + + I am weary of thought, forever the world goes by + With laughter and tears, and no one can tell me why-- + I am weary of thought and all it may ever bring-- + _But oh, for the light-loving fields where the meadow-larks sing!_ + + I have toiled at the mills, I've known the grind and the roar + Over and over again one day as the day before-- + And what does it all avail and the end of it--where? + _But oh, for the clover in bloom and the breeze blowing there!_ + + Fame? What is fame but a glimmering mote, earth cast, + That e'en as we grasp it dulls--dust of the dust at last. + For what have the ages to say of the myriad dead? + _But oh, for the frost-silvered hills and the dawn breaking red!_ + + Ah, God! the day is so short and the night comes so soon! + And who will remember the time, or the wish, or the boon? + And who can turn backward our feet from the destined place? + _But oh, for the bobolink's cheer and the beauty of April's face!_ + + +DEAREST + +[From the same] + + Dearest, there is a scarlet leaf upon the blackgum tree, + And in the corn the crickets chirp a ceaseless threnody-- + And scattered down the purple swales are clumps of marigold, + And hazier are the distant fields in many a lilac fold. + + Dearest, the elder bloom is gone, and heavy, dark maroon, + The elderberries bow beneath a mellow, ripening noon-- + And, shaking out its silver sail, the milkweed-down is blown + Through deeps of dreamy amber air in search of ports unknown. + + Dearest, full many a flower now lies withered by the path, + Their fragrance but a memory, the soul's sad aftermath-- + The birds are flown, save now and then some loiterer thrills the way + With joyous bursts of lyric song born of the heart of May. + + Ah, dearest, it is good-bye time for Summer and her train, + And many a golden hour will pass that ne'er shall come again-- + But, dearest, Love with us abides tho' all the rest should go, + And in Love's garden, dearest one, there is no hint of snow. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[15] Copyright, 1898, by R. H. Russell. + +[16] Copyright, 1908, by the Author. + + + + +ELIZA CALVERT OBENCHAIN + + +Mrs. Eliza Calvert Obenchain, ("Eliza Calvert Hall"), creator of _Aunt +Jane of Kentucky_, was born at Bowling Green, Kentucky, February 11, +1856; and she has lived in that little city all her life. Miss Calvert +was educated in the private schools of her town, and then spent a year +at "The Western," a woman's college near Cincinnati, Ohio. Her first +poems appeared in the old _Scribner's_, when John G. Holland was the +editor; and her first prose papers were published in _Kate Field's +Washington_. She was married to Professor William A. Obenchain, of +Ogden College, Bowling Green, on July 8, 1885, and four children have +been born to them. _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_ (Boston, 1907), the +memories of an old lady done into short stories, opens with one of the +best tales ever written by an American woman, entitled _Sally Ann's +Experience_. This charming prose idyl first appeared in the +_Cosmopolitan Magazine_, for July, 1898, since which time it has been +cordially commended by former President Roosevelt, has been reprinted +in _Cosmopolitan_, _The Ladies' Home Journal_, and many other +magazines, read by many public speakers, and finally issued as a +single book in an illustrated _edition de luxe_ (Boston, 1910). Many +of the other stories in _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_ are very fine, but +_Sally Ann_ is far and away superior to any of them. Mrs. Obenchain's +_The Land of Long Ago_ (Boston, 1909), was another collection of Aunt +Jane stories. _To Love and to Cherish_ (Boston, 1911), is the author's +first and latest novel. Upon these four volumes Mrs. Obenchain's fame +rests secure, but _Sally Ann's Experience_ will be read and enjoyed +when her other books have been forgotten. She struck a universal truth +in this little tale, and the world will not willingly let it die. Her +most recent work is a _A Book of Hand-Woven Coverlets_ (Boston, +1912), a large and delightful volume on coverlet collecting and the +study of coverlet making. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ (July, 1908); _The Bookman_ + (October, 1910). + + +"SWEET DAY OF REST"[17] + +[From _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_ (Boston, 1907)] + +"I ricollect some fifty-odd years ago the town folks got to keepin' +Sunday mighty strict. They hadn't had a preacher for a long time, and +the church'd been takin' things easy, and finally they got a new +preacher from down in Tennessee, and the first thing he did was to +draw lines around 'em close and tight about keepin' Sunday. Some o' +the members had been in the habit o' havin' their wood chopped on +Sunday. Well, as soon as the new preacher come, he said that Sunday +wood-choppin' had to cease amongst his church-members or he'd have 'em +up before the session. I ricollect old Judge Morgan swore he'd have +his wood chopped any day that suited him. And he had a load o' wood +carried down cellar, and the nigger man chopped all day long in the +cellar, and nobody ever would 'a' found it out, but pretty soon they +got up a big revival that lasted three months and spread 'way out into +the country, and bless your life, old Judge Morgan was one o' the +first to be converted; and when he give in his experience, he told +about the wood-choppin', and how he hoped to be forgiven for breakin' +the Sabbath day. + +"Well, of course us people out in the country wouldn't be outdone by +the town folks, so Parson Page got up and preached on the Fourth +Commandment and all about that pore man that was stoned to death for +pickin' up a few sticks on the seventh day. And Sam Amos, he says +after meetin' broke, says he, 'It's my opinion that that man was a +industrious, enterprisin' feller that was probably pickin' up +kindlin'-wood to make his wife a fire, and,' says he, 'if they wanted +to stone anybody to death they better 'a' picked out some lazy, +triflin' feller that didn't have energy enough to work Sunday or any +other day.' Sam always would have his say, and nothin' pleased him +better'n to talk back to the preachers and git the better of 'em in a +argument. I ricollect us women talked that sermon over at the Mite +Society, and Maria Petty says: 'I don't know but what it's a wrong +thing to say, but it looks to me like that Commandment wasn't intended +for anybody but them Israelites. It was mighty easy for them to keep +the Sabbath day holy, but,' says she, 'the Lord don't rain down manna +in my yard. And,' says she, 'men can stop plowin' and plantin' on +Sunday, but they don't stop eatin', and as long as men have to eat on +Sunday, women'll have to work.' + +"And Sally Ann, she spoke up, and says she, 'That's so; and these very +preachers that talk so much about keepin' the Sabbath day holy, +they'll walk down out of their pulpits and set down at some woman's +table and eat fried chicken and hot biscuits and corn bread and five +or six kinds o' vegetables, and never think about the work it took to +git the dinner, to say nothin' o' the dish-washin' to come after.' + +"There's one thing, child, that I never told to anybody but Abram; I +reckon it was wicked, and I ought to be ashamed to own it, but"--here +her voice fell to a confessional key--"I never did like Sunday till I +begun to git old. And the way Sunday used to be kept, it looks to me +like anybody could 'a' been expected to like it but old folks and lazy +folks. You see, I never was one o' these folks that's born tired. I +loved to work. I never had need of any more rest than I got every +night when I slept, and I woke up every mornin' ready for the day's +work. I hear folks prayin' for rest and wishing' for rest, but, honey, +all my prayer was, 'Lord, give me work, and strength enough to do it.' +And when a person looks at all the things there is to be done in this +world, they won't feel like restin' when they ain't tired. + +"Abram used to say he believed I tried to make work for myself Sunday +and every other day; and I ricollect I used to be right glad when any +o' the neighbors'd git sick on Sunday and send for me to help nurse +'em. Nursing the sick was a work o' necessity, and mercy, too. And +then, child, the Lord don't ever rest. The Bible says He rested on the +seventh day when He got through makin' the world, and I reckon that +was rest enough for Him. For, jest look; everything goes on Sundays +jest the same as week-days. The grass grows, and the sun shines, and +the wind blows and He does it all." + + "'For still the Lord is Lord of might; + In deeds, in deeds He takes delight,'" + +I said. + +"That's it," said Aunt Jane, delightedly. "There ain't any religion in +restin' unless you're tired, and work's jest as holy in his sight as +rest." + +Our faces were turned toward the western sky, where the sun was +sinking behind the amethystine hills. The swallows were darting and +twittering over our heads, a somber flock of blackbirds rose from a +huge oak tree in the meadow across the road, and darkened the sky for +a moment in their flight to the cedars that were their nightly resting +place. Gradually the mist changed from amethyst to rose, and the +poorest object shared in the transfiguration of the sunset hour. + +Is it unmeaning chance that sets man's days, his dusty, common days, +between the glories of the rising and the setting sun, and his life, +his dusty, common life, between the two solemnities of birth and +death? Bounded by the splendors of the morning and evening skies, what +glory of thought and deed should each day hold! What celestial dreams +and vitalizing sleep should fill our nights! For why should day be +more magnificent than life? + +As we watched in understanding silence, the enchantment slowly faded. +The day of rest was over, a night of rest was at hand; and in the +shadowy hour between the two hovered the benediction of that peace +which "passeth all understanding." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[17] Copyright, 1907, by Little, Brown and Company. + + + + +KATE SLAUGHTER McKINNEY + + +Mrs. Kate Slaughter McKinney ("Katydid"), poet and novelist, was born +at London, Kentucky, February 6, 1857. She was graduated from +Daughters', now Beaumont, College, Harrodsburg, Kentucky, when John +Augustus Williams was president. On May 7, 1878, Miss Slaughter was +married at Richmond, Kentucky, to James I. McKinney, now +superintendent of the Louisville and Nashville railroad. Mrs. +McKinney's best work is to be found in her first book of verse, +_Katydid's Poems_ (Louisville, 1887). This slender volume was +extravagantly praised by the late Charles J. O'Malley, but it did +contain several lyrics of much merit, especially "The Little Face," a +lovely bit of verse surely. Mrs. McKinney's first novel, _The Silent +Witness_ (New York, 1907), was followed by _The Weed by the Wall_ +(Boston, 1911). Both of these works prove that the author's gift is of +the muses, and not of the gods of the "six best sellers." Neither of +her novels was overly successful, making one wish she had held fast to +her earlier love, verse-making. Besides these three volumes, Mrs. +McKinney has published a group of songs which have attracted +attention. She resides at Montgomery, Alabama. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Blades o' Bluegrass_, by Fannie P. Dickey + (Louisville, 1892); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +A LITTLE FACE[18] + +[From _Katydid's Poems_ (Louisville, Kentucky, 1887)] + + A little face to look at, + A little face to kiss; + Is there anything, I wonder, + That's half so sweet as this? + + A little cheek to dimple + When smiles begin to grow; + A little mouth betraying + Which way the kisses go. + + A slender little ringlet, + A rosy little ear; + A little chin to quiver + When falls the little tear. + + A little face to look at, + A little face to kiss; + Is there anything, I wonder, + That's half so sweet as this? + + A little hand so fragile + All through the night to hold; + Two little feet so tender + To tuck in from the cold. + + Two eyes to watch the sunbeam + That with the shadow plays-- + A darling little baby + To kiss and love always. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[18] Copyright, 1887, by the Author. + + + + +CHARLES J. O'MALLEY + + +Charles J. O'Malley, the George D. Prentice of modern Kentucky +literature, the praiser extraordinary and quite indiscriminately of +all things literary done by Kentucky hands, and withal a poet of +distinguished ability, was born near Morganfield, Kentucky, February +9, 1857. Through his father O'Malley was related to Father Abram J. +Ryan, the poet-priest of the Confederacy; and his mother was of +Spanish descent. He was educated at Cecilian College, in Hardin +county, Kentucky, and at Spring Hill, a Jesuit institution near +Mobile, Alabama, from which he returned to Kentucky and made his home +for some years at Henderson. His contributions in prose and verse to +the newspapers of southwest Kentucky made him well-known in the State. +A series of prose papers included _Summer in Kentucky_, _By Marsh and +Pool_, and _The Poets and Poetry of Southwest Kentucky_, attracted +much favorable comment. His finest poem, _Enceladus_, appeared in _The +Century Magazine_ for February, 1892, and much of his subsequent work +was published in that periodical. In 1893 O'Malley removed to Mt. +Vernon, Indiana, to become editor of _The Advocate_, a Roman Catholic +periodical. His first and best known book, _The Building of the Moon +and Other Poems_ (Mt. Vernon, Indiana, 1894), brought together his +finest work in verse. From this time until his death he was an editor +of Roman Catholic publications and a contributor of poems to _The +Century_, _Cosmopolitan_, and other high-class magazines. For several +years O'Malley was editor of _The Midland Review_, of Louisville, and +this was the best periodical he ever edited. Many of the now +well-known writers of the South and West got their first things +printed in _The Review_. It did a real service for Kentucky authors +especially. During his later life O'Malley seemed to realize that he +had devoted far too much time in praising the literary labors of other +writers, and he turned most of his attention to creative work, which +was making him better known with the appearance of each new poem. +O'Malley may be ranked with John Boyle O'Reilly, the Boston editor and +poet, and he loses nothing by comparison with him. He was ever a Roman +Catholic poet, and his religion marred the beauty of much of his best +work. Besides _The Building of the Moon_, O'Malley published _The +Great White Shepherd of Christendom_ (Chicago, 1903), which was a +large life of Pope Leo XIII; and _Thistledrift_ (Chicago, 1909), a +little book of poems and prose pastels. For several years prior to his +passing, he planned a complete collection of his poems to be entitled +_Songs of Dawn_, but he did not live to finish this work. At the time +of his death, which occurred at Chicago, March 26, 1910, O'Malley was +editor of _The New World_, a Catholic weekly. Today he lies buried +near his Kentucky birthplace with no stone to mark the spot. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Century Magazine_ (October, 1907); _The New + World_ (Chicago, April 2, 1910). + + +ENCELADUS[19] + +[From _The Building of the Moon and Other Poems_ (Mount Vernon, +Indiana, 1894)] + + I shall arise; I am not weak; I feel + A strength within me worthy of the gods-- + A strength that will not pass in gray despair. + + Ten million years I have lain thus, supine, + Prostrate beneath the gleaming mountain-peaks, + And the slow centuries have heard me groan + In passing, and not one has pitied me; + Yea, the strong gods have seen me writhe beneath + This mighty horror fixed upon my chest, + And have not eased me of a moment's pain. + + Oh, I will rise again--I will shake off + This terror that outweighs the wrath of Jove! + Lo, prone in darkness I have gathered hope + From the great waters walking speaking by! + These unto me give mercy, thus forshown: + + "We are the servants of a mightier Lord + Than Jupiter, who hath imprisoned thee. + We go forth at His bidding, laying bare + The sea's great floor and all the sheer abysms + That drop beneath the idle fathoms of man, + And shape the corner-stones, and lay thereon + The mighty base of unborn continents. + The old earth, when it hath fulfilled His will, + Is laid to rest, and mightier earths arise + And fuller life, and like unto God, + Fills the new races struggling on the globe. + + "Profoundest change succeeds each boding calm, + And mighty order from the deep breaks up + In all her parts, and only Night remains + With all her starts that minister to God, + Who sits sublimely, shaping as He wills, + Creating always." These things do they speak. + "The mountain-peaks, that watch among the stars, + Bow down their heads and go like monks at dusk + To mournful cloisters of the under-world; + And then, long silence, while blind Chaos' self + Beats round the poles with wings of cloudy storm." + + These things, and more, the waters say to me, + How this old earth shall change, and its life pass + And be renewed from fathomless within; + How other forms, and likelier to God, + Shall walk on earth and wing the peaks of cloud; + How holier men and maids, with comelier shapes, + In that far time, when He hath wrought His plan, + Shall the new globe inherit, and like us + Love, hope, and live, with bodies formed of ours-- + Or of our dust again made animate. + + These things to me; yet still his curse remains, + His burden presses on me. God! thou God! + Who wast before the dawn, give ear to me! + Thou wilt some day shake down like sifted dust + This monstrous burden Jove hath laid on me, + When the stars ripen like ripe fruit in heaven, + And the earth crumbles, plunging to the void + With all its shrieking peoples!--Let it fall! + Let it be sown as ashes underneath + The base of all the continents to be + Forever, if so rent I shall be freed! + + Shall I not wait? Shall I despair now Hope + On the horizon spreads her dawn-white wings? + Ah, sometimes now I feel earth moved within + Through all its massive frame, and know His hand + Again doth labor shaping out His plan. + Oh, I shall have all patience, trust and calm, + Foreknowing that the centuries shall bring, + On their broad wings, release from this deep hell, + And that I shall have life yet upon earth, + Yet draw the morning sunlight in my breath, + And meet the living races face to face. + + +NOON IN KENTUCKY + +[From the same] + + All day from the tulip-poplar boughs + The chewink's voice like a gold-bell rings, + The meadow-lark pipes to the drowsy cows, + And the oriole like a red rose swings, + And clings, and swings, + Shaking the noon from his burning wings. + + A flash of purple within the brake + The red-bud burns, where the spice-wood blows, + And the brook laughs low where the white dews shake, + Drinking the wild-haw's fragrant snows, + And flows, and goes + Under the feet of the wet, wood-rose. + + Odors of may-apples blossoming, + And violets stirring and blue-bells shaken-- + Shadows that start from the thrush's wing + And float on the pools, and swim and waken-- + Unslaken, untaken-- + Bronze wood-Naiads that wait forsaken. + + All day the lireodendron droops + Over the thickets her moons of gold; + All day the cumulous dogwood groups + Flake the mosses with star-snows cold, + While gold untold + The oriole pours from his song-thatched hold! + + Carol of love, all day in the thickets, + Redbird; warble, O thrush, of pain! + Pipe me of pity, O raincrow, hidden + Deep in the wood! and, lo! the refrain + Of pain, again + Shall out of the bosom of heaven bring rain! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[19] Copyright, 1894, by the Advocate Publishing Company. + + + + +LANGDON SMITH + + +Langdon ("Denver") Smith, maker of a very clever and learned poem, was +born in Kentucky, January 4, 1858. From 1864 to 1872 he attended the +public schools of Louisville. As a boy Smith served in the Comanche +and Apache Wars, and he was later a correspondent in the Sioux War. In +1894 Smith was married to Marie Antoinette Wright, whom he afterwards +memorialized in his famous poem, and who survived him but five weeks. +In the year following his marriage, he went to Cuba for _The New York +Herald_ to "cover" the conflict between Spain and Cuba; and three +years later he represented the New York _Journal_ during the +Spanish-American War. Smith was at the bombardment of Santiago and at +the battles of El Caney and San Juan. After the war he returned to New +York, in which city he died, April 8, 1908. He was the author of a +novel, called _On the Pan Handle_, and of many short stories, but his +poem, _Evolution_, made him famous. The first stanzas of this poem +were written in 1895; and four years later he wrote several more +stanzas. Then from time to time he added a line or more, until it was +completed. _Evolution_ first appeared in its entirety in the middle of +a page of want advertisements in the New York _Journal_. It attracted +immediate and wide notice, but copies of it were rather difficult to +obtain until it was reprinted in _The Scrap-Book_ for April, 1906, and +in _The Speaker_ for September, 1908. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Evolution, a Fantasy_ (Boston, 1909), is a + beautiful and fitting setting for this famous poem. In the + introduction to this edition Mr. Lewis Allen Browne brings + together the facts of Langdon Smith's life and work with many fine + words of criticism for the poem. In 1911 W. A. Wilde and Company, + the Boston publishers, issued an exquisite edition of _Evolution_. + Thus it will be seen that Smith and his masterpiece have received + proper recognition from the publishers and the public; the + judgment of posterity cannot be hurried; but that judgment can be + anticipated, at least in part. That it will be favorable, + characterizing _Evolution_ as one of the cleverest, smartest + things done by a nineteenth century American poet, the present + writer does not for a moment doubt. + + +EVOLUTION[20] + +[From _Evolution, a Fantasy_ (Boston, 1909)] + + I + + When you were a tadpole and I was a fish, + In the Paleozoic time. + And side by side on the ebbing tide + We sprawled through the ooze and slime, + Or skittered with many a caudal flip + Through the depths of the Cambrian fen, + My heart was rife with the joy of life, + For I loved you even then. + + II + + Mindless we lived and mindless we loved, + And mindless at last we died; + And deep in a rift of the Caradoc drift + We slumbered side by side. + The world turned on in the lathe of time, + The hot lands heaved amain, + Till we caught our breath from the womb of death, + And crept into light again. + + III + + We were Amphibians, scaled and tailed, + And drab as a dead man's hand; + We coiled at ease 'neath the dripping trees, + Or trailed through the mud and sand, + Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet + Writing a language dumb, + With never a spark in the empty dark + To hint at a life to come. + + IV + + Yet happy we lived, and happy we loved, + And happy we died once more; + Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold + Of a Neocomian shore. + The eons came, and the eons fled, + And the sleep that wrapped us fast + Was riven away in a newer day, + And the night of death was past. + + V + + Then light and swift through the jungle trees + We swung in our airy flights, + Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms, + In the hush of the moonless nights. + And oh! what beautiful years were these, + When our hearts clung each to each; + When life was filled, and our senses thrilled + In the first faint dawn of speech. + + VI + + Thus life by life, and love by love, + We passed through the cycles strange, + And breath by breath, and death by death, + We followed the chain of change. + Till there came a time in the law of life + When over the nursing sod + The shadows broke, and the soul awoke + In a strange, dim dream of God. + + VII + + I was thewed like an Auroch bull, + And tusked like the great Cave Bear; + And you, my sweet, from head to feet, + Were gowned in your glorious hair. + Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave, + When the night fell o'er the plain, + And the moon hung red o'er the river bed. + We mumbled the bones of the slain. + + VIII + + I flaked a flint to a cutting edge, + And shaped it with brutish craft; + I broke a shank from the woodland dank, + And fitted it, head and haft. + Then I hid me close to the reedy tarn, + Where the Mammoth came to drink;-- + Through brawn and bone I drave the stone, + And slew him upon the brink. + + IX + + Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes, + Loud answered our kith and kin; + From west and east to the crimson feast + The clan came trooping in. + O'er joint and gristle and padded hoof, + We fought, and clawed and tore, + And cheek by jowl, with many a growl, + We talked the marvel o'er. + + X + + I carved that fight on a reindeer bone, + With rude and hairy hand, + I pictured his fall on the cavern wall + That men might understand. + For we lived by blood, and the right of might, + Ere human laws were drawn. + And the Age of Sin did not begin + Till our brutal tusks were gone. + + XI + + And that was a million years ago, + In a time that no man knows; + Yet here to-night in the mellow light, + We sit at Delmonico's; + Your eyes are as deep as the Devon springs, + Your hair is as dark as jet, + Your years are few, your life is new, + Your soul untried, and yet-- + + XII + + Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay, + And the scarp of the Purbeck flags, + We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones, + And deep in the Coraline crags; + Our love is old, our lives are old, + And death shall come amain; + Should it come to-day, what man may say + We shall not live again? + + XIII + + God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds + And furnished them wings to fly; + He sowed our spawn in the world's dim dawn, + And I know that it shall not die; + Though cities have sprung above the graves + Where the crook-boned men made war, + And the ox-wain creaks o'er the buried caves, + Where the mummied mammoths are. + + XIV + + Then as we linger at luncheon here, + O'er many a dainty dish, + Let us drink anew to the time when you + Were a Tadpole and I was a Fish. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[20] Copyright, 1909, by L. E. Bassett and Company. + + + + +WILL J. LAMPTON + + +William James Lampton ("Will J. Lampton"), founder of the "Yawp School +of Poetry," was born in Lawrence county, Ohio, May 27, 185-, within +sight of the Kentucky line. (Being a bachelor, like Henry Cleveland +Wood, he has hitherto declined to herald the exact date of his birth.) +His parents were Kentuckians and at the age of three years he was +brought to this State. His boyhood and youth was spent in the hills of +Kentucky. He was fitted at private schools in Ashland and Catletsburg, +Kentucky, for Ohio Wesleyan University, which he left for Marietta +College. In 1877 Mr. Lampton established the _Weekly Review_--spelled +either way!--at Ashland, Kentucky. Although he had had no prior +training in journalism, he wrote eleven columns for his first issue. +His was a Republican sheet, and the good Democrats of Boyd county saw +to it that it survived not longer than a year. From Ashland Mr. +Lampton went to Cincinnati and joined the staff of _The Times_. _The +Times_ was too rapid for him, however, and from Cincinnati he +journeyed to Steubenville, Ohio, to take a position on _The Herald_. +Mr. Lampton remained on that paper for three years, when he again came +to Kentucky to join the staff of the Louisville _Courier-Journal_. +Some time later his paper sent him to Cincinnati, which marked his +retirement from Kentucky journalism. It will thus be seen that he +"lapsed out of Kentucky for a time, and lapsed again at the close of +1882." Leaving Cincinnati he went to Washington and originated the now +well-known department of "Shooting Stars" for _The Evening Star_. For +some years past he has resided in New York, working as a "free-lance." +For a long time he contributed a poem almost every day to _The Sun_, +_The World_, or some other paper. In 1910 the governor of Kentucky +created the poet a real Kentucky colonel; and this momentous elevation +above earth's common mortals is heralded to-day upon his stationery. +Colonel Lampton, then, has published six books, the editions of three +of which are exhausted, and he is now happy to think that his works +are "rare, exceedingly scarce." The first of them, _Mrs. Brown's +Opinions_ (New York, 1886), was followed by his chief volume hitherto, +_Yawps and Other Things_ (Philadelphia, 1900). The "other things" were +poems, not yawps. Colonel Henry Watterson contributed a clever +introduction to the attractive volume; and another form of verse was +born and clothed. _The Confessions of a Husband_ (New York, 1903), was +a slight offset to Mary Adams's _The Confessions of a Wife_. Colonel +Lampton's other books are: _The Trolley Car and the Lady_ (Boston, +1908), being "a trolley trip from Manhattan to Maine;" _Jedge Waxem's +Pocket-Book of Politics_ (New York, 1908), which was "owned by Jedge +Wabash Q. Waxem, Member of Congress from Wayback," bound in the form +of an actual pocket-book; and his latest collection of cleverness, +_Tame Animals I Have Known_ (New York, 1912). The tall--and +bald!--Kentuckian lives at the French Y. M. C. A., New York, in order, +as he himself has said, "to give a Parisian tinge to his religion." +His "den" is a delight to Bohemians, a replica of many a country +newspaper office in Kentucky. He is one of the joys of life surely. +And though he has turned out almost as much as Miss Braddon, he can +recall but the four lines he wrote in 1900 upon Mr. James Lane Allen: + + "The Reign of Law"-- + Well, Allen, you're lucky; + It's the first time it ever + Rained law in Kentucky. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Bookman_ (September, 1900); _The Bookman_ (May, + 1902); _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ (November, 1907); _Lippincott's + Magazine_ (August, 1911). + + +THESE DAYS[21] + +[From _Pearson's Magazine_ (April, 1907)] + + Pray, + What is it to-day + That it should be worse than the early days? + Are the modern ways + Darker for all the light + That the years have shed? + Is the right + Dead-- + Under the wheels of progress + By the side of the road to success, + Bleeding and bruised and broken, + Left in forgetfulness? + Is truth + Stronger in youth + Than in age? Does it grow + Feeble with years, and move slow + On the path that leads + To the world's needs? + Does man reach up or down + To take the victor's crown + Of progress in science, art and commerce? + In all the works that plan + And purpose to accomplish + The betterment of man? + Does the soul narrow + With the broadening of thought? + Does the heart harden + By what the hand has wrought? + Who shall say + That decay + Marks the good of to-day? + Who dares to state + That God grows less as man grows great? + + +OUR CASTLES IN THE AIR[22] + +[From _Pearson's Magazine_ (September, 1908)] + + I builded a castle in the air, + A magical, beautiful pile, + As the wonderful temples of Karnak were, + By the thirsty shores of the Nile. + Its glittering towers emblazoned the blue, + Its walls were of burnished gold, + Which up from the caverns of ocean grew, + Where pearls lay asleep in the cold. + Its windows were gems with the glint and the gleam + Of the sun and the moon and the stars. + Like the eyes of a god in a Brahmin's dream + Of the land of the deodars. + It stood as the work of a master, alone, + Whose marvelous genius had played + The music of heaven in mortar and stone + With the tools of his earthly trade. + I builded a castle in the air, + From its base to its turret crown; + I stretched forth my hand to touch it there + And the whole darn thing fell down. + + +CHAMPAGNE + +[From _The Bohemian_] + + Gee whiz, + Fizz, + You shine in our eyes + Like the stars in the skies; + You glint and gleam + Like a jeweled dream; + You sparkle and dance + Like the soul of France, + Your bubbles murmur + And your deeps are gold, + Warm is your spirit, + And your body, cold; + You dazzle the senses, + Dispelling the dark; + You are music and magic, + The song of the lark; + O'er all the ills of life victorious, + You touch the night and make it glorious. + But, say, + The next day? + Oh, go away! + Go away + And stay! + Gee whiz, + Fizz! ! ! + +FOOTNOTES: + +[21] Copyright, 1907, by the Pearson Publishing Company, New York. + +[22] Copyright, 1908, by the Pearson Publishing Co., New York. + + + + +MARY ANDERSON DE NAVARRO + + +Mrs. Mary Anderson de Navarro, the celebrated actress of the long ago, +and a writer of much ability, is a product of Kentucky, although she +happened to be born at Sacramento, California, July 28, 1859. When but +six months old she was brought to Louisville, Kentucky, and there her +girlhood days were spent. Miss Anderson was educated at the Ursuline +Convent and the Presentation Academy, two Roman Catholic institutions +of Louisville. At the age of seventeen years, or, on November 27, +1876, she made her _debut_ as _Juliet_ in "Romeo and Juliet," at +Macauley's Theatre, Louisville, and her "hit" was most decided, both +press and public agreeing that a brilliant career was before her. Miss +Anderson's superb figure, her glorious hair, her magnificent voice, +made her the great beauty she was, and thoroughly delightful. Leaving +Louisville for a tour of the principal cities of the country, she +finally arrived in New York, where she was seen in several +Shakespearian roles. Some time later she put on "Pygmalion and +Galatea," one of her greatest successes. In London Miss Anderson won +the hearts of the Britishers with "The Lady of Lyons," "Pygmalion and +Galatea," and other plays. Her second season on the stage saw a +gorgeous production of "Romeo and Juliet" in London, with the American +girl in her first role, _Juliet_. This "held the boards" for an +hundred nights. She returned to the United States, but she was soon +back in London, where "The Winter's Tale," her next play, ran for +nearly two hundred nights. Short engagements on the continent +followed, after which she came again to this country, and to her old +home, Louisville, which visit she has charmingly related in her +autobiography, _A Few Memories_ (London and New York, 1896), which +work Joseph Jefferson once declared would make permanent her stage +successes. From Louisville "Our Mary," as she was called by +Kentuckians, was seen in Cincinnati, from which city she went to +Washington, where she forever rang down the curtain upon her life as +an actress. That was in the spring of 1889, and in June of that year +she was married to Antonio F. de Navarro, since which event she has +resided in England. In recent years Mary Anderson, that was, has +visited in New York, but she has not journeyed out to Kentucky. In +1911 she collaborated in the dramatization of Robert Hichens's novel, +_The Garden of Allah_, and she was in New York for its _premier_. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _A Few Memories_ is delightfully set down, and, + though the author made no especial claims as a writer, her book + will keep her fame green for many years; _McClure's Magazine_ + (July, 1908); _Harper's Weekly_ (January 9, 1909); _Century + Magazine_ (March, 1910). + + +LAZY LOUISVILLE[23] + +[From _A Few Memories_ (London, 1896)] + +After visiting many of the principal States, I was delighted to find +myself again in quaint, charming Louisville, Kentucky. Everything goes +along so quietly and lazily there that no one seems to change or grow +older. Having no rehearsals I used my first free time since I had left +the city soon after my _debut_ to see the places I liked best. Many of +my childhood's haunts were visited with our old nurse "Lou." At the +Ursuline Convent, with its high walls, where music had first cast a +veritable spell, and made a willing slave of me for life, most of the +nuns looked much the same, though I had not seen them in nineteen +years. The little window of the den where I had first resolved to go +upon the stage, was as bright and shining as ever; and I wondered, in +passing the old house, whether some other young and hopeful creature +were dreaming and toiling there as I had done so many years before. At +the Presentation Academy I found the latticed summer-house (where, as +a child, I had reacted for my companions every play seen at the +Saturday matinees, instead of eating my lunch) looking just as cool +and inviting as it did then. My little desk, the dunce-stool, +everything seemed to have a friendly greeting for me. Mother Eulalia +was still the Superioress, and in looking into her kind face and +finding so little change there, it seemed that the vortex I had lived +in since those early years was but a restless dream, and that I must +be a little child again under her gentle care. No one was changed but +myself. I seemed to have lived a hundred years since leaving the old +places and kindly faces, and to have suddenly come back again into +their midst (unlike Rip Van Winkle) to find them as I had left them. + +Many episodes, memorable to me, occurred in Louisville. Not the least +pleasant was Father Boucher's acknowledgment (after disapproving of my +profession for years) that my private life had not fallen under the +evils which, at the beginning, he feared to be inevitable from contact +with the theatre. Father Boucher was a dear old Frenchman, who had +known and instructed me in matters religious since my childhood. My +respect and affection for him had always been deep. When he condemned +my resolution to go upon the stage quite as bitterly as did my +venerated guardian, Pater Anton, my cup of unhappiness overflowed. All +my early successes were clouded by the alienation of such unique +friends. My satisfaction and delight may be imagined when, after years +of estrangement, Father Boucher met me with the same trust with which +he had honoured me as a child, and heartily gave me his blessing. + +It was also at Louisville that the highly complimentary "resolutions" +passed by the Senate of Kentucky, and unanimously adopted by that +body, were presented to me. They were the State's crowning expression +of goodwill to their grateful, though unworthy, country-woman. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[23] Copyright, 1896, by Osgood, McIlvaine and Company, London. + + + + +MARY R. S. ANDREWS + + +Mrs. Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews, short-story writer and novelist, +was born at Mobile, Alabama, in 1860, but she was brought to +Lexington, Kentucky, in September, 1861, when her father, Rev. Jacob +S. Shipman, an Episcopal clergyman, was chosen rector of Christ +Church. When six years old she was sent to Christ Church Seminary, the +church's school, conducted by Rev. Silas Totten and his daughters. One +of these daughters tells with a smile to-day that "May" Shipman's +first story, written at the age of seven, was upon her dog, "Shep." +When thirteen years of age she discovered that the older girls in the +school were studying French, when she was not, and she went to her +father with the request that she be permitted to join the class. But +the rector's question, "May, would you put in your furniture before +you built your walls?" sent her back to her Latin and mathematics +without further protest. She attended the school for eleven years, and +at it received her education, never having attended any other +institution. On November 26, 1877, when the future writer was +seventeen years of age, her father accepted the rectorship of Christ +Church, New York, and the family shortly afterwards removed to that +city. She has been in Kentucky but twice since: five years after her +departure, and about ten years ago. But that she has not forgotten her +Kentucky home is evinced in the signed copies of her books which have +found their way to the Blue Grass country and in her letters to +former friends. On the last day of December, 1884, Miss Shipman +married William Shankland Andrews, now associate justice of the +supreme court of New York. Mrs. Andrews spends her summers in the +Canadian woods, and the winters at her home in Syracuse, New York. Her +first novel, _Vive L'Empereur_ (New York, 1902), a story of the king +of Rome, was followed by _A Kidnapped Colony_ (New York, 1903), with +Bermuda as the background. _Bob and the Guides_ (New York, 1906), was +the experiences of a boy, "Bob," with the French guides of the +Canadian woods who pursue caribou. _A Good Samaritan_ (New York, +1906), has been called the best story ever printed in _McClure's +Magazine_, in which form it first appeared. _The Perfect Tribute_ (New +York, 1906), a quasi-true story of Lincoln and the lack of enthusiasm +with which the crowd received his Gettysburg speech, adorned with a +love episode at the end, is Mrs. Andrews's finest thing so far. This +little tale has made her famous, and stamped her as one of the best +American writers of the short-story. It was originally printed in +_Scribner's Magazine_ for July, 1906. Her other books are: _The +Militants_ (New York, 1907), a collection of stories, several of which +are set in Kentucky, and all of them inscribed to her father in +beautiful words; _The Better Treasure_ (Indianapolis, 1908), is a +charming Christmas story, with a moral attached; _The Enchanted Forest +and Other Stories_ (New York, 1909), a group of stories first told to +her son and afterwards set down for other people's sons; _The Lifted +Bandage_ (New York, 1910), a most unpleasant, disagreeable tale as may +well be imagined; _The Courage of the Commonplace_ (New York, 1911), a +yarn of Yale and her ways, one of the author's cleverest things; _The +Counsel Assigned_ (New York, 1912), another story of Lincoln, this +time as the young lawyer, is not greatly inferior to _The Perfect_ +_Tribute_. Mrs. Andrews's latest volume, _The Marshal_ (Indianapolis, +1912), is her first really long novel. It is a story of France, +somewhat in the manner of her first book _Vive L'Empereur_, but, of +course, much finer than that work of her 'prentice years. It has been +highly praised in some quarters, and rather severely criticized in +others. At any rate it has not displaced _The Perfect Tribute_ as her +masterpiece. That little story, with _A Good Samaritan_, _The Courage +of the Commonplace_, and _Crowned with Glory and Honor_, fairly +entitle Mrs. Andrews to the first and highest place among Kentucky +women writers of the short-story. She has attained a higher note in a +most difficult art than any other woman Kentucky has produced; and it +is only right and just that her proper position be allotted her in +order that she may occupy it; which she will do with a consensus of +opinion when her Kentucky life is more widely heralded. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _American Magazine_ (May, 1909); _Scribner's + Magazine_ (September, 1911; August, 1912). + + +THE NEW SUPERINTENDENT[24] + +[From _The Courage of the Commonplace_ (New York, 1911)] + +Three years later the boy graduated from the Boston "Tech." As his +class poured from Huntington Hall, he saw his father waiting for him. +He noted with pride, as he always did, the tall figure, topped with a +wonderful head--a mane of gray hair, a face carved in iron, squared +and cut down to the marrow of brains and force--a man to be seen in +any crowd. With that, as his own met the keen eyes behind the +spectacles, he was aware of a look which startled him. The boy had +graduated at the very head of his class; that light in his father's +eyes all at once made two years of work a small thing. + +"I didn't know you were coming, sir. That's mighty nice of you," he +said, as they walked down Boylston Street together, and his father +waited a moment and then spoke in his usual incisive tone. + +"I wouldn't have liked to miss it, Johnny," he said. "I don't remember +that anything in my life has ever made me as satisfied as you have +to-day." + +With a gasp of astonishment the young man looked at him, looked away, +looked at the tops of the houses, and did not find a word anywhere. +His father had never spoken to him so; never before, perhaps, had he +said anything as intimate to any of his sons. They knew that the cold +manner of the great engineer covered depths, but they never expected +to see the depths uncovered. But here he was, talking of what he felt, +of character, and honor, and effort. + +"I've appreciated what you have been doing," the even voice went on. +"I talk little about personal affairs. But I'm not uninterested; I +watch. I was anxious about you. You were a more uncertain quantity +than Ted and Harry. Your first three years at Yale were not +satisfactory. I was afraid you lacked manliness. Then came--a +disappointment. It was a blow to us--to family pride. I watched you +more closely, and I saw before that year ended that you were taking +your medicine rightly. I wanted to tell you of my contentment, but +being slow of speech, I--couldn't. So"--the iron face broke for a +second time into a whimsical grin--"so I offered you a motor. And you +wouldn't take it. I knew, though you didn't explain, that you feared +it would interfere with your studies. I was right?" Johnny nodded. +"Yes. And your last year at college was--was all I could wish. I see +now that you needed a blow in the face to wake you up--and you got it. +And you waked." The great engineer smiled with clean pleasure. "I have +had"--he hesitated--"I have had always a feeling of responsibility to +your mother for you--more than for the others. You were so young when +she died that you seem more her child. I was afraid I had not treated +you right well--that it was my fault if you failed." The boy made a +gesture--he could not very well speak. His father went on: "So when +you refused the motor, when you went into engineers' camp that first +summer, instead of going abroad, I was pleased. Your course here has +been a satisfaction, without a drawback--keener, certainly, because I +am an engineer, and could appreciate, step by step, how well you were +doing, how much you were giving up to do it, how much power you were +gaining by that long sacrifice. I've respected you through these years +of commonplace, and I've known how much more courage it meant in a +pleasure-loving lad such as you than it would have meant in a serious +person such as I am--such as Ted and Harry are, to an extent, also." +The older man, proud and strong and reserved, turned on his son such a +shining face as the boy had never seen. "That boyish failure isn't +wiped out, Johnny, for I shall remember it as the corner-stone of your +career, already built over with an honorable record. You've made good. +I congratulate and I honor you." + +The boy never knew how he got home. He knocked his shins badly on a +quite visible railing, and it was out of the question to say a single +word. But if he staggered, it was with an overload of happiness, and +if he was speechless and blind, the stricken faculties were paralyzed +with joy. His father walked beside him and they understood each other. +He reeled up the streets contented. + +That night there was a family dinner, and with the coffee his father +turned and ordered fresh champagne opened. + +"We must have a new explosion to drink to the new superintendent of +the Oriel mine," he said. Johnny looked at him, surprised, and then at +the others, and the faces were bright with the same look of something +which they knew and he did not. + +"What's up?" asked Johnny. "Who's the superintendent of the Oriel +mine? Why do we drink to him? What are you all grinning about, +anyway?" The cork flew up to the ceiling, and the butler poured gold +bubbles into the glasses, all but his own. + +"Can't I drink to the beggar, too, whoever he is?" asked Johnny, and +moved his glass and glanced up at Mullins. But his father was beaming +at Mullins in a most unusual way, and Johnny got no wine. With that +Ted, the oldest brother, pushed back his chair and stood and lifted +his glass. + +"We'll drink," he said, and bowed formally to Johnny, "to the +gentleman who is covering us all with glory, to the new superintendent +of the Oriel mine, Mr. John Archer McLean," and they stood and drank +the toast. Johnny, more or less dizzy, more or less scarlet, crammed +his hands in his pockets and stared and turned redder, and brought out +interrogations in the nervous English which is acquired at our great +institutions of learning. + +"Gosh! are you all gone dotty?" he asked. And "is this a merry jape?" +And "Why, for cat's sake, can't you tell a fellow what's up your +sleeve?" While the family sipped champagne and regarded him. + +"Now, if I've squirmed for you enough, I wish you'd explain--father, +tell me!" the boy begged. + +And the tale was told by the family, in chorus, without politeness, +interrupting freely. It seemed that the president of the big mine +needed a superintendent, and wishing young blood and the latest ideas, +had written to the head of the Mining Department in the School of +Technology, to ask if he would give him the name of the ablest man in +the graduating class--a man to be relied on for character as much as +brains, he specified, for the rough army of miners needed a general at +their head almost more than a scientist. Was there such a combination +to be found, he asked, in a youngster of twenty-three or twenty-four, +such as would be graduating at the "Tech?" If possible, he wanted a +very young man--he wanted the enthusiasm, he wanted the athletic +tendency, he wanted the plus-strength, he wanted the unmade reputation +which would look for its making to hard work in the mine. The letter +was produced and read to the shamefaced Johnny. "Gosh!" he remarked at +intervals, and remarked practically nothing else. There was no need. +They were so proud and so glad that it was almost too much for the boy +who had been a failure three years ago. + +On the urgent insistence of every one, he made a speech. He got to his +six-feet-two slowly, and his hand went into his trousers as usual. "Holy +mackerel," he began--"I don't call it decent to knock the wind out of a +man and then hold him up for remarks. They all said in college that I +talked the darnedest hash in the class, anyway. But you will have it, +will you? I haven't got anything to say, so's you'd notice it, except +that I'll be blamed if I see how this is true. Of course I'm keen for +it--Keen! I should say I was! And what makes me keenest, I believe, is +that I know it's satisfactory to Henry McLean." He turned his bright +face to his father. "Any little plugging I've done seems like thirty +cents compared to that. You're all peaches to take such an interest, and +I thank you a lot. Me, the superintendent of the Oriel mine! Holy +mackerel!" gasped Johnny, and sat down. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[24] Copyright, 1911, by Charles Scribner's Sons. + + + + +ELVIRA MILLER SLAUGHTER + + +Mrs. Elvira (Sydnor) Miller Slaughter, the "Tatler" of _The Louisville +Times_ in the old days, and a verse-writer of considerable reputation, +was born at Wytheville, Virginia, October 12, 1860. When a child Miss +Miller was brought to Kentucky, as her mother had inherited money +which made necessary her removal to this State in order to obtain it. +She was educated at the Presentation Academy, in Louisville, by the +same nuns that had instructed Mary Anderson de Navarro, the famous +actress. She was subsequently gold medalist at a private finishing +school, but she still clings to the Catholicism instilled at the +Presentation Academy. Shortly after having left school Miss Miller +published her first and only book of poems, _Songs of the Heart_ +(Louisville, 1885), with a prologue by Douglass Sherley.[25] About +this time her parents lost their fortune, and she secured a position +on _The Louisville Times_, where she was trained by Mr. Robert W. +Brown, the present managing editor of that paper. After three years +of general reporting, Miss Miller became editor of "The Tatler +Column," and this she conducted for fourteen years with cleverness and +success, only resigning on the day of her marriage to Mr. W. H. +Slaughter, Jr. Her second book, _The Tiger's Daughter and Other +Stories_ (Louisville, 1889), is a group of fairy tales, several of +which are entertaining. _The Confessions of a Tatler_ (Louisville, +1905), is a booklet of the best things she did for her department on +_The Times_. She surely handled some men, women, books, and things in +this brochure in a manner that even he who runs may read +and--understand! From 1909 to 1912 she lived at Camp Dennison, near +Cincinnati, Ohio, but at the present time she is again at Louisville, +engaged in literary work. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Blades o' Bluegrass_, by Fannie P. Dickey + (Louisville, 1892); _Dear Old Kentucky_, by G. M. Spears + (Cincinnati, 1900). + + +THE SOUTH AND SONG + +[From _The Midland Review_ (Louisville, Kentucky)] + + I.--THE SOUTH + + Spirit, whose touch of fire + Wakens the sleeping lyre-- + Thou, who dost flood with music heaven's dominions, + Where hast thou taken flight-- + Thou comfort, thou delight? + In what blest regions furled thy gloomy pinions, + Since from the cold North voices call to me: + "Thou South, thou South! Song hath abandoned thee!" + + + II.--VOICES + + We cry out on the air: + Thy palace halls are bare, + Shorn of the glory of the dream-gods' faces: + Thy sweetest strain were sung + When thy proud heart was young; + Fame hath no crowns, nay, nor no vacant places-- + So, all in vain, thy poet-songs awaken: + Thou serenadest casements long forsaken. + + Thy rivers proudly flow, + As in the long ago. + Like kings who lead their rushing hosts to battle: + Thy sails make white the seas-- + They fly before the breeze, + As o'er the wide plains fly storm-drifted cattle: + Laughter and light make beautiful thy portals, + Spurned by the bright feet of the lost immortals. + + What gavest thou to him + Whose fame no years may dim, + Song's great archangel, glorious, yet despairing-- + Who, o'er earth's warring noises + Heard Heaven's and Hell's great voices-- + Who, from his shoulders the rude mantle tearing, + Wrapt the thin folds about his dying wife, + The angel and the May-time of his life? + + And what to him whose name + Is consecrate to Fame-- + Whose songs before the winds of war were driven-- + Who swept his lute to mourn + That banner soiled and torn, + For which a million valiant hearts had striven-- + Who set God's cross high o'er the battling horde, + And sheltered neath its arms the lyre and sword? + + What gav'st thou that true heart + That shrined its dreams apart, + From want and care and sorrow evermore-- + Him, who mid dews and damp, + Burned out life's feeble lamp, + Striving to keep the wolf from out his door, + And while the land was ringing with his praise, + Slumbered in Georgia, tired and full of days? + + And what to him whose lyre, + Prometheus-like, stole fire + From heaven; whom sea and air gave fancies tender-- + Whose song, winged like the lark, + Died out in death's great dark; + Whose soul, like some bright star, clothed on in splendor, + Went trembling down the viewless fields of air, + Wafted by music and the breath of prayer? + + What gav'st thou these? A crust: + A coffin for their dust: + Neglect, and idle praise and swift forgetting-- + Stones when they asked for bread: + Green bays when they were dead-- + Who sang of thee from dawn till life's sun-setting, + And whose tired eyes, thank God! could never see + Thy shallow tears, thy niggard charity. + + Yet fair as is a night, + O strong, O darkly bright! + Thou shinest ever radiant and tender, + Drawing all hearts to thee, + As from the vassal sea + The waves are lifted by the moon's white splendor: + So poet strains awake, and fancies gleam + Like winds and summer lightning through thy dream. + + +SUNDOWN LANE + +[From _The Louisville Times_] + + Through a little lane at sundown in the days that used to be, + When the summer-time and roses lit the land, + My sweetheart would come singing down that leafy way to me + With her dainty pink sunbonnet in her hand. + Oh, I threw my arms about her as we met beside the way, + And her darling, curly head lay on my breast, + While she told me that she loved me in her simple, girlish way, + And then kisses that she gave me told the rest; + For a kiss is all the language that you wish from your sweetheart, + When you meet her in the gloaming there, so lonely and apart, + And she set my life to music and made heaven on earth for me + In that little lane at sundown in the days that used to be. + + Through a little lane at sundown we went walking hand in hand, + 'Mid the summer-time and roses long ago, + And the path that we were treading seemed to lead to fairyland, + The place where happy lovers long to go; + Oh, we talked about our marriage in the quiet, evening hush, + And I bent to whisper love words in her ear, + And her dainty pink sunbonnet was no pinker than her blush + For she thought the birds and flowers all might hear; + Oh, that dainty pink sunbonnet, bright in memory still it glows, + It hid her smiles and blushes as the young leaves veil the rose, + When she set my life to music and made heaven on earth for me, + In that little lane at sundown in the days that used to be. + + Through a little lane at sundown I go roaming all forlorn, + Though the summer-time once more smiles o'er the land, + And the roses seem to ask me where their sister rose has gone + With her dainty pink sunbonnet in her hand. + But false friends came between us and I found out to my cost, + When I learned too late her sweetness and her truth, + That the love we hold the dearest is the love that we have lost, + With the roses and the fairyland of youth. + Now the flowers all bend above her through the long, bright + summer day, + And my heart grows homesick for her as she dreams the hours away, + She who set my life to music and made heaven on earth for me + In that little lane at sundown in the days that used to be. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[25] (George) Douglass Sherley, born at Louisville, Kentucky, June 27, +1857; educated at Centre College, Danville, Kentucky, and University +of Virginia; joined staff of the old Louisville _Commercial_; made +lecture tour with James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier poet; now resides +near Lexington, Kentucky. Author of: _The Inner Sisterhood_ +(Louisville, 1884); _The Valley of Unrest_ (New York, 1884); _Love +Perpetuated_ (Louisville, 1884); _The Story of a Picture_ (Louisville, +1884). Mr. Sherley has done much occasional writing since his four +books were published, which has appeared in the form of calendars, +leaflets, and in newspapers. + + + + +JOSEPH S. COTTER + + +Joseph Seaman Cotter, Kentucky's only negro writer of real creative +ability, was born near Bardstown, Kentucky, February 2, 1861. From his +hard day-labor, he went to night school in Louisville, and he has +educated himself so successfully that he is at the present time +principal of the Tenth Ward colored school, Louisville. Cotter has +published three volumes of verse, the first of which was _Links of +Friendship_ (Louisville, 1898), a book of short lyrics. This was +followed by a four-act verse drama, entitled _Caleb, the Degenerate_ +(Louisville, 1903). His latest book of verse is _A White Song and a +Black One_ (Louisville, 1909). Cotter's response to Paul Lawrence +Dunbar's _After a Visit_ to Kentucky, was exceedingly well done, but +his _Negro Love Song_ is the cleverest thing he has written hitherto. +His work has been praised by Alfred Austin, Israel Zangwill, Madison +Cawein, Charles J. O'Malley, and other excellent judges of poetry. +Cotter is a great credit to his race, and he has won, by his quiet, +unassuming life and literary labors, the respect of many of +Louisville's most prominent citizens. One of his admirers has ranked +his work above Dunbar's, but this rating is much too high for any +thing he has done so far. In the last year or two he has turned his +attention to the short-story, and his first collection of them has +just appeared, entitled _Negro Tales_ (New York, 1912). + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Lexington Leader_ (November 14, 1909); _Lore of the + Meadowland_, by J. W. Townsend (Lexington, Kentucky, 1911). + + +NEGRO LOVE SONG[26] + +[From _A White Song and a Black One_ (Louisville, Kentucky, 1909)] + + I lobes your hands, gal; yes I do. + (I'se gwine ter wed ter-morro'.) + I lobes your earnings thro' an' thro'. + (I'se gwine ter wed ter-morro'.) + Now, heah de truf. I'se mos' nigh broke; + I wants ter take you fer my yoke; + So let's go wed ter-morro'. + + Now, don't look shy, an' don't say no. + (I'se gwine ter wed ter-morro'.) + I hope you don't expects er sho' + When we two weds ter-morro'. + I needs er licends--you know I do-- + I'll borrow de price ob de same frum you, + An' den we weds ter-morro'. + + How pay you back? In de reg'ler way. + When you becomes my honey + You'll habe myself fer de princ'pal pay, + An' my faults fer de inter's' money. + Dat suits you well? Dis cash is right. + So we two weds ter-morro' night, + An' you wuks all de ter-morro's. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[26] Copyright, 1909, by the Author. + + + + +ETHELBERT D. WARFIELD + + +Ethelbert Dudley Warfield, historical writer, was born at Lexington, +Kentucky, March 16, 1861, the brother of Dr. Benjamin Breckinridge +Warfield, the distinguished professor in Princeton Theological Seminary. +President Warfield was graduated from Princeton, continued his studies +at the University of Oxford, and was graduated in law from Columbia +University, in 1885. He practiced law at Lexington, Kentucky, for two +years, when he abandoned the profession for the presidency of Miami +University, Oxford, Ohio. In 1891 he left Miami for the presidency of +LaFayette College, Easton, Pennsylvania, where he has remained ever +since. In 1899 Dr. Warfield was ordained to the Presbyterian ministry. +He teaches history at LaFayette. Besides several interesting pamphlets +upon historical subjects, Dr. Warfield has published three books, the +first of which was _The Kentucky Resolutions of 1798: an Historical +Study_ (New York, 1887), his most important work so far. _At the Evening +Hour_ (Philadelphia, 1898), is a little book of talks upon religious +subjects; and his most recent volume, _Joseph Cabell Breckinridge, +Junior_ (New York, 1898), is the pathetic tale of the years of an early +hero of the Spanish-American war, graphically related. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Munsey's Magazine_ (August, 1901); _The + Independent_ (December 25, 1902); _The Independent_ (July 13, + 1905). + + +CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS + +[From _The Presbyterian and Reformed Review_ (April, 1892)] + +Columbus is one of the few men who have profoundly changed the course +of history. He occupies a unique and commanding position, seeming to +stand out of contemporary history, and to be a force separate and +apart. He is the gateway to the New World. His career made a new +civilization possible. His achievement conditions the expansion and +development of human liberty. His position is simple but certain. His +figure is as constant and as inexorable as the ice floes which girdle +and guard the pole are to us, or as the sea of darkness which he +spanned was to his predecessors. He inserted a known quantity into the +hitherto unsolvable problem of geography, and not only rendered it +solvable, but afforded a key to a vast number of problems dependent +upon it, problems not merely geographical, but economical, +sociological and governmental as well. + +Yet in all this there mingles an element of error. Great events do not +come unanticipated and unheralded. + + "Wass Gott thut, das ist wohl gethan," + +sang Luther, knowing well that God hath foreordained from the +foundation of the world whatsoever cometh to pass. "In the fullness of +time" God does all things in His benign philosophy. In the fullness of +time man was set in the midst of his creation; in the fullness of time +Christ came; in the fullness of time God opened the portals of the west. + +If the Welsh were driven on our shores under Madoc, if the Norsemen came +and sought to found here "Vinland, the good," they did not light upon +the fullness of time. God had no splendid purpose for the Welsh; the +Northland force was needed to make bold the hearts of England, France, +and Italy, to unify the world with fellow-service in the Orient, to +break the bonds of feudalism, and to wing the sandals of liberty. As +Isaac Newton sat watching the apple fall in his garden, he was but +resting from the labor of gathering into his mind the labors of men who +had in this or that anticipated his discovery of the law of gravitation. +In all scientific advance many gather facts. One comes at length and in +a far-reaching synthesis arranges the facts of many predecessors around +some central truth and rises to some great principle. So generalizations +follow generalizations, and the field of truth expands in ever-widening +circles from the central fact of God's establishment. Columbus is not +like Melchisedec. He had antecedents--antecedents many and obvious. The +highest tribute we can pay him is to say that he fixed upon one of the +world's great problems, studied it in all its relations, embraced clear +and definite views upon it, and staked his all upon the issue; and that +not in a spirit of mere adventure, but of dedication to a noble purpose. +He gave to a speculative question reality, and thereby gave a hemisphere +to Christendom. + +But like the girl who admitted the Gauls to the Capitol at Rome in +return for "what they wore on their left arms," Columbus was +overwhelmed by the reward which he demanded for his services. Without +natural ability to command, and without experience, he demanded and +obtained a fatal authority. + + + + +EVELYN S. BARNETT + + +Mrs. Evelyn Snead Barnett, a novelist of strength and promise, was +born at Louisville, Kentucky, June 9, 1861, the daughter of Charles +Scott Snead. On June 8, 1886, Miss Snead became the wife of Mr. Ira +Sayre Barnett, a Louisville business man. Mrs. Barnett was literary +editor of _The Courier-Journal_ for seven years, and her Saturday page +upon "Books and Their Writers" was carefully edited. She did a real +service for Kentucky letters in that she never omitted comment and +criticism upon the latest books of our authors, with an occasional +word upon the writers of the long ago. She was succeeded by the +present editor, Miss Anna Blanche Magill. Mrs. Barnett's first story, +entitled _Mrs. Delire's Euchre Party and Other Tales_ (Franklin, Ohio, +1895), the "other tales" being three in number, was followed by +_Jerry's Reward_ (Boston, 1902). These novelettes made clear the path +for the author's big novel, _The Dragnet_ (New York, 1909), now in its +second edition. This is a great mystery story, one reviewer ranking it +with the best detective tales of the present-day school. The American +trusts and the hearts of women furnish the setting for _The Dragnet_, +which is bigger in promise than in achievement, and which bespeaks +even greater merit for Mrs. Barnett's new novel, now in preparation. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Kentuckians in History and Literature_, by J. W. + Townsend (New York, 1907); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +THE WILL[27] + +[From _The Dragnet_ (New York, 1909)] + +Soon after their return, the Alexanders were forced to move to town. +Charles needed the time he had to spend on the road going to and fro, +and he was unwilling to put unnecessary hours of work on Trezevant, +who not only bore his share during the day, but was sleeping with one +eye open in a dingy corner of the shops. As the Dinsmore was +expensive, they rented a modern flat, with tiny rooms, but plenty of +sunlight. Constance knew they could save here, especially as Diana +still wished to make her home with them. + +Finally, the last day at Hillside came. + +Charles drove Diana and Lawson to town, to get things ready there, +leaving Constance to see the last load off, and to make sure that +everything was in good shape for the Clarks, who intended to take +possession in the spring. Constance went into every room, list in +hand, checking the things the new owners had purchased. Then she tried +the window bolts, and snapped the key in the lock of the front door. +She blew the horn for the brougham. The coachman came up. In a +business-like, everyday manner, she ordered him to drive to town, and, +getting in, without one look from the window, she left Hillside. + +When she arrived at the new home, she was pleased to find that Diana +and Lawson had arranged the furniture in the small rooms, and had a +dainty little luncheon awaiting. As she was sitting down to enjoy it, +her first visitor rang the bell--Aunt Sarah, just returned from the +East and the latest fashions, looking younger than ever, and with a +torrent of society gossip that was almost Sanscrit to Constance, +occupied so long with the realities. + +"What was your idea, Constance, in coming to this tiny place?" she +asked, when she had given a full account of the delights of her +summer. + +Constance hesitated, but only for a moment. "Economy," she said, +boldly. + +Aunt Sarah looked anxious. "My dear child, has your husband been +preaching? Don't let him fool you; they all try it. It's a trick. +Every now and then they think it their duty to cry hard times, when it +is no such thing. You go to scrimping and saving, like an obedient +wife, and the first thing you know he buys an automobile or a yacht, +or wants you to give a ball." + +Constance smiled. "But this is real, Aunt Sarah. You know we are +fighting a big trust, and while, eventually, we expect to win, we have +to be content with little or no profits for a few years." + +"Trusts! Profits! What difference do they make as long as you have a +steady income of your own?" + +Constance was debating with herself whether she ought to speak plainly +and have it out with the Parker pride then and there, or wait until +she were not quite so tired and unstrung, when she was happily spared +a decision by her aunt's switching off to another track. + +"Talking of money reminds me that I heard a piece of news to-day," she +said, lowering her voice in deference to Diana's presence behind thin +walls. "I heard that Horace Vendire made a will shortly after his +engagement to ---- and has left her millions." + +"Oh, aunt! I wonder if it is true! How dreadful it would be!" + +Aunt Sarah put up her jeweled lorgnette. "Constance Parker, what on +earth is the matter with you to-day? You seem to be getting everything +distorted, looking at the world upside down. It's that country +business--" she continued emphatically; "the very moment you developed a +fondness for that sort of life, I knew you were bound to grow careless +and indifferent in thoughts, ways, and opinions. People who love the +country always seem to think they have to sneer at civilization." + +Constance was too tired to argue, and too disturbed over the last +piece of gossip to explain; so she said weakly that she supposed she +had changed, and let the rest of the visit pass in banalities. + +The next day a little lawyer sprang a sensation by notifying those +whom it concerned that he held the last Will and Testament of Horace +Vendire, duly signed, attested, and sealed in his presence, a month +before the disappearance. + +Charles came to tell the two women. + +"No, no!" cried Diana: "It's a mistake! He did not intend it to stand!" + +"You surmise the contents of the will?" + +"If it was made only a month before he disappeared. Had he lived, he +would have altered it. I begged him to. Must I go to the meeting of +the heirs?" + +"I think it is best. Cheer up; there are many things worse than money. +Constance and I will go with you. Mr. James is back, and has asked us." + +So Diana went, and she could not have looked more terrified had she +been listening to the last trump, instead of to the smooth voice of a +young lawyer reading the bequests of her dead lover. + +The will was dated, July 26th, 1900. By it, Horace Vendire's life +insurance was left to his brother James, an annuity of five thousand +dollars to his mother, and an income of only three thousand a year to +his fiancee, Diana Frewe, as long as she remained unmarried. It was +evident to Charles that Vendire did not wish to give her enough to +help her friends. The residue, and, eventually, the principal, were to +be used in building and endowing the Horace Vendire Public Library in +the city of New York. + +In a codicil, he directed that his stock in the American Blade and +Trigger Company should be sold, the directors of that company being +given the option of buying it at par before it was offered elsewhere. + +Mr. James Vendire was the first to congratulate Diana. + +"Oh, don't!" she cried, shrinking from his proffered hand. "I cannot +bear it. It is yours; you must take it." She grew almost incoherent. + +Constance petted and soothed. "Be still, dear. Remember you are weak +and unstrung. We will go home now, and see what can be done later." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[27] Copyright, 1909, by B. W. Huebsch and Company. + + + + +JOHN PATTERSON + + +John Patterson, "a Greek prophet not without honor in his own American +land," was born near Lexington, Kentucky, June 10, 1861. He was +graduated from Kentucky State University in 1882; and the following +year Harvard granted him the degree of Bachelor of Arts. He took his +Master's degree from Kentucky University in 1886. The late Professor +John Henry Neville, one of Kentucky's greatest classical scholars, +first taught John Patterson Greek; and to his old professor he is +indebted for much of his success as a teacher of Greek and a +translator and critic of its literature. Professor Patterson's first +school after leaving Harvard was a private one for boys near Midway, +Kentucky; and he was for several years principal of the high school at +Versailles, Kentucky. His first book, _Lyric Touches_ (Cincinnati, +1893), is his only really creative work so far. It contains several +fine poems and was widely admired at the time of its appearance. In +1894 Professor Patterson was made instructor of Greek in the +Louisville High School, which position he held for seven years. His +first published translation was _The Medea of Euripides_ (Louisville, +1894), which he edited with an introduction and notes. This was +followed by _The Cyclops of Euripides_ (London, 1900), perhaps his +finest work hitherto. In 1901 Kentucky University conferred the +honorary degree of Master of Literature upon Professor Patterson; and +in the same year he helped to establish the Patterson-Davenport school +of Louisville. In 1907 he became professor of Greek in the University +of Louisville; and since September, 1908, he has been Dean of the +College of Arts and Sciences of the University with full executive +powers, practically president. His institution granted him the +honorary degree of LL. D. in 1909. Doctor Patterson's latest work is a +translation into English of _Bion's Lament for Adonis_ (Louisville, +1909). At the present time he is engaged upon a critical edition of +the Greek text of the _Lament_. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909), v. + ix; _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +A CLUSTER OF GRAPES[28] + +[From. _Lyric Touches_ (Cincinnati, 1893)] + + Misty-purple globes, + Beads which brown autumn strings + Upon her robes, + Like amethyst ear-rings + Behind a bridal veil + Your veils of bloom their gems reveal. + + Mellow, sunny-sweet, + Ye lure the banded bee + To juicier treat, + Aiding his tipsy spree + With more dulcet wine + Than clover white or wild woodbine. + + Dripping rosy dreams + To me of happy hall + Where laughter trims + The lamps till swallow-call; + Of flowery cup and throng + Of men made gods in wit and song. + + Holding purer days + Your luscious fruitfulness, + When prayer and praise + The bleeding ruby bless, + And memory sees the blood + Of Christ, the Savior, God and good. + + Monks of lazy hills, + Stilling the rich sunshine + Within your cells, + Teach me to have such wine + Within my breast as this, + Of faith, of song, of happiness. + + +CHORAL ODE (ERIPIDES' MEDEA, LINES 627-662.) + +[From the same] + + The loves in excess bring nor virtue nor fame, + But if Cypris gently should come, + No goddess of heaven so pleasing a dame: + Yet never, O mistress, in sure passion steeped, + Aim at me thy gold bow's barbed flame. + + May temperance watch o'er me, best gift of the gods, + May ne'er to wild wrangling and strifes + Dread Cypris impel me soul-pierced with strange lust; + But with favoring eye on the quarrelless couch + Spread she wisely the love-beds of wives! + + Oh fatherland! Oh native home! + Never city-less + May I tread the weary path of want + Ever pitiless + And full of doom; + But on that day to death, to death be slave! + Without a country's worse than in a grave. + + Mine eye hath seen, nor do I muse + On other's history. + Nor home nor friend bewails thy nameless pangs.-- + Perish dismally + The fiend who fails + To cherish friends, turning the guileless key + Of candor's gate! Such friend be far from me! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[28] Copyright, 1893, by Robert Clarke and Company. + + + + +WILLIAM E. BARTON + + +William Eleazar Barton, novelist and theologian, was born at Sublette, +Illinois, June 28, 1861. He reached Kentucky for the first time on +Christmas Day of 1880, and matriculated as a student in Berea College, +where he spent the remainder of the college year of 1880-1881, and four +additional years. During two summers and autumns he taught school in +Knox county, Kentucky, then without a railroad, taking long rides to +Cumberland Gap, Cumberland Falls and other places which have since +appeared in his stories. The two remaining vacations he spent in travel +through the mountains, journeying by Ohio river steamer along the +northern counties, and by horseback far into the Kentucky hills in +various directions. In 1885 Mr. Barton graduated from Berea with the B. +S. degree; and three years later the same institution granted him M. S., +and, in 1890, A. M. He was ordained to the Congregational ministry at +Berea, Kentucky, June 6, 1885, and he preached for two years in southern +Kentucky and in the adjacent hills of east Tennessee, living at Robbins, +Tennessee. Mr. Barton's first book was a Kentucky mountain sketch, +called _The Wind-Up of the Big Meetin' on No Bus'ness_ (1887), now out +of print. This was followed by _Life in the Hills of Kentucky_ (1889), +depicting actual conditions. He became pastor of a church at Wellington, +Ohio, in 1890, and his next two works were church histories. Berea +College conferred the honorary degree of Doctor of Divinity upon Mr. +Barton in 1895; and he has been a trustee of the college for the last +several years. He was pastor of a church in Boston for six years, but +since 1899, he has been in charge of the First Congregational Church of +Oak Park, Illinois. Dr. Barton's other books are: _A Hero in Homespun_ +(New York, 1897), a Kentucky story, the first of his books that was +widely read and reviewed; _Sim Galloway's_ _Daughter-in-Law_ (Boston, +1897), the Kentucky mountains again, which reappear in _The Truth About +the Trouble at Roundstone_ (Boston, 1897); _The Story of a Pumpkin Pie_ +(Boston, 1898); _The Psalms and Their Story_ (Boston, 1898); _Old +Plantation Hymns_ (1899); _When Boston Braved the King_ (Boston, 1899); +_The Improvement of Perfection_ (1900); _The Prairie Schooner_ (Boston, +1900); _Pine Knot_ (New York, 1900), his best known and, perhaps, his +finest tale of Kentucky; _Lieut. Wm. Barton_ (1900); _What Has Brought +Us Out of Egypt_ (1900); _Faith as Related to Health_ (1901); +_Consolation_ (1901); _I Go A-Fishing_ (New York, 1901); _The First +Church of Oak Park_ (1901); _The Continuous Creation_ (1902); _The Fine +Art of Forgetting_ (1902); _An Elementary Catechism_ (1902); _The Old +World in the New Century_ (1902); _The Gospel of the Autumn Leaf_ +(1903); _Jesus of Nazareth_ (1904); _Four Weeks of Family Worship_ +(1906); _The Sweetest Story Ever Told_ (1907); with Sydney Strong and +Theo. G. Soares, _His Last Week, His Life, His Friends, His Great +Apostle_ (1906-07); _The Week of Our Lord's Passion_ (1907); _The +Samaritan Pentateuch_ (1906); _The History and Religion of the +Samaritans_ (1906); _The Messianic Hope of the Samaritans_ (1907); _The +Life of Joseph E. Roy_ (1908); _Acorns From an Oak Park Pulpit_ (1910); +_Pocket Congregational Manual_ (1910); _Rules of Order for +Ecclesiastical Assemblies_ (1910); _Bible Classics_ (1911); and _Into +All the World_ (1911). Since 1900 Dr. Barton has been on the editorial +staff of _The Youth's Companion_. The _locale_ of his novels was down on +the Kentucky-Tennessee border, amid ignorance and poverty--a background +upon which no other writer has painted. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Nation_ (August 9, 1900); _The Book Buyer_ + (November, 1900); _The Independent_ (July 7, 1910). + + +A WEARY WINTER[29] + +[From _The Truth About the Trouble at Roundstone_ (Boston, 1897)] + +The winter came and went, and the breach only widened with the +progress of the months. The men dropped all pretense of religious +observance. They grew more and more taciturn and sullen in their +homes. They cared less and less for the society of their neighbors, +and as they grew more miserable they grew more uncompromising. When +little Ike was sick and Jane going to the spring just before dinner +found a gourd of chicken broth, so fresh and hot that it had evidently +been left but a few minutes before, she knew how it had come there, +and hastened to the house with it. But Larkin saw the gourd and at a +glance understood it, and asked,-- + +"Whar'd ye git that ar gourd? Whose gourd is that?" and snatching it +from her, he took it to the door and flung it with all his might. +Little Ike cried, for the odor of the broth had already tempted his +fickle appetite, and Larkin bribed him to stop crying with promises of +candy and all other injurious sweetmeats known to children of the +Holler. But when the illness proved to be a sort of winter cholera +terminating in flux, he was glad to maintain official ignorance of a +bottle of blackberry cordial which also was left at the spring, and +which proved of material benefit in the slow convalescence of Ike. + +It was thought, at first, that Captain Jack Casey would be able to +effect a reconciliation between the men. He was respected in the +Holler, and was often useful in adjusting differences between +neighbors. He was a justice of the peace, for that matter, and had the +law behind him. But his military title and his reputation for fair +dealing gave him added authority. + +He was the friend of both men, and had known them both in the army. He +was Eph's brother-in-law, beside, and their wives' friendship, like +their own, dated from that prehistoric period, "before the war." + +But even Captain Jack failed to move either of the two enraged +neighbors. + +Brother Manus made several ineffectual attempts at a reconciliation, +but at last gave up all hope. + +"I'll pray fur 'em," he said, "but I cyant do no more." + +Great was his professed faith in prayer; it may be doubted whether +this admission did not indicate in his mind a desperate condition of +affairs. + +But there was one person who could never be brought to recognize the +breach between the families. Shoog made her frequent visits back and +forth unhindered. To be sure, Ephraim tried to prevent her. He scolded +her; he explained to her, and once he even whipped her. But while she +seemed to understand the words he spoke, and grieved sorely over her +punishments, she could not get through her mind the idea of an +estrangement, and at length they gave up trying to have her +understand. So, almost daily, when the weather permitted, Shoog +crossed the foot log, and wended her way across the bottoms to Uncle +Lark's. Larkin at first attempted to ignore her presence, but the +attempt failed, and she was soon as much in his arms and heart as she +had ever been; and many prayers and good wishes went with her back and +forth, as Jane and Martha saw her come and go, and often went a piece +with her, though true to their unspoken parole of honor to their +husbands, speaking no word to each other. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[29] Copyright, 1897, by the Author. + + + + +BENJ. H. RIDGELY + + +Benjamin Howard Ridgely, short-story writer, was born at Ridgely, +Maryland, July 13, 1861. In early childhood he was brought to Woodford +county, Kentucky, where he grew to manhood. He was educated in private +schools and at Henry Academy. He studied law but abandoned it for +journalism. Ridgely removed to Louisville in 1877 to accept a position +on _The Daily Commercial_, which later became _The Herald_. He went with +_The Courier-Journal_ and in a short time he was made city editor. +Ridgely left _The Courier-Journal_ to establish _The Sunday Truth_, of +which he was editor, with his friend, Mr. Young E. Allison, as +associate editor. President Cleveland, urged by Col. Henry Watterson and +other leading Democrats, appointed Ridgely consul to Geneva, +Switzerland, on June 20, 1892, which post he held for eight years. Being +able to speak French and Spanish fluently, he was well fitted for the +consular service. On May 8, 1900, President McKinley transferred Ridgely +to Malaga, Spain, where he remained for two years, when he was again +transferred, this time going to Nantes, France, where he also staid for +two years. President Roosevelt sent Ridgely to Barcelona, Spain, on +November 3, 1904, as consul-general. He resided at that delightful place +until March, 1908, when he was made consul-general to Mexico, with his +residence at Mexico City. Ridgely died very suddenly at Monterey, +Mexico, on October 9, 1908. His body was brought back to Kentucky and +interred in Cave Hill cemetery, Louisville; and there he sleeps to-day +with no stone to mark the spot. Ridgely's reports to the state +department are now recognized as papers of importance, but is upon his +short-stories and essays that he is entitled to a place in literature. +His stories of consular life, set amid the changing scenes of his +diplomatic career, appeared in _The Atlantic Monthly_, _Harper's +Magazine_, _The Century_, _McClure's_, _Scribner's_, _The Strand_, _The +Pall Mall Magazine_, and elsewhere. Writing a miniature autobiography in +1907 he set himself down as the author of a volume of short-stories, +which, he said, bore the imprint of The Century Company, New York, were +entitled _The Comedies of a Consulate_, and, strangest thing of all, +were published two years prior to the time he was writing, or, in 1905! +It is indeed too bad that his alleged publishers fail to remember having +issued his book, for one would be worth while. What a castle in Spain +for this spinner of consular yarns! + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Who's Who in America_ (1908-1909); _The + Courier-Journal_ (Louisville, October 10, 1908). + + +A KENTUCKY DIPLOMAT[30] + +[From _The Man the Consul Protected_ (_Century Magazine_, January, +1905)] + +Colonel Gillespie Witherspoon Warfield of Kentucky was an amiable and +kindly man of fifty, with the fluent speech and genial good breeding +of a typical Blue-grass gentleman. In appearance and dress he was +still an ante-bellum Kentuckian, with a weakness for high-heeled +boots, long frock-coats, and immaculate linen. When he said, "Yes, +sah," or "No, sah," it was like a breath right off the old plantation. +It should be added that he was a bachelor and a Mugwump. + +Being a Kentuckian, he was naturally a colonel; though, as a matter of +fact, it was due solely to the courtesy of the press and the amiable +custom of the proud old commonwealth that he possessed his military +title. Nor had the genial colonel been otherwise a brilliant success +in life. Indeed, I am pained to recite that he had achieved in his +varied professional career only a sort of panorama of failures. He had +failed at the bar, failed in journalism, failed as a real-estate +broker, and, having finally taken the last step, had failed as a +life-insurance agent. In this emergency his relatives and friends +hesitated as to whether they should run him for Congress or unload him +on the consular service. His younger brother, who was something of a +cynic, insisted that Gillespie was fitted by intelligence to be only a +family physician; but it was finally decided at a domestic council +that he would particularly ornament the consular service. In pursuance +of this happy conclusion, an organized onslaught was made upon the +White House. The President yielded, and one day the news came that +Colonel Gillespie Witherspoon Warfield had been appointed consul of +the United States to Esperanza. + +It is needless to suggest that Colonel Warfield took himself very +seriously in his new official capacity. It had not occurred to him, +however, that his consular mission was rather a commercial than a +patriotic one: he believed that he was going abroad to see that the +flag of his country was treated with respect, and to protect those of +his fellow-countrymen who in any emergency might have need of the +services of an astute and fearless diplomat. In fact, the feeling +that his chief official function was to be that of a sort of +diplomatic protecting angel took such possession of him that he +assumed a paternal attitude toward the whole country. Thus, bursting +with patriotism, he set sail one day from New York for Gibraltar, and +was careful during the voyage to let it be understood on shipboard +that if anybody needed protection he stood ready to run up the flag +and make the eagle scream violently. + +Esperanza lies just around the corner from Gibraltar, and nowhere along +all the Iberian littoral of the Mediterranean is the sky fairer or the +sun more genial. The fertile _vega_ stretches back to the foot-hills of +the snow-capped Sierra Nevada. Across the blue-sea way lies Morocco. It +is a picturesque and beautiful spot, and if the consul be a dreamer, he +may find golden hours for reverie. But I fear that neither the poetry +nor the picturesqueness of the entourage appealed to Consul Warfield as +he reached Esperanza that blazing September morning. He was more +impressed with the shrill noises of the foul and shabby streets; with +the dust that was upon everything, giving even to the palm-trees in the +_parque_ a gray and dreary look; with the flies that seemed to be +hunting their prey in swarms like miniature vultures; with the +uncompromising mosquitos singing shrilly for blood, and the bold, busy +fleas that held no portion of his official person sacred. + +The colonel was a buoyant man, but his exuberant soul felt a certain +sinking that hot morning. It was a busy moment at Esperanza, and not +much attention was paid to the new consul at the crowded Fonda +Cervantes, whither, after a turbulent effort, he had persuaded his +_cochero_ to conduct him. He had been much disappointed that the +vice-consul was not on hand to receive him at the railway station. The +fact is, the consul had thought rather earnestly of a committee and a +brass band at the depot, and the complete lack of anything akin to a +reception had been something of a shock to his official and personal +vanity. However, he was not easily discouraged, and after having +convinced the proprietor of the fonda that he was the new American +consul, and therefore entitled to superior consideration, he set out +to find the consulate. + +He found it in a narrow little street that went twisting back from +the quay toward the great dingy cathedral, and certainly it was not +what his imagination had fondly pictured it. He had thought of a fine +old Moorish-castle sort of house, with a great carved door opening +into a spacious _patio_, splendid with Arabic columns, and in the +background a broad marble staircase leading up to the consulate. He +had expected to see the flag of his country flying in honor of his +arrival, and a uniformed soldier on duty at the entrance, ready to +present arms and stand at attention when the new consul appeared. + +As a matter of fact, there was a very narrow little door opening into +a very narrow little hallway that ran through the center of a very +narrow, squalid little house. Over the doorway was perched the +consular coat of arms. It was the poorest, dingiest, dustiest little +escutcheon that ever bore so pretentious a device. + +The dingy gilt letters were almost invisible, but the colonel managed +to make them out. He could also see that the figure in the center of +the shield was intended to represent a proud and haughty eagle-bird in +the act of screaming; but the poor old eagle had been so rained upon +and so shone upon, and the dust had gathered so heavily upon him, that +he looked like a mere low-spirited reminiscence of the famous +_Haliaetus leucocephalus_ which he was originally meant to represent. + +Colonel Warfield of Kentucky was not discouraged. Being, as I have +said, a buoyant man, he simply remarked to himself: "I'll have that +disreputable-looking fowl taken down and painted." Then he walked on +into the squalid little consulate. + +An old man with shifty little blue eyes; a thin, keen face; long, +straggling gray hair; and a long, thin tuft of gray beard, which +looked all the more straggling and wretched because of the absence of +an accompanying mustache, sat at a table reading a Spanish newspaper. +This was Mr. Richard Brown of Maine, "clerk and messenger" to the +United States consulate, who drew the allowance of four hundred +dollars a year, and was the recognized bulwark of official Americanism +at Esperanza. For forty years, during all the vicissitudes of war and +politics, Richard Brown had sat at his desk in the shabby little +consulate, watching the procession of American consuls come and go, +doing nearly all the clerical work of the office himself, and +contemplating with cynical delight the tortuous efforts of the +various untrained new officers to acquaint themselves with their +duties and the language of the post. + +In his affiliations he had become entirely Spanish, having acquired a +fluent knowledge of the language and a wide acquaintance with the +people and their ways. None the less, in his speech and appearance he +remained a typical down-east Yankee, and it is said at Esperanza that +his one conceit was to look like the popular caricature of Uncle Sam. +In this it is not to be denied that he succeeded. The "billy-goat" +beard; the lantern-jaw; the thin, long hair; the thin, long arms; and +the thin, long legs--these he had as if modeled from the caricature. +And the nasal twang and the down-east dialect--alas! it would have +filled the average melodramatic English novelist's devoted soul with +untold satisfaction and delight to hear Richard Brown say "Wal" and "I +gaiss," and otherwise mutilate the English language. + +To the Spaniards he was known as Don Ricardo. The small Anglo-American +colony at Esperanza referred to him as "old Dick Brown." He was a +cynical, crusty, sour old man, who had become a sort of consular +heirloom at Esperanza, and without whose knowledge and assistance no +new American consul could at the outset have performed the simplest +official duty. Knowing this, Richard Brown felt a very well-developed +sense of his own importance, and looked upon each of his newly arrived +superiors with ill-concealed contempt. + +There was also a vice-consul at Esperanza; but as he was a busy +merchant, who could find time to sign only such papers as old Brown +presented to him in the absence of the consul, he was seen little at +the consulate. He generally knew when a new consul was coming along or +an old consul going away, but in this instance Brown had failed to +advise him either of Major Ransom's departure or of Colonel Warfield's +arrival. Thus it happened that only the amiable Mr. Brown was on hand +when Colonel Warfield came perspiring upon the scene on the warm +morning in September of which we write. + +"Come in," he said sharply, as the consul hesitated upon the +threshold. "What's your business?" + +Colonel Warfield gave Mr. Brown a look that would have completely +withered an ordinary person, but which was entirely lost upon the old +man in question, and with magnificent dignity handed him the following +card: + + COLONEL G. WITHERSPOON WARFIELD, + Consul of the United States of America. + ESPERANZA. + +Mr. Richard Brown looked the card over carefully. + +"Another colonel," he observed grimly. "The last one was a major; the +one before him was a capting. Ain't they got nothin' but soldiers to +send out here? Who's goin' to run the army? Are you a real colonel or +jest a newspaper colonel, or are you a colonel on the governor's +staff? There's your office over there on the other side of the hall. +Kin you speak Spanish?" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[30] Copyright, 1905, by the Century Company. + + + + +ZOE A. NORRIS + + +Mrs. Zoe Anderson Norris, novelist and editor, was born at +Harrodsburg, Kentucky, in 1861, the daughter of Rev. Henry T. +Anderson, who held pastorates in many Kentucky towns. She was +graduated from Daughters, now Beaumont, College, when she was +seventeen years of age, or in 1878; and two days later she married +Spencer W. Norris, of Harrodsburg, and removed to Wichita, Kansas, to +live. Years afterwards Mrs. Norris divorced her husband and went to +New York to make a name for herself in literature. She began with a +Western story, _Georgiana's Mother_, which appeared in George W. +Cable's magazine, _The Symposium_. Some time thereafter Mrs. Norris +went to England--"like an idiot," as she now puts it. In London she +"got swamped among the million thieving magazines, threw up the whole +job," and traveled for two years on the Continent, writing for +American periodicals. When she returned to New York she again wrote +for _McClure's_, _Cosmopolitan_, _The Smart Set_, _Everybody's_, and +several other magazines. Mrs. Norris's first novel, _The Quest of +Polly Locke_ (New York, 1902) was a story of the poor of Italy. It was +followed by her best known novel, _The Color of His Soul_ (New York, +1903), set against a background of New York's Bohemia, and suppressed +two weeks after its publication because of the earnest objections of a +young Socialist, who had permitted the author to make a type of him, +and, when the story was selling, became dissatisfied because he was +not sharing in the profits. The publishers feared a libel suit, and +withdrew the little novel. Their action scared other publishers, and +she could not find any one to print her writings. A short time later +Mrs. Norris narrowly escaped dying as a charity patient in a New York +hospital. When she did recover she worked for two years on _The Sun_, +_The Post_, _The Press_, and several other newspapers in Manhattan. +_Twelve Kentucky Colonel Stories_ (New York, 1905), which were +originally printed in _The Sun_, "describing scenes and incidents in a +Kentucky Colonel's life in the Southland," were told Mrs. Norris by +Phil B. Thompson, sometime Congressman from Kentucky. The stories have +enjoyed a wide sale; and she is planning to issue another set of them +shortly. Being badly treated by a well-known magazine, she became so +infuriated that she decided to establish--at the suggestion of Marion +Mills Miller--a magazine of her own. Thus _The East Side_, a little +thing not so large--speaking of its physical size--as Elbert Hubbard's +_The Philistine_, was born. That was early in 1909; and it has been +issued every other month since. Mrs. Norris is nothing if not +original; her opinions may not matter much, but they are hers. The +four bound volumes of _The East Side_ lie before me now, and they are +almost bursting with love, sympathy, and understanding for the poor of +New York. She has been and is everything from printer's "devil" to +editor-in-chief, but she has made a success of the work. Her one +eternal theme is the poor, in whom she has been interested all her +life. For the last seven years she has lived among them; and among +them she hopes to spend the remainder of her days. Her one best friend +has been William Oberhardt, the artist, who has illustrated _The East +Side_ from its inception until the present time. To celebrate the +little periodical's first anniversary, Mrs. Norris founded--at the +suggestion of Will J. Lampton--The Ragged Edge Klub, which is composed +of her friends and subscribers, and which gave her an opportunity to +meet all of her "distinguished life preservers" in person. The Klub's +dinners delight the diners--and the newspapers! Mrs. Norris's latest +novel, _The Way of the Wind_ (New York, 1911), is a story of the +sufferings of the Kansas pioneers, and is generally regarded as her +finest work. So long as _Zoe's Magazine_--which is the sub-title of +_The East Side_--continues to come from the press, the pushcart +people, the rag pickers, the turkish towel men, the kindling-wood +women, the homeless of New York's great East Side will have a voice in +the world worth having. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Everybody's Magazine_ (September, 1909); + _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ (January, 1910). + + +THE CABARET SINGER[31] + +[From _The East Side_ (September, 1912)] + +For a few moments the orchestra, with dulcet wail of cello and violin, +held the attention of those at the tables, then the Cabaret singer +stepped out upon the soft, red carpet. + +Against the mirrored wall at a small table set a young chap with his +wife. The eyes of his wife followed his quick, admiring glances at the +singer. + +She began to sing "Daddy," sweeping the crowd with her long, soft +glance, selecting her victim for the chorus. + +She advanced toward the couple. She stood by the husband, pressed her +rosy, perfumed cheek upon his hair, and began to sing. + +The young wife flushed crimson as she watched her husband in this +delicate embrace, the crowd applauded; and the Cabaret singer, leaving +him, went from one to the other of the men, some bald, some young, +singing the chorus of "Daddy." + +The young wife sighed as the flashing eyes of her husband followed the +singer. + +"Shall we go home?" she asked presently. + +"Not yet!" he implored. + +"I wish I could go home," she repeated, by and by. "My baby is crying +for me. I know he is. I wish I could go home." + +The song finished, the singer ran into the dressing room and threw +herself into the arms of the old negress half asleep there. She began +to cry softly. + +The negress patted her white shoulder. + +"What's de mattah, honey," she purred. + +"I want to go home," the singer sobbed. "I am sick of that song. I am +sick of these men. My baby is crying for me. I know he is. I want to +go home!" + + +IN A MOMENT OF WEARINESS + +[From the same] + + I'm tired of the turmoil and trouble of life, + I'm tired of the envy and malice and strife, + I'm tired of the sunshine, I'm sick of the rain, + If I could go back and be little again, + I'd like it. + + I'm tired of the day that must end in the night, + I'm afraid of the dark and I faint in the light, + I'm sick of the sorrow and sadness and pain, + If I could be rocked in a cradle again, + I'd like it. + + But tired or not, we must keep up the fight, + We must work thru the day, lie awake thru the night, + Stand the heat of the sun and the fall of the rain, + Be brave in the dark and endure the pain; + For we'll never, never be little again, + And we'll never be rocked in a cradle again, + Tho we'd most of us like it. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[31] Copyright, 1912, by the Author. + + + + +LUCY CLEAVER McELROY + + +Mrs. Lucy Cleaver McElroy, author of "uneuphonious feminine, but very +characteristic Dickensy sketches," was born near Lebanon, Kentucky, on +Christmas Day of 1861. She was the daughter of the late Doctor W. W. +Cleaver, a physician of Lebanon. Miss Cleaver was educated in the +schools of her native town, and, on September 28, 1881, she was married +to Mr. G. W. McElroy, who now resides at Covington, Kentucky. Mrs. +McElroy was an invalid for many years, but she did not allow herself to +become discouraged and she produced at least one book that was a +success. She began her literary career by contributing articles to _The +Courier-Journal_, of Louisville, _The Ladies' Home Journal_, and other +newspapers and periodicals. Mrs. McElroy's first volume, _Answered_ +(Cincinnati), a poem, was highly praised by several competent critics. +The first book she published that won a wide reading was _Juletty_ (New +York, 1901), a tale of old Kentucky, in which lovers and moonshiners, +fox-hunters and race horses, Morgan and his men, and a girl with +"whiskey-colored eyes," make the _motif_. _Juletty_ was followed by _The +Silent Pioneer_ (New York, 1902), published posthumously. "The silent +pioneer" was, of course, Daniel Boone. Both of these novels are now out +of print, and they are seldom seen in the old book-shops. Mrs. McElroy +died at her home on the outskirts of Lebanon, Kentucky, which she +called "Myrtledene," on December 15, 1901. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Critic_ (May, 1901); _Library of Southern + Literature_ (Atlanta, 1910, v. xiv). + + +OLD ALEC HAMILTON[32] + +[From _Juletty_ (New York, 1901)] + +"If you remember him at all, doctor, you remember that he was a +curious man; curious in person, manner, habits, and thoughts. + +"He was six feet two inches in height and tipped the Fairbanks needle +at the two hundred notch; I believe he had the largest head and the +brightest eyes I have ever seen. That big head of his was covered by a +dense growth of auburn hair, and as every hair stood separately erect +it looked like a big sunburned chestnut burr; his eyes twinkled and +snapped, sparkled and glowed, like blue blazes, though on occasion +they could beam as softly and tenderly through their tears as those of +some lovesick woman. His language was a curious idiom; the result of +college training and after association with negroes and illiterate +neighbors. Of course, as a child, I did not know his peculiarities, +and looked forward with much pleasure to seeing him and my +grandmother, of whose many virtues I had heard. My father had +expatiated much on the beauty of my grandfather's farm--three thousand +broad acres (you have doubtless noticed, doctor, that Kentucky acres +always are broad, about twice as broad as the average acre) in the +heart of the Pennyrile District. As good land, he said, as a crow ever +flew over; red clay for subsoil, and equal to corn crops in succession +for a hundred years. But I am going to tell you, doctor, of my visit +as a child to my grandfather. I had never seen him, and felt a little +natural shrinking from the first meeting. My mother had only been dead +a few weeks and--well, in short, my young heart was pretty full of +conflicting emotions when I drew near the old red brick house. He was +not expecting me, and I had to walk from the railway station. It was +midsummer, and the old gentleman sat, without hat, coat, or shoes, +outside his front door. As I drew near he called out threateningly: + +"'Who are you?' + +"'Why, don't you know me?' I asked pleasantly. + +"'No, by Jacks! How in hell should I know you?' he thundered. + +"There was nothing repulsive about his profanity; falling from his +lips it seemed guileless as cooings of suckling doves, so nothing +daunted, I cried out cheerily as one who brings good news: + +"'I'm Jack Burton, your grandson!' + +"'What yer want here?' + +"'Why, I've come to see you, grandfather,' I answered quiveringly. + +"'Well, dam yer, take er look an' go home!' he roared. + +"'I will!' I shouted indignantly, and more deeply hurt than ever +before or since, I turned and ran from him. + +"Then almost before I knew it he had me in his great, strong arms, his +tears and kisses beating softly down like raindrops on my face, while +he mumbled through his sobs: + +"'Why, my boy, don't you know your old grandfather's ways? Eliza's +son! First-born of my first-born, you are more welcome than sunshine +after a storm. Never mind what grandfather says, little man; just +always remember he loves you like a son.' + +"He had by that time carried me back to his door; there all at once +his whole manner changed, and putting me on my feet, he cried: 'Thar, +yer damned lazy little rascal, yer expec' me ter carry yer eround like +er nigger? Use yer own legs and find yer grandmother.' + +"But he could not frighten me then nor ever any more; I had seen his +heart, and it was the heart of a poet, a lover, a gentleman, do what +he might to hide it." + +The doctor had allowed me to have my head, and talk in my rambling, +reminiscent fashion, and agreed in my estimate of my grandsire. + +"Yessir, just like him for the world!" he cried. + +"I was at his house one day when the ugliest man in Warren County came +out; he did not wait to greet him, but shouted, 'My God, man, don't +you wish ugliness was above par? You'd be er Croesus.'" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[32] Copyright, 1901, by Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. + + + + +MARY F. LEONARD + + +Miss Mary Finley Leonard, maker of many tales for girls, was born at +Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, January 11, 1862, but she was brought to +Louisville, Kentucky, when but a few months old. Louisville has been her +home ever since. Miss Leonard was educated in private schools, and at +once entered upon her literary labors. She has published ten books for +girls from fourteen to sixteen years of age, but several of them may be +read by "grown-ups." The style of all of them is delightfully simple and +direct. _The Story of the Big Front Door_ (New York, 1898), was her +first story, and this was followed by _Half a Dozen Thinking Caps_ (New +York, 1900); _The Candle and the Cat_ (New York, 1901); _The Spectacle +Man_ (Boston, 1901); _Mr. Pat's Little Girl_ (Boston, 1902); _How the +Two Ends Met_ (New York, 1903); _The Pleasant Street Partnership_ +(Boston, 1903); _It All Came True_ (New York, 1904); _On Hyacinth Hill_ +(Boston, 1904); and her most recent book, _Everyday Susan_ (New York, +1912). These books have brought joy and good cheer to girls in many +lands, and they have been read by many mothers and fathers with pleasure +and profit. Miss Leonard has made for herself a secure place in the +literature of Kentucky, a place that is peculiarly her own. She has a +novel of mature life in manuscript, which is said to be the finest thing +she has done so far, and which will be published in 1913. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Munsey's Magazine_ (March, 1900); _Who's Who in + America_ (1912-1913). + + +GOODBY[33] + +[From _The Candle and the Cat_ (New York, 1901)] + +Trolley sat on the gate-post. If possible he was handsomer than ever, +for the frosty weather had made his coat thick and fluffy, besides +this he wore his new collar. His eyes were wide open to-day, and he +looked out on the world with a solemn questioning gaze. + +He had been decidedly upset in his mind that morning at finding an +open trunk in Caro's room, and clothes scattered about on chairs and +on the bed. Of course he did not know what this meant, but to the cat +mind anything unusual is objectionable, and it made him unhappy. +Finally he stretched himself in the tray, where Caro found him. + +"You darling pussie!" she cried, "Mamma do look at him. I believe he +wants to go home with us. I wish we could take him." + +But Mrs Holland said one little girl was all the traveling companion +she cared for. "It wouldn't do dear, he would be unhappy on the +train," she added. + +"I don't know what I should have done without him. He and my candle +were my greatest comforts--except grandpa," and Caro put her cheek +down on Trolley's soft fur. + +"What am I to do without my little candle?" her grandfather asked. + +"Why, you can have the cat," Caro answered merrily. + +No wonder Trolley's mind was disturbed that morning with such a coming +and going as went on,--people running in to say goodby, and Aunt +Charlotte thinking every few minutes of something new for the traveler's +lunch, tickling his nose with tantalizing odors of tongue and chicken. + +It was over at last, trunks and bags were sent off, Aunt Charlotte was +hugged and kissed and then Trolley had his turn, and the procession +moved, headed by the president. + +"Goodby Trolley; don't forget me!" Caro called, walking backwards and +waving her handkerchief. + +When they were out of sight Trolley went and sat on the gate-post and +thought about it. After a while he jumped down and trotted across the +campus with a businesslike air as if he had come to an important +decision. He took his way through the Barrows orchard to the Grayson +garden where there was now a well-trodden path through the snow. + +Miss Grayson and her brother were sitting in the library. They had +been talking about Caro when Walter glancing toward the window saw a +pair of golden eyes peering in at him. "There is Trolley," he said, +and called Thompson to let him in. + +Trolley entered as if he was sure of a welcome, and walking straight +to Miss Elizabeth, sprang into her lap; and from this on he became a +frequent visitor at the Graysons' dividing his time in fact about +evenly between his two homes. + +And thus an unfortunate quarrel which had disturbed the peaceful +atmosphere of Charmington and separated old friends, was forgotten, +and as the president often remarked, it was all owing to the candle +and the cat. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[33] Copyright, 1901, by Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. + + + + +JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER + + +Joseph Alexander Altsheler, the most prolific historical novelist +Kentucky has produced, was born at Three Springs, Kentucky, April 29, +1862. He was educated at Liberty College, Glasgow, Kentucky, and at +Vanderbilt University. His father's death compelled him to leave +Vanderbilt without his degree, and he entered journalism at Louisville, +Kentucky. Mr. Altsheler was on the Louisville _Evening Post_ for a year, +when he went with _The Courier-Journal_, with which paper his remained +for seven years. During his years on _The Courier-Journal_ he filled +almost every position except editor-in-chief. He later went to New York, +and, since 1892, has been editor of the tri-weekly edition of _The +World_. Mr. Altsheler was married, in 1888, to Miss Sara Boles of +Glasgow, Kentucky, and they have an attractive home in New York. He +began his literary career with a pair of "shilling shockers," entitled +_The Rainbow of Gold_ (New York, 1895), and _The Hidden Mine_ (New York, +1896), neither of which did more than start him upon his real work. The +full list of his tales hitherto is: _The Sun of Saratoga_ (New York, +1897); _A Soldier of Manhattan_ (New York, 1897); _A Herald of the West_ +(New York, 1898); _The Last Rebel_ (Philadelphia, 1899); _In Circling +Camps_ (New York, 1900), a story of the Civil War and his best work so +far; _In Hostile Red_ (New York, 1900), the basis of which was first +published in _Lippincott's Magazine_ as "A Knight of Philadelphia;" _The +Wilderness Road_ (New York, 1901); _My Captive_ (New York, 1902); +_Guthrie of the Times_ (New York, 1904), a Kentucky newspaper story of +success, one of Mr. Altsheler's finest tales; _The Candidate_ (New York, +1905), a political romance. The year 1906 witnessed no book from the +author's hand, but in the following year he began the publication of a +series of books for boys, as well as several other novels. His six +stories for young readers are: _The Young Trailers_ (New York, 1907); +_The Forest Runners_ (New York, 1908); _The Free Rangers_ (New York, +1909); _The Riflemen of the Ohio_ (New York, 1910); _The Scouts of the +Valley_ (New York, 1911); and _The Border Watch_ (New York, 1912). "All +the six volumes deal with the fortunes and adventures of two boys, Henry +Ware and Paul Cotter, and their friends, Shif'less Sol Hyde, Silent Tom +Ross and Long Jim Hart, in the early days of Kentucky." Mr. Altsheler's +latest historical novels are: _The Recovery_ (New York, 1908); _The Last +of the Chiefs_ (New York, 1909); _The Horsemen of the Plains_ (New York, +1910); and _The Quest of the Four_ (New York, 1911). He is at the +present time engaged upon a trilogy dealing with the Texan struggle for +independence against Mexico, the first of which has recently appeared, +_The Texan Star_ (New York, 1912). This tale, with the other two that +are to be issued in 1913, to be entitled, _The Texan Scouts_, and _The +Texan Triumph_, are written chiefly for the young. He will also publish +in 1913 a story to be called _Apache Gold_. "Joseph A. Altsheler has +made a fictional tour of American history," one of his keenest critics +has well said; and his work has been linked with James Fenimore Cooper's +by no less a judge of literary productions than the late Richard Henry +Stoddard. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Independent_ (August 9, 1900); _The Book Buyer_ + (September, 1900); _The Bookman_ (February, 1903). + + +THE CALL OF THE DRUM[34] + +[From _In Circling Camps_ (New York, 1900)] + +Then I listened to the call of the drum. + +Fort Sumter was fired upon, and the first cannon shot there set this +war drum to beating in every village; it was never silent; its steady +roll day after day was calling men up to the cannon mouth; it was +persistent, unsatisfied, always crying for more. + +Its beat was heard throughout a vast area, over regions whose people +knew of each other as part of the same nation but had never met, calling +above this line to the North, calling below it to the South, summoning +up the legions for a struggle in which old jealousies and old quarrels, +breeding since the birth of the Union, were to be settled. + +The drum beat its martial note in the great cities of the Atlantic, +calling the men away from the forges and the shops and the +wharves--clerks, moulders, longshoremen, the same call for all; it +passed on, and its steady beat resounded among the hills and mountains +of the North, calling to the long-limbed farmer boys to drop the +plough and take up the rifle, sending them on to join the moulders, +and clerks, and longshoremen, and putting upon all one stamp, the +stamp of the soldier, food for the cannon--and this food supply was to +be the largest of its time, though few yet dreamed it. + +The roll of the drum went on, through the fields, along the rivers, +by the shores of the Great Lakes, out upon the plains, where the +American yet fought with the Indian for a foothold, and into the +interminable forests whose shades hid the pioneers; over levels and +acres and curves of thousands of miles, calling up the deep-chested +Western farmers, men of iron muscles and no pleasures, to whom +unbroken hardship was the natural course of life, and sending them to +join their Eastern brethren at the cannon mouth. + +It was an insistent drum, beating through all the day and night, over +the mountains, through the sunless woods and on the burnt prairies, +never resting, never weary. The opportunity was the greatest of the +time, and the drum did not neglect a moment; it was without +conscience, and had no use for mercy, calling, always calling. + +Another drum and yet the same was beating in the South, and those who +came at its call differed in little from the others who were marching +to the Northern beat, only the clerks and the mill hands were much +fewer; the same long-limbed and deep-chested race, spare alike of +figure and speech, brown-faced men from the shores of the Gulf, men of +South Carolina in whom the original drop of French blood still +tinctured the whole; brethren of theirs from Louisiana, gigantic +Tennesseans, half-wild horsemen from the Texas plains--all burning +with enthusiasm for a cause that they believed to be right. + +This merciless drum rolling out its ironical chuckle noted that these +Northern and Southern countrymen gathering to their standards were alike +in their lack of pleasure; they were a serious race; life had always +been a hard problem for them, a fight, in fact, and this fight into +which they were going was merely another kind of battle, with some +advantages of novelty and change and comradeship that made it +attractive, especially to the younger, the boys. They had been hewers of +wood and drawers of water in every sense of the word, though for +themselves; generations of them had fought Indians, some suffering +torture and death; they had endured bitter cold and burning heat, eaten +at scanty tables, and lived far-away and lonely lives in the wilderness. +They were a rough and hard-handed race, taught to work and not to be +afraid, knowing no masters, accustomed to no splendours either in +themselves or others, holding themselves as good as anybody and thinking +it, according to Nature; their faults those of newness and never of +decay. These were the men who had grown up apart from the Old World, and +all its traditions, far even from the influence which the Atlantic +seaboard felt through constant communication. This life of eternal +combat in one form or another left no opportunity for softness; the +dances, the sports, and all the gaieties which even the lowest in Europe +had were unknown to them, and they invented none to take their place. + +They knew the full freedom of speech; what they wished to say they +said, and they said it when and where they pleased. But on the whole +they were taciturn, especially in the hour of trouble; then they made +no complaints, suffering in silence. They imbibed the stoicism of the +Indians from whom they won the land, and they learned to endure much +and long before they cried out. This left one characteristic patent +and decisive, and that characteristic was strength. These men had +passed through a school of hardship, one of many grades; it had +roughened them, but it gave them bodies of iron and an unconquerable +spirit for the struggle they were about to begin. + +Another characteristic of those who came at the call of the drum was +unselfishness. They were willing to do much and ask little for it. +They were poor bargain-drivers when selling their own flesh and bones, +and their answer to the call was spontaneous and without price. + +They came in thousands, and scores of thousands. The long roll +rumbling from the sea to the Rocky Mountains and beyond cleared +everything; the doubts and the doubters were gone; no more committees; +an end to compromises! The sword must decide, and the two halves of +the nation, which yet did not understand their own strength, swung +forward to meet the issue, glad that it was obvious at last. + +There came an exultant note into the call of the drum, as if it +rejoiced at the prospects of a contest that took so wide a sweep. Here +was long and happy work for it to do; it could call to many battles, +and its note as it passed from village to village was resounding and +defiant; it was cheerful too, and had in it a trick; it told the +long-legged boys who came out of the woods of victories and glory, of +an end for a while to the toil which never before had been broken, of +new lands and of cities; all making a great holiday with the final +finish of excitement and reasonable risk. It was no wonder that the +drum called so effectively when it mingled such enticements with the +demands of patriotism. Most of those who heard were no strangers to +danger, and those who did not know it themselves were familiar with it +in the traditions of their fathers and forefathers; every inch of the +land which now swept back from the sea three thousand miles had been +won at the cost of suffering and death, with two weapons, the rifle +and the axe, and they were not going to shun the present trial, which +was merely one in a long series. + +The drum was calling to men who understood its note; the nation had +been founded as a peaceful republic, but it had gone already through +the ordeal of many wars, and behind it stretched five generations of +colonial life, an unbroken chain of combats. They had fought +everybody; they had measured the valour of the Englishman, the +Frenchman, the Spaniard, the Hessian, the Mexican, and the red man. +Much gunpowder had been burned within the borders of the Union, and +also its people had burned much beyond them. Those who followed the +call of the drum were flocking to no new trade. By a country with the +shadow of a standing army very many battles had been fought. + +They came too, without regard to blood or origin; the Anglo-Saxon +predominated; he gave his characteristics to North and South alike, +all spoke his tongue, but every race in Europe had descendants there, +and many of them--English, Irish, Scotch, French, German, Spanish, and +so on through the list--their blood fused and intermingled, until no +one could tell how much he had of this and how much of that. + +The untiring drumbeat was heard through all the winter and summer, and +the response still rolled up from vast areas; it was to be no common +struggle--great armies were to be formed where no armies at all +existed before, and the preparations on a fitting scale went on. The +forces of the North and South gathered along a two-thousand-mile line, +and those trying to look far ahead saw the nature of the struggle. + +The preliminary battles and skirmishes began, and then the two +gathered themselves for their mightiest efforts. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[34] Copyright, 1900, by D. Appleton and Company. + + + + +OSCAR W. UNDERWOOD + + +Oscar Wilder Underwood, orator and magazine writer, was born at +Louisville, Kentucky, May 6, 1862. He is the grandson of Joseph Rogers +Underwood, a celebrated Kentucky statesman of the old _regime_. Mr. +Underwood was prepared for the University of Virginia at the Rugby +School of Louisville. In 1884 he was admitted to the bar and entered +upon the practice of his profession at Birmingham, Alabama, his +present home. He was prominent in Alabama politics prior to his +election to the lower house of Congress, in 1895, as the +representative of the Ninth Alabama district; and he has been +regularly returned to that body ever since. Mr. Underwood is chairman +of the committee on ways and means of the Sixty-second Congress, as +well as majority leader of the House. In the Democratic pre-convention +presidential campaign of 1912, the South almost unanimously endorsed +Mr. Underwood for the nomination. Led by Alabama he was hailed in many +quarters as the first really constructive statesman the South has sent +to Congress in more than twenty years; further, his friends said, he +has devoted his life to the study of the tariff and is now the +foremost exponent of the subject living; his tariff policy is simply +this: stop protecting the profits of the manufacturers; and that +Underwood is Democracy's best asset. Earlier in the year, Mr. +Underwood had been attacked by William J. Bryan, and his retorts in +the House were so severe and unanswerable, he being the only man up to +that time able to cope with the Colonel, that, of course, he had that +distinguished gentleman's influence against him at the Baltimore +convention. Nevertheless, every roll-call found him in third place, +just behind Champ Clark, who was also born in Kentucky, and Woodrow +Wilson, governor of New Jersey. He was running so strong as the +convention neared its close, that at least one Kentucky editor came +home and wrote a long editorial calling upon the Kentucky delegation +to change its vote from Clark to Underwood; but on the following day +the governor of New Jersey was nominated. A few of Mr. Underwood's +contributions to periodicals may be pointed out: two articles in _The +Forum_ on "The Negro Problem in the South;" "The Corrupting Power of +Public Patronage;" "What About the Tariff?" (_The World To-day_, +January, 1912); "The Right and Wrong of the Tariff Question" (_The +Independent_, February 1, 1912); and "High Tariff and American Trade +Abroad" (_The Century_, May, 1912). By friend and foe alike Mr. +Underwood is admitted to be the greatest living student of the tariff; +and his speeches in Congress and out of it on this subject have given +him a national reputation. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The World's Work_ (March, 1912); _Harper's Weekly_ + (June 1, 1912); _North American Review_ (June, 1912). + + +THE PROTECTION OF PROFITS + +[Delivered before the Southern Society of New York City (December 16, +1911)] + +The kaleidoscope of political issues must and will continually change +with the changing conditions of our Republic but there is one question +that was with us in the beginning and will be in the end, and that is +the most effective, efficient and fairest way of equalizing the +burdens of taxation that are levied by the National Government. Of all +the great powers that were yielded to the Federal Government by the +States when they adopted the Constitution of our country, the one +indispensable to the administration of public affairs is the right to +levy and collect taxes. Without the exercise of that power we could +not maintain an army and navy; we could not establish the courts of +the land; the government would fail to perform its function if the +power to tax were taken away from it. The power to tax carries with it +the power to destroy, and it is, therefore, a most dangerous +governmental power as well as a most necessary one. + +There is a very clear and marked distinction between the position of +the two great political parties of America as to how power to tax +should be exercised in the levying of revenue at the custom houses. + +The Republican party has maintained the doctrine that taxes should not +only be levied for the purpose of revenue, but also for the purpose of +protecting the home manufacturer from foreign competition. Of +necessity protection from competition carries with it a guarantee of +profits. In the last Republican platform this position of the party +was distinctly recognized when they declared that they were not only +in favor of the protection of the difference in cost at home and +abroad but also a reasonable profit to American industries. + +The Democratic party favors the policy of raising its taxes at the +custom house by a tariff that is levied for revenue only, which clearly +excludes the idea of protecting the manufacturer's profits. In my +opinion, the dividing line between the positions of the two great +parties on this question is very clear and easily ascertained in theory. +Where the tariff rates balance the difference in cost at home and +abroad, including an allowance for the difference in freight rates, the +tariff must be competitive, and from that point downward to the lowest +tariff that can be levied it will continue to be competitive to a +greater or less extent. Where competition is not interfered with by +levying the tax above the highest competitive point, the profits of the +manufacturer are not protected. On the other hand, when the duties +levied at the custom house equalizes the difference in cost at home and +abroad and in addition thereto they are high enough to allow the +American manufacturer to make a profit before his competitor can enter +the field, we have invaded the domain of the protection of profits. Some +men assert that the protection of reasonable profits to the home +manufacturer should be commended instead of being condemned, but in my +judgment, the protection of any profit must of necessity have a tendency +to destroy competition and create monopoly, whether the profit protected +is reasonable or unreasonable. + +You should bear in mind that to establish a business in a foreign +country requires a vast outlay both in time and capital. Should the +foreigner manufacturer attempt to establish himself in this country he +must advertise his goods, establish selling agencies and points of +distribution before he can successfully conduct his business. After he +has done so, if the home producer is protected by a law that not only +equals the difference in cost at home and abroad, but also protects a +reasonable or unreasonable profit, it is only necessary for him to +drop his prices slightly below the point that the law has fixed to +protect his profits and his competitor must retire from the country or +become a bankrupt, because he would then have to sell his goods at a +loss and not a profit, if he continued to compete. The foreign +competitor having retired, the home producer could raise his prices to +any level that home competition would allow him and it is not probable +that the foreigner who had already been driven out of the country +would again return, no matter how inviting the field, as long as the +law remained on the Statute Books that would enable his competitor to +again put him out of business. + +Thirty or forty years ago, when we had numbers of small manufacturers, +when there was honest competition without an attempt being made to +restrict trade and the home market was more than able to consume the +production of our mills and factories, the danger and the injury to the +consumer of the country was not so great or apparent as it is to-day, +when the control of many great industries has been concentrated in the +hands of a few men or a few corporations, because domestic competition +was prohibited. When we cease to have competition at home and the law +prohibits competition from abroad by protecting profits, there is no +relief for the consumer except to cry out for government regulation. To +my mind, there is no more reason or justice in the government attempting +to protect the profits of the manufacturers and producers of this +country than here would be to protect the profits of the merchant or the +lawyer, the banker or the farmer, or the wages of the laboring man. In +almost every line of industry in the United States we have as great +natural resources to develop as that of any country in the world. It is +admitted by all that our machinery and methods of doing business are in +advance of the other nations. By reason of the efficient use of American +machinery by American labor, in most of the manufactures of this +country, the labor cost per unit of production is no greater here than +abroad. It is admitted, of course, that the actual wage of the American +laborer is in excess of European countries, but as to most articles we +manufacture the labor cost in this country is not more than double the +labor cost abroad. When we consider that the average _ad valorem_ rate +of duty levied at the custom house on manufactures of cotton goods is +53% of the value of the article imported and the total labor cost of the +production of cotton goods in this country is only 21% of the factory +value of the product, that the difference in labor cost at home and +abroad is only about as one is to two, and that ten or eleven per cent +of the value of the product levied at the custom house would equal the +difference in the labor wage, it is apparent that our present tariff +laws exceed the point where they equalize the difference in cost at home +and abroad, and we realize how far they have entered into the domain of +protecting profits for the home manufacturer. This is not only true of +the manufacture of cotton goods, but of almost every schedule in the +tariff bill. To protect profits of necessity means to protect +inefficiency. It does not stimulate industry because a manufacturer +standing behind a tariff wall that is protecting his profits is not +driven to develop his business along the lines of greatest efficiency +and greatest economy. This is clearly illustrated in a comparison of the +wool and the iron and steel industries. Wool has had a specific duty +that when worked out to an _ad valorem_ basis amounts to a tax of about +90% of the average value of all woolen goods imported into the United +States, and the duties imposed have remained practically unchanged for +forty years. During that time the wool industry has made comparatively +little progress in cheapening the cost of its product and improving its +business methods. On the other hand, in the iron and steel industry the +tariff rate has been cut every time a tariff bill has been written. +Forty years ago the tax on steel rails amounted to $17.50 a ton, to-day +it amounts to $3.92. Forty years ago the tax on pig iron was $13.60 a +ton, to-day it is $2.50. The same is true of most of the other articles +in the iron and steel schedule, and yet the iron and steel industry has +not languished; it has not been destroyed and it has not gone to the +wall. It is the most compact, virile, fighting force of all the +industries of America to-day. It has long ago expanded its productive +capacity beyond the power of the American people to consume its output +and is to-day facing out towards the markets of the world, battling for +a part of the trade of foreign lands, where it must meet free +competition, or, as is often the case, pay adverse tariff rates to enter +the industrial fields of its competitor. + +Which course is the wiser for our government to take? The one that +demands the protection of profits the continued policy of hot-house +growth for our industries? The stagnation of development that follows +where competition ceases, or, on the other hand, the gradual and +insistent reduction of our tariff laws to a basis where the American +manufacturer must meet honest competition, where he must develop his +business along the best and most economic lines, where when he fights +at home to control his market he is forging the way in the economic +development of his business to extend his trade in the markets of the +world. In my judgment, the future growth of our great industries lies +beyond the seas. A just equalization of the burdens of taxation and +honest competition, in my judgment, are economic truths; they are not +permitted to-day by the laws of our country; we must face toward them, +and not away from them. + +What I have said does not mean that I am in favor of going to free +trade conditions or of being so radical in our legislation as to +injure legitimate business, but I do mean that the period of exclusion +has passed and the era of honest competition is here. + +Let us approach the solution of the problem involved with the +determination to do what is right, what is safe, and what is reasonable. + + + + +ELIZABETH ROBINS + + +Mrs. Elizabeth Robins Parkes, the well-known novelist of the +psychological school, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, August 6, +1862. She was taken from Louisville as a young child by her parents +for the reason that her father had built a house on Staten Island, +where she lived until her eleventh year, when she went to her +grandmother's at Zanesville, Ohio, to attend Putnam Female Seminary, +an institution of some renown, where her aunts on both sides of the +house had received their training. _Mrs. Gano_, the one fine character +of Miss Robins's first successful novel, _The Open Question_, is none +other than her own grandmother, Jane Hussey Robins, to whom she +dedicated the story; and the house in which she lived is faithfully +described in that story. In 1874, when she was twelve years of age, +Miss Robins made her first visit to Kentucky since having left the +State some years before; and she has been back many times since, her +latest visit being made in 1912. Her mother and many of her kinsfolk +are buried in Cave Hill cemetery; and her brother, uncle, and other +relatives, including Charles Neville Buck, the young Kentucky +novelist, reside at Louisville. She is, therefore, a Kentuckian to the +core. On January 12, 1885, she was married to George Richmond Parkes, +of Boston, who died some years ago. While passing through London, in +1889, Mrs. Parkes decided it was the most pleasing city she had seen, +and she established herself there. She now maintains Backset Town +Farm, Henfield, Sussex; and a winter home at Chinsegut, Florida. Mrs. +Parkes won her first fame as an actress, appearing in several of +Ibsen's plays, and attracting wide attention for her work in _The +Master Builder_, especially. While on the stage she began to write +under the pen-name of "C. E. Raimond," so as not to confuse the public +mind with her work as an actress; and this name served her well until +_The Open Question_ appeared, at which time it became generally +understood that the actress and author were one and the same person. +She soon after began to write under her maiden name of Elizabeth +Robins--and thus confounded herself with the wife of Joseph Pennell, +the celebrated American etcher. With her long line of novels Miss +Robins takes her place as one of the foremost writers Kentucky has +produced. A full list of them is: _George Mandeville's Husband_ (New +York, 1894); _The New Moon_ (New York, 1895); _Below the Salt_ +(London, 1896), a collection of short-stories, containing, among +others, _The Fatal Gift of Beauty_, which was the title of the +American edition (Chicago, 1896); _The Open Question_ (New York, +1898). Miss Robins was friendly with Whistler, the great artist, and +he designed the covers for _Below the Salt_ and _The Open Question_, a +morbid but powerful novel. She has been especially fortunate in +seizing upon a subject of vital, timely importance against which to +build her books; and that is one of the real reasons for her success. +What the public wants is what she wants to give them. When gold was +discovered in the Klondike, and all the world was making a mad rush +for those fields, Miss Robins wrote _The Magnetic North_ (New York, +1904). That fascinating story was followed by _A Dark Lantern_ (New +York, 1905), "a story with a prologue;" _The Convert_ (New York, +1907), a novel based upon the suffragette movement in London, with +which the author has been identified for seven years, and for which +she has written more, perhaps, than any one else; _Under the Southern +Cross_ (New York, 1907); _Woman's Secret_ (London, 1907); _Votes for +Women: A Play in Three Acts_ (London, n. d. [1908]), a dramatization +of _The Convert_, produced by Granville Barker at the Court Theatre, +London, with great success. The title of this play, if not the +contents, has gone into the remotest corners of the world as the +accepted slogan of the suffragette cause. _Come and Find Me!_ (New +York, 1908), another story of the Alaska country, originally +serialized in _The Century Magazine_; _The Mills of the Gods_ (New +York, 1908); _The Florentine Frame_ (New York, 1909); _Under His Roof_ +(London, n. d. [1910]), yet another short-story of the suffragette +struggle in London, printed in an exceedingly slender pamphlet; and +_Why?_ (London, 1912), a brochure of questions and answers concerning +her darling suffragettes. Upon these books Elizabeth Robins has taken +a high place in contemporary letters. Her very latest story is _My +Little Sister_, based upon a background of the white slave traffic in +London, the shortened version of which appeared in _McClure's +Magazine_ for December, 1912, concluded in the issue for January, +1913, after which it will be published in book form in America under +the original title; but the English edition will bear this legend, +"Where Are You Going To?" When the first part of this strong story was +printed in _McClure's_ it attracted immediate and very wide attention, +and again illustrated the ancient fact concerning the author's novels: +her ability to make use of one of the big questions of the day as a +scene for her story. Another book on woman's fight for the ballot, to +be entitled _Way Stations_ may be published in March, 1913. Miss +Robins is the ablest woman novelist Kentucky has produced; but her +short-stories are not comparable to Mrs. Andrew's. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Critic_ (June, 1904); _The Bookman_ (November, + 1907); _McClure's Magazine_ (December, 1910); _Harper's Magazine_ + (August, 1911). + + +A PROMISING PLAYWRIGHT[35] + +[From _The Florentine Frame_ (New York, 1909)] + +Mrs. Roscoe invoked the right manager. _The Man at the Wheel_ was not +only accepted, it was announced for early production. Special scenery +was being painted. The rehearsals were speedily in full swing. The play +had been slightly altered in council--one scene had been rewritten. + +Generously, Keith made his acknowledgements. "I should not have gone +at it again, but for you," he told Mrs. Roscoe. "It had got stale--I +hated it, till that day I read it to you." + +She smiled. "Nobody needs an audience so much as a dramatist. I was +audience." + +"You brought the fresh eye, you saw how the _scene a faire_ could be +made more poignant. Do you know," he said in that way he was getting +into, re-envisaging with this companion some old outlook, "I sometimes +feel the only difference between the poor thing and the good thing is +that in one, the hand fell away too soon, and in the other it was able +to give the screw just one more turn. You practically helped me to +give the final turn that screwed the thing into shape." + +She shook her head, and then he told her that after a dozen rebuffs he +had made up his mind to abandon the play that very day he and the +Professor had talked of cinque cento ivories. + +It was not unnatural that the scant cordiality of Mrs. Mathew, +whenever Keith encountered that lady at her sister's house, was +insufficient to make him fail in what he acknowledged to Fanshawe as a +sort of duty. This was: keeping Mrs. Roscoe fully informed of all the +various stages in the contract-negotiation, the cast decisions, and +the checkered fortunes of rehearsal. + +It is only fair to Mrs. Mathew to admit that she had one reason more +cogent even than she quite realized for objecting to the new addition +to a circle that had, as Genie complained, grown very circumscribed +during the days of mourning. + +If keeping Mrs. Roscoe _au courant_ with the fortunes of the play had +appeared to Keith in the light of an obligation imposed by common +gratitude, Mrs. Mathew conceived it as no less her duty not to allow +dislike of the new friend's presence to interfere with the sisterly +relation--a relation which on the older woman's part had always had in +it a touch of the maternal. If that young man was "getting himself +accepted upon an intimate footing"--all the more important that +Isabella's elder sister should be there at least as much as usual, if +only to prevent the curious from "talking." + +In pursuance to this conception of her duty, one evening during the +later rehearsals, Mrs. Mathew stood just inside the door of the cloak +room that opened out of the famous gray and white marble entrance hall +of the Roscoe house. Engaged in the homely occupation of depositing +her "artics" in a corner where they would not be mixed up with other +people's, Mrs. Mathew was arrested by a slight noise. Upon putting out +her head she descried Miss Genie creeping down the stairs with a +highly conspiratorial air. The girl, betraying every evidence of +suppressed excitement, came to a halt before the closed doors of the +drawing-room. The sound of Keith's voice reading aloud came softened +through the heavy panels, and seemed to reassure the eavesdropper. She +ran on noiseless feet to the low seat, where a man's hat showed black +against the soft tone of the marble. She lifted the hat and appeared +to be fumbling with the coat that was lying underneath. + +Suddenly the flash of a small square envelope on its way to the +recesses of the visitor's overcoat! + +"What are you doing?" demanded Aunt Josephine, coming down the hall. + +"Oh! How you startled me! I'm not doing anything in particular--just +waiting about till that blessed reading's over." She left the letter +concealed in the folds of the coat, and for an instant she held the +hat in front of her perturbed face: "Don't men's things have a nice +Russia-leathery smell?" she remarked airily. + +"Genie Roscoe, what pranks are you playing?" As Mrs. Mathew took hold +of the coat, the girl's self-possession failed her a little. She clung +to the garment, sending anxious glances toward the door, whispering +her nervous remonstrances and begging Aunt Josephine not to talk so +loud. "You'll interrupt them." + +"What is going on?" demanded Aunt Josephine, relaxing her hold on the +coat. + +"He's reading." + +"Your poor mother!" + +"Oh, she likes it." + +"Humph! And that young man--does he never get tired of his own works?" + +"It isn't _his_ works that he's reading. It's other people's--to make +him forget the way they murder the play at rehearsal. It's French +things they read, usually." Genie hurried on with a nervous attempt to +be diverting. "There's a new poet, did you know? I like the new ones +best, don't you? What I can't stand is when they are so ancient, that +they're like that decayed old Ronsard--" + +The form Mrs. Mathew's literary criticism took was a violent shake of +the visitor's coat. Out of the folds dropped a note. It was addressed +in Genie's hand to Mr. Chester Keith. + +"What foolishness is this--" + +"Don't tell mother," prayed the girl, trying in vain to recover the +envelope. + +Mrs. Mathew's face grew graver as she took in the girl's feverish +anxiety. + +"Dear Aunt Josephine!" Genie slipped her hand coaxingly through the +arm of the forbidding-looking lady. "I know you wouldn't be so unkind. +For all mother seems so gentle and you sometimes look so severe, +you're ten times as forgiving, really, as mother is. You're more +broadminded," said the unblushing flatterer. + +"Oh, really"--Mrs. Mathew smiled a little grimly--but she had ere now +proved herself as accessible to coaxing as the cast-iron seeming +people often are. They betray, on occasion, a touching gratitude at +not being taken at their own grim word. + +"Why should I hesitate to tell what you don't hesitate to do?" + +But Genie's arm was round her. "Oh, _you_ know why. Mother has such +extravagantly high ideas about what people ought to do." + +In the other hand Mrs. Mathew still held the note, out of the girl's +reach. "You make a practice of this?" + +"No, no. It's the first time, and I'll never do it again, if you'll +promise not to tell on me." + +Mrs. Mathew hesitated. + +"Dearest auntie, _be nice_! If you tell," the girl protested, "I'll have +no character to keep up and I'll write him real--well, real letters." + +"What do you mean? Isn't this a real letter?" + +"No. It doesn't say half. It's _nothing_ to what I could--" + +"Very well, if it's nothing--" Mrs. Mathew tore open the note. + +Before she could so much as unfold it, Genie had plucked it out of her +hand and fled upstairs. + +Half way to the top she leaned over the bannisters. "If you tell I'll +remember it all my life. If you don't I'll love you for ever and ever." + +"You're a very silly child. And I'm not at all sure I won't speak to +your mother." + +"But I am!" the coppery head was hung ingratiatingly over the hand rail. + +Aunt Josephine was already thinking of matters more important than a +school girl's foolishness. "How long has that man been here?" + +"Oh, hours and hours!" said Genie, accepting the diversion with due +gratitude. "He stays longer and longer." + +"Humph! that's what I think!" Aunt Josephine stalked into the +drawing-room. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[35] Copyright, 1909, by the Macmillan Company. + + + + +ELLEN CHURCHILL SEMPLE + + +Miss Ellen Churchill Semple, Kentucky's distinguished +anthropo-geographer, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, in 1863. Vassar +College conferred the degree of Bachelor of Arts upon her in 1882, and +the Master of Arts in 1891. She then studied for two years at the +University of Leipzig. Miss Semple has devoted herself to the new +science of anthropo-geography, which is the study of the influence of +geographic conditions upon the development of mankind. Since 1897 she +has contributed articles upon her subject to the New York _Journal of +Geography_, the London _Geographical Journal_, and to other scientific +publications. Miss Semple's first book, entitled _American History and +Its Geographic Conditions_ (Boston, 1903), proclaimed her as the +foremost student of the new science in the United States. A special +edition of this work was published for the Indiana State Teachers' +Association, which is said to be the largest reading circle in the +world. In 1901 Miss Semple prepared an interesting study of _The +Anglo-Saxons of the Kentucky Mountains_, which was issued in 1910 as a +bulletin of the American Geographical Society. Miss Semple's latest +work is an enormous volume, entitled _Influences of Geographic +Environment on the Basis of Ratzel's System of Anthropo-Geography_ +(New York, 1911). This required seven long years of untiring research +to prepare, and with its publication she came into her own position, +which is quite unique in the whole range of American literature. +Although scientific to the last degree, her writings have the real +literary flavor, which is seldom found in such work. Miss Semple +lectured at Oxford University in 1912, and in the late autumn of that +year she discussed Japan, in which country she had experienced much of +value and interest, before the Royal British Geographical Society in +London, and later before the Royal Scottish Geographical Society in +Edinburgh. Between various lectures in Scotland and England she +continued her researches in the London libraries, returning to the +United States as the year closed. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Nation_ (December 31, 1903); _Political Science + Quarterly_ (September, 1904). + + +MAN A PRODUCT OF THE EARTH'S SURFACE[36] + +[From _Influences of Geographic Environment_ (New York, 1911)] + +Man is a product of the earth's surface. This means not merely that he +is a child of the earth, dust of her dust; but that the earth has +mothered him, fed him, set him tasks, directed his thoughts, +confronted him with difficulties that have strengthened his body and +sharpened his wits, given him his problems of navigation or +irrigation, and at the same time whispered hints for their solution. +She has entered into his bone and tissue, into his mind and soul. On +the mountains she has given him leg muscles of iron to climb the +slope; along the coast she has left these weak and flabby, but given +him instead vigorous development of chest and arm to handle his paddle +or oar. In the river valley she attaches him to the fertile soil, +circumscribes his ideas and ambitions by a dull round of calm, +exacting duties, narrows his outlook to the cramped horizon of his +farm. Up on the windswept plateaus, in the boundless stretch of the +grasslands and the waterless tracts of the desert, where he roams with +his flocks from pasture to pasture and oasis to oasis, where life +knows much hardship but escapes the grind of drudgery, where the +watching of grazing herds gives him leisure for contemplation, and the +wide-ranging life a big horizon, his ideas take on a certain gigantic +simplicity; religion becomes monotheism, God becomes one, unrivalled +like the sand of the desert, and the grass of the steppe, stretching +on and on without break or change. Chewing over and over the cud of +his simple belief as the one food of his unfed mind, his faith becomes +fanaticism; his big spacial ideas, born of that ceaseless regular +wandering, outgrow the land that bred them and bear their legitimate +fruit in wide imperial conquests. + +Man can no more be scientifically studied apart from the ground which +he tills, or the lands over which he travels, or the seas over which +he trades, than polar bear or desert cactus can be understood apart +from its habitat. Man's relation to his environment are infinitely +more numerous and complex than those of the most highly organized +plant or animal. So complex are they that they constitute a legitimate +and necessary object of special study. The investigation which they +receive in anthropology, ethnology, sociology and history is piecemeal +and partial, limited as to the race, cultural development, epoch, +country or variety of geographic conditions taken into account. Hence +all these sciences, together with history so far as history undertakes +to explain the causes of events, fail to reach a satisfactory solution +of their problems, largely because the geographic factor which enters +into them all has not been thoroughly analyzed. Man has been so noisy +about the way he has "conquered Nature," and Nature has been so silent +in her persistent influence over man, that the geographic factor in +the equation of human development has been overlooked. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[36] Copyright, 1911, by Henry Holt and Company. + + + + +MRS. ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON + + +Mrs. Annie Fellows Johnston, creator of the famous "Little Colonel +Series," was born at Evansville, Indiana, May 15, 1863, the daughter +of a clergyman. Miss Fellows was educated in the public schools of +Evansville, and then spent the year of 1881-1882 at the State +University of Iowa. She was married at Evansville, in 1888, to William +L. Johnston, who died four years later, leaving her a son and +daughter. Mrs. Johnston's first arrival in Kentucky as a resident +(though not as a visitor), was in 1898, and then she stayed only three +years. Her son's quest of health led her first to Walton, New York, +then to Arizona, where they spent a winter on the desert in sight of +Camelback mountain, which suggested the legend of _In the Desert of +Waiting_. From Arizona they went to California and then, in 1903, +decided to try the climate of Texas, up in the hill country, north of +San Antonio. Mrs. Johnston called her home "Penacres," and she lived +there until her son's death in the fall of 1910. She and her daughter +returned to Pewee Valley, Kentucky, in April, 1911, and purchased "The +Beeches," the old home of Mrs. Henry W. Lawton, the widow of the +famous American general. The house is situated in a six acre grove of +magnificent beech-trees, and is a place often mentioned in "The Little +Colonel" stories. Mrs. Johnston's books are: _Big Brother_ (Boston, +1893); _The Little Colonel_ (Boston, 1895); _Joel: A Boy of Galilee_ +(Boston, 1895; Italian translation, 1900); _In League with Israel_ +(Cincinnati, 1896), the second and last of Mrs. Johnston's books that +was not issued by L. C. Page and Company, Boston; _Ole Mammy's +Torment_ (1897); _Songs Ysame_ (1897), a book of poems, written with +her sister, Mrs. Albion Fellows Bacon, the social reformer of +Evansville, Indiana; _The Gate of the Giant Scissors_ (1898); _Two +Little Knights of Kentucky_ (1899), written in Kentucky; _The Little +Colonel's House Party_ (1900); _The Little Colonel's Holidays_ (1901); +_The Little Colonel's Hero_ (1902); _Cicely_ (1902); _Asa Holmes, or +At the Crossroads_ (1902); _Flip's Islands of Providence_ (1903); _The +Little Colonel at Boarding-School_ (1903), the children's "Order of +Hildegarde" was founded on the story of _The Three Weavers_ in this +volume; _The Little Colonel in Arizona_ (1904); _The Quilt that Jack +Built_ (1904); _The Colonel's Christmas Vacation_ (1905); _In the +Desert of Waiting_ (1905; Japanese translation, Tokio, 1906); _The +Three Weavers_ (1905), a special edition of this famous story; +_Mildred's Inheritance_ (1906); _The Little Colonel, Maid of Honor_ +(1906); _The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding_ (1907); _Mary Ware_ +(1908); _The Legend of the Bleeding Heart_ (1908); _Keeping Tryst_ +(1908); _The Rescue of the Princess Winsome_ (1908); _The Jester's +Sword_ (1909; Japanese translation, Tokio, 1910); _The Little +Colonel's Good Times Book_ (1909); _Mary Ware in Texas_ (1910); and +_Travellers Five_ (1911), a collection of short-stories for grown +people, previously published in magazines, with a foreword by Bliss +Carman. The little Kentucky girl--called the "Little Colonel" because +of her resemblance to a Southern gentleman of the old school--has had +Mrs. Johnston's attention for seventeen years, and she has recently +announced that she is at work upon the twelfth and final volume of the +"Little Colonel Series," as she feels that work for grown-ups is more +worth her while. This last story of the series was published in the +fall of 1912, entitled _Mary Ware's Promised Land_; and needless to +say her "promised land" is Kentucky. There are "Little Colonel Clubs" +all over the world, as Mrs. Johnston has learned from thousands of +letters from children, and when she rings down the curtain upon her +heroine many girls and boys in this and other countries will be sad. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Current Literature_ (April, 1901); _The Century_ + (September, 1903). + + +THE MAGIC KETTLE[37] + +[From _The Little Colonel's Holidays_ (Boston, 1901)] + +Once upon a time, so the story goes (you may read it yourself in the +dear old tales of Hans Christian Andersen), there was a prince who +disguised himself as a swineherd. It was to gain admittance to a +beautiful princess that he thus came in disguise to her father's +palace, and to attract her attention he made a magic caldron, hung +around with strings of silver bells. Whenever the water in the caldron +boiled and bubbled, the bells rang a little tune to remind her of him. + + "Oh, thou dear Augustine, + All is lost and gone," + +they sang. Such was the power of the magic kettle, that when the water +bubbled hard enough to set the bells a-tinkling, any one holding his +hand in the steam could smell what was cooking in every kitchen in the +kingdom. + +It has been many a year since the swineherd's kettle was set a-boiling +and its string of bells a-jingling to satisfy the curiosity of a +princess, but a time has come for it to be used again. Not that +anybody nowadays cares to know what his neighbor is going to have for +dinner, but all the little princes and princesses in the kingdom want +to know what happened next. + +"What happened after the Little Colonel's house party?" they demand, +and they send letters to the Valley by the score, asking "Did Betty +go blind?" "Did the two little Knights of Kentucky ever meet Joyce +again or find the Gate of the Giant Scissors?" "Did the Little Colonel +ever have any more good times at Locust, or did Eugenia ever forget +that she too had started out to build a Road of the Loving Heart?" + +It would be impossible to answer all these questions through the +post-office, so that is why the magic kettle has been dragged from its +hiding-place after all these years, and set a-boiling once more. +Gather in a ring around it, all you who want to know, and pass your +curious fingers through its wreaths of rising steam. Now you shall see +the Little Colonel and her guests of the house party in turn, and the +bells shall ring for each a different song. + +But before they begin, for the sake of some who may happen to be in +your midst for the first time, and do not know what it is all about, +let the kettle give them a glimpse into the past, that they may be +able to understand all that is about to be shown to you. Those who +already know the story need not put their fingers into the steam, +until the bells have rung this explanation in parenthesis. + +(In Lloydsboro Valley stands an old Southern mansion, known as "Locust." +The place is named for a long avenue of giant locust-trees stretching a +quarter of a mile from house to entrance gate in a great arch of green. +Here for years an old Confederate colonel lived all alone save for the +negro servants. His only child, Elizabeth, had married a Northern man +against his wishes, and gone away. From that day he would not allow her +name to be spoken in his presence. But she came back to the Valley when +her little daughter Lloyd was five years old. People began calling the +child the Little Colonel because she seemed to have inherited so many of +her grandfather's lordly ways as well as a goodly share of his high +temper. The military title seemed to suit her better than her own name +for in her fearless baby fashion she won her way into the old man's +heart and he made a complete surrender. + +Afterward when she and her mother and "Papa Jack" went to live with +him at Locust, one of her favorite games was playing soldier. The old +man never tired of watching her march through the wide halls with his +spurs strapped to her tiny slipper heels, and her dark eyes flashing +out fearlessly from under the little Napoleon cap she wore. + +She was eleven when she gave her house party. One of the guests was +Joyce Ware, whom some of you have met, perhaps, in "The Gate of the +Giant Scissors," a bright thirteen-year-old girl from the West. +Eugenia Forbes was another. She was a distant cousin of Lloyd's, who +had no home-life like other girls. Her winters were spent in a +fashionable New York boarding-school, and her summers at the +Waldorf-Astoria, except the few weeks when her busy father could find +time to take her to some seaside resort. + +The third guest, Elizabeth Lloyd Lewis, or Betty, as every one lovingly +called her, was Mrs. Sherman's little god-daughter. She was an orphan, +boarding on a backwoods farm on Green River. She had never been on the +cars until Lloyd's invitation found its way to the Cuckoo's Nest. Only +these three came to stay in the house, but Malcolm and Keith MacIntyre +(the two little Knights of Kentucky) were there nearly every day. So was +Rob Moore, one of the Little Colonel's summer neighbors. + +The four Bobs were four little foxterrier puppies named for Rob, who +had given one to each of the girls. They were so much alike they could +only be distinguished by the colour of the ribbons tied around their +necks. Tarbaby was the Little Colonel's pony, and Lad the one that +Betty rode during her visit. + +After six weeks of picnics and parties, and all sorts of surprises and +good times, the house party came to a close with a grand feast of +lanterns. Joyce regretfully went home to the little brown house in +Plainsville, Kansas, taking her Bob with her. Eugenia and her father +went to New York, but not until they had promised to come back for +Betty in the fall, and take her abroad with them. It was on account of +something that had happened at the house party, but which is too long +a tale to repeat here. + +Betty stayed on at Locust until the end of the summer in the House +Beautiful, as she called her god-mother's home, and here on the long +vine-covered porch, with its stately white pillars, you shall see them +first through the steam of the magic caldron). + +Listen! Now the kettle boils and the bells begin the story! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[37] Copyright, 1901, by L. C. Page and Company. + + + + +EVA A. MADDEN + + +Miss Eva Anne Madden, author of a group of popular stories for children, +was born near Bedford, Kentucky, October 26, 1863, the elder sister of +Mrs. George Madden Martin, creator of _Emmy Lou_. Miss Madden was +educated in the public schools of Louisville, Kentucky, after which she +took a normal course. At the mature age of fourteen she was writing for +_The Courier-Journal_; two years later she was doing book reviews for +_The Evening Post_; and when eighteen years of age she became a teacher +in the public schools. Miss Madden taught for more than ten years, or +until 1892, when she went to New York and engaged in newspaper work. Her +first book, _Stephen, or the Little Crusaders_ (New York, 1901), was +published only a few months before she sailed for Europe, where she has +resided for the last eleven years. Miss Madden's _The I Can School_ (New +York, 1902), was followed by her other books, _The Little Queen_ +(Boston, 1903); _The Soldiers of the Duke_ (Boston, 1904); and her most +recent story, _Two Royal Foes_ (New York, 1907). Miss Madden has been +the Italian representative of a London firm since 1907; and since 1908 +she has been the correspondent of the Paris edition of the _New York +Herald_ for the city in which she lives, Florence, Italy. She had a very +good short-story in _The Century_ for February, 1911, entitled _The +Interrupted Pen_. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1910, v. + xv); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +THE END OF "THE I CAN SCHOOL."[38] + +[From _The I Can School_ (New York, 1902)] + +"Good-bye, Miss Ellison," she said, putting up her little mouth to be +kissed. "I'm sorry that it's the end of the 'I Can School.'" + +Then Miss Ellison was all smiles. + +"You sweet little thing," she said, which was exactly what she had +done ten months before. + +How long ago that seemed to Virginia. How stupid she had been about +learning to spell that easy "cat." + +Now she could read a whole page about a black cat which got into the +nest of a white hen, and she could add numbers, and "write vertical." +She had painted in a book, and modeled a lovely half-apple, made real +by a stem and the seeds of a russet she had had for lunch one day. She +knew the name of all the birds about Fairview, and she could tell +about the wild flowers. + +Altogether she felt very learned and scornful of a certain small +person who had thought Kentucky the name of a little girl, and who had +known nothing of George Washington, and who had called C-A-T +kitten-puss. + +Virginia's mamma was very proud of all her little girl knew. She did +not wait for Virginia to get her work from the janitor. She took it +all carefully home to show her husband. + +"Papa," said Virginia, the moment Mr. Barton entered the house that +evening, "it's vacation!" + +"Vacation!" said her father. "My! my! I remember that there was a +time, Miss Barton, when I loved it better than school; do you?" + +Virginia hesitated. + +"Ten months," she said at last, "is a lot of school. Lucretia and +Catherine seem just as tired, papa. Their lessons don't interest them +now that it's so hot. I love the 'I Can School,' papa; but it's nice +to stay at home and play 'Lady come to see.'" + +This was a very long speech for Virginia, the longest that she ever +had made. + +Her papa laughed. + +"Miss Barton," he said, "profound student that you are, I see that in +some things you are not altogether different from your parent. But let +me remind you, Miss Barton, when you feel at times a little tired of +vacation, that the 'I Can' will begin again on the tenth of +September." + +"And Miss Ellison will be so glad to see me!" said Virginia +confidently. + +Her papa laughed. + +"As for that, Miss Barton--" + +"Now don't, Edward," interrupted his wife. "I am sure, Virginia, that +Miss Ellison will be glad to see you in the fall. If I were you I +would write her a little letter in the vacation. I have her address." + +"And I'll tell Billy and Carter and Harry and all the children, and +we'll all write so that she won't forget us. And she'll answer them, +mamma, won't she?" + +"I think she will," answered her mother. "It will be very nice for you +to write to her." + +But her husband said in a low voice, "Poor Miss Ellison." + +"Good Miss Ellison, papa," said Virginia. "She's nice and I love her." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[38] Copyright, 1902, by Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. + + + + +JOHN FOX, Jr. + + +John Fox, Junior, Kentucky's master maker of mountain myths, was born +at Stony Point, near Paris, Kentucky, December 16, 1863, the son of a +schoolmaster. He was christened "John William Fox, Junior," but he +early discarded his middle name. By his father he was largely fitted +for Kentucky, now Transylvania, University, which institution he +entered at the age of fifteen, spending the two years of 1878-1880 +there, when he left and went to Harvard. Mr. Fox was graduated from +Harvard in 1883, the youngest man in his class. Though he had written +nothing during his collegiate career, upon quitting Cambridge he +joined the staff of the New York _Sun_ and later entered Columbia Law +School. He soon abandoned law and went with the _New York Times_, +where he remained several months, when illness--blind and blessed +goddess in disguise!--compelled him to go south in search of health. +At length he found himself high up in the Cumberland Mountains, +associated with his father and brother in a mining venture. He also +taught school for a time, but the mountaineers of Kentucky were upon +him, and he began to weave romances about them. Mr. Fox's first story, +_A Mountain Europa_ (New York, 1894), originally appeared in two parts +in _The Century Magazine_ for September and October, 1892. It was +dedicated to James Lane Allen, whom its author had to thank for +encouragement when he stood most in need of it. _On Hell-fer-Sartain +Creek_, which followed fast upon the heels of his first book, made Mr. +Fox famous in a fortnight. Written in a day and a half, _Harper's +Weekly_ paid him the munificent sum of six dollars for it, and printed +it back with the advertisements in the issue for November 24, 1894. +The ending was transposed just a bit and a word or two discarded for +apter words before it was published in book form; and these revisions +were very fine, greatly improving the tale. In its most recent dress +it counts less than five small pages; and it may be read in as many +minutes. The mountain dialect prevails throughout. It "admits an epic +breadth," the biggest thing Mr. Fox has done hitherto, and now +generally regarded as a very great short-story. + +_A Cumberland Vendetta and Other Stories_ (New York, 1895), contained, +besides the title-story, first published in _The Century_, a +reprinting of _A Mountain Europa_--which made the third time it had +been printed in three years--_The Last Stetson_, and _On +Hell-fer-Sartain Creek_. This volume was followed by Mr. Fox's finest +work, entitled _Hell-fer-Sartain and Other Stories_ (New York, 1897). +Of the ten stories in this little volume but four of them are in +correct English, the others, the best ones, being in dialect. The last +and longest story, _A Purple Rhododendron_, originally appeared in +_The Southern Magazine_, a now defunct periodical of Louisville, +Kentucky. _The Kentuckians_ (New York, 1897), was published a short +time after _Hell-fer-Sartain and Other Stories_. This novelette +pitted a man of the Blue Grass against a man of the Kentucky hills, +and the struggle was not overly severe; the reading world did little +more than remark its appearance and its passing. + +When the Spanish-American war was declared Mr. Fox went to Cuba as a +Rough Rider, but left that organization to act as correspondent for +_Harper's Weekly_. He witnessed the fiercest fighting from the firing +lines, and his own experiences were largely written into his first +long novel, entitled _Crittenden_ (New York, 1900). This tale of love +with war entwined was well told; and its concluding clause: "God was +good that Christmas!" has become one of his most famous expressions. +After the war Mr. Fox returned to the South. _Bluegrass and +Rhododendron_ (New York, 1901), was a series of descriptive essays +upon life in the Kentucky mountains, in which Mr. Fox did for the +hillsmen what Mr. Allen had done for the customs and traditions of his +own section of the state in _The Bluegrass Region of Kentucky_. It +also embodied his own personal experiences as a member of the police +guard in Kentucky and Virginia. The word "rhododendron" is Mr. Fox's +shibboleth, and he seemingly never tires of writing it. + +_The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come_ (New York, 1903), is his best long +novel so far. The boy, Chad, is, perhaps, his one character-contribution +to American fiction; and the boy's dog, "Jack," stands second to the +little hero in the hearts of the thousands who read the book. The +opening chapters are especially fine. The love story of _The Little +Shepherd_ is most attractive; and the Civil War is presented in a manner +not wholly laborious. After _Hell-fer-Sartain_ this novel is far and +away the best thing Mr. Fox has done. + +_Christmas Eve on Lonesome and Other Stories_ (New York, 1904), +contained the title-story and five others, including _The Last +Stetson_, which had appeared many years before in _Harper's Weekly_, +and later in _A Cumberland Vendetta_. Mr. Fox attempted to reach the +theatre of the Russian-Japanese War, as a correspondent for +_Scribner's Magazine_, but he was not allowed to join the ever +advancing armies. His experiences may be read in _Following the +Sun-Flag_ (New York, 1905), with its tell-tale sub-title: "a vain +pursuit through Manchuria." His next work was a novelette, _A Knight +of the Cumberland_ (New York, 1906), first published as a serial in +_Scribner's Magazine_. It was well done and rather interesting. + +Mr. Fox spent the greater part of the year of 1907 in work upon _The +Trail of the Lonesome Pine_ (New York, 1908), a story that must be +placed beside _The Little Shepherd_ when any classification of the +author's work is made. The heroine, June, is none other than Chad in +feminine garb. The book contains some of the most excellent writing +Mr. Fox has done, the descriptions being especially fine. It was +dramatized by Eugene Walter and successfully produced. A few months +after the publication of _The Trail_, the author married Fritzi +Scheff, the operatic star, to whom he had inscribed his story. They +have a home at Big Stone Gap, in the Virginia mountains. + +In April, 1912, Mr. Fox's most recent novel, _The Heart of the Hills_, +began as a serial in _Scribner's_, to be concluded in the issue for +March, 1913. It is red with recent happenings in Kentucky, happenings +which are, at the present time, too hackneyed to be of very great +interest to the people of that state.[39] It must be remembered always +that Mr. Fox is a story-teller pure and simple, and that he seemingly +makes little effort to arrive at the stage of perfection in the mere +matter of writing that characterizes the work of a group of his +contemporaries. That he is a wonderful maker of short-stories in the +mountain dialect is certain; but that he is a great novelist is yet to +be established. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Current Literature Magazine_ (New York, September, + 1903); _Little Pilgrimages Among the Men Who Have Written Famous + Books_, by E. F. Harkins, (Boston, 1903, Second Series); _Library + of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909, v. iv). + + +THE CHRISTMAS TREE ON PIGEON[40] + +[From _Collier's Weekly_ (December 11, 1909)] + +The sun of Christmas poured golden blessings on the head of the valley +first; it shot winged shafts of yellow light through the great Gap and +into the month of Pigeon; it darted awakening arrows into the coves +and hollows on the Head of Pigeon, between Brushy Ridge and Black +Mountain; and one searching ray flashed through the open door of the +little log schoolhouse at the forks of Pigeon and played like a smile +over the waiting cedar that stood within--alone. + +Down at the mines below, the young doctor had not waited the coming of +that sun. He had sprung from his bed at dawn, had built his own fire, +had dressed hurriedly, and gone hurriedly on his rounds, leaving a +pill here, a powder there, and a word of good cheer everywhere. That +was his Christmas tree, the cedar in the little schoolhouse--his and +_hers_. And _she_ was coming up from the Gap that day to dress that +tree and spread the joy of Christmas among mountain folks, to whom the +joy of Christmas was quite unknown. + +An hour later the passing mail-carrier, from over Black Mountain, +stopped with switch uplifted at his office door. + +"Them fellers over the Ridge air comin' over to shoot up yo' Christmas +tree," he drawled. + +The switch fell and he was gone. The young doctor dropped by his +fire--stunned; for just that thing had happened ten years before to the +only Christmas tree that had ever been heard of in those hills except +his own. From that very schoolhouse some vandals from the Crab Orchard +and from over Black Mountain had driven the Pigeon Creek people after a +short fight, and while the surprised men, frightened women and children, +and the terrified teacher scurried to safety behind rocks and trees, had +shot the tree to pieces. That was ten years before, but even now, though +there were some old men and a few old women who knew the Bible from end +to end, many grown people and nearly all of the children had never heard +of the Book, or of Christ, or knew that there was a day known as +Christmas Day. That such things were so had hurt the doctor to the +heart, and that was why, as Christmas drew near, he had gone through the +out-of-the-way hollows at the Head of Pigeon, and got the names and ages +of all the mountain children; why for a few days before Christmas there +had been such a dressing of dolls in the sweetheart's house down in the +Gap as there had not been since she herself was a little girl; and why +now the cedar tree stood in the little log schoolhouse at the forks of +Pigeon. Moreover, there was as yet enmity between the mountaineers of +Pigeon and the mountaineers over the Ridge and Black Mountain, who were +jealous and scornful of any signs of the foreign influence but recently +come into the hills. The meeting-house, courthouse, and the schoolhouse +were yet favorite places for fights among the mountaineers. There was +yet no reverence at all for Christmas, and the same vandals might yet +regard a Christmas tree as an imported frivolity to be sternly rebuked. +The news was not only not incredible, it probably was true; and with +this conclusion some very unpleasant lines came into the young doctor's +kindly face and he sprang from his horse. + +Two hours later he had a burly mountaineer with a Winchester posted on +the road leading to the Crab Orchard, another on the mountainside +overlooking the little valley, several more similarly armed below, +while he and two friends, with revolvers, buckled on, waited for the +coming party, with their horses hitched in front of his office door. +This Christmas tree was to be. + +It was almost noon when the doctor heard gay voices and happy +laughter high on the ridge, and he soon saw a big spring wagon drawn +by a pair of powerful bays--Major, the colored coachman, on the seat, +the radiant faces of the Christmas-giving party behind him, and a big +English setter playing in the snow alongside. + +Up Pigeon then the wagon went with the doctor and his three friends on +horseback beside it, past the long batteries of coke-ovens with +grinning darkies, coke-pullers, and loaders idling about them, up the +rough road through lanes of snow-covered rhododendrons winding among +tall oaks, chestnuts, and hemlocks, and through circles and arrows of +gold with which the sun splashed the white earth--every cabin that +they passed tenantless, for the inmates had gone ahead long ago--and +on to the little schoolhouse that sat on a tiny plateau in a small +clearing, with snow-tufted bushes of laurel on every side and snowy +mountains rising on either hand. + +The door was wide open and smoke was curling from the chimney. A few +horses and mules were hitched to the bushes near by. Men, boys, and +dogs were gathered around a big fire in front of the building; and in +a minute women, children, and more dogs poured out of the schoolhouse +to watch the coming cavalcade. + +Since sunrise the motley group had been waiting there: the women +thinly clad in dresses of worsted or dark calico, and a shawl or short +jacket or man's coat, with a sunbonnet or "fascinator" on their heads, +and men's shoes on their feet--the older ones stooped and thin, the +younger ones carrying babies, and all with weather-beaten faces and +bare hands; the men and boys without overcoats, their coarse shirts +unbuttoned, their necks and upper chests bared to the biting cold, +their hands thrust in their pockets as they stood about the fire, and +below their short coat sleeves their wrists showing chapped and red; +while to the little boys and girls had fallen only such odds and ends +of clothing as the older ones could spare. Quickly the doctor got his +party indoors and to work on the Christmas tree. Not one did he tell +of the impending danger, and the Colt's .45 bulging under this man's +shoulder or on that man's hip, and the Winchester in the hollow of an +arm here and there were sights too common in these hills to arouse +suspicion in anybody's mind. The cedar tree, shorn of its branches at +the base and banked with mosses, towered to the angle of the roof. +There were no desks in the room except the one table used by the +teacher. Long, crude wooden benches with low backs faced the tree, +with an aisle leading from the door between them. Lap-robes were hung +over the windows, and soon a gorgeous figure of Santa Claus was +smiling down from the very tiptop of the tree. Ropes of gold and +silver tinsel were swiftly draped around and up and down; enmeshed in +these were little red Santas, gaily colored paper horns, filled with +candy, colored balls, white and yellow birds, little colored candles +with holders to match, and other glittering things; while over the +whole tree a glistening powder was sprinkled like a mist of shining +snow. Many presents were tied to the tree, and under it were the rest +of the labeled ones in a big pile. In a semicircle about the base sat +the dolls in pink, yellow, and blue, and looking down the aisle to the +door. Packages of candy in colored Japanese napkins and tied with a +narrow red ribbon were in another pile, with a pyramid of oranges at +its foot. And yet there was still another pile for unexpected +children, that the heart of none should be sore. Then the candles were +lighted and the door flung open to the eager waiting crowd outside. In +a moment every seat was silently filled by the women and children, and +the men, stolid but expectant, lined the wall. The like of that tree +no soul of them had ever seen before. Only a few of the older ones had +ever seen a Christmas tree of any kind and they but once; and they had +lost that in a free-for-all fight. And yet only the eyes of them +showed surprise or pleasure. There was no word--no smile, only +unwavering eyes mesmerically fixed on the wonderful tree. + +The young doctor rose, and only the sweetheart saw that he was nervous, +restless, and pale. As best he could he told them what Christmas was and +what it meant to the world; and he had scarcely finished when a hand +beckoned to him from the door. Leaving one of his friends to distribute +the presents, he went outside to discover that one vandal had come on +ahead, drunk and boisterous. Promptly the doctor tied him to a tree, +shouldered a Winchester, and himself took up a lonely vigil on the +mountainside. Within, Christmas went on. When a name was called a child +came forward silently, usually shoved to the front by some relative, +took what was handed to it, and, dumb with delight, but too shy even to +murmur a word of thanks, silently returned to its seat with the presents +hugged to its breast--presents that were simple, but not to those +mountain mites; colored pictures and illustrated books they were, red +plush albums, simple games, fascinators and mittens for the girls; +pocket-knives, balls, firecrackers, and horns, mittens, caps, and +mufflers for the boys; a doll dressed in everything a doll should wear +for each little girl, no one of whom had ever seen a doll before, except +what was home-made from an old dress or apron tied in several knots to +make the head and body. Twice only was the silence broken. One boy quite +forgot himself when given a pocket-knife. He looked at it suspiciously +and incredulously, turned it over in his hand, opened it and felt the +edge of the blade, and, panting with excitement, cried: "Hit's a shore +'nough knife!" + +And again when, to make sure that nobody had been left out, though all +the presents were gone, the master of ceremonies asked if there was any +other little boy or girl who had received nothing, there arose a bent, +toothless old woman in a calico dress and baggy black coat, her gray +hair straggling from under her black sunbonnet, and her hands gnarled +and knotted from work and rheumatism. Simply as a child, she spoke: + +"I hain't got nothin'." + +Gravely the giver of the gifts asked her to come forward, and, +nonplussed, searched the tree for the most glittering thing he could +find. Then all the women pressed forward and then the men, until all +the ornaments were gone, even the half-burned candles with their +colored holders, which the men took eagerly and fastened in their +coats, clasping the holders to their lapels or fastening the bent wire +in their button-holes, and pieces of tinsel rope, which they threw +over their shoulders--so that the tree stood at last just as it was +when brought from the wild woods outside. + +Straightway then the young doctor hurried the departure of the +merry-makers from the Gap. Already the horses stood hitched, and, +while the laprobes were being carried out, a mountaineer, who had +brought along a sack of apples, lined up the men and boys, and at a +given word started running down the road, pouring out the apples as he +ran, while the men and boys scrambled for them, rolling and tussling +in the snow. As the party moved away, the mountaineers waved their +hands and shouted good-by to the doctor, too shy still to pay much +heed to the other "furriners" in the wagon. The doctor looked back +once with a grateful sigh of relief but no one in the wagon knew that +there had been any danger that day. How great the danger had been not +even the doctor knew then. For the coming vandals had got as far as +the top of the Dividing Ridge, had there quarreled and fought among +themselves, so that, as the party drove away, one invader was at that +minute cursing his captors, who were setting him free, and high upon +the ridge another lay dead in the snow. + +In time there was a wedding at the Gap, and long afterward the doctor, +riding by the little schoolhouse, stopped at the door, and from his +horse shoved it open. The Christmas tree stood just as he had left it +on Christmas Day, only, like the evergreens on the wall and over the +windows, it, too, was brown, withered and dry. Gently he closed the +door and rode on. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[39] When Mr. Fox followed the trail of the Goebel tragedy he was +poaching upon the especial preserves of Miss Eleanor Talbot Kinkead, +whose romance of the "autocrat," _The Courage of Blackburn Blair_ (New +York, 1907), was widely read and reviewed. Miss Kinkead was born in +Kentucky, and, besides the story mentioned above, is the author of +_'Gainst Wind and Tide_ (Chicago, 1892); _Young Greer of Kentucky_ +(Chicago, 1895); _Florida Alexander_ (Chicago, 1898); and _The +Invisible Bond_ (New York, 1906). + +[40] Copyright, 1909, by P. F. Collier and Son. + + + + +FANNIE C. MACAULAY + + +Mrs. Fannie Caldwell Macaulay ("Frances Little"), "the lady of the +Decoration," was born at Shelbyville; Kentucky, November 22, 1863, the +daughter of a jurist. She was educated at Science Hill Academy, +Shelbyville, a noted school for girls. Miss Caldwell was married to +James Macaulay of Liverpool, England, but her marriage proved unhappy. +From 1899 to 1902 Mrs. Macaulay was a kindergarten teacher in +Louisville, Kentucky; and from 1902 to 1907 she was engaged as +supervisor of kindergarten work at Hiroshima, Japan. From Japan she +wrote letters home which were so charming and clever that her niece, +Mrs. Alice Hegan Rice, the Louisville novelist, insisted that she make +them into a book. The result was _The Lady of the Decoration_ (New York, +1906), for more than a year the most popular book in America. This +little epistolary tale of heroic struggle for one's work and one's love, +was read in all parts of the English-speaking world. It set the +high-water mark, probably, for even the "six best sellers." Mrs. +Macaulay's second book, _Little Sister Snow_ (New York, 1909), was the +tender love story of a young American and a Japanese girl. The lad +sailed away to his American sweetheart, leaving "Little Sister Snow" +blowing him kisses from her native shore. Mrs. Macaulay's latest story, +_The Lady and Sada San_ (New York, 1912), was published in London under +the title of _The Lady Married_, which was clearer, as it is the sequel +to _The Lady of the Decoration_. The Lady's husband, Jack, sails away to +China in pursuit of his scientific duties, leaving her lonely in +Kentucky. She decides to make another journey to Japan; and on the way +over she falls in with a charming young American-Japanese girl, Sada +San, whom she subsequently saves from a most cruel fate. She then finds +her husband, ill and exhausted with his long trip, and returns with him +to Kentucky. The descriptions of the countries through which she passes +are very fine: the best writing the author has shown hitherto. The +little volume was reported as the best selling book in America at +Christmas time of 1912. Mrs. Macaulay has spent much of her life during +the last several years in Japan, but her home is at Louisville. She is a +prominent club woman, and a charming lecturer upon the beauties of +Nippon. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Bookman_ (June, 1906); _Who's Who in America_ + (1912-1913). + + +APPROACHING JAPAN[41] + +[From _The Lady of the Decoration_ (New York, 1906)] + + Still on Board. August 18th. + + DEAR MATE: + +I am writing this in my berth with the curtains drawn. No I am not a +bit sea-sick, just popular. One of the old ladies is teaching me to +knit, the short-haired missionary reads aloud to me, the girl from +South Dakota keeps my feet covered up, and Dear Pa and Little Germany +assist me to eat. + +The captain has had a big bathing tank rigged up for the ladies, and I +take a cold plunge every morning. It makes me think of our old days at +the cottage up at the Cape. Didn't we have a royal time that summer +and weren't we young and foolish? It was the last good time I had for +many a long day--but there, none of that! + +Last night I had an adventure, at least it was next door to one. I was +sitting up on deck when Dear Pa came by and asked me to walk with him. +After several rounds we sat down on the pilot house steps. The moon +was as big as a wagon wheel and the whole sea flooded with silver, +while the flying fishes played hide and seek in the shadows. I forgot +all about Dear Pa and was doing a lot of thinking on my own account +when he leaned over and said: + +"I hope you don't mind talking to me. I am very, very lonely." Now I +thought I recognized a grave symptom, and when he began to tell me +about his dear departed, I knew it was time to be going. + +"You have passed through it," he said. "You can sympathize." + +I crossed my fingers in the dark. "We are both seeking a life work in +a foreign field--" he began again, but just here the purser passed. He +almost stumbled over us in the dark and when he saw me and my elderly +friend, he actually smiled! + +Don't you dare tell Jack about this, I should never hear the last of it. + +Can you realize that I am three whole weeks from home! I do, every +second of it. Sometimes when I stop to think what I am doing my heart +almost bursts! But then I am so used to the heartache that I might be +lonesome without it; who knows? + +If I can only do what is expected of me, if I can only pick up the +pieces of this smashed-up life of mine and patch them into a decent +whole that you will not be ashamed of, then I will be content. + +The first foreign word I have learned is "Alohaoe," I think it means +"my dearest love to you." Anyhow I send it laden with the tenderest +meaning. God bless and keep you all, and bring me back to you a wiser +and a gladder woman. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[41] Copyright, 1906, by the Century Company. + + + + +JAMES D. BRUNER + + +James Dowden Bruner, editor of many masterpieces of French literature, +as well as an original critic of that literature, was born near +Leitchfield, Kentucky, May 19, 1864. He was graduated from Franklin +College, Franklin, Indiana, in 1888, and then taught French and German +at Franklin for two years. Professor Bruner studied a year in Paris +and Florence and, on his return to this country, in 1893, he was +elected professor of Romance languages in the University of Illinois. +Johns Hopkins University conferred the degree of Ph. D. upon him, in +1894, his dissertation being _The Phonology of the Pistojese Dialect_ +(Baltimore, 1894, a brochure). From 1895 to 1899 Dr. Bruner was +professor of Romance languages and literatures in the University of +Chicago; from 1901 to 1909 he held a similar chair in the University +of North Carolina; and since 1909 he has been president of Chowan +College, Murfreesboro, North Carolina. Dr. Bruner has edited, with +introductions and critical notes, _Les Adventures du Dernier +Abencerage_, par Chateaubriand (New York, 1903); _Le Roman d'un Jeune +Homme Pauvre_, par Octave Feuillet (Boston, 1904); _Hernani_, par +Victor Hugo (New York, 1906); and _Le Cid_, par Pierre Corneille (New +York, 1908), his finest critical edition of any French classic +hitherto. His _Studies in Victor Hugo's Dramatic Characters_ (Boston, +1908), announced the advent of a new critic of the great Frenchman's +plays. It is an excellent piece of work. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1910, v. + xv); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +THE FRENCH CLASSICAL DRAMA[42] + +[From _Le Cid_, par Pierre Corneille (New York, 1908)] + +Corneille in the _Cid_ founded the French classical drama. Before the +appearance of this masterpiece, a transition drama containing +characteristics of the tragi-comedy as well as of the regular +classical tragedy, of which Corneille's next three plays, _Horace_, +_Cinna_, and _Polyeucte_, were to be perfect examples, the +tragi-comedy prevailed in France. This tragi-comedy, or irregular +drama, was a Renaissance product, having a history and characteristics +of its own, being largely influenced by the tragedies of Seneca. Its +most important characteristics are non-historic subjects, serious or +tragic plots, the mixture of comic and tragic elements or tones, the +high rank of the leading characters, the _style noble_, looseness of +structure, the disregard of the minor or Italian unities of time and +place, the classical form of verse and number of acts, romanesque +elements, and a happy ending. + +The most striking characteristic of the French classical drama of the +seventeenth century, as of the modern short story, is that of +compression. This statement is true both as to its form and its +content. The accidental accessories of splendid decorations, +magnificent costumes, subsidiary plots, and secondary characters that +might detract from the main situation or obscure the general +impression, are, as far as possible, sacrificed to the essential or +necessary interests of dramatic art. Improbable and irrational +elements are reduced to a minimum. Digressions, episodes, long +soliloquies, oratorical tirades, minute descriptions of external +nature, and complicated machinery that would encumber the plot or +destroy proportion, are largely eliminated. The classical dramatist is +too sensitive to the beautiful, the sublime, the essential, and the +universal to admit into his conception of fine art either moral and +physical deformity or the accidental and particular aspects of life. +Classical tragedy is furthermore narrow in its choice of subject and +form, in its number and range of characters, in its representation of +material and physical action on the stage, and in its number of +events, incidents, and actions. Its subjects and materials are taken +almost wholly from ancient classical and Hebrew sources. Mediaeval, +national, and modern foreign raw material, whether life, history, +legend, or literature, is seldom utilized. Its manners and ideas are +those of the court and the _salons_, and its religion is pagan. Its +language is general, cold, regular, and conventional, and its +versification is confined to rimed Alexandrine couplets, with the +immovable caesura and little _enjambement_. + +The Frenchman's love of proportion, symmetry, restraint, and logical +order led him to the cult of form. In striving after perfection of form, +he naturally adopted compression as the best method of expressing this +innate artistic reserve. This compactness and concentration of form, +this compressed brevity, which the Frenchman inherited from the Latins, +is well illustrated by the following lines from Wordsworth: + + To see a world in a grain of sand, + And a heaven in a wild flower; + Hold infinity in the palm of hand, + And eternity in an hour. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[42] Copyright, 1909, by the Author. + + + + +MADISON CAWEIN + + +Madison Cawein, whom English critics name the greatest living American +poet, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, March 23, 1865. He was +christened "Madison Julius Cawein," but he had not gotten far in the +literary lane before his middle name was dropped, though the "J." may be +found upon the title-pages of his earlier books. After some preparatory +work he entered the Louisville Male High School, in 1881, at the age of +sixteen years. At high school Madison Cawein began to write rhymes which +he read to the students and teachers upon stated occasions, and he was +hailed by them as a true maker of song. He was graduated in 1886 in a +class of thirteen members. Being poor in purse, Mr. Cawein accepted a +position in a Louisville business house, and he is one of the few +American poets who wrote in the midst of such commercialism. His was the +singing heart, not to be crushed by conditions or environment of any +kind. The year after his graduation he collected the best of his school +verse and published them as his first book, _Blooms of the Berry_ +(Louisville, 1887). In some way William Dean Howells and Thomas Bailey +Aldrich saw this volume, praised it, and fixed the future poet in his +right path. _The Triumph of Music_ (Louisville, 1888), sounded after +_The Blooms of the Berry_, and since that time hardly a year has passed +without the poet putting forth a slender volume. The next few years saw +the publication of his _Accolon of Gaul_ (Louisville, 1889); _Lyrics and +Idyls_ (Louisville, 1890); _Days and Dreams_ (New York, 1891); _Moods +and Memories_ (New York, 1892); _Red Leaves and Roses_ (New York, 1893); +_Poems of Nature and Love_ (New York, 1893); _Intimations of the +Beautiful_ (New York, 1894), one of his longest poems; _The White Snake_ +(Louisville, 1895), metrical translations from the German poets; +_Undertones_ (Boston, 1896), which contained some of the finest lyrics +he has done so far; _The Garden of Dreams_ (Louisville, 1896); _Shapes +and Shadows_ (New York, 1898); _Idyllic Monologues_ (Louisville, 1898); +_Myth and Romance_ (New York, 1899); _One Day and Another_ (Boston, +1901), a lyrical eclogue; _Weeds by the Wall_ (Louisville, 1901); _A +Voice on the Wind_ (Louisville, 1902). A glance at these titles, +following fast upon each other, convinces the reader that Mr. Cawein was +writing and publishing far too much, that he was not sufficiently +critical of his work. Edmund Gosse, the famous English critic, has +always been one of Mr. Cawein's most ardent admirers, and, in 1903, he +selected the best of his poems, wrote a delightful introduction for +them, and they were published in London under the title of _Kentucky +Poems_. This volume brought the poet many new friends, as it assembled +the best of his work from volumes long out of print and rather difficult +to procure. _The Vale of Tempe_ (New York, 1905), contained the best of +Mr. Cawein's work written since the publication of _Weeds by the Wall_ +in 1901. _Nature-Notes and Impressions_ (New York, 1906), a collection +of poems and prose-pastels, was especially notable for the fact that it +contained the first and only short-story the poet has written, entitled +"Woman or--What?" + +_The Poems of Madison Cawein_ (Indianapolis, 1907, five volumes), +charmingly illustrated by Mr. Eric Pape, the Boston artist, with Mr. +Gosse's introduction, brought together all of Mr. Cawein's work that +he cared to rescue from many widely scattered volumes. He made many +revisions in the poems, some of which (in the judgment of the writer) +tend to mar their original beauty. But it is a work of which any poet +may be proud; and it is not surpassed in quality or quantity by any +living American. + +Mr. Cawein's _Ode in Commemoration of the Founding of the +Massachusetts Bay Colony_ (Louisville, 1908), which he read at +Gloucester in August, 1907, was rather lengthy, but it contained many +strong and fine lines; and a group of New England sonnets, some of the +best he has done, appeared at the end of the ode. His _New Poems_ +(London, 1909), was followed by _The Giant and the Star_ (Boston, +1909), a small collection of children's verse, dedicated to his little +son, who furnished their inspiration. _Let Us Do the Best that We Can_ +(Chicago, 1909), was a beautiful brochure; and _The Shadow Garden and +Other Plays_ (New York, 1910), was four chamber-dramas which have been +highly praised, and which contain some of the most delicate work the +poet has done. _So Many Ways_ (Chicago, 1911), was another +pamphlet-poem; and it was followed by _Poems_ (New York, 1911), +selected from the whole range of his work by himself, with a foreword +by William Dean Howells. Mr. Cawein's latest volume is entitled _The +Poet, the Fool and the Faeries_ (Boston, 1912). It brings together his +work of the last two or three years, both in the field of the lyric +and of the drama. And from the mechanical aspect it is his most +beautiful book. The poet will publish two books through a Cincinnati +firm in 1913, to be entitled _The Republic--a Little Book of Homespun +Verse_, and _Minions of the Moon_. + +In March, 1912, literary Louisville celebrated the twenty-fifth +anniversary of the publication of _Blooms of the Berry_, and the +forty-seventh birthday of its author, Madison Cawein, the city's most +distinguished man of letters. This was the first public recognition Mr. +Cawein has received in the land of his birth, though it is now proposed +to place a bust of him in the public library of Louisville. He is better +known in New York or London than he is in Kentucky, but it will not be +long before the people of his own land realize that they have been +entertaining a world-poet, possibly, unawares. He is so far removed from +any Kentucky poet of the present school that to mention him in the same +breath with any of them is to make one's self absurd. Looking backward +to the beginnings of our literature and coming carefully down the slope +to this time, but two poets rise out of the mist of yesterday to greet +Cawein and challenge him for the laureateship of Kentucky makers of +song: Theodore O'Hara with his immortal elegy, and Daniel Henry Holmes +with his sheaf of tender lyrics. These three are the nearest approach to +the ineffable poets--who left the earth with the passing of +Tennyson--yet nurtured upon Kentucky soil. + +Mr. Cawein is, of course, a poet of Nature, a landscape poet in +particular who paints every color on the palette into his work. Had he +been an artist he would have exhausted all colors conceived thus far +by man, and would fain have originated new ones. There are literally +hundreds of his poems in which every line is as surely a stroke as if +done with the brush of a painter. Color, color, is his +shibboleth-scheme, and he who would woo Nature in her richest robes +may read Cawein and be content. + +Amazing as it may seem Mr. Cawein has thirty-four volumes to his +credit--almost one for every year of his life. This statement stamps +him as one of the most prolific poets of modern times, if not, indeed, +of all time. And that it is not all quantity, may be seen in the +recent declaration of _The Poetry Review_ of London: "He appears quite +the biggest figure among American poets; his _return to nature_ has no +tinge of affectation; it is genuine to the smallest detail. If he +suffers from fatigue, it is in him, at least, not through that +desperate satiety of town life which with so many recent poets has +ended in impressionism and death." + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Poets of the Younger Generation_, by William Archer + (London, 1901); _The Younger American Poets_, by Jessie B. + Rittenhouse (Boston, 1904); _History of American_ _Literature_, + by R. P. Halleck (New York, 1911); _The Poetry Review_ (London, + October, 1912). + + +CONCLUSION[43] + +[From _Undertones_ (Boston, 1896)] + + The songs Love sang to us are dead: + Yet shall he sing to us again, + When the dull days are wrapped in lead, + And the red woodland drips with rain. + + The lily of our love is gone, + That touched our spring with golden scent; + Now in the garden low upon + The wind-stripped way its stalk is bent. + + Our rose of dreams is passed away, + That lit our summer with sweet fire; + The storm beats bare each thorny spray, + And its dead leaves are trod in mire. + + The songs Love sang to us are dead; + Yet shall he sing to us again, + When the dull days are wrapped in lead, + And the red woodland drips with rain. + + The marigold of memory + Shall fill our autumn then with glow; + Haply its bitterness will be + Sweeter than love of long ago. + + The cypress of forgetfulness + Shall haunt our winter with its hue; + The apathy to us not less + Dear than the dreams our summer knew. + + +INDIAN SUMMER[44] + +[From _Kentucky Poems_ (London, 1903)] + + The dawn is warp of fever, + The eve is woof of fire; + And the month is a singing weaver + Weaving a red desire. + + With stars Dawn dices with Even + For the rosy gold they heap + On the blue of the day's deep heaven, + On the black of the night's far deep. + + It's--'Reins to the blood!' and 'Marry!'-- + The season's a prince who burns + With the teasing lusts that harry + His heart for a wench who spurns. + + It's--'Crown us a beaker with sherry, + To drink to the doxy's heels; + A tankard of wine o' the berry, + To lips like a cloven peel's. + + ''S death! if a king be saddened, + Right so let a fool laugh lies: + But wine! when a king is gladdened, + And a woman's waist and her eyes.' + + He hath shattered the loom of the weaver, + And left but a leaf that flits, + He hath seized heaven's gold, and a fever + Of mist and of frost is its. + + He hath tippled the buxom beauty, + And gotten her hug and her kiss-- + The wide world's royal booty + To pile at her feet for this. + + + +HOME[45] + +[From _Nature-Notes and Impressions_ (New York, 1906)] + + A distant river glimpsed through deep-leaved trees. + A field of fragment flint, blue, gray, and red. + Rocks overgrown with twigs of trailing vines + Thick-hung with clusters of the green wild-grape. + Old chestnut groves the haunt of drowsy cows, + Full-uddered kine chewing a sleepy cud; + Or, at the gate, around the dripping trough, + Docile and lowing, waiting the milking-time. + Lanes where the wild-rose blooms, murmurous with bees, + The bumble-bee tumbling their frowsy heads, + Rumbling and raging in the bell-flower's bells, + Drunken with honey, singing himself asleep. + Old in romance a shadowy belt of woods. + A house, wide-porched, before which sweeps a lawn + Gray-boled with beeches and where elder blooms. + And on the lawn, whiter of hand than milk, + And sweeter of breath than is the elder bloom, + A woman with a wild-rose in her hair. + + +LOVE AND A DAY[46] + +[From _The Poems of Madison Cawein_ (Indianapolis, 1907, v. ii)] + + I + + In girandoles and gladioles + The day had kindled flame; + And Heaven a door of gold and pearl + Unclosed, whence Morning,--like a girl, + A red rose twisted in a curl,-- + Down sapphire stairways came. + + Said I to Love: "What must I do? + What shall I do? what can I do?" + Said I to Love: "What must I do, + All on a summer's morning?" + + Said Love to me: "Go woo, go woo." + Said Love to me: "Go woo. + If she be milking, follow, O! + And in the clover hollow, O! + While through the dew the bells clang clear, + Just whisper it into her ear, + All on a summer's morning." + + II + + Of honey and heat and weed and wheat + The day had made perfume; + And Heaven a tower of turquoise raised, + Whence Noon, like some pale woman, gazed-- + A sunflower withering at her waist-- + Within a crystal room. + + Said I to Love: "What must I do? + What shall I do? what can I do?" + Said I to Love: "What must I do, + All in the summer nooning?" + + Said Love to me: "Go woo, go woo." + Said Love to me: "Go woo. + If she be 'mid the rakers, O! + Among the harvest acres, O! + While every breeze brings scents of hay, + Just hold her hand and not take 'nay,' + All in the summer nooning." + + III + + With song and sigh and cricket cry + The day had mingled rest; + And Heaven a casement opened wide + Of opal, whence, like some young bride, + The Twilight leaned, all starry eyed, + A moonflower on her breast. + + Said I to Love: "What must I do? + What shall I do? what can I do?" + Said I to Love: "What must I do, + All in the summer gloaming?" + + Said Love to me: "Go woo, go woo." + Said Love to me: "Go woo. + Go meet her at the trysting, O! + And 'spite of her resisting, O! + Beneath the stars and afterglow, + Just clasp her close and kiss her--so, + All in the summer gloaming." + + +IN A SHADOW GARDEN[47] + +[From _The Shadow Garden, and Other Plays_ (New York, 1910)] + + Shadow of the Man: Elfins haunt these walks. + The place is most propitious and the time.-- + See how they trip it!--There one rides a snail. + And here another teases at a bee.-- + In spite of grief my soul could almost smile.-- + Elfins! frail spirits of the Stars and Moon, + 'Tis manifest to me 'tis you we see.-- + We never knew, or cared, once.--Would we had!-- + Our lives had proved less empty; and the joy, + That comes with beautiful belief in everything + That makes for childhood, had then touched us young + And kept us young forever; young in heart-- + The only youth man has. But man believes + In only what he contacts; what he sees; + Not what he feels most. Crass, material touch + And vision are his all. The loveliness, + That ambuscades him in his dreams and thoughts, + Is merely portion of his thoughts and dreams + And counts for nothing that he reckons real; + But is, in fact, less insubstantial than + The world he builds of matter-of-fact and stone. + That great inhuman world of evidence, + Which doubts and scoffs and steadily grows old + With what it christens wisdom.--Did it know, + The wise are only they who keep their minds + As little children's, innocent of doubt, + Believing all things beautiful are true. + + +UNREQUITED[48] + +[From _Poems_ (New York, 1911)] + + Passion? not hers! who held me with pure eyes: + One hand among the deep curls of her brow, + I drank the girlhood of her gaze with sighs: + She never sighed, nor gave me kiss or vow. + + So have I seen a clear October pool, + Cold, liquid topaz, set within the sere + Gold of the woodland, tremorless and cool, + Reflecting all the heartbreak of the year. + + Sweetheart? not she! whose voice was music-sweet; + Whose face loaned language to melodious prayer. + Sweetheart I called her.--When did she repeat + Sweet to one hope, or heart to one despair! + + So have I seen a wildflower's fragrant head + Sung to and sung to by a longing bird; + And at the last, albeit the bird lay dead, + No blossom wilted, for it had not heard. + + +A TWILIGHT MOTH + +[From the same] + + Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts on its state + Of gold and purple in the marbled west, + Thou comest forth like some embodied trait, + Or dim conceit, a lily bud confessed; + Or of a rose the visible wish; that, white, + Goes softly messengering through the night, + Whom each expectant flower makes its guest. + + All day the primroses have thought of thee, + Their golden heads close-harmed from the heat; + All day the mystic moonflowers silkenly + Veiled snowy faces,--that no bee might greet, + Or butterfly that, weighed with pollen, passed;-- + Keeping Sultana charms for thee, at last, + Their lord, who comest to salute each sweet. + + Cool-throated flowers that avoid the day's + Too fervid kisses; every bud that drinks + The tipsy dew and to the starlight plays + Nocturnes of fragrance, thy wing'd shadow links + In bonds of secret brotherhood and faith, + O bearer of their order's shibboleth, + Like some pale symbol fluttering o'er these pinks. + + What dost thou whisper in the balsam's ear + That sets it blushing, or the hollyhock's,-- + A syllabled silence that no man may hear,-- + As dreamily upon its stem it rocks? + What spell dost bear from listening plant to plant, + Like some white witch, some ghostly ministrant, + Some specter of some perished flower of phlox? + + O voyager of that universe which lies + Between the four walls of this garden fair,-- + Whose constellations are the fireflies + That wheel their instant courses everywhere,-- + Mid faery firmaments wherein one sees + Mimic Bootes and the Pleiades, + Thou steerest like some faery ship of air. + + Gnome-wrought of moonbeam-fluff and gossamer, + Silent as scent, perhaps thou chariotest + Mab or King Oberon; or, haply, her + His queen, Titania, on some midnight quest.-- + Oh for the herb, the magic euphrasy, + That should unmask thee to mine eyes, ah me! + And all that world at which my soul hath guessed! + +FOOTNOTES: + +[43] Copyright, 1896, by Copeland and Day. + +[44] Copyright, 1903, by the Author. + +[45] Copyright, 1906, by the Author. + +[46] Copyright, 1907, by the Author. + +[47] Copyright, 1910, by the Author. + +[48] Copyright, 1911, by the Macmillan Company. + + + + +GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN + + +Mrs. George Madden Martin, the mother of _Emmy Lou_, was born at +Louisville, Kentucky, May 3, 1866. She is the sister of Miss Eve Anne +Madden, who has also written several delightful books for children. +She was educated in the public schools of Louisville, but on account +of ill-health her training was concluded at home. In 1892 Miss Madden +was married to Mr. Attwood R. Martin, and they have made their home at +Anchorage, Kentucky, some miles from Louisville, ever since. Mrs. +Martin's first book was _The Angel of the Tenement_ (New York, 1897), +now out of print, which she seemingly regards with so little favor +that it is seldom found in the list of her works. _Emmy Lou--Her Book +and Heart_ (New York, 1902), made her famous throughout the +English-reading world. It ran serially in _McClure's Magazine_ during +1900. It is a masterpiece and, though she has published several +stories since, this remains as her best book hitherto. Little "Emmy +Lou" gets into the reader's heart in the most wonderful way, and, once +there, she will not be displaced. She is the most charming child in +Kentucky literature, a genuine creation. Mrs. Martin's short novel, +_The House of Fulfillment_ (New York, 1904) won her praise from people +who could not care for her child, though the heroine was none other +than "Emmy Lou" in long skirts. This was followed by _Abbie Ann_ (New +York, 1907); _Letitia: Nursery Corps, U. S. A._ (New York, 1907), was +a very winsome little girl, who causes the men of the army many +trials and vexations at various military posts where her parents +happened to be stationed. _Emmy Lou_ and _Letitia_, as has been +pointed out by one of Mrs. Martin's keenest critics, regard childhood +through the eyes of age and are best appreciated, perhaps, by adults; +while _Abbie Ann_ sees childhood through a child's eyes, and is +certainly more appreciated by children than by grown-ups. Two of Mrs. +Martin's most recent stories, _When Adam Dolve and Eve Span_, appeared +in _The American Magazine_ for October, 1911; and _The Blue +Handkerchief_, in _The Century_ for December, 1911. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _McClure's Magazine_ (February, 1903); _The Outlook_ + (October 1, 1904); _McClure's Magazine_ (December, 1904). + + +EMMY LOU'S VALENTINE[49] + +[From _Emmy Lou--Her Book and Heart_ (New York, 1902)] + +About this time rumors began to reach Emmy Lou. She heard that it was +February, and that wonderful things were peculiar to the Fourteenth. +At recess the little girls locked arms and talked Valentines. The +echoes reached Emmy Lou. + +The Valentines must come from a little boy, or it wasn't the real thing. +And to get no valentine was a dreadful thing--dreadful thing. And even +the timidest of the sheep began to cast eyes across at the goats. + +Emmy Lou wondered if she would get a valentine. And if not, how was +she to survive the contumely and shame? + +You must never, never breathe to a living soul what was on your +valentine. To tell even your best and truest little girl friend was to +prove faithless to the little boy sending the valentine. These things +reached Emmy Lou. + +Not for the world would she tell. Emmy Lou was sure of that, so +grateful did she feel she would be to anyone sending her a valentine. + + +And in doubt and wretchedness did she wend her way to school on the +Fourteenth day of February. The drug-store window was full of +valentines. But Emmy Lou crossed the street. She did not want to see +them. She knew the little girls would ask her if she had gotten a +valentine. And she would have to say, No. + +She was early. The big, empty room echoed back her footsteps as she +went to her desk to lay down book and slate before taking off her +wraps. Nor did Emmy Lou dream the eye of the little boy peeped through +the crack of the door from Miss Clara's dressing-room. + +Emmy Lou's hat and jacket were forgotten. On her desk lay something +square and white. It was an envelope. It was a beautiful envelope, all +over flowers and scrolls. + +Emmy Lou knew it. It was a valentine. Her cheeks grew pink. + +She took it out. It was blue. And it was gold. And it had reading on it. + +Emmy Lou's heart sank. She could not read the reading. The door opened. +Some little girls came in. Emmy Lou hid her valentine in her book, for +since you must not--she would never show her valentine--never. + +The little girls wanted to know if she had gotten a valentine, and +Emmy Lou said, Yes, and her cheeks were pink with the joy of being +able to say it. + +Through the day, she took peeps between the covers of her Primer, but +no one else might see it. + +It rested heavy on Emmy Lou's heart, however, that there was reading +on it. She studied surreptitiously. The reading was made up of +letters. It was the first time Emmy Lou had thought about that. She +knew some of the letters. She would ask someone the letters she did +not know by pointing them out on the chart at recess. Emmy Lou was +learning. It was the first time since she came to school. + +But what did the letters make? She wondered, after recess, studying +the valentine again. + +Then she went home. She followed Aunt Cordelia about. Aunt Cordelia +was busy. + +"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou. + +Aunt Cordelia listened. + +"B," said Emmy Lou, "and e?" + +"Be," said Aunt Cordelia. + +If B was Be, it was strange that B and e were Be. But many things were +strange. + +Emmy Lou accepted them all on faith. + +After dinner she approached Aunt Katie. + +"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou, "m and y?" + +"My," said Aunt Katie. + +The rest was harder. She could not remember the letters, and had to +copy them off on her slate. Then she sought Tom, the house-boy. Tom +was out at the gate talking to another house-boy. She waited until the +other boy was gone. + +"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou, and she told the letters off the +slate. It took Tom some time, but finally he told her. + +Just then a little girl came along. She was a first-section little +girl, and at school she never noticed Emmy Lou. + +Now she was alone, so she stopped. + +"Get any valentines?" + +"Yes," said Emmy Lou. Then moved to confidence by the little girl's +friendliness, she added, "It has reading on it." + +"Pooh," said the little girl, "they all have that. My mamma's been +reading the long verses inside to me." + +"Can you show them--valentines?" asked Emmy Lou. + +"Of course, to grown-up people," said the little girl. + +The gas was lit when Emmy Lou came in. Uncle Charlie was there, and +the aunties, sitting around, reading. + +"I got a valentine," said Emmy Lou. + +They all looked up. They had forgotten it was Valentine's Day, and it +came to them that if Emmy Lou's mother had not gone away, never to +come back, the year before, Valentine's Day would not have been +forgotten. Aunt Cordelia smoothed the black dress she was wearing +because of the mother who would never come back, and looked troubled. + +But Emmy Lou laid the blue and gold valentine on Aunt Cordelia's knee. +In the valentine's centre were two hands clasping. Emmy Lou's +forefinger pointed to the words beneath the clasped hands. + +"I can read it," said Emmy Lou. + +They listened. Uncle Charlie put down his paper. Aunt Louise looked +over Aunt Cordelia's shoulder. + +"B," said Emmy Lou, "e--Be." + +The aunties nodded. + +"M," said Emmy Lou, "y--my." + +Emmy Lou did not hesitate. "V," said Emmy Lou, "a, l, e, n, t, i, n, +e--Valentine. Be my Valentine." + +"There!" said Aunt Cordelia. + +"Well!" said Aunt Katie. + +"At last!" said Aunt Louise. + +"H'm!" said Uncle Charlie. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[49] Copyright, 1902, by McClure, Phillips and Company. + + + + +MARY ADDAMS BAYNE + + +Mrs. Mary Addams Bayne, novelist, was born near Maysville, Kentucky, +in 1866. Upon the death of her parents, she made her home with her +brother, Mr. William Addams of Cynthiana, Kentucky, recently an +aspirant for the gubernatorial chair of Kentucky. Miss Addams was +married to Mr. James C. Bayne, a banker and farmer of Bagdad, +Kentucky. Mrs. Bayne was a teacher and a short-story writer for some +years before she became a novelist. Her first book, _Crestlands_ +(Cincinnati, 1907) was a centennial story of the famous Cane Ridge +meeting-house, near Paris, Kentucky, the birthplace of the Stoneite or +Reformed church. _Crestlands_ is important as history and +entertainingly told as a story. It was followed by _Blue Grass and +Wattle_ (Cincinnati, 1909), the sub-title of which is more +illuminating, "The Man from Australia." This novel relates the +religious life of a young Australian, educated in Kentucky, and his +many fightings within and without form an interesting story. From the +literary standpoint _Blue Grass and Wattle_ is an advance over +_Crestlands_, and it is an earnest for yet superior work in Mrs. +Bayne's new novel, now in preparation. In the fall of 1912 Mrs. Bayne +purchased the old Burnett place at Shelbyville, Kentucky, and this she +has converted into the most charming home of that town. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters of Mrs. Bayne to the Author; _The Christian + Standard_ (December, 1907). + + +THE COMING OF THE SCHOOLMASTER[50] + +[From _Crestlands_ (Cincinnati, 1907)] + +The spirit of Indian Summer, enveloped in a delicate bluish haze, +pervaded the Kentucky forest. Through the treetops sounded a sighing +minor melody as now and then a leaf bade adieu to the companions of its +summer revels, and sought its winter's rest on the ground beneath. On a +fallen log a red-bird sang with jubilant note. What cared he for the +lament of the leaves? True, he must soon depart from this summer-home; +but only to wing his way to brighter skies, and then return when +mating-time should come again. Near a group of hickory-trees a colony of +squirrels gathered their winter store of nuts; and a flock of wild +turkeys led by a pompous, bearded gobbler picked through the underbrush. +At a wayside puddle a deer bent his head to slake his thirst, but +scarcely had his lips touched the water when his head was reared again. +For an instant he listened, limbs quivering, nostrils dilating, a +startled light in his soft eyes; then with a bound he was away into the +depths of the forest. The turkeys, heeding the tocsin of alarm from +their leader, sought the shelter of the deeper undergrowth; the +squirrels dropped their nuts and found refuge in the topmost branches of +the tree which they had just pilfered; but the red-bird, undisturbed, +went on with his caroling, too confident in his own beauty and the charm +of his song to fear any intruder. + +The cause of alarm was a horseman whose approach had been proclaimed +by the crackling of dried twigs in the bridle-path he was traversing. +He was an erect, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed young man with ruddy +complexion, clear-cut features, and a well-formed chin. A rifle lay +across his saddle-bow, and behind him was a pair of bulky saddle-bags. +He wore neither the uncouth garb of the hunter nor the plain home-spun +of the settler, but rather the dress of the Virginian cavalier of the +period, although his hair, instead of being tied in a queue, was +short, and curled loosely about his finely shaped head. The broad brim +of his black hat was cocked in front by a silver boss; the gray +traveler's cape, thrown back, revealed a coat of dark blue, a +waistcoat ornamented with brass buttons, and breeches of the same +color as the coat, reaching to the knees, and terminating in a black +cloth band with silver buckles. + +He rode rapidly along the well-defined bridle-way, and soon emerged +into a broader thoroughfare. Presently he heard the high-pitched, +quavering notes of a negro melody, faint at first and seeming as much +a part of nature as the russet glint of the setting sun through the +trees. The song grew louder as he advanced, until, emerging into an +open space, he came upon the singer, a gray-haired negro trudging +sturdily along with a stout hickory stick in his hand. The negro +doffed his cap and bowed humbly. + +"Marstah, hez you seed anythin' ob a spotted heifer wid one horn broke +off, anywhars on de road? She's pushed down de bars an' jes' skipped +off somewhars." + +"No, uncle. I've met no stray cows; but can you tell me how far it is +to Major Hiram Gilcrest's? I'm a stranger in this region." + +"Major Gilcrest's!" exclaimed the darkey. "You'se done pass de turnin' +whut leads dar. Did' you see a lane forkin' off 'bout a mile back by +de crick, close to de big 'simmon-tree? Dat's de lane whut leads to +Marstah Gilcrest's, suh." + +"Ah, I see! but perhaps you can direct me to Mister Mason Rogers' +house? My business is with him as well as with Major Gilcrest." + +"I shorely kin," answered the negro, with a grin. "I b'longs to Marse +Mason; I'se his ole uncle Tony. We libs two mile fuddah down dis heah +same road, an' ef you wants to see my marstah an' Marstah Gilcrest +bofe, you might ez well see Marse Mason fust, anyways; kaze whutevah +he say, Marse Hiram's boun' to say, too. Dey's mos' mighty thick." + +The stranger turned his head to hide a momentary smile. + +"You jes' ride straight on," continued Uncle Tony, pointing northward +with his stick; "fus' you comes to a big log house wid all de shettahs +barred up, settin' by itse'l a leetle back frum de road, wid a woods +all roun' it--dat's Cane Redge meetin'-house. Soon's you pass it, you +comes to de big spring, den to a dirty leetle cabin whar dem pore +white trash, de Simminses, libs. Den you strikes a cawnfiel', den a +orchid. Den you's dar. De dawgs and chickens will sot up a tur'ble +rumpus, but you jes' ride up to the stile and holler, 'Hello!' and +some dem no-'count niggahs'll tek you' nag and construct you inter +Miss Cynthy Ann's presence. I'd show you de way myse'f, on'y Is'e +bountah fin' dat heifer; but you carn't miss de way." + +With this he hobbled off down the road in search of the errant heifer. +Meanwhile our traveler rode steadily forward until, in another +half-hour, he came in sight of a more prosperous-looking clearing than +any he had seen since leaving Bourbonton. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[50] Copyright, 1907, by the Standard Publishing Company. + + + + +ELIZABETH CHERRY WALTZ + + +Mrs. Elizabeth Cherry Waltz, creator of _Pa Gladden_, was born at +Columbus, Ohio, December 10, 1866, the daughter of Major John Nichols +Cherry, to whose memory she inscribed her first book. Miss Cherry was +graduated from the Columbus High School; and a short time thereafter +she was married. The death of her husband compelled her to become the +breadwinner for her several children, and in 1895 she joined the staff +of the _Cincinnati Tribune_, which she left after two years for the +Springfield, Ohio, _Republic-Times_, with which she was connected for +a year. On July 4, 1898, she was married to Frederick Hastings Waltz, +a few years her junior, and they settled at Louisville, where he had a +position on _The Courier-Journal_. Mrs. Waltz became literary editor +of _The Courier-Journal_, and this position she held until her death. +Though she followed Miss Mary Johnston, W. H. Fields, Mrs. Hester +Higbee Geppert, and Ernest Aroni[51] in assuming charge of the paper's +literary page, and the standards were thus high, she was one of the +ablest writers that has ever conducted that department. Mrs. Waltz was +a tremendous worker, one of her associates having written that, after +a hard day's work on the paper, she would "go home, cook, wash and +iron, clean house, do assignments, then write until after midnight on +her 'Pa Gladden' stories; she wrote while going and coming on the +street cars, and sometimes wrote on her cuffs with a lead pencil!" +Mrs. Waltz's chief contribution to prose fiction is her well-known +character, "Pa Gladden." These stories were accepted by _The Century +Magazine_ in 1902, and they were published from time to time, being +brought together in a charming book, entitled _Pa Gladden--The Story +of a Common Man_ (New York, 1903; London, n. d. [1905]). "Pa Gladden" +is certainly a real creation. Christian, optimist, lover of his kind, +and above all companionable, he preached and lived the gospel of +goodness. Some critics of the stories have quarreled with the great +amount of dialect, most of which is used by Pa Gladden, but this is +the only adverse comment that was made. The prayers of Pa, said +throughout the book, are always very beautiful. Mrs. Waltz's death +occurred very suddenly at her home in Louisville, "Meadowbrook," +September 19, 1903, almost simultaneous with the appearance of her +book. She was buried at Columbus, Ohio; and her grave is unmarked. +_The Ancient Landmark_ (New York, 1905), her posthumous novel, was a +vigorous attack upon the divorce evil. She died before her time, worn +out with work, and thus Kentucky and the whole country lost a writer +of real achievement and greater promise. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Outlook_ (December 5, 1903); _Who's Who in + America_ (1903-1905). + + +PA GLADDEN AND THE WANDERING WOMAN[52] + +[From _Pa Gladden_ (New York, 1903)] + +In the early darkness of the winter night Pa Gladden returned to the +barn laden with a lamp, a candle, tea, and food. He felt glad he had +sent for the doctor, although he attributed the young woman's illness +to exposure and anxiety. She was tossing on the warm bed, at times +unable to speak intelligibly. She drank the warm tea he gave her, and +again asked for the doctor. Being assured that he would soon come, she +turned her face to the wall. It was such a sorrowful sight that, +setting the candle down on the floor, Pa Gladden knelt upon the boards +and prayed fervently: + +"Father of love, look down on our sorrerful darter this holy night when +redeemin' love should fill all our hearts, this Christmas night when ye +sent yer Son inter the world ter bear all our sins an' ignorances. Heal +'er sore heart, O Lord, heal 'er wounds with the soothin' balm o' thy +love. Hold 'er in thy arms in all 'er trouble an' tribbelations, an' let +Christmas day be a real turnin'-point in 'er life." + +When he rose, the young woman was sitting up, her eyes full of deep +meaning. + +"You are a good man," she said. "I want to say I deserve it, all your +goodness. I am not"--her voice rose to a shriek--"I am not wicked. You +can pray for me, and over me if I should die. I am not afraid to be +here. It's quiet and peaceful. I will try to be patient. Please tell +me your name, sir." + +"Pa Gladden." + +"Mine is Mary, plain Mary. Have you any daughter?" + +"No"--with lingering regret; "but I'm allers Pa Gladden ter all the +folks." + +"If you had a daughter, Pa Gladden, she'd likely be grown up." + +"Prubable." + +"And married; and you might be praying for her, right by her side, +like you are here. God bless you forever and forever, Pa Gladden!" She +ended with a sob. + +"Don't take on so. Won't ye come inter the house, my darter? I'll make +it all right with Drusilly. Hers is a good heart." + +"No, no. I'm afraid of women. Does it make you feel bad to see me cry, +Pa Gladden? Then I'll set my lips tighter. Just let me stay here. If +you had a daughter she'd want to be quiet now, peaceful and quiet." + +He sat by her for a few moments longer. + +"The doctor wull be comin' ter the house presently," he said +cheerfully. "I must go an' pilot him here. Lie still, darter; he'll +soon git something' outen them old leather saddle-bags ter quiet ye +down. Doc Briskett knows his business." + +She held out her hand to him. + +"Yes, go, Pa Gladden, but leave me the little candle. It's lonesome in +the dark when one is in misery. And I'll listen for your footsteps." + +Pa was not much too soon. He heard the bump and rattle of the doctor's +cart over the hard road before he reached the red gate. + +"Now hold hard, doc," he called out as he swung it open. "Go out the +barn road. Yer patient air out thar." + +"Jee whillikins!" exclaimed Doc Briskett. "You never have brought me +'way out here to see a sick cow on a church-festival night!" + +Pa climbed in beside him. + +"It's a pore woman thet's sick," he announced calmly, and unfolded his +story for the doctor's amazed ears. + +"Pa Gladden!" exclaimed the doctor. "God alone knows what sort of an +illness she may have. However, I'll see her. A tramp is likely to have +any disease traveling." + +A lamp stood on the old table in the room, and the burly doctor took it +and climbed to the upper room. Pa Gladden paused at the doorway to look +over the white world of Christmas eve. On such a night, he thought, the +shepherds watched, the star shone, the angels sang, the Child was born. +Pa Gladden heard the voice of his mother in the long ago: + + Carol, carol, Christians, + Carol joyfully, + Carol for the coming + Of Christ's nativity! + +Then, hoarse and terrible, came the doctor's voice as he almost +tumbled down the ladder: + +"Pa, pa, get in that cart and drive like mad to Dilsaver's. Meenie is +at home, and tell her I said to come back with you. Bring her here; +bring some woman, for the love of God!" + +FOOTNOTES: + +[51] Ernest ("Pat") Aroni, was far and away the finest dramatic critic +Kentucky has produced, and a delightful volume of his work could be +gathered from the files of _The Courier-Journal_. Mr. Aroni's fame has +lingered in Kentucky in a rather remarkable manner, as he never +published a book or wrote for the magazines. He is now chief editorial +writer on _The North American_, Philadelphia. + +[52] Copyright, 1903, by the Century Company. + + + + +REUBENA HYDE WALWORTH + + +Miss Reubena Hyde Walworth, author of a brief comedy that has come +down to posterity with a deal of the perfume of permanency, was born +at Louisville, Kentucky, February 21, 1867. She was the granddaughter +of Reuben Hyde Walworth (1788-1867), the last chancellor of New York +State, the feminine form of whose name she bore. Her father was the +well-known novelist, Mansfield Tracy Walworth (1830-1873); and her +mother and sister were writers of reputation. So it will be seen at a +glance that Miss Walworth inherited her literary tastes legitimately. +She began by contributing poems to the periodicals, but her one-act +comediette, entitled _Where was Elsie? or the Saratoga Fairies_ (New +York, 1888), written before she was of age, made her widely known. +This little comedy is now out of print, and it is exceedingly scarce. +Miss Walworth was graduated from Vassar College in 1896, being poet of +the class, and one of the editors of _The Vassarian_. She then taught +in a woman's college for a time, when the war with Spain was declared +and she determined to go to the front as a volunteer nurse. Miss +Walworth was one of the higher heroines of that war. The last months +of her life were spent at the detention hospital, Montauk, New York, +where she rendered noble service in her country's cause. She was +stricken with fever and died on October 18, 1898. Her body was taken +to her home at Saratoga Springs, New York, and buried with military +honors. Miss Walworth's comedy and lyrics should be republished. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Appletons' _Cyclopaedia of American Biography_ (New + York, 1889, v. vi); _A Dictionary of American Authors_, by O. F. + Adams (Boston, 1905). + + +THE UNDERGROUND PALACE OF THE FAIRIES + +[From _Where was Elsie?_ (New York, 1888)] + +Act I, Scene IV. _Enter Jack and Elsie with fairy flask and taper._ + +_Elsie._ Is this the room, Mr. Jack o' Lantern? + +_Jack._ Yes, Elsie, this is the room where the King told me to take +you and await his presence. What a pity it is the Prince--[_Stops_]. + +_Elsie._ Prince! what Prince? + +_Jack._ Sh! walls have ears, Elsie, and, indeed, I forgot that the +King had forbidden us ever to speak of him again. But I must be off to +dance attendance on the Queen. Her majesty, be it said with all due +reverence, is not over-sweet when her loyal subjects are slow to obey +her commands. [_Exit, but immediately puts his head in the door._] +Don't forget the magical water, Elsie. [_Exit._] + +_Elsie._ That's so; I had forgotten that I must drink this. [_Looks at +flask in her hand._] Jack says that it keeps anybody from growing old so +fast; but if you get it from the fairies on Christmas eve, the way I +did, you won't ever grow old. Oh dear! I don't want to be young forever. +I want to grow up, and be sixteen. Then I'd wear my hair high, and have +a long train. [_Struts up and down, but stops suddenly._] Well, I don't +care, you couldn't play hop-scotch in a train. [_Looking about her._] I +don't think this room's pretty, a bit. [_Catches sight of something +shining on the wall._] Oh my! what's that shiny thing? Wouldn't it be +fun if there were a secret door there, just like a story book! I'm going +to see what it is. [_Stops._] Dear me! I forgot that horrid flask! +[_Brightening up._] Maybe it'll make me nice and old, though. I'll take +the old spring water first, anyhow, and then I'll see what that thing is +over there. I wonder what will happen. [_Drinks._] + +Curtain. + + + + +CRITTENDEN MARRIOTT + + +Crittenden Marriott, novelist, was born at Baltimore, March 20, 1867, +the great grandson of Kentucky's famous statesman, John J. Crittenden, +the grandson of Mrs. Chapman Coleman, who wrote her father's +biography, and the son of Cornelia Coleman, who was born at +Louisville, Kentucky, and lived there until her marriage. Mr. +Marriott's mother, grandmother, and aunts translated several of Miss +Muhlbach's novels and a volume of French fairy tales. The future +novelist first saw Kentucky when he was nine years old, and for the +two years following he lived at Louisville and attended a public +school. From 1878 to 1882 he was at school in Virginia, but he spent +two of the vacations in Louisville. In 1883 he was appointed to the +Naval Academy at Annapolis, but two years later he was compelled to +resign on account of deficient eyesight. He returned to Louisville +where he clerked in an insurance office, the American Mutual Aid +Society, which position he held until 1887, when he resigned and +removed to Baltimore as an architectural draughtsman. He subsequently +went to Washington, and from there to California. In 1890 Mr. Marriott +joined the staff of the San Francisco _Chronicle_, and acted as +representative of the Associated Press. Two years later he went to +South Africa as a correspondent, tramping sixteen hundred miles in the +interior, mostly alone. After this strenuous journey he returned to +his aunt's home at Louisville, spending some of the time in Shelby +county, Kentucky. He shortly afterwards went to New York as ship news +reporter for _The Tribune_, which he held for six months. In 1893 Mr. +Marriott went to Brazil for the Associated Press on the dynamite +cruiser _Nictheroy_. The fall of 1894 found him again in Shelby +county, this time meeting his future wife, a Louisville girl, whom he +married in June, 1895. At the time of his wedding he was a newspaper +correspondent in Washington. Mr. Marriott's health broke shortly +afterwards, and from January to September, 1896, he was ill at +Louisville. In 1897 he went to Cuba for the Chicago _Record_. When the +now defunct Louisville _Dispatch_ was established, Mr. Marriott became +telegraph editor, which position he held for six months in 1898. +Although he has resided in Washington since leaving the _Dispatch_, he +regards Louisville as his real home, and he has visited there several +times within the last few years, his most recent visit being late in +1912, when he came for his sister's wedding. Since 1904 Mr. Marriott +has been one of the assistant editors of the publications of the +United States Geological Survey. At the present time he is planning to +surrender his post and establish a permanent home at Louisville. Mr. +Marriott's first book, _Uncle Sam's Business_ (New York, 1908), was an +excellent study of our government at work, "told for young Americans." +It was followed by a thrilling, wildly improbable tale of the +Sargasso Sea, _The Isle of Dead Ships_ (Philadelphia, 1909), the scene +of which he saw several times on his various journeys around the +world. _How Americans Are Governed in Nation, State, and City_ (New +York, 1910), was an adultiazation and elaboration of his first book, +fitting it for institutions of learning and for the general reader. +Mr. Marriott's second novel, _Out of Russia_ (Philadelphia, 1911), a +story of adventure and intrigue, was somewhat saner than _The Isle of +Dead Ships_. From June to October, 1912, his _Sally Castleton, +Southerner_, a Civil War story, ran in _Everybody's Magazine_, and it +will be issued by the Lippincott's in January, 1913. The love story of +a Virginia girl, daughter of a Confederate general, and a Kentuckian, +who is a Northern spy, it is far and away the finest thing Mr. +Marriott has done--one of the best of the recent war novels. In the +past five years he has sold more than one hundred short-stories, some +fifteen serials, and his fifth book is now in press, which is +certainly a most creditable record. He has published two Kentucky +stories, one for _Gunter's Magazine_, the other for _The Pocket +Magazine_ (which periodical was swallowed up by _Leslie's Weekly_); +and he has recently finished a third Kentucky romance, which he calls +_One Night in Kentucky_, and which will appear in _The Red Book +Magazine_ sometime in 1913. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Marriott to the Author; _Who's Who + in America_, (1912-1913). + + +THE ARRIVAL OF THE ENEMY[53] + +[From _Sally Castleton, Southerner_ (_Everybody's Magazine_, June, +1912)] + +With her heart beating so that she could not speak, she opened the +door. She knew that she must be calm, must not show too great terror, +must not try to deny the enemy the freedom of the house. She clung to +the door, half fainting, while the world spun round her. + +Slowly the haze cleared. Dully, as from afar off, she heard some one +addressing her and realized that a boy was standing on the porch steps +holding his horse's bridle--a boy, short, rotund, friendly looking, +with gilt and yellow braid upon his dusty blue uniform; just a +boy--not an enemy. + +"Well, sir?" she faltered. + +The boy snatched off his slouch hat with its yellow cord. He stood +swinging it in his hand, staring admiringly at the girls. "General +Haverhill's compliments," he said. "He regrets to cause inconvenience, +but he must occupy this house as headquarters for a few hours. He will +be here immediately." He gestured toward a little knot of horsemen, +who had paused at the foot of the lawn and were staring down the +valley with field-glasses. + +Sally managed to bow with some degree of calmness. "The house is at +General Haverhill's disposal," she answered steadily. "I am sorry that I +have only one aged servant and therefore cannot serve him as I should." + +The boy smiled. He seemed unable to take his eyes from her face. "Oh, +that's all right," he exclaimed cheerfully. "We are used to looking +out for ourselves. Don't trouble yourself a bit. The general only +wants a place to rest for a few hours." + +"He may have that," Miss Castleton smiled faintly. After all, there +were pleasant people among the Yankees. Besides, it was just as well +to conciliate while she could. "In fact, he can have more. Uncle +Claban is a famous cook and our pantry is not quite empty. May I offer +supper to him and his staff?" + +Her tones were quite natural. She felt surprised at her lack of fear; +now that the shock of the meeting was over, the danger seemed somehow +less. + +The subaltern's white teeth flashed. "Really, truly supper at a table, +with a table-cloth! It's too good to be true. I'll tell the general." +He turned toward the horsemen, who were coming toward the steps. + +Sally waited, watching curiously. She felt 'Genie's convulsive grasp +on her hand and squeezed back reassuringly. "Don't be afraid, dear!" +she murmured. "They're only men, after all. Try to forget that they +are Yankees, and everything will come right." She turned once more to +meet her guests. + +On all sides of the house the busy scene was rapidly changing. The dusty +cavalrymen, saddle-weary after a hard ride, were taking advantage of a +few hours' halt. The troopers, gaunt, sun-burned, unshaven, covered with +mud and dust, moved about this way and that. Company lines were formed, +and long strings of picketed horses munched the clover, while other +strings of horses, with a trooper riding bare-back, half a dozen bridles +in his hands, clattered toward the creek. Stacked arms glittered in the +sunlight. Men with red crosses on their sleeves established a tiny +hospital tent and looked to the slightly wounded who had accompanied the +flying column. Some of the Castleton fences went for farrier's fires, +and his hammer clanked noisily. + +The troops were too thoroughly seasoned campaigners to get out of +hand, but the officers were as tired as the men, and there was no +little foraging. The clusters of cherries, the yellow June apples, and +the welcome "garden truck" were temptations not to be wholly resisted. + +It was all new and strange to Sally and, hard as it was to see the +Castleton acres trampled and overrun, she watched the busy scene with +unconscious interest. + +The voice of the young officer recalled her to herself. "General +Haverhill," he was saying, in deference to a half-forgotten +convention. "General Haverhill--Miss--?" He paused interrogatively. + +The girl bowed. "I'm Miss Castleton," she said. + +"Miss Castleton." The general swept off his slouch hat. "I suppose +Lieutenant Rigby here has told you that we must use your house?" + +"Yes, general. Will you come in?" + +The subaltern interposed. "Miss Castleton has offered us supper, +general," he said. + +The general smiled. He was a powerful-looking man of forty; the scar +of a saber gash across his face gave it a sinister aspect, but his +smile was pleasant. "You are--loyal?" he questioned doubtfully. The +question seemed unnecessary. + +"Yes--to Virginia!" Sally met his eyes steadily. + +"Oh! I see!" Quizzically he contemplated the girl from under his bushy +brows. "And this is--" he turned toward the younger girl. + +"My sister, Miss Eugenia Castleton." + +"Ah!" The general bowed. "I suppose you, too, are loyal--to Virginia, +Miss Eugenia?" he said. + +Perhaps it was the patronizing note in the question that touched +'Genie on the raw. Perhaps it was sheer terror. Whatever the cause, +she flashed up, suddenly furious. "Oh!" she cried, stamping her small +foot. "Oh! I wish I were a man! I wish I were a man!" + +The grizzled Federal looked at her steadily, and not without admiration. +"Perhaps it's lucky for me you're not," he answered, smiling. + +Bowing, he stood aside to let the girls pass at the door, then clanked +after them into the cool, wide hall with its broad center-table, its +chairs and lounge--the lounge on which Philip Byrd had so lately +lain--and the big black stove. To save their lives neither Sally nor +her sister could help glancing at that stove. + +It was Sally's part to play hostess, and she did it valiantly. "Please +sit down, general," she invited. "If you will excuse me, I will see +about supper." With a smile she rustled from the room, 'Genie +following rather sullenly. + +In the wide kitchen she dropped into a chair, trembling. Had she acted +her part well, she wondered, or had she overdone it? Was it suspicion +that she had seen in the general's eyes as she left him? Would he +search--and find? How long would he stay? Philip was wounded, +suffering, probably hungry and thirsty. If the Yankees stayed very +long, he might have to surrender. What would they do to him? Would +they consider him a spy and--and---- + +A hand clutched her and she looked up. 'Genie was on her knees beside +her, flushed, tear-stained face uplifted. + +"Oh, Sally, Sally!" she wailed. "Did I do wrong? Did I make him suspect? +Oh, if anything happens to Philip through my fault, I'll die!" + +Sally laid her hand on the bright hair of the girl beside her. "You +didn't harm Philip," she comforted. "It wouldn't do for us to be too +friendly. That would be the surest way to make them suspicious." + +"But--but--he'll starve!" + +"Oh, no he won't! I don't think they'll stay long. 'For a few hours,' +that young officer said. But come!" Sally jumped up. "Come. Let's get +supper for them. That'll give us something to do, and will keep them +occupied--when it's ready. Men will always eat. Come!" + +'Genie rose obediently, if not submissively. "Supper!" she flashed. +"Supper! And we've got to feed those tyrants, with poor Philip +starving right under their noses." + +The elder sister smiled. "I'm sorry," she said gently; "but there are +worse things than missing a meal or two. Perhaps it may be better for +him, after all; for he must have some fever after that wound and that +ride. Anyhow, we've got to feed these Yankees, so let's do it with a +good grace. Men are easiest managed when they've eaten. If we've got +to feed the brutes, let's do it." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[53] Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgway Company. + + + + +ABBIE CARTER GOODLOE + + +Miss Abbie Carter Goodloe, novelist and short-story writer, was born at +Versailles, Kentucky, in 1867. In 1883 she was graduated from the Girls' +High School, Louisville; and in 1889 she received the degree of Bachelor +of Science from Wellesley College. The next two years were spent in +studying and traveling in Europe. On her return to the United States +Miss Goodloe made her home at Louisville, of which city she has been a +resident ever since. Her first book, _Antinous_ (Philadelphia, 1891), a +blank verse tragedy, was followed by _College Girls_ (New York, 1895), +an entertaining collection of short stories of college life. Miss +Goodloe's first novel, _Calvert of Strathore_ (New York, 1903), was +set, for the most part, in the sunny land of France. _At the Foot of the +Rockies_ (New York, 1905), a group of short stories, is Miss Goodloe's +best work so far. Several of the tales are of great merit and interest, +one enthusiastic critic comparing them to Kipling's finest work. The +author spent one glorious summer in Alberta, Canada, surrounded by the +Northwest Mounted Police, Indians, Englishmen, Americans, and the +romance of it all quite possessed her. These were the backgrounds for +the eight stories which have won her wider fame than any of her other +writings. A winter in Mexico furnished materials for her latest novel, +_The Star-Gazers_ (New York, 1910). The reader is presented to the late +president of that revolutionary-ridden republic, Porfirio Diaz, together +with the other celebrities of his country. The epistolary form of +narration is adopted, and the result is not especially noteworthy. In no +way does this work rank with _At the Foot of the Rockies_. The +short-story is certainly Miss Goodloe's greatest gift, and in that field +she should go far. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Anna Blanche McGill's excellent study in the + _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909, v. v); + _Scribner's Magazine_ (January, April, 1910; July, 1911). + + +A COUNTESS OF THE WEST[54] + +[From _At the Foot of the Rockies_ (New York, 1905)] + +She looked at the Honorable Arthur, abashed and weakly unhappy, and a +wave of disgust swept over her. He was so big and stupid and +irresolute. She would have liked him better if he had told her with +brutal frankness that he no longer cared for her and wouldn't marry +her. She had thought him grateful at least, and he wasn't even that. +The affection he had inspired in her fell from her like a discarded +garment. Suddenly she unfastened a button of her shirtwaist and drew +from around her neck a little blue ribbon on which hung a seal ring. +With a jerk she snapped the ribbon and slipped off the ring. She held +it out to him. + +"There," she said, cooly, "take it back to Rigby Park and give it to +some fine English girl whom your father happens to know! I hope you'll +enjoy your England. Montana's good enough for me!" + +As she swept the Honorable Arthur with a scornful glance, she suddenly +saw his jaw drop and a curious look spring into his eyes. Following +the direction of his gaze she beheld two riders approaching at a hand +gallop, a Mounted Police officer from Fort Macleod, whom she knew, and +following briskly in his wake, a handsome Englishman of middle age. +The hair about his temples was heavily tinged with white, but his +complexion was as fresh and pink and white as a baby's, and he was +most immaculately got up in riding things. + +"It's the governor," she heard the Honorable Arthur whisper +incredulously to himself. + +The meeting between the two was cold and formal, after the fashion of +the Anglo-Saxon male. Miss Ogden looked on in fascinated silence. The +Earl of Rigby put up a single eyeglass and surveyed his son. + +"By gad, my boy, I'm glad to see you again. You aren't looking any too +fit, you know." + +"Thanks, father--yes, I know it. When did you get here?" + +"Just stepped off the train at Macleod two hours ago. Beastly train." + +"Yes, isn't it? Howd'y do, Nevin?" + +"Howd'y do, St. John? Howd'y do, Miss Ogden? Haven't seen you for a +long while. May--may I--the Earl of Rigby, Miss Ogden." + +The Earl of Rigby screwed his glass in again--it had fallen out when he +had shaken his son's hand--and stared at the young woman before him. + +"Awfully glad to meet you, I'm sure," he said, affably. "I--I had +always understood that this country was an Eveless paradise. I'm glad +to see I'm mistaken." + +Miss Lily Ogden surveyed the Earl of Rigby imperturbably. Not one of +the thrills which an hour before she would have supposed necessarily +attendant on an introduction to a noble earl now disturbed her +composure. Even his exaggeratedly polite compliment left her perfectly +cool. He simply seemed to her an extremely handsome man, a good deal +cleverer and stronger-looking than his son. + +"This country wouldn't be a paradise at all without Miss Ogden," said +Nevin, gallantly. "She's the best horsewoman in Port Highwood and +she'll help St. John show you the country, my lord." + +"Thanks, Captain Nevin." She smiled on him sweetly, showing the white, +even teeth between the scarlet lips, and then she turned to the Earl +of Rigby. "I shall be delighted to show you the country--specially as +Mr. St. John is obliged to go away in two or three days." + +"I should like nothing better," said the earl, with conviction. + +"Have to go on the round-up," murmured the Honorable Arthur. + +"That's hard luck," said Nevin, sympathetically. "Two weeks, I suppose." + +"Yes--father'll have to stop for a bit at the Highwood House. I fancy +he'll wish he were back in England!" + +"Not if Miss Ogden will ride with me," observed the earl. + +A curious light came into the girl's gray eyes. + +"I could show your lordship a new trail every day for the two weeks, +and at the end of the time I am sure you could not decide which to +call the prettiest," she asserted. + +"I dare say," assented the earl, eagerly; "but I would like to try." + +"Oh, Miss Ogden will take good care of you," said Nevin. "And now, as +you have two guides, if you will excuse me, I think I won't go on into +Highwood. Your lordship's things will be sent over early in the +morning. His lordship was so anxious to see you, St. John, that we +couldn't even persuade him to mess with us to-night," he remarked, +jocularly, to the Honorable Arthur. "And now I will turn back, I +think. Good-bye!" He waved a gauntleted hand, and wheeling his horse +set off at an easy canter for the fort. + +A somewhat awkward constraint fell upon the three so left, which Miss +Ogden dispelled by turning her horse toward Highwood, and riding on +slightly ahead of the Honorable Arthur and his father. The earl gazed +admiringly at her slim back. + +"By gad, she's a beauty, Arthur, my deah boy, and she sits her horse +perfectly." + +"She's an American," remarked the young man, aggressively. + +"She's beautiful enough to be English," retorted the earl, warmly. He +spurred forward and rode at her right hand. The Honorable Arthur +rather sulkily closed up on the left. + +"I was just saying to Arthur, Miss Ogden, that he could go on the +round-up and jolly welcome as long as you have promised to show me the +country. I am most deeply interested in our Canadian possessions, you +know," said the earl. + +She shot him a glance from under the black lashes of her gray eyes +which made the Earl of Rigby fairly gasp. + +"I shall try my best to keep your lordship from being bored while Mr. +St. John is away," she said, sweetly. + +It was two weeks later, or to be perfectly exact, two weeks and four +days later, that a half-breed was sent down to the Morgan round-up, +twenty-five miles west of Calgary, with a telegram for St. John. The +Honorable Arthur was so dirty, tired, dusty, and sunburnt that the +half-breed had difficulty in picking him out from the rest of the +dirty, tired, dusty, and sunburnt round-up crew. + +The sight of the telegram filled the young man with an indefinable +fear, and the paper fluttered in his trembling hand like a withered +leaf on a windshaken bough. + +"Meet the 2:40 from Macleod at Calgary. Will be on train. Most +important. + + RIGBY." + + +His swollen tongue and parched lips got drier, his cracked and tanned +skin paled as he read and reread the message. Suddenly a joyous thought +came to him. "The old boy's relented sure, and wants me to go back with +him," he told himself over and over. He thrust his few things into the +one portmanteau he had brought with him and made such good time going +the twenty-five miles into Calgary that he had been pacing up and down +the station platform for ten minutes when the train pulled in. + +The Earl of Rigby, who had been hanging over the vestibule rail of the +observation car, swung himself lightly down and cordially grasped his +son's hand. The Honorable Arthur was struck afresh by the good looks +and youthfulness of his aristocratic father. + +"By Jove, Arthur, I'm glad to see you got my telegram, and I'm glad +you got here in time. What? No, you won't need your portmanteau. The +truth is," he gave an infectious laugh, "the Countess of Rigby--she +was Miss Lily Ogden until last night, my deah boy--and I are on our +way to England, and we couldn't leave the country without seeing you +again. Won't you step into the coach and speak to her?" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[54] Copyright, 1905, by Charles Scribner's Sons. + + + + +GEORGE LEE BURTON + + +George Lee Burton, magazinest, was born at Danville, Kentucky, April +17, 1868. He was fitted at the Louisville Rugby School for the +University of Virginia, from which he was graduated, after which he +returned to Louisville, and studied law in the University of +Louisville. Upon his graduation from that institution he was admitted +to the bar, and he has since practiced his profession at Louisville +with success. Mr. Burton began to write some years ago, contributing +short-stories and sketches to the eastern periodicals. _The Century_ +published his clever story, _As Seen By His Bride_; and _Ainslee's +Magazine_ printed his _The Training of the Groom_, _The Deferred +Proposal_, _Cupid's Impromptu_, and several other stories. His work +for _The Saturday Evening Post_, however, has been his most noteworthy +performance. For that great weekly he has written: _Getting a Start at +Sixty_ (published anonymously); _The Making of a Small Capitalist_, _A +Fresh Grip_, _A Rebuilt Life_, and _Tackling Matrimony_, the last of +which titles appeared in two parts in _The Post_ for November 23 and +November 30, 1912, was exceedingly well done. He has recently +re-written _Tackling Matrimony_, greatly developing the story-part, +and more than doubling its length, for the Harper's, who will issue it +in book form early in the spring of 1913. Mr. Burton is a bachelor who +has won wide reputation as a writer upon various phases of matrimonial +mixups. He also has a certain sympathy with those who waste their +youth in riotous living, but who win their true positions in the world +after all seems lost. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Burton to the Author; _Outing_ + (May, 1900). + + +AFTER PRISON--HOME[55] + +[From _A Rebuilt Life_ (_Saturday Evening Post_, March 23, 1912)] + +"Well, sir, when I got out I was shipped back to my own town, or +rather the town from which I had been sent up. I was born five hundred +miles from there; but my people had died when I was young and I had +drifted in there when I was only sixteen years old--I guess that makes +it my town after all. Now, at thirty-five I was back there from the +pen and I stayed there. + +"Maybe that was a mistake. I guess it was harder for me; but I had that +much fight left in me. I wanted to show people that there was still some +man in me, even if I had spent ten years in the pen that I deserved to +spend there. Besides, I wouldn't like to start off fresh in a new place +and build up a little, and just as I got to going have somebody from my +home town come along and tell everybody that respected me that I was a +murderer and an ex-convict and a lowdown sort of nobody. + +"I believe after all I'd rather start in as I did, back where they +thought that about me to begin with, and build up fresh from that. I +wanted to live down the killing and those ten years--and I believe +I've sorter done it. It may sound foolish, but--though I don't excuse +all that, remember--I have got to sorter respect myself again, and I +tell you it feels good! + +"They didn't have prison reform in that state then, with an employment +officer and a job all ready to help a poor devil start out again when +he got back to freedom. They gave me a suit of clothes and five +dollars and shipped me back to the town I came from, then turned me +loose as an ex-convict to hump for myself like the other "exes," +branded by those years of living in there. + +"It certainly seemed strange to see the place again. There had been +many changes in those years. I put up at one of these +twenty-five-cents-a-night men's hotels, and took fifteen-cent +meals--skipping one every day to make my five dollars last longer; and +I commenced looking for a job. + +"There didn't seem any need of more help anywhere. I tried many of my +old acquaintances to see if I could get a place--I did not seem to +have any friends left! I found ten years in the pen seemed to wipe out +the claim of being even an acquaintance with most of them. They all +looked at me curiously, as if I was a different brand of man--a +cannibal, or Eskimo, or something. + +"I'd rather they wouldn't have showed so plain they thought me +dangerous or worse; yet I'd have swallowed that if they had only given +me work. They didn't though; some of them weren't as cold with me as +others, but none of them had anything for me. + +"Of course I tackled all sorts of strangers, too, for work; but +usually they didn't have any--and when they had they wanted +references. I couldn't blame them; I guess I had a sort of pasty face +and hangdog look. + +"They had such a habit of asking: 'Where did you work last?' + +"'I've been away a long time--have not worked here for several years,' +I would say. + +"'Where did you work while you were away?' came next. + +"'I worked at broom-making part of the time,' I got to answering. + +"Then, like as not, the boss would look at me suspiciously and say: +'No, I don't believe I need you just now; if I do I will let you know. +Where do you live?" + +"When I gave the number of the bum lodging house he would look as if +that settled it; he had known all along I wasn't any good. And I felt +so shamed and low down all the time I looked like he was right. + +"Five dollars don't last very long, even with two meals a day. I got +work one day on a wrecker's force, tearing down an old building; but +the foreman drove his men hard and I wasn't used to real work anyway. +I couldn't stand up to it, and--I'm ashamed to tell it even now--I +fainted about four o'clock that afternoon. + +"Another day I got a place with the gang working repairs on the +street-railroad tracks; but the man in charge said I was too slow and +not strong enough--had better get some different kind of work. As if I +hadn't tried everything I could! He didn't pay me for a full day +either--said I wasn't worth it; and the worst was that I knew he was +right. I was about at the end of my rope when my money gave out, and I +was looking so weak and shamefaced that I didn't stand any sort of a +chance. I got to feeling desperate. + +"I remember that about this time I went in to answer an ad--'Man +wanted as porter in well-established wholesale drug house.' The head +of the place was a mild-mannered old man, who sat in the back office, +but who always looked over the new men before they were employed. He +began as usual: + +"'Where did you work last?' + +"'With the street-railroad gang,' I answered. + +"'U-um! How long?' + +"'One day,' I told him. + +"'Ah!' he said, as if he had discovered something--'and before that?' + +"'With a house-wrecking gang on Flint Street.' + +"'Yes--how long there?' + +"'Part of a day,' I said. 'I couldn't stand up to the work.' + +"I thought he looked a little sympathetic then, but was not sure until +he sniffed and asked the next question in a hard, thin voice: + +"'And where before that?' + +"I hesitated a moment; he looked at me more closely and said in that +same tone: + +"'Where?' + +"I had been looked at and questioned so much that way and had got so +raw about it that now I almost shouted: 'In the penitentiary!' + +"'Why, bless my soul!' the mild little man gasped. 'No, I don't need +you. Good day! Good day!' + +"He looked so shocked and I felt so desperate that I could not help +adding, while I looked at him hard: + +"'I was put in for manslaughter too--voluntary manslaughter!' + +"There wasn't any clerk in the room at the time. + +"Oh, oh, indeed!' he gulped out, rising and backing away, big-eyed and +trembly. He almost got to the back window before I turned and left. + +"Maybe I didn't feel bitter and like 'what's the use--what's the use +of anything!' I don't know what would have happened--I guess I'd have +starved to death or worse--if it hadn't been for the hoboes' +hotel--Welcome Hall--'Headquarters for the Unemployed,' as it's +advertised. + +"You don't know about the place? Well, sir, it's a dandy!--at least, +that's the way I think about it--and a good many others do too. The +worst of the hoboes won't go there if they can help it--they'd rather +bum a dime and get a bed for the night in one of those ten-cent places. + +"This Welcome Hall is a sort of industrial kindling-splitting joint. +You blow in there and saw and split kindling for a bed and meals--you +give them six hours' work. + +"You see, in that way you can live off six hours' work a day and have +some time left to look for a job. It's a good thing, and it's been a +moneymaker too; it's the only charity I know of that's not a charity +but a moneymaking concern. Of course people had to give it a place and +start it; but it more than pays expenses, and at the same time helps +to build up a man instead of making him a pauper or a deadbeat bum. + +"I certainly was glad to find some place where I could at least earn +my lodging and meals. I rested up some there and was glad I could just +stay somewhere. Though I looked about for work a little, nearly every +day, I lived along there for three weeks on my six hours a day of +work--still out of a job. At last I guess my fighting blood got up +again, I determined I would get a job of some kind, even if it was +cleaning vaults. I decided no honest work was beneath me when it all +seemed so far above me as to be out of reach. + +"'If I keep my eyes open and am not too choosy I must find something +to do,' I said to myself, and set out to look for it in earnest. It +was Saturday morning, I remember, for I thought of the next day being +Sunday, when I could not even hunt for work. I had walked a good way +and asked for work at a lot of places without getting anything to do, +when I saw an old negro man sweeping leaves off the sidewalk and +washing off the front steps of a plain two-story house with a bucket +of water and a cloth. + +"'I may not be much account but I sure can do that,' I thought, and +asked him how much he got for it. + +"'For dese here, boss, I gits ten cents; but when I wuks all de way +roun' to de back do' I gits some dinner th'owed in,' he said with a +grin. + +"That wasn't so bad; and 'boss'!--how good that sounded! I went on +down the street feeling almost like a man again and not a down-and-out +ex-convict. + +"About a square away I began to ask at every house if they didn't want +the leaves swept off and the front steps washed. Maybe I looked too +much like a tramp or too much above one with that 'boss' still ringing +in my ears--the first time I had been spoken to that way for more than +ten years! Anyway I got turned down at first. + +"At the tenth place, however, a two-story-and-attic red brick, they +gave me a job. The woman asked me in a sharp voice, as if she were +defending herself from being overcharged: + +"'How much?' + +"'Ten cents,' I answered, as meekly as I could. + +"She seemed to think that was reasonable; and after waiting a minute, as +if she wanted the work done and couldn't find any excuse for not letting +me do it, she handed me a bucket and mop and broom and set me at it. + +"I finished the job in about an hour; and I tell you I enjoyed that +work! Beneath me? Why, it couldn't get beneath me--I was that low down +in mind and living and even hope. I was just about all in, you +understand; and I wasn't a plumb out-and-out fool. + +"I have got that dime yet; see here," he said, holding out a brightly +polished dime surrounded by a narrow gold band, which he wore as a charm +on his watch-chain; "whenever I begin to feel ashamed of my work I look +at that and get thankful, and remember how proud and happy I felt when +that sharp-looking woman handed it to me. I had done a little extra work +in cleaning up the yard, and she said as she gave it to me: + +"'That looks a whole lot better! You certainly earned that dime.' + +"I wouldn't have spent that money if I had had to go without food for +two days! It seemed to put springs in my feet and I went down the +street hustling for another job of the same kind. I found it before +dinner; it was another ten cent job with twenty cents' worth of work; +but I sure was glad to get it. + +"I felt that, so long as Welcome Hall was making money, I was earning +my way by those six hours of work a day, and I stayed on there for +some time longer." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[55] Copyright, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company. + + + + +JAMES TANDY ELLIS + + +James Tandy Ellis, "Shawn's" father, was born at Ghent, Kentucky, June +9, 1868. He spent his boyhood days in one of the most romantically +beautiful sections of Kentucky, on the Ohio river between Cincinnati and +Louisville. He was educated at Ghent College and the State College of +Kentucky at Lexington. Mr. Ellis has always been a great lover of Nature +and his leisure-hours are usually spent with dog and gun or in angling. +He engaged in newspaper work in Louisville and his character sketches +soon made him well-known throughout the State. His first book, _Poems by +Ellis_ (Louisville, Kentucky, 1898), contained some very clever verse. +_Sprigs o' Mint_ (New York, 1906), was an attractive little volume of +pastels in prose and verse. Mr. Ellis next issued three pamphlets: +_Peebles_ (Carrollton, Kentucky, 1908); _Awhile in the Mountains_ +(Lexington, Kentucky, 1909); and _Kentucky Stories_ (Lexington, 1909). +His latest book, entitled _Shawn of Skarrow_ (Boston, 1911), is a +novelette of river life in northern Kentucky, and the simple, direct +manner of the little tale was found "refreshing" by the "jaded" +reviewers. Colonel Ellis is now assistant Adjutant-General of Kentucky, +and he resides at Frankfort, the capitol of the Commonwealth. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Ellis to the Author; _Lexington + Leader_ (December 24, 1911). + + +YOUTHFUL LOVERS[56] + +[From _Shawn of Skarrow_ (Boston, 1911)] + +The winter had passed away. Shawn had been working hard in school, and +under the encouragement of Mrs. Alden, was making fair progress, but +Sunday afternoons found him in his rowboat, wandering about the stream +and generally pulling his boat out on the beach at Old Meadows, for +Lallite was there to greet him, and already they had told each other +of their love. What a dream of happiness, to wander together along the +pebbled beach, or through the upland woods, tell each other the little +incidents of their daily life, and to pledge eternal fidelity. Oh, +dearest days, when the rose of love first blooms in youthful hearts, +when lips breathe the tenderest promises, fraught with such transports +of delight; when each lingering word grows sweeter under the spell of +love-lit eyes. Oh, blissful elysium of love's young dream! + +They stood together in the deepening twilight, when the sun's last +bars of gold were reflected in the stream. + +"Oh, Shawn, it was a glad day when you first came with Doctor Hissong +to hunt." + +"Yes," said Shawn, as he took her hand, "and it was a hunt where I +came upon unexpected game, but how could you ever feel any love for a +poor river-rat?" + +"I don't know," said Lallite, "but maybe, it is that kind that some +girls want to fall in love with, especially if they have beautiful +teeth, and black eyes and hair, and can be unselfish enough to kill a +bag of game for two old men, and let them think they did the shooting." + +"Lally, when they have love plays on the show-boats, they have all +sorts of quarrels and they lie and cuss and tear up things generally." + +"Well, Shawn, there's all sorts of love, I suppose, but mine is not +the show-boat kind." + +"Thank the Lord," said Shawn. + +He drew out a little paste-board box. Nestling in a wad of cotton, was +the pearl given to him by Burney. + +"Lally, this is the only thing I have ever owned in the way of jewelry, +and it's not much, but will you take it and wear it for my sake?" + +"It will always be a perfect pearl to me," said the blushing girl. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[56] Copyright, 1911, by the C. M. Clark Company. + + + + +GEORGE HORACE LORIMER + + +George Horace Lorimer, editor and novelist, was born at Louisville, +Kentucky, October 6, 1868, the son of Dr. George C. Lorimer +(1838-1904), the distinguished Baptist clergyman and author, who held +pastorates at Harrodsburg (where he married a wife), Paducah, and +Louisville, but who won his widest reputation in Tremont Temple, +Boston. His son was educated at Colby College and at Yale. Since Saint +Patrick's Day of 1899, Mr. Lorimer has been editor-in-chief of _The +Saturday Evening Post_. He resides with his family at Wyncote, +Pennsylvania, but he may be more often found near the top of the +magnificent new building of the Curtis Publishing Company in +Independence Square. As an author Mr. Lorimer is known for his popular +_Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son_ (Boston, 1902), which +was one of the "six best sellers" for a long time. It was actually +translated into Japanese. Its sequel, _Old Gorgon Graham_ (New York, +1904), was more letters from the same to the same. The original of +_Old Gorgon Graham_ was none other than Philip Danforth Armour, the +Chicago packer, under whom Mr. Lorimer worked for several years. Both +of the books made a powerful appeal to men, but it is doubtful if many +women cared for either of them. _The False Gods_ (New York, 1906), is +a newspaper story in which "the false gods" are the faithless _flares_ +which lead a "cub" reporter into many mixups, only to have everything +turn out happily in the end. Mr. Lorimer's latest story, _Jack +Spurlock--Prodigal_ (New York, 1908), an adventurous young fellow who +is expelled from Harvard, defies his father, and finds himself in the +maw of a cold and uncongenial world, is deliciously funny--for the +reader! All of Mr. Lorimer's books are full of the _Poor Richard_ +brand of worldly-wise philosophy, which he is in the habit of "serving +up" weekly for the readers of _The Post_. That he is certainly an +editor of very great ability, and that he has exerted wide influence +in his field, no one will gainsay. The men who help him make his paper +call him "the greatest editor in America;" and he is undoubtedly the +highest salaried one in this country to-day. _The Post_, which was +nothing before he assumed control of it, is one of the foremost +weeklies in the English-reading world at the present time; and its +success is due to the longheadedness and hard common sense of its +editor, George Horace Lorimer. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Critic_ (June, 1903); _The Bookman_ (October, + November, 1904); _Little Pilgrimages Among the Men Who Have + Written Famous Books_, by E. F. Harkins (Boston, 1903, Second + Series). + + +HIS SON'S SWEETHEART[57] + +[From _Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son_ (Boston, 1902)] + + NEW YORK, November 4, 189-. + +_Dear Pierrepont_: Who is this Helen Heath, and what are your intentions +there? She knows a heap more about you than she ought to know if they're +not serious, and I know a heap less about her than I ought to know if +they are. Hadn't got out of sight of land before we'd become acquainted +somehow, and she's been treating me like a father clear across the +Atlantic. She's a mighty pretty girl, and a mighty nice girl, and a +mighty sensible girl--in fact she's so exactly the sort of girl I'd like +to see you marry that I'm afraid there's nothing in it. + +Of course, your salary isn't a large one yet, but you can buy a whole +lot of happiness with fifty dollars a week when you have the right +sort of a woman for your purchasing agent. And while I don't go much +on love in a cottage, love in a flat, with fifty a week as a starter, +is just about right, if the girl is just about right. If she isn't, it +doesn't make any special difference how you start out, you're going to +end up all wrong. + +Money ought never to be _the_ consideration in marriage, but it ought +always to be _a_ consideration. When a boy and a girl don't think +enough about money before the ceremony, they're going to have to think +altogether too much about it after; and when a man's doing sums at +home evenings, it comes kind of awkward for him to try to hold his +wife on his lap. + +There's nothing in this talk that two can live cheaper than one. A +good wife doubles a man's expenses and doubles his happiness, and +that's a pretty good investment if a fellow's got the money to invest. +I have met women who had cut their husbands' expenses in half, but +they needed the money because they had doubled their own. I might +add, too, that I've met a good many husbands who had cut their wives' +expenses in half, and they fit naturally into any discussion of our +business, because they are hogs. There's a point where economy becomes +a vice, and that's when a man leaves its practice to his wife. + +An unmarried man is a good deal like a piece of unimproved real +estate--he may be worth a whole lot of money, but he isn't of any +particular use except to build on. The great trouble with a lot of +these fellows is that they're "made land," and if you dig down a few +feet you strike ooze and booze under the layer of dollars that their +daddies dumped in on top. Of course, the only way to deal with a +proposition of that sort is to drive forty-foot piles clear down to +solid rock and then to lay railroad iron and cement till you've got +something to build on. But a lot of women will go right ahead without +any preliminaries and wonder what's the matter when the walls begin to +crack and tumble about their ears. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[57] Copyright, 1902, by Small, Maynard and Company. + + + + +SISTER IMELDA + + +Sister Imelda ("Estelle Marie Gerard"), poet, was born at Jackson, +Tennessee, January 17, 1869, the daughter of Charles Brady, a native +of Ireland, and soldier in the Confederate army. After the war he went +to Jackson, Tennessee, and married Miss Ann Sharpe, a kinswoman of +Senator John Sharp Williams of Mississippi. Their second child was +Helen Estelle Brady, the future poet. She was educated by the +Dominican sisters at Jackson and, at the age of eighteen years, +entered the sisterhood, taking the name of "Sister Imelda." For the +next twenty-three years she lived in Kentucky, teaching music in Roman +Catholic institutions at Louisville and Springfield, but she is now +connected with the Sacred Heart Institute, Watertown, Massachusetts. +Sister Imelda's booklet of poems has been highly praised by competent +critics. It was entitled _Heart Whispers_ (1905), and issued under her +pen-name of "Estelle Marie Gerard." Many of these poems were first +published in _The Midland Review_, a Louisville magazine edited by the +late Charles J. O'Malley, the poet and critic. Sister Imelda is a +woman of rare culture and a real singer, but her strict religious life +has hampered her literary labors to an unusual degree. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Hesperian Tree_ (Columbus, Ohio, 1903); letters + from Sister Imelda to the Author. + + +A JUNE IDYL[58] + +[From _Heart Whispers_ (1905)] + + Every glade sings now of summer-- + Songs as sweet as violets' breath; + And the glad, warm heart of nature + Thrills and gently answereth. + + Answers through the lily-lyrics + And the rosebud's joyous song, + Faintly o'er the valley stealing, + As the June days speed along. + + And we, pausing, fondly listen + To their tuneful minstrelsy, + Floating far beyond the wildwood + To the ever restless sea. + + Till the echoes, softly, lowly, + Trembling on the twilight air-- + Tells us that each rose and lily + Bows its scented head in prayer. + + + +HEART MEMORIES + +[From the same] + + In fancy's golden barque at eventide + My spirit floateth to the Far Away, + And dreamland faces come as fades the day. + They lean upon my heart. We gently glide + Adown the magic shores of long ago, + While memories, like silver lily bells, + Are tinkling in my heart's fair woodland dells + And breathing songs full sweetly soft and low. + + When eventide has slowly winged its flight, + And moonbeams clothe the flowers with radiant light, + Ah, then there swiftly come again to me, + Like echoes of some song-bird melody, + Borne on the breeze from far-off mountain height, + Fond thoughts of home, and Mother dear, of Thee. + + +A NUN'S PRAYER + +[From the same] + + When lilies swing their voiceless silver bells, + And twilight's kiss doth linger on the sea, + I wander silently o'er the scented lea + By brooks that murmur through the sleeping dells, + And rippling onward, chant the funeral knells + Of leaves they bear upon their breasts. On Thee, + Dear Lord, I lean! The grandest destiny + Of life is mine. Within my heart there wells + For thee a deep love, and sweetest peace + Doth glimmer star-like on the wavelet's crest. + Grant, Thou, O Christ, its gleaming ne'er may cease, + Until Death's angel makes the melody + That calls my pinioned spirit home to Thee, + Then only will it know eternal rest. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[58] Copyright, 1905, by the Author. + + + + +HARRISON CONRARD + + +Harrison Conrard, poet, was born at Dodsonville, Ohio, September 21, +1869. He was educated at St. Xavier's College, Cincinnati. From 1892 +until the spring of 1899 Mr. Conrard lived at Ludlow, Kentucky, when +he removed to Arizona to engage in the lumber business at Flagstaff, +his present home. While living at Ludlow he published his first book +of poems, entitled _Idle Songs and Idle Sonnets_ (1898), which is now +out of print. Mr. Conrard's second and best known volume of verse, +called _Quivira_ (Boston, 1907), contained a group of singing lyrics +of almost entrancing beauty. These are the only books he has so far +published. "Some day," the poet once wrote, "I shall roll up my +bedding, take my fishing rod and wander back east, and Kentucky will +be good enough for me." He has, however, never come back. A new volume +of his verse is to be issued shortly. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Conrard to the Author; _Poet-Lore_ + (Boston, Fall Issue, 1907). + + +IN OLD TUCSON[59] + +[From _Quivira_ (Boston, 1907)] + + In old Tucson, in old Tucson, + What cared I how the days ran on? + A brown hand trailing the viol-strings, + Hair as black as the raven's wing, + Lips that laughed and a voice that clung + To the sweet old airs of the Spanish tongue + Had drenched my soul with a mellow rime + Till all life shone, in that golden clime, + With the tender glow of the morning-time. + In old Tucson, in old Tucson, + How swift the merry days ran on! + + In old Tucson, in old Tucson, + How soon the parting day came on! + But I oft turn back in my hallowed dreams, + And the low adobe a palace seems, + Where her sad heart sighs and her sweet voice sings + To the notes that throb from her viol-strings. + Oh, those tear-dimmed eyes and that soft brown hand! + And a soul that glows like the desert sand-- + The golden fruit of a golden land! + In old Tucson, in old Tucson, + The long, lone days, O Time, speed on! + + +A KENTUCKY SUNRISE + +[From the same] + + Faint streaks of light; soft murmurs; sweet + Meadow-breaths; low winds; the deep gray + Yielding to crimson; a lamb's bleat; + Soft-tinted hills; a mockbird's lay: + And the red Sun brings forth the Day. + + +A KENTUCKY SUNSET + +[From the same] + + The great Sun dies in the west; gold + And scarlet fill the skies; the white + Daisies nod in repose; the fold + Welcomes the lamb; larks sink from sight: + The long shadows come, and then--Night. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[59] Copyright, 1907, by Richard G. Badger. + + + + +ALICE HEGAN RICE + + +Mrs. Alice Hegan Rice, creator of "Mrs. Wiggs," was born at +Shelbyville, Kentucky, January 11, 1870. She was educated at Hampton +College, Louisville. On December 18, 1902, she was married to Mr. Cale +Young Rice, the Louisville poetic dramatist. Mrs. Rice is a member of +several clubs, and to this work she has devoted considerable +attention. Her first book, published under her maiden name of Alice +Caldwell Hegan, the redoubtable _Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch_ (New +York, 1901), is an epic of optimism, "David Harum's Widow," to its +admirers; and a platitudinous production, to its non-admirers. At any +rate, it achieved the success it was written to achieve: one of the +"six best sellers" for more than a year, and now in its forty-seventh +edition! That, surely, is glory--and money--enough for the most +exacting. The love episode running through the little tale did not +greatly add to its merit, and when the old woman of the many trials +and tribulations is absent, it drags itself endlessly along. _Lovey +Mary_ (New York, 1903), was a weakish sequel, partly redeemed by the +one readable chapter upon the old Kentucky woman of Martinsville, +Indiana, and her _Denominational Garden_. That chapter and _The +'Christmas Lady'_ from _Mrs. Wiggs_, were reprinted in London as very +slight volumes. _Sandy_ (New York, 1905), was the story of a little +Scotch stowaway in Kentucky; _Captain June_ (New York, 1907), related +the experiences of an American lad in Japan; _Mr. Opp_ (New York, +1909), was a rather unpleasant tale of an eccentric Kentucky +journalist, yet quite the strongest thing she has done. Mrs. Gusty, +Jimmy Fallows, Cove City, _The Opp Eagle_, its editor, D. Webster Opp, +his half-crazed sister, Kippy, are very real and very pathetic. Mrs. +Rice's latest story, _A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill_ (New York, 1912), +was heralded as a "delightful blend of Cabbage Patch philosophy and +high romance;" and it was said to have been the result of a suggestion +made to the author by the late editor and poet, Richard Watson Gilder, +that she should paint upon a larger canvas--which suggestion was both +good and timely. That the "Cabbage Patch philosophy" is present no one +will deny; but the "high romance" is reached at the top of Billy-Goat +Hill which is, after all, not a very dizzy altitude. It was, of +course, one of the "six best sellers" for several months. Indeed, more +than a million copies of her books have been sold; and nearly as many +people have seen the dramatization of _Mr. Opp_ and _Mrs. Wiggs_.[60] + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Outlook_ (December 6, 1902); _The Bookman_ + (May, 1903); _The Critic_ (June, 1904). + + +THE OPPRESSED MR. OPP DECIDES[61] + +[From _Mr. Opp_ (New York, 1909)] + +Half an hour later Mr. Opp dragged himself up the hill to his home. All +the unfairness and injustice of the universe seemed pressing upon his +heart. Every muscle in his body quivered in remembrance of what he had +been through, and an iron band seemed tightening about his throat. His +town had refused to believe his story! It had laughed in his face! + +With a sudden mad desire for sympathy and for love, he began calling +Kippy. He stumbled across the porch, and, opening the door with his +latch-key, stood peering into the gloom of the room. + +The draft from an open window blew a curtain toward him, a white, +spectral, beckoning thing, but no sound broke from the stillness. + +"Kippy!" he called again, his voice sharp with anxiety. + +From one room to another he ran, searching in nooks and corners, +peering under the beds and behind the doors, calling in a voice that +was sometimes a command, but oftener a plea: "Kippy! Kippy!" + +At last he came back to the dining-room and lighted the lamp with +shaking hands. On the hearth were the remains of a small bonfire, with +papers scattered about. He dropped on his knees and seized a bit of +charred cardboard. It was a corner of the hand-painted frame that had +incased the picture of Guinevere Gusty! Near it lay loose sheets of +paper, parts of that treasured package of letters she had written him +from Coreyville. + +As Mr. Opp gazed helplessly about the room, his eyes fell upon +something white pinned to the red table-cloth. He held it to the +light. It was a portion of one of Guinevere's letters, written in the +girl's clear, round hand: + + Mother says I can never marry you until Miss Kippy goes to the + asylum. + +Mr. Opp got to his feet. "She's read the letter," he cried wildly; +"she's learned out about herself! Maybe she's in the woods now, or down +on the bank!" He rushed to the porch. "Kippy!" he shouted. "Don't be +afraid! Brother D.'s coming to get you! Don't run away, Kippy! Wait for +me! Wait!" and leaving the old house open to the night, he plunged into +the darkness, beating through the woods and up and down the road, +calling in vain for Kippy, who lay cowering in the bottom of a leaking +skiff that was drifting down the river at the mercy of the current. + +Two days later, Mr. Opp sat in the office of the Coreyville Asylum for +the Insane and heard the story of his sister's wanderings. Her boat +had evidently been washed ashore at a point fifteen miles above the +town, for people living along the river had reported a strange little +woman, without hat or coat, who came to their doors crying and saying +her name was "Oxety," and that she was crazy, and begging them to show +her the way to the asylum. On the second day she had been found +unconscious on the steps of the institution, and since then, the +doctor said, she had been wild and unmanageable. + +"Considering all things," he concluded, "it is much wiser for you not +to see her. She came of her own accord, evidently felt the attack +coming on, and wanted to be taken care of." + +He was a large, smooth-faced man, with the conciliatory manner of one +who regards all his fellow-men as patients in varying degrees of +insanity. + +"But I'm in the regular habit of taking care of her," protested Mr. +Opp. "This is just a temporary excitement for the time being that +won't ever, probably, occur again. Why, she's been improving all +winter; I've learnt her to read and write a little, and to pick out a +number of cities on the geographical atlas." + +"All wrong," exclaimed the doctor; "mistaken kindness. She can never +be any better, but she may be a great deal worse. Her mind should +never be stimulated or excited in any way. Here, of course, we +understand all these things and treat the patient accordingly." + +"Then I must just go back to treating her like a child again?" asked +Mr. Opp, "not endeavoring to improve her intellect, or help her grow +up in any way?" + +The doctor laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. + +"You leave her to us," he said. "The State provides this excellent +institution for just such cases as hers. You do yourself and your +family, if you have one, an injustice by keeping her at home. Let her +stay here for six months or so, and you will see what a relief it will +be." + +Mr. Opp sat with his elbow on the desk and his head propped in his +hand and stared miserably at the floor. He had not had his clothes off +for two nights, and he had scarcely taken time from his search to eat +anything. His face looked old and wizened and haunted from the strain. +Yet here and now he was called upon to make his great decision. On the +one hand lay the old, helpless life with Kippy, and on the other a +future of dazzling possibility with Guinevere. All of his submerged +self suddenly rose and demanded happiness. He was ready to snatch it, +at any cost, regardless of everything and everybody--of Kippy; of +Guinevere, who, he knew, did not love him, but would keep her promise; +of Hinton, whose secret he had long ago guessed. And, as a running +accompaniment to his thoughts, was the quiet, professional voice of +the doctor urging him to the course that his heart prompted. For a +moment the personal forces involved trembled in equilibrium. + +After a long time he unknotted his fingers, and drew his handkerchief +across his brow. + +"I guess I'll go up and see her now," he said, with the gasping breath +of a man who has been under water. + +In vain the doctor protested. Mr. Opp was determined. + +As the door to the long ward was being unlocked, he leaned for a +moment dizzily against the wall. + +"You'd better let me give you a swallow of whiskey," suggested the +doctor, who had noted his exhaustion. + +Mr. Opp raised his hand deprecatingly, with a touch of his old +professional pride. "I don't know as I've had occasion to mention," he +said, "that I am the editor and sole proprietor of 'The Opp Eagle'; +and that bird," he added, with a forced smile, "is, as everybody +knows, a complete teetotaler." + +At the end of the crowded ward, with her face to the wall, was a +slight, familiar figure. Mr. Opp started forward; then he turned +fiercely upon the attendant. + +"Her hands are tied! Who dared to tie her up like that?" + +"It's just a soft handkerchief," replied the matronly woman, +reassuringly. "We were afraid she would pull her hair out. She wants +it fixed a certain way; but she's afraid for any of us to touch her. +She has been crying about it ever since she came." + +In an instant Mr. Opp was on his knees beside her. "Kippy, Kippy +darling, here's brother D.; he'll fix it for you! You want it parted on +the side, don't you, tied with a bow, and all the rest hanging down? +Don't cry so, Kippy. I'm here now; brother D.'ll take care of you." + +She flung her loosened arms around him and clung to him in a passion +of relief. Her sobs shook them both, and his face and neck were wet +with her tears. + +As soon as they could get her sufficiently quiet, they took her into +her little bedroom. + +"You let the lady get you ready," urged Mr. Opp, still holding her +hand, "and I'll take you back home, and Aunt Tish will have a nice, +hot supper all waiting for us." + +But she would let nobody else touch her, and even then she broke forth +into piteous sobs and protests. Once she pushed him from her and +looked about wildly. "No, no," she cried, "I mustn't go; I am crazy!" +But he told her about the three little kittens that had been born +under the kitchen steps, and in an instant she was a-tremble with +eagerness to go home to see them. + +An hour later Mr. Opp and his charge sat on the river-bank and waited +for the little launch that was to take them back to the Cove. A +curious crowd had gathered at a short distance, for their story had +gone the rounds. + +Mr. Opp sat under the fire of curious glances, gazing straight in +front of him, and only his flushed face showed what he was suffering. +Miss Kippy, in her strange clothes and with her pale hair flying about +her shoulders, sat close by him, her hand in his. + +"D.," she said once in a high, insistent voice, "when will I be grown +up enough to marry Mr. Hinton?" + +Mr. Opp for a moment forgot the crowd. "Kippy," he said, with all the +gentle earnestness that was in him, "you ain't never going to grow up +at all. You are just always going to be brother D.'s little girl. You +see, Mr. Hinton's too old for you, just like--" he paused, then +finished it bravely--"just like I am too old for Miss Guin-never. I +wouldn't be surprised if they got married with each other some day. +You and me will just have to take care of each other." + +She looked at him with the quick suspicion of the insane, but he was +ready for her with a smile. + +"Oh, D.," she cried, in a sudden rapture, "we are glad, ain't we?" + +FOOTNOTES: + +[60] _Mr. Opp_ was dramatized by Douglas Z. Doty, a New York editor, +and presented at Macaulay's Theatre, in Louisville, but it was shortly +sent to the store-house. _Mrs. Wiggs_ was put into play-form by Mrs. +Anne (Laziere) Crawford Flexner, in 1904, with Madge Carr Cook in the +title-role. Mrs. Flexner was born at Georgetown, Kentucky; educated at +Vassar; married Abraham Flexner of Louisville, June 23, 1898; lived at +Louisville until June, 1905, since which time she has spent a year in +Cambridge, Mass., and a year abroad; now residing in New York City. +She has written two original plays: _A Man's Woman_, in four acts; and +_A Lucky Star_, the fount of inspiration being a novel by C. N. and A. +M. Williamson, entitled _The Motor Chaperon_, which was produced by +Charles Frohman, with Willie Collier in the steller part, at the +Hudson Theatre, New York, in 1910. She also dramatized A. E. W. +Mason's story, _Miranda of the Balcony_ (London, 1899), which was +produced in New York by Mrs. Fiske in 1901. Mrs. Flexner is the only +successful woman playwright Kentucky has produced; and it is a real +pity that none of her plays have been published. _Mrs. Wiggs_ has held +the "boards" for eight year; and it seems destined to go on forever. + +[61] Copyright, 1909, by the Century Company. + + + + +RICHARD H. WILSON + + +Richard Henry Wilson ("Richard Fisguill"), novelist and educator, was +born near Hopkinsville, Kentucky, March 6, 1870. He received the degrees +of B. A. and M. A. from South Kentucky College, and Ph. D. from Johns +Hopkins in 1898. Dr. Wilson spent ten years in Europe studying at +universities in France, Germany, Italy, and Spain; and he married a +Frenchwoman. He has been a great "globe-trotter," and he speaks a dozen +languages fluently. Since 1899 Dr. Wilson has been professor of Romantic +languages at the University of Virginia. All the appointments of his +home are in the French style, and French is the language of the family. +Professor Wilson is a good Kentuckian, nevertheless, and he knows the +land and the people well. He is to the University of Virginia what +Professor Charles T. Copeland is to Harvard. His first book, _The +Preposition A_, is now out of print. His novel, _Mazel_ (New York, +1902), takes rather the form of a satire upon life at the University of +Virginia. Professor Wilson's next story, _The Venus of Cadiz_ (New York, +1905), is a rollicking extravaganza of cave and country life at Cadiz, +Kentucky. Both of his novels have been issued under his pen-name of +"Richard Fisguill"--"Fisguill" being bastard French for "Wilson." +Professor Wilson contributes much to the magazines. Four of his +short-stories were printed in _Harper's Weekly_ between April and +October of 1912, under the following titles, and in the order of their +appearance: _Orphanage_, _The Nymph_, _Seven Slumbers_, and _The +Princess of Is_. Another story, _The Waitress at the Phoenix_, was +published in _Collier's_ for September 7, 1912. A collection of his +short-stories may be issued in 1913. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1910, v. + xv); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +SUSAN--THE VENUS OF CADIZ[62] + +[From _The Venus of Cadiz_ (New York, 1905)] + +Colonel Norris was as laconic as usual, not even giving his address. +He had written four letters in twelve years. + +"The Colonel means a million francs," explained Captain Malepeste. "His +letter was addressed to me, and he knows I always count in francs." + +"The Colonel means a million marks," replied Captain Bisherig. "He +began his letter: 'Dear Malepeste and Bisherig,' and I don't believe +Colonel Norris would think in francs when he had me in mind." + +"But the Colonel is an American," observed Gertrude. "Don't you think +it would be more natural for him to count and think in dollars--a +million dollars?" + +"No, I do not," replied Doctor Alvin. "I believe all of you are wrong. +The Colonel is in Australia. His business relations are doubtless with +English houses. And in my opinion he means pounds, English money--a +million pounds sterling." + +"Why, that would make five million dollars!" exclaimed Gertrude. + +"Twenty million marks!" ejaculated Captain Bisherig. + +"Twenty-five million francs!" echoed Captain Malepeste. + +"That is what it would be," assented Doctor Alvin, "and that is what the +Colonel means, I feel sure. Nor am I surprised. Norris is a man of +remarkable business instincts. He is as cool and collected on the floor +of a stock exchange as he was on the field of battle. Then he had every +incentive to make a fortune. And he has made one, take my word for it." + +"Nom d'une pipe!" exclaimed Captain Malepeste. "We will all go to +Paris, and buy a hotel on the Champs-Elysees!" + +"We will do no such thing," objected Captain Bisherig. "Your modern +Babylon is no place for respectable folks to live in." + +Captain Malepeste retorted: + +"Well, if you think we should be willing to put up with more than one +'Dutchman,' and live in Germany--God forbid!" + +Captain Bisherig and Captain Malepeste retired to the Music Room that +they might settle with swords the question of the respective merits of +Germany and France. Gertrude followed in the capacity of second and +surgeon to both men. Susan and Doctor Alvin remained alone. Catherine +had retired to her bedroom. + +"So papa is coming back with a fortune," observed Dr. Alvin, +affectionately. "And ... and what is our Susie going to do--give a +ball, and invite the Governor of Kentucky?" + +"If father comes back with a million, I am going somewhere to study +art," replied Susan. + +The reply came so quickly that Dr. Alvin was startled. + +Susan had fought out her battles alone. Unperceived she had crossed +the threshold of womanhood. + +"Study art ... be an artist, when a girl is as pretty as you are, and +heiress to five million dollars!" cried Doctor Alvin, laying aside the +mask he had worn so long. + +It was Susan's turn to be astonished. She looked at her guardian +fixedly, expressing pain in her look. + +At length, in a low voice, she said: + +"I do not see why." + +"Susan!" began Doctor Alvin. + +Then he hesitated, as if in doubt as to whether he should continue. + +"I do not see why," repeated Susan, in the same low voice. + +Doctor Alvin passed his hand over his forehead. He resumed: + +"Susan, your father is coming back shortly. My guardianship is ended. +Your father made me swear on Julia's coffin, that I would discourage +in you all thoughts of marriage until he returned. He was afraid you +might follow in Julia's footsteps. I was to represent sentiment as +sentimentality, substitute art for love, and prevent your fancy +crystallizing into some man-inspired desire. I have kept my promise. +Your father will find you fancy-free, will he not?" + +"Yes." + +"But, Susan--" and Doctor Alvin's voice again expressed excitement. +"But--" + +Doctor Alvin's voice trembled so that he was obliged to start over +again: + +"Susan, you do not know what you are. You--you--are a beautiful woman. +You are more beautiful than Julia was at the height of her beauty. You +are more beautiful than your mother was--" + +Doctor Alvin's voice echoed mournfully as if he were calling upon the +dead. + +"Susan, you have only to look upon men to conquer them. You can +achieve with a gesture what artists accomplish with a masterpiece. +What can artists do, other than quicken the pulse of sluggard +humanity? But, Susan--God guide your power--you will make blood boil, +heads reel, hearts throb until they burst, if so you will it. +Art--artists! There is no need of you studying art. Artists will study +you. Have you never looked at yourself in the glass, child? Have you +never, when--when--You have studied art with Malepeste, and you know +what lines are. Have you never thought of studying your own lines? +None of the great statues or paintings, of which Malepeste has the +photographs, is so harmoniously perfect as you. Art!--You are the +genius of art. I have influenced you into taking up various lines of +work, that I might keep you from the pitfalls of love, until the +proper time. But, now, my guardianship is ended. I have played a part. +I must lay aside my mask. Susan, I have been deceiving you. Love is by +all odds the greatest thing in the world. You must love. And you must +let some one love you--some one of the many who will be ready to lay +down their lives for you--" + +FOOTNOTES: + +[62] Copyright, 1905, by Henry Holt and Company. + + + + +LUCY FURMAN + + +Miss Lucy Furman, short-story writer, was born at Henderson, Kentucky, +in 1870, the daughter of a physician. Her parents died when she was +quite young, and she was brought up by her aunt. Miss Furman attended +public and private schools at Henderson, and at the age of sixteen +years, graduated from Sayre Institute at Lexington, Kentucky. The +three years following her graduation were spent at Henderson and at +Shreveport, Louisiana, the home of her grandparents, in both of which +places she was a social leader. At the age of nineteen, it became +necessary for her to make her own way in the world, and for about four +years she was court stenographer at Evansville, Indiana. Miss Furman's +earliest literary work was done at Evansville. The first stories she +ever wrote were accepted by _The Century Magazine_ when she was but +twenty-three years of age. These were some of the _Stories of a +Sanctified Town_ (New York, 1896), one of the most charming books yet +written by a Kentucky woman. At the age of twenty-five, when her +prospects were exceedingly bright, Miss Furman's health failed +entirely, and during the next ten years she was an invalid, seeking +health in Florida, southern Texas, on the Jersey coast, and elsewhere, +but without much success, and being always too feeble to do any +writing. In 1907 she went up into the mountains of her native State to +become a teacher in the W. C. T. U. Settlement School at Hindman, +Knott county, Kentucky. She did very little at first, but gradually +her strength came back, and for the last two years she has been +writing stories and sketches of the Kentucky mountains for _The +Century Magazine_. In 1911 _The Century_ published a series of stories +under the title of _Mothering on Perilous_, which will be brought out +in book form. In 1912 Miss Furman had several stories in the same +magazine, one of the best of which was _Hard-Hearted Barbary Allen_. +Her lack of physical strength has compelled her to work very slowly, +and it is only by living out-of-doors at least half the time that she +can live at all. "I have charge of the gardening and outdoor work at +the Settlement School," Miss Furman wrote recently, "but the happiest +part of my life is my residence at the small boys' cottage, about +which I have told in the 'Perilous' stories, and in which I find +endless pleasure and entertainment. Here I hope to spend the +remainder of my days." Very pathetic, reader, and very heroic! + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Miss Furman to the Author; _The Century + Magazine_ (July, August, November, December, 1912). + + +A MOUNTAIN COQUETTE[63] + +[From _Hard-Hearted Barbary Allen_ (_The Century Magazine_, March, +1912)] + +Beneath the musket, on the "fire-board," lay a spindle-shaped, wooden +object, black with age. "A dulcimer," Aunt Polly Ann explained. "My +man made it, too, always-ago. Dulcimers used to be all the music there +was in this country, but banjos is coming in now." + +Miss Loring knew that the dulcimer was an ancient musical instrument +very popular in England three centuries ago. She gazed upon the +interesting survival with reverence, and expressed a wish to hear it +played. + +"Beldory she'll pick and sing for you gladly when she gets the dishes +done," promised Aunt Polly Ann. "Picking and singing is her strong +p'ints, and she knows any amount of song-ballads." + +At last Beldora came out on the porch and seated herself on a low +stool near the loom. Laying the dulcimer across her knees, she began +striking the strings with two quills, using both shapely hands. The +music was weird, but attractive; the tune she played, minor, +long-drawn, and haunting. Miss Loring received the second shock of the +day when she caught the opening words of the song: + + All in the merry month of May, + When the green buds they were swelling, + Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay, + For the love of Barbary Allen. + +Often had she read and heard of the old English ballad "Barbara +Allen"; never had she thought to encounter it in the flesh. As she +listened to the old song, long since forgotten by the rest of the +world, but here a warm household possession; as she gazed at Beldora, +so young, so fair against the background of ancient loom and gray log +wall, she felt as one may to whom the curtain of the past is for an +instant lifted, and a vision of dead-and-gone generations vouchsafed. + + * * * * * + +Beldora went off to fetch the nag, and Aunt Polly Ann accompanied the +guest to the horse-block, laying an anxious hand on her arm. + +"You heared the song-ballad Beldory sung to you. She knows dozens, but +that's always her first pick. It's her favor_rite_, and why? Because +it's similar to her own manoeuvers. Light and cruel and leading poor +boys on to destruction is her joy and pastime, same as Barbary's. Did +you mind her eyes when she sung them words about + + As she were walking through the streets, + She heard them death-bells knelling, + And every stroke it seemed to say, + "Hard-hearted Barbary Allen!" + +like it was something to take pride in, instead of sorrow for? Yes, +woman, them words, 'Hard-hearted Barbary Allen,' is her living +description, and will be to the end of time." + +Ten days later the shocking news reached the school that Robert and +Adriance Towles had fought on the summit of Devon Mountain for Beldora +Wyant's sake, and Robert had fallen dead, with five bullets in him, +Adriance being wounded, though not fatally. It was said that Beldora, +pressed to choose between the two, had told them she would marry the +best man; that thereupon, with their bosom friends, they had ridden to +the top of Devon, measured off paces, and fired. Adriance had fled, but +word came the next day that, weak from loss of blood, he had been +captured and was on the way to jail in the county-seat near the school. + +In the weeks until court sat and the trial came off there was much +excitement. Sympathy for Adriance and blame for Beldora were +everywhere felt. Most of the county and all of the school-women +attended the trial, and interest was divided between the haggard, +harassed young face of Adriance and the calm, opulent loveliness of +Beldora. When she took the stand, people scarcely breathed. Yes, she +had told the Towles boys she would marry the best man of them. She had +had to tell them something,--they were pestering her to death,--and +the law didn't allow her to marry both. She had had no notion they +would be such fools as to try to kill each other. Miss Loring and the +other women watched anxiously for some sign of pity or remorse in her, +but there was not so much as a quiver of the lips or a tremor in her +voice. As she sat there in the lone splendor of her beauty, somewhat +scornfully enjoying the gaze of every eye in the court-room, one +phrase of her "favor_rite_" song rang ceaselessly through Miss +Loring's head--"Hard-hearted Barbary Allen." Her lack of feeling +intensified the sympathy for Adriance, and, to everybody's joy, the +light verdict of only one year in the penitentiary was brought in. + +Half an hour later, Aunt Polly Ann, tragic in face and air, and with +Beldora on the nag behind her, drew rein before the settlement school. + +"Women," she said with sad solemnity on entering, "for four year' you +have been bidding Beldory come and set down and partake of your feast +of learning and knowledge; for four year' she has spurned your invite. +At last she is minded to come. Here she is. Take her, and see what you +can accomplish on her. My raising of her has requited me naught but +tenfold tribulation. In vain have I watched and warned and denounced +and prophesied; her inordinate light-mindedness and perfidity has now +brung one pore boy to a' ontimely grave and another to Frankfort. Take +her, women, and see if you can learn her some little demeanor and +civility. Keep her under your beneficent and God-fearing roof, and +direct her mind off of her outward and on to her inward disabilities! +Women, I now wash my hands." + +Receiving Beldora into the school was felt to be a somewhat hazardous +undertaking, but affection and sympathy for Aunt Polly Ann moved the +heads to do it. To the general surprise, Beldora settled down very +adaptably to the new life, being capable enough about the industries, +and passably so about books. But it was in music that she excelled. +Miss Loring gave her piano lessons, and rarely had teacher a more +gifted pupil. + +Needless to say, when Beldora picked the dulcimer and sang +song-ballads at the Friday night parties, all the children and +grown-ups sat entranced. For three or four weeks, on these occasions, +she had the grace to choose other ballads than "Barbara Allen"; but +one night in early November, after singing "Turkish Lady" and "The +Brown Girl," she suddenly struck into the haunting melody and tragic +words of "Barbara Allen." A thrill and a shock went through all her +hearers. Miss Loring saw Howard Cleves start forward in his chair with +a look of horror, almost repulsion, on his fine, intelligent face. + +Howard was the most remarkable boy in the school. Five years before, +when not quite fifteen, he had walked over, barefoot, from his home on +Millstone, forty miles distant, and presented himself to "the women" +with this plea: "I hear you women run a school where boys and girls +can work their way through. I am the workingest boy on Millstone, and +have hoed corn, cleared new-ground, and snaked logs since I turned my +fifth year. I have heard tell, over yander on Millstone, that there is +a sizable world outside these mountains, full of strange, foreign folk +and wonderly things. I crave to know about it. I can't set in darkness +any longer. My hunger for learning ha'nts me day and night, and burns +me like a fever. I'll pine to death if I don't get it. Women, give me +a chance. Hunt up the hardest job on your place, and watch me toss it +off." + +They gave him the chance; and never had they done anything that more +richly rewarded them. Not only were his powers of work prodigious, but +his eager, brilliant mind opened amazingly day by day, progressing by +leaps and bounds. The women set their chief hopes upon Howard, +believing that in him they would give a great man to the nation. +Promise of a scholarship in the law school of a well-known university +had already been obtained for him, and in one more year, such was his +astonishing progress, he would be able to enter it, if all went well. +Miss Loring had observed that, in common with every other boy, big or +little, in the school, Howard had been at first much taken with +Beldora's looks, and it was with relief that she beheld his expression +of repulsion at Beldora's complacent singing of "Barbara Allen." + +The first real warning came at the Thanksgiving party. During a game +of forfeits, Beldora was ordered to "claim the one you like the best." +Miss Loring saw her first approach Howard with a dazzling and tender +look in her splendid eyes, and even put out a hand to him; then +suddenly, with a wicked little smile, she turned and gave both hands +to Spalding Drake, a young man from the village. A deep flush sprang +to Howard's face, his jaws clenched, his eyes blazed tigerishly. It +might have been only chagrin at the public slight; still, it made Miss +Loring anxious enough to have a long talk with Beldora next day and +explain to her the hopes and plans for Howard's future and the tragedy +and cruelty of interfering with them in any way. + +One morning, three days before Christmas, Beldora's bed had not been +slept in at all, and under the front door was a note in Howard's +handwriting, as follows: + +DEAR FRIENDS: + +Beldora told me last week she aimed to marry Spalding Drake Christmas. +Though he is a nice boy and I like him, I knew, if she did, I would +kill him on the spot. Rather than do this, it is better for me to +marry her myself beforehand. I have hired a nag, and we will ride to +Tazewell by moonlight for a license and preacher. + +I know a man is a fool that throws away his future for a woman, that +Beldora is not worth it, and that I am doing what I will never cease +to regret. It is like death to me to know I will never accomplish the +things you set before me, and be the man you wanted me to be. I wish I +had never laid eyes on Beldora. I have agonized and battled and tried +to give her up; but she is too strong for me. I can fight no longer +with fate. It would be better if women like Beldora never was created. +She has cost the life of one boy, the liberty of another, and now my +future. But it had to be. + + Respectfully yours, + + HOWARD. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[63] Copyright, 1912, by the Century Company. + + + + +BERT FINCK + + +Edward Bertrand Finck ("Bert Finck"), prose pastelist and closet +dramatist, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, October 16, 1870, the son +of a German father and American mother. His parents were fond of +traveling and much of his earlier life was spent in various parts of +this country and abroad. He was educated in the private schools of his +native city, finishing his academic training at Professor M. B. +Allmond's institution. Mr. Finck began to write at an early age, and +he has published four books: _Pebbles_ (Louisville, 1898), a little +volume of epigrams; _Webs_ (Louisville, 1900), being reveries and +essays in miniature; _Plays_ (Louisville, 1902), a group of +allegorical dramas; and _Musings and Pastels_ (Louisville, 1905). All +of these small books are composed of poetic and philosophical prose, +many passages possessing great truth and beauty. In 1906 Mr. Finck was +admitted to the bar of Louisville, and he has since practiced there +with success. He seemingly took Blackstonian leave of letters some +years ago, but the gossips of literary Louisville have been telling, +of late, of a new book of prose pastels that he has recently finished +and will bring out in the late autumn of 1913. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Mr. Finck's letters to the Author; _Who's Who in + America_ (1912-1913). + + +BEHIND THE SCENES[64] + +[From _Webs_ (Louisville, 1900)] + +Could we but lift the countenance which pleases or repels, what seems +so sweet might thrust away, and what is repugnant charm or win our +sympathy and aid. Is not indifference often a net to catch or to +conceal? Modesty, diplomatic egotism? Wit, brilliant misery? +Contentment, wallowing despair? Langor, shrewd energy? Frivolity, woe +burlesquely masked by unselfishness or pride? Is not philosophy, at +times, resignation in delirium? The enthusiastic are ridiculed as +being self-conceited; the patient condemned for having no heart. We +stigmatize them as idle whose natures are toiling the noblest toil of +all, for not rarely do thought-gods drift through a spell of idleness; +a butterfly-fancy may breed a spirit that turns the way of an age's +career; there are sleeps that are awakenings; awakenings, sleeps; none +so worthless as many who are busy all the time. Smiles are sometimes +selfish triumphs; peace, the swine-heart's well-filled trough. Cheeks +rich with the fire of fever are envied as glow of health; steps, eager +to escape from a spectre, we laudingly call enthusiasm in work; and +the brain's desperate efforts to stifle bitter thoughts sharpen +tongues that fascinate with their brilliant gayety--the world dances +to the music of its sighs. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[64] Copyright, 1900, by the Author. + + + + +OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN + + +Mrs. Olive Tilford Dargan, poet and dramatist, was born at +Tilfordsville, near Leitchfield, Kentucky, in 1870. She attended the +public schools, in which her parents were teachers, until she was ten +years of age, when they left Kentucky and established a school at +Donophan, Missouri. Three years later she was ready for college, but her +mother's health broke, and the family settled in the Ozark Mountains, +near Warm Springs, Arkansas, where another school was conducted, this +time with the daughter as her father's assistant. For the following five +years she taught the young idea of backwoods Arkansas how to shoot; and +during these years she herself was always hoping and planning for a +college education, which hopes and plans seemed to crumble beneath her +feet when her mother died, in 1888, and she returned to Kentucky with +her invalid father. She had purposed in her heart, however, and finally +obtained a Peabody scholarship, which took her to the University of +Nashville, Tennessee, from which institution she was graduated two years +later. Miss Tilford then accepted a position to teach in Missouri, but +the climate so affected her health that she was forced to resign and +repair to Houston, Texas, to recuperate. She shortly afterwards took a +course in a business college and, for a brief period, held a position in +a bank. Teaching again called her and for two years she taught in the +schools of San Antonio, Texas. In 1894 Miss Tilford did work in English +and philosophy at Radcliffe College, Cambridge, Massachusetts; and a +year later she turned again to teaching, holding a position in Acadia +Seminary, Wolfville, Nova Scotia. This was followed by a year spent in +reading in the libraries of Boston, in which city she also worked as a +stenographer. Several of her articles were accepted by the magazines +about this time, which decided her to settle upon literature as her life +work. She worked too hard at the outset, however, her health gave way, +and she spent some months in the mountains of Georgia in order to regain +her strength. Miss Tilford was married, in 1898, to Mr. Pegram Dargan, +of Darlington, South Carolina, a Harvard man, whom she had met while at +Radcliffe. Not long after she went to New York, and there resumed her +literary labors with a high and serious purpose. Mrs. Dargan's first +volume of dramas, _Semiramis and Other Plays_, was published by +Brentano's in 1904, and taken over by the Scribner's in 1909. Besides +the title-play, _Semiramis_, founded on the life of the famous Persian +queen, this book contained _Carlotta_, a drama of Mexico in the days of +Maximilian, and _The Poet_, which is Edgar Allan Poe's life dramatized. +Mrs. Dargan's second volume of plays bore the attractive title of _Lords +and Lovers and Other Dramas_ (New York, 1906), the second edition of +which appeared in 1908. This also contains three plays, the second +being _The Shepherd_, with the setting in Russia, and the third, _The +Siege_, a Sicilian play, the scene of which is laid in Syracuse, three +hundred and fifty-six years before Christ. Mrs. Dargan's _Lords and +Lovers_, set against an English background, is generally regarded as the +best work she has done hitherto. Mr. Hamilton Wright Mabie has praised +this play highly, placing the author beside Percy MacKaye and Josephine +Preston Peabody Marks. Mrs. Dargan is Kentucky's foremost poetic +dramatist, and the work she has so far accomplished may be considered +but an earnest of what she will ultimately produce. Her beautiful +masque, _The Woods of Ida_, appeared in _The Century Magazine_ for +August, 1907, and it has taken its place with the finest English work in +that branch of the drama. She has had lyrics in _Scribner's_, +_McClure's_, _The Century_, and _The Atlantic Monthly_, her most recent +poem, "In the Blue Ridge," having appeared in _Scribner's_ for May, +1911. Mrs. Dargan's home is in Boston, but for the last three years she +has traveled abroad, spending much time in England, the background of +her greatest work. Her third and latest volume contains three dramas, +entitled _The Mortal Gods and Other Plays_ (New York, 1912). This was +awaited with impatience by her admirers on both sides of the Atlantic +and read with delight by them. + +"Mrs. Dargan has so recently achieved fame that it may seem premature +to pronounce a critical judgment on her work," wrote Dr. George A. +Wauchope, professor of English in the University of South Carolina, in +claiming her for his State. "It is certain, however," he continued, +"that it marks the high tide of dramatic poetry in this country, and +is, indeed, not unworthy of comparison with all but the greatest in +English literature. One is equally impressed by the creative +inspiration and the mastery of technique displayed by the author. Each +of her plays reveals a dramatic power and a poetic beauty of thought +and diction that are surprising. The numerous songs, also, with which +her plays are interspersed, yield a rich and haunting melody that is +redolent of the charming Elizabethan lyrics. The dramas as a whole are +audacious in plot and vigorous in characterization. In the handling of +the blank verse, in the witty scenes of the sub-plots, in the splendor +of the phrasing, in the strong undercurrent of reflection, and, above +all, in their spiritual uplift and noble emotion, these dramas give +evidence of a remarkably gifted playwright who not only possesses a +deep feeling for art at its highest and best, but who also has command +of all the varied resources of dramatic expression." + +It would be difficult for a critic to say more in praise of an author, +would it not? + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The University of Virginia Magazine_ (January, + 1909), containing Wm. Kavanaugh Doty's review of Mrs. Dargan's + _The Poet_; _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909, v. + iii); _The Writers of South Carolina_, by G. A. Wauchope + (Columbia, S. C., 1910). + + +NEAR THE COTTAGE IN GREENOT WOODS[65] + +[From _Lords and Lovers_ (New York, 1906)] + +Act IV, Scene I. _Henry, with lute, singing._ + + Ope, throw ope thy bower door, + And come thou forth, my sweet! + 'Tis morn, the watch of love is o'er, + And mating hearts should meet. + The stars have fled and left their grace + In every blossom's lifted face, + And gentle shadows fleck the light + With tender memories of the night. + Sweet, there's a door to every shrine; + Wilt thou, as morning, open thine? + Hark! now the lark has met the clouds, + And rains his sheer melodious flood; + The green earth casts her mystic shrouds + To meet the flaming god! + Alas, for me there is no dawn + If Glaia come not with the sun. + +[_Enter Glaia. The king kneels as she approaches._] + + _Gla._ 'Tis you! + + _Hen._ [Leaping up] Pardoned! Queen of this bowerland, + Your glad eyes tell me that I have not sinned. + + _Gla._ How cam'st thou here? Now who plays Hubert false? + Nay, I'm too glad thou'rt come to question so. + 'Tis easy to forgive the treachery + That opes our gates to angels. + + _Hen._ O, I'm loved? + + _Gla._ Yes, Henry. All the morn I've thought of you, + And I rose early, for I love to say + Good-by to my dear stars; they seem so wan + And loath to go away, as though they know + The fickle world is thinking of the sun + And all their gentle service of the night + Is quite forgot. + + _Hen._ And what didst think of me? + + _Gla._ That you could come and see this beauteous wood, + Fair with Spring's love and morning's kiss of grace, + You'd be content to live awhile with me, + Leave war's red step to follow living May + Passing to pour her veins' immortal flood + To each decaying root; and rest by springs + Where waters run to sounds less rude than song, + And hiding sibyls stir sweet prophecies. + + _Hen._ The only springs I seek are in your eyes + That nourish all the desert of myself. + Drop here, O, Glaia, thy transforming dews, + And start fair summer in this waste of me! + + _Gla._ Poor Henry! What dost know of me to love? + + _Hen._ See yon light cloud half-kirtled with faint rose? + What do I know of it but that 'tis fair? + And yet I dream 'twas born of flower dews + And goes to some sweet country of the sky, + So cloud-like dost thou move before my love, + From beauty coming that I may not see, + To beauty going that I can but dream. + O, love me, Glaia! Give to me this hand, + This miracle of warm, unmelting snow, + This lily bit of thee that in my clasp + Lies like a dove in all too rude a cote-- + Wee heaven-cloud to drop on monarch brows + And smooth the ridgy traces of a crown! + Rich me with this, and I'll not fear to dare + The darkest shadow of defeat that broods + O'er sceptres and unfriended kings. + + _Gla._ Why talk + Of crowns and kings? This is our home, dear Henry, + For if you love me you will stay with me. + + _Hen._ Ah, blest to be here, and from morning's top + Review the sunny graces of the world, + Plucking the smilingest to dearer love, + Until the heart becomes the root and spring + Of hopes as natural and as simply sweet + As these bright children of the wedded sun + And dewy earth! + + _Gla._ I knew you'd stay, my brother! + You'll live with me! + + _Hen._ But there's a world not this, + O'er-roofed and fretted by ambition's arch, + Whose sun is power and whose rains are blood, + Whose iris bow is the small golden hoop + That rims the forehead of a king,--a world + Where trampling armies and sedition's march + Cut off the flowers of descanting love + Ere they may sing their perfect word to man, + And the rank weeds of envies, jealousies, + Push up each night from day's hot-beaten paths-- + + _Gla._ O, do not tell me, do not think of it! + + _Hen._ I must. There is my world, and there my life + Must grow to gracious end, if so it can. + If thou wouldst come, my living periapt, + With virtue's gentle legend overwrit, + I should not fail, nor would this flower cheek, + Pure lily cloister of a praying rose, + E'er know the stain of one despoiling tear + Shed for me graceless. Will you come, my Glaia? + + _Gla._ Into that world? No, thou shalt stay with me. + Here you shall be a king, not serve one. Ah, + The whispering winds do never counsel false, + And senatorial trees droop not their state + To tribe and treachery. Nature's self shall be + Your minister, the seasons your envoys + And high ambassadors, bearing from His court + The mortal olive of immortal love. + + _Hen._ To man my life belongs. Hope not, dear Glaia, + To bind me here; and if you love me true, + You will not ask me where I go or stay, + But that your feet may stay or go with mine. + Let not a nay unsweet those tender lips + That all their life have ripened for this kiss. + [_Kisses her_] + O ruby purities! I would not give + Their chaste extravagance for fruits Iran + Stored with the honey of a thousand suns + Through the slow measure of as many years! + + _Gla._ Do brothers talk like that? + + _Hen._ I think not, sweet + + _Gla._ But you will be my brother? + + _Hen._ We shall see. + + _Gla._ And you will stay with me? No? Ah, I fear + All that you love in me is born of these + Wild innocences that I live among, + And far from here, all such sweet value lost, + I'll be as others are in your mad world, + Or wither mortally, even as the sprig + A moment gone so pertly trimmed this bough. + Let us stay here, my Henry. We shall be + Dear playmates ever, never growing old,-- + Or if we do 'twill be at such a pace + Time will grow weary chiding, leaving us + To come at will. + + _Hen._ No, Glaia. Even now + I must be gone. I came for this----to say + I'd come again, and bid you watch for me. + A tear? O, love! One moment, then away! + + [_Exeunt. Curtain_] + +FOOTNOTE: + +[65] Copyright, 1906, by Charles Scribner's Sons. + + + + +HARRY L. MARRINER + + +Harry Lee Marriner, newspaper poet, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, +March 24, 1871, the son of a schoolman. He was educated by his father +and in the public schools of his native city. He engaged in a dozen +different businesses before he suddenly discovered that he could +write, which discovery caused him to accept a position on the now +defunct _Chicago Dispatch_, from which he went to _The Evening Post_, +of Louisville, remaining with that paper for several years. In 1902 +Mr. Marriner went to Texas and became assistant city editor of the +_Dallas News_; and he has since filled practically all the editorial +positions, being at the present time Sunday editor of both the _Dallas +News_ and the _Galveston News_, which are under the same management. +In 1907 Mr. Marriner originated a feature consisting of a daily human +interest poem, printed on the front page of his two papers. For some +time he concealed his identity under the title of "The News Staff +Poet," but in 1909 he discarded his cloak and came out into the +sunlight of reality in order that his hundreds of admirers throughout +the Southwest might be content. Mr. Marriner's "poetry" is rather +homely verse based upon the everyday things and thoughts and +experiences of everyday people. This verse has had a wonderful vogue +in Texas and Oklahoma, and the surrounding States. Dealing with dogs +and "kids," with sore toes and sentiment, with joys and griefs, dolls +and ball gowns, country stores and city life, street cars and prairie +schooners, mint-fringed creeks and bucking bronchos, it is a medley of +everything human. The cream of his verse has been brought together in +three charming little books: _When You and I Were Kids_ (New York, +1909); _Joyous Days_ (Dallas, 1910); and _Mirthful Knights in Modern +Days_ (Dallas, 1911). Mr. Marriner has written the lyrics for two +musical comedies; and he has had short-stories in the periodicals. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Marriner to the Author; _The Dallas + News_ (December 2, 1911). + + +WHEN MOTHER CUTS HIS HAIR[66] + +[From _When You and I Were Kids_ (New York, 1909)] + + How doth the mind of man go back to when he was a boy; + When feet were full of tan and dust, and life was full of joy; + But many a man looks back in fear, for in a time-worn chair, + He sees himself draped in a sheet, while Mother cuts his hair. + + The scissors drag, and sniffles rise when ears lop in the way, + And on the porch rain locks of hair like tufts of prairie hay, + 'Til in the glass a little boy, his anguish scarcely hid, + Looks on himself and views with pain the job that Mother did. + + The mule may shed in summertime the felt that Nature grew, + The rabbit may lose bits of fur, and look like blazes, too; + But neither bears that patchwork look, that war map of despair, + That zigzags on the small boy's head when Mother cuts his hair. + + + +SIR GUMSHOO[67] + +[From _Mirthful Knights in Modern Days_ (Dallas, 1911)] + + Sir Gumshoo, known as Wot d'Ell, a noble Knight from Spain, + Was one who was so strong a Pro he'd water on the brain. + He would not drink a dram at all, or even sniff at it, + And just the sight of lager beer would throw him in a fit. + + It chanced one day Sir Gumshoo rode upon a noble quest-- + His lady had acquired a cold that settled on her chest, + And to the rural districts he repaired, for it was plain + He must secure some goosegrease that she might get well again. + + He found a rude, bucolic rube who had goosegrease to sell; + Sir Gumshoo bought about a quart, and all was going well + When he who rendered geese to grease made him a stealthy sign + And led him to a bottle filled with elderberry wine. + + The Knight declined; he was a Pro, which fact he did explain; + The farmer, sore disgusted, took his goosegrease back again, + Whereat the Knight in anguish sore gave up himself for lost + And took a fierce and fiery drink with all his fingers crossed. + + That night he rode as rides a pig upon a circus steed; + He clutched his charger 'round the neck, for he was stewed indeed, + And, bowing to his lady fair, as bows the wind-tossed pine, + He handed her part of a quart of elderberry wine. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[66] Copyright, 1909, by the Author. + +[67] Copyright, 1911, by the Author. + + + + +LUCIEN V. RULE + + +Lucien V. Rule, poet, was born at Goshen, Kentucky, August 29, 1871. +He spent one year at State College, Lexington, when he went to Centre +College, Danville, from which he was graduated in 1893. Mr. Rule +studied for the ministry, but he later engaged in newspaper work, in +which he spent six or seven years. During the last few years he has +devoted his time to writing and speaking upon social and religious +subjects. His first book of poems, entitled _The Shrine of Love and +Other Poems_ (Chicago, 1898), is his best known work. He is also the +author of a small pamphlet of social and political satires, entitled +_When John Bull Comes A-Courtin'_ (Louisville, 1903). This contains +the title-poem, the sub-title of which reads: "Sundry Meditations on +the Rumored Matrimonial Alliance between J. Bull, Bart., and his +cousin, Lady Columbia;" and several shorter poems. Those inscribed to +Tolstoi, Whittier, and Walt Whitman are very strong. Mr. Rule's latest +book is _The House of Love_ (Indianapolis, 1910). In 1913 he will +probably publish a group of poetic dramas-in-cameo for young people, +and a brief collection of biographical studies. Mr. Rule resides at +his birthplace, Goshen, Kentucky. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Southern Writers_, by W. P. Trent (New York, 1905); + letters from Mr. Rule to the Author. + + +WHAT RIGHT HAST THOU?[68] + +[From _When John Bull Comes A Courtin'_ (Louisville, Kentucky, 1903)] + + What right hast thou to more than thou dost need + While others perish for the want of bread? + What right hast thou upon a palace bed + To idly slumber while the homeless plead; + A vicious and voluptuous life to lead, + While millions struggle on in rags and shame? + What right hast thou thus vilely to inflame + Thy fellow men with hate, O fiend of greed? + What right hast thou to take the hallowed name + Of God upon thy lips, or Christ's, who came + To save the race from sorrows thou dost cause? + Not always helpless 'neath thy cruel paws, + O Beast of Capital, shall Labor lie; + Thy doom this day is thundered from the sky! + + +THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD + +[From the same] + + Arise, my soul, put off thy dark despair; + Say not the age of chivalry is gone; + For lo, the east is kindling with its dawn, + And bugle echoes bid thee wake to wear + Majestic moral armour, and to bear + A worthy part in truth's eternal fray. + Say not the muse inspires no more to-day, + Nor that fame's flowers no longer flourish fair. + Live thou sublimely and then speak thy heart, + If thou wouldst build an altar unto art. + Stand with the struggling and the stars above + Will shower celestial thoughts to thrill thy pen. + Put self away and walk alone with Love, + And thou shalt be the marvel of all men! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[68] Copyright, 1903, by the Author. + + + + +EVA WILDER BRODHEAD + + +Mrs. Eva Wilder (McGlasson) Brodhead, novelist and short-story writer, +was born at Covington, Kentucky, in 187-. Her parents were not of +Southern origin, her father having been born in Nova Scotia, and her +mother at Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She was educated in New York City +and in her native town of Covington. She began to write when but +eighteen years of age, and a short time thereafter her first novel +appeared, _Diana's Livery_ (New York, 1891). This was set against a +background most alluring: the Shaker settlement at Pleasant Hill, +Kentucky, into which a young man of the world enters and falls in love +with a pretty Shakeress. Her second story, _An Earthly Paragon_ (New +York, 1892), which was written in three weeks, ran through _Harper's +Weekly_ before being published in book form. It was a romance of the +Kentucky mountains, laid around Chamouni, the novelist's name for +Yosemite, Kentucky. It was followed by a novelette of love set amidst +the salt-sea atmosphere of an eastern watering place, _Ministers of +Grace_ (New York, 1894). Hildreth, the scene of this little story, is +anywhere along the Jersey coast from Atlantic City to Long Branch. +_Ministers of Grace_ also appeared serially in _Harper's Weekly_, and +when it was issued in book form Col. Henry Watterson called the +attention of Richard Mansfield to it as a proper vehicle for him, and +the actor promptly secured the dramatic rights, hoping to present it +upon the stage; but his untimely death prevented the dramatization of +the tale under highly favorable auspices. It was the last to be +published under the name of Eva Wilder McGlasson, as this writer was +first known to the public, for on December 5, 1894, she was married in +New York to Mr. Henry C. Brodhead, a civil and mining engineer of +Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania. Mrs. Brodhead's next novelette, _One of +the Visconti_ (New York, 1896), the background of which was Naples, +the hero being a young Kentuckian and the heroine of the old and +famous Visconti family, was issued by the Scribner's in their +well-known Ivory Series of short-stories. Her last Kentucky novel, +_Bound in Shallows_ (New York, 1896), originally appeared in _Harper's +Bazar_. That severe arbiter of literary destinies, _The Nation_, said +of this book: "No such work as this has been done by any American +woman since Constance Fenimore Woolson died." It was founded on +material gathered at Burnside, Kentucky, where Mrs. Brodhead spent two +summers. Her most recent work, _A Prairie Infanta_ (Philadelphia, +1904), is a Colorado juvenile, first published in _The Youth's +Companion_. Aside from her books, Mrs. Brodhead won a wide reputation +as a short-story writer and maker of dialect verse. More than fifty of +her stories have been printed in the publications of the house of +Harper, the publishers of four of her books; in _The Century_, +_Scribner's_, and other leading periodicals. Many of her admirers hold +that the short-story is her especial forte. Five of them may be +mentioned as especially well done: _Fan's Mammy_, _A Child of the +Covenant_, _The Monument to Corder_, _The Eternal Feminine_, and _Fair +Ines_. She has written much dialect verse which appeared in the Harper +periodicals, _The Century_, _Judge_, _Puck_, and other magazines. +Neither her short-stories nor her verse has been collected and issued +in book form. Since her marriage Mrs. Brodhead has traveled in Europe +a great deal, and in many parts of the United States, traveled until +she sometimes wonders whether her home is in Denver or New York, and, +although she is in the metropolis more than she is in the Colorado +capital, her legal residence is Denver, some distance from the mining +town of Brodhead, named in honor of her husband's geological +discoveries and interests. In 1906 she was stricken with a very +severe illness, followed by her physician's absolute mandate of no +literary work until her health should be reestablished, which has been +accomplished but recently. She has published but a single story since +her sickness, _Two Points of Honor_, which appeared in _Harper's +Weekly_ for July 4, 1908. At the present time Mrs. Brodhead is quite +well enough to resume work; and the next few years should witness her +fulfilling the earnest of her earlier novels and stories, firmly +fixing her fame as one of the foremost women writers of prose fiction +yet born on Kentucky soil. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Harper's Weekly_ (September 3, 1892); _The + Book-buyer_ (September, 1896). + + +THE RIVALS[69] + +[From _Ministers of Grace_ (New York, 1894)] + +As the days merged towards the end of August, Hildreth was packed to +the very gates. The wiry yellow grasses along the neat walks were +trampled into powder. The very sands, for all the effacing fingers of +the tides, seemed never free of footprints, and by day and night the +ocean promenade, the interior of the town, lake-sides, hotels, and the +surf itself, were a press of holiday folk. + +In these times Mr. Ruley seldom went forth in his rolling-chair, +except early of a morning, when the beach was yet way-free, and the +sands unfrequented save for a few barelegged men, who, with long +wooden rakes, cleaned up the sea-verge for the day. + +Sometimes Wade pushed the chair. But since the night when he gave +Elizabeth the honeysuckles he had in some measure avoided the old +preacher's small circle. There had been, on that occasion, a newness +of impulse in his spirit which made him feel the advisability of +keeping himself out of harm's way, however sweet that way might seem. +Graham was the favored suitor. He, Wade, having no chance for the +rose, could at least withhold his flesh from the thorn. + +"So," said Gracie Gayle, "you're out of the running?" + +"Ruled off," smiled Wade. + +"Don't you make any mistakes," wisely admonished Miss Gayle. "I've +seen her look at him, and I've seen her look at _you_." + +"This is most surprising," indicated Wade, with a feigned accent. "You +will pardon me, Gracie, if I scarcely credit your statement." + +"Be sarcastic if you want to," said Gracie. "If you knew anything at +all, you'd know that straws show which way the wind blows. When a +woman regards a man with a kind of flat, frank sincerity, it's because +her heart's altogether out of his reach. When she looks _around_ him +rather than _at_ him, it's because----" Gracie lifted her shoulders +suggestively. + +"Grace," breathed Wade, gravely, "I am hurt to the quick to see you +developing the germs of what painfully resembles thought. For Heaven's +and your sex's sake, pause while there is yet time! Women who form the +pernicious habit of thinking lose in time the magic key which unlocks +the hearts of men." + +Grace sniffed. + +"Men's hearts are never locked," she said, sagaciously. "The heavier +the padlock the smoother the hinges." She shook her crisp curls as she +tripped away with her airy, mincing, soubrette tread. + +Notwithstanding the inconsequent nature of this talk, it set Wade to +thinking. Perhaps he had carried his principle of self-effacement too +far. At all events, when he next saw Miss Ruley, he went up to her and +stopped for a moment's conversation. + +It chanced to be on the sands. Elizabeth was sitting by herself under +the arch of a lace-hung sunshade, which cast shaking little shadows on +her face, sprigging it with such delicate darkness as lurk in the +misty milk of moss-agate. + +"You are going in, then?" she asked, smiling up rather uncertainly, +and noticing his flannel attire. "Mr. Graham is already very far out. +That is he, I think, taking that big breaker. What a stroke!" + +Wade, focussing an indulgent eye, saw a figure away beyond the other +bathers, rising to the lift of a great billow. The man swam with a +splendid motion. Whether he dived, or floated, or circled his arms in +that whirling stroke of his, he seemed in subtle sympathy with the sea, +possessed of a kinship with it, and in an element altogether his own. + +Wade expressed an appropriate sentiment of admiration. + +Just then Gracie Gayle came gambolling along, a childish shape, +kirtled to the knee in bright blue, and turbaned in vivid scarlet. +Among the loose-waisted figures on the sands she was like a +humming-bird scintillating in a staid gathering of barnyard fowls. +Bailey was with her, having returned after a fortnight's absence. + +The two paused beside Elizabeth, and Wade went on, confused by the +singular way in which that small fair face, shadow-streaked and +faintly smiling, lingered in his vision. He was still perplexed with a +half-pleasant, half-pained consciousness of it as he plunged into the +pushing surf and felt a dizzy world of water heave round him. The +surge was strong to-day, and the splashing and screaming of the shore +bathers sent him farther and still farther out. Gradually their cries +lessened in his ear, and there was with him presently only the hollow +thud of the waves and the rushing hiss of the crestling foam. + +Once, as he rose to a sea-lift, it seemed to him that he heard a sound +that was not the boom of the breakers nor the song of the slipping +froth. It came again, whatever it was, and as he gave ear he took in a +human intonation, sharp and agonized. It was a cry for help. + +Wade shook the brine from his hair, freeing his gaze for an outlook. In +the glassy mound of water to his right a face, lean and white with +alarm, gleamed and faded. That the sinking man was Graham came instantly +to Wade's mind--Graham, a victim to some one of the mischances which the +sea reserves for those who adventure too confidently with her. + +Wade struck out instantly for the spot where Graham's appalled +features had briefly glimpsed. Shoreward he could note an increasing +agitation among the multitudes. Evidently the people had noticed the +peril of the remote swimmer whose exploits had so lately won admiring +comment. The beachguard no doubt was buckling to his belt the +life-rope coiled always on the sands for such emergencies. Cries of +men and women rang stifled over the water--exclamations of fear and +advice and excitement, mingled in a long continuous wail. + +Graham's head rose in sight, a mere speck upon the dense green of the +bulging water. Wade, fetching nearer in wide strokes, suddenly felt +himself twisted violently out of his course, and whirled round in a +futile effort with some mysterious current. He was almost near enough +to lay hold of Graham when this new sensation explained lucidly the +cause of Graham's danger. They were both in the claws of an undertow, +which, as Wade realized its touch, appeared as if wrenching him +straight out to the purring distance of the farther sea. + +Even in the first consternation of this discovery he felt himself +thrust hard against a leaden body, and in the same instant Graham's +hands snatched at him in a desperate reach for life. + +"For God's sake don't hold me like this!" Wade expostulated. "Let go. +Trust me to do what I can. You're strangling me, man!" + +But Graham was past sanity. He only clutched with the more frenzy at +the thing which seemed to keep him from the ravenous mouth of the +snarling waters. + +Wade, in a kind of composed despair, sent a look towards the beach. +They were putting out a boat, a tiny sheel which frisked in the surf, +and seemed motionless in the double action of the waves. Men laid hard +at the oars. The little craft took the first big wave as a horse takes +a hurdle. It dropped from the glassy height, and Wade saw it sink into +a breach of the sea. Then flashing with crystal, it bore up again and +outward. + +The figures running and gesticulating on the beach had a marvellous +distinctness to Wade's submerging eyes. He noticed the blue sky, +flawed with scratches of white, the zigzag roof-lines of the great +town, the twisting flags and meshes of the dark wire. Everything +oppressed him with a sort of deadly clearness, as if a metal stamp +should press in melting wax. + +He was momently sinking, drawn ever outward by the undercurrent, and +downward by the weighty burden throttling him in its senseless grasp. +He looked once more through a blinding veil of foam, and saw the boat +dipping far to the left. A phantasm of life flickered before him. +Unsuspected trivialities shook out of their cells, and amazed him with +the pygmy thrift of memory. Then came a sense of confusion, as if the +spiritual and corporal lost each its boundary and ranged wild, and +Wade felt the sea in his eyes, stroking them down as gently as ever +any watcher by the dying. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[69] Copyright, 1894, by Harper and Brothers. + + + + +CORDIA GREER PETRIE + + +Mrs. Cordia Greer Petrie, a talented writer of very great promise and +of decided performance, was born near Merry Oaks, Kentucky, February +12, 1872. When she was a child her parents removed to Louisville, +Kentucky, and in the public schools of that city she was educated, +after which she spent a half-year at old Eminence College, Eminence, +Kentucky. In July, 1894, Miss Greer was married to Dr. Hazel G. +Petrie, of Fairview, Kentucky, who, for the past ten years, has been +mine physician in various sections of eastern Kentucky. At the present +time he is serving six mines and making his home at Chenoa, near +Pineville, Kentucky. In her writings Mrs. Petrie has created a +character of great originality in Angeline Keaton, an unlettered +inhabitant of a remote Kentucky hamlet. "Of the original Angeline," +Mrs. Petrie once wrote, "I know but little. She and her shiftless, +'no-erkount' husband, Lum, together with her son, Jeems Henry, lived +in Barren county, not far from Glasgow. Angeline supported the family +by working on the 'sheers,' 'diggin one half the taters fur tother +half!' She was very anxious for her boy to 'git an edjycation' and no +sooner would he get comfortably settled in a 'cheer' until she would +exclaim, 'Jeems Henry! Git up offen them britches, you lazy whelp! Git +yer book and be gittin some larnin in your head!' Without a word Jim +Henry would climb up the log wall and from under the rafters abstract +his blue back speller." Characterization is Mrs. Petrie's chief +strength; and she is a positive refutation of the masculine dictum +that women lack humor. With her friend, Miss Leigh Gordon Giltner, the +short-story writer, she collaborated on an Angeline sketch, entitled +"When the Bees Got Busy," which was published in the _Overland +Monthly_ for August, 1904; and the prize story reprinted at the end of +this note is the only other Angeline story that has been published so +far. She has won several prizes with other stories, but a group of the +Angeline sketches are in manuscript, and they will shortly appear in +book form. _Angeline Keaton_, "with her gaunt angular form clad in its +scant calico gown," is sure to "score" when she makes her bow between +the covers of a book. She is every bit as cleverly conceived as _Mrs. +Wiggs_, _Susan Clegg_, or any of the other quaint women who have +recently won the applause of the American public. + +BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mrs. Petrie to the Author; Miss Leigh +Gordon Giltner's study in _The Southern Home Journal_ (Louisville). + + +ANGELINE JINES THE CHOIR + +[From _The Evening Post_ (Louisville, Kentucky)] + +She sat upon the edge of the veranda, fanning herself with her "split" +sunbonnet, a tall, angular woman, whose faded calico gown "lost +connection" at the waist line. Her spring being dry, she came to our +well for water. Discovering that Angeline Keaton was a "character," I +invariably inveigled her to rest awhile on our cool piazza before +retracing her steps up the steep, rocky hillside to her cabin home. + +"I missed you yesterday," I said as a starter. + +"Yes'm," she answered in a voice harsh and strident, yet touched with +a peculiar sibilant quality characteristic of the Kentucky +backwoodsman, "and thar wuz others that missed me, too!" + +Settling herself comfortably, she produced from some hidden source a +box of snuff and plied her brush vigorously. + +"We-all have got inter a wrangle over at Zion erbout the church +music," she began. "I and Lum, my old man, has been the leaders ever +since we moved here from Lick-skillet. We wuz alluz on hand--Lum with +his tunin' fork and me with my strong serpraner. When it come to +linin' off a song, Lum wuz pintedly hard to beat. Why, folks come from +fur and near to hear us, and them city folks, at Mis' Bowles' last +summer, 'lowed thar warn't nothing in New York that could tech us. One +of 'em offered us a dollar to sing inter a phonygraf reckerd, but we +wuz afeerd to put our lives in jopperdy by dabblin' in 'lectricerty. +But even celebrerty has its drawbacks, and a 'profit is not without +honor in his own country,' as the saying is. A passel of 'em got +jellus, a church meeting was called, unbeknownst to us, and ermong 'em +they agreed to make a change in the music at old Zion. That +peaked-faced Betty Button wuz at the bottom of it. Ever since she tuk +that normal course at Bowling Green she's been endeverin' to push +herself inter promernence here at Bear Waller. Fust she got up a class +in delsarty, but even Bear Waller warn't dull ernough to take to that +foolishness! Then she canvassed the county with a cuttin' system and a +book called 'Law at a Glance.' Now she's teaching vokle culshure. She +orter know singers, like poits, is born, not made! Jest wantin' to +sing won't do it. It takes power. It's give up mine's the powerfullest +voice in all Bear Waller. I kin bring old Brindle in when she's +grazing in the woods, back o' Judge Bowles' medder, and I simply step +out on the portico and call Lum to dinner when he's swoppin' yarns +down to the store quarter o' mile away. Fur that matter, though, a +deef and dum man could fetch Lum to _vittles_. + +"Do you know Bear Waller owes its muserkil educashun to me? Mine wuz +the fust accordyon brought to the place, and I wuz allus ready to play +fur my nabers. I didn't hafter be _begged_. I orgernized the Zobo +band, I lent 'em my ballads, but whar's my thanks? At the battin' of +an eye they're ready to drop me for that quavery-voiced Button gal and +them notes o' hern that's no more'n that many peryids and commers. + +"When the committee waited on me and Lum we jest flew mad and 'lowed +we'd quit. Maybe we wuz hasty, but it serves 'em right. Besides, these +Bear Wallerites ain't compertent to appreshiate a voice like mine, +nohow. I decided I'd take my letter to Glasgow and jine that brag +choir of their'n. It did me good to think how it 'ud spite some folks +to see me leadin' the singin' at the county seat! + +"Lum wuz dead set ergin it, but armin' myself with the rollin' pin and +a skillet o' bilin grease, I finally pervailed on him to give in. Lum +is of a yieldin' dispersishun if a body goes at 'im right. + +"Jim Henry, that's my boy, an' I tuk a early start. We had tied up the +colt in the cow shed and I wuz congratulatin' myself on bein' shet of +the pesky critter when I heerd him nicker. Lookin' back, I saw him +comin' in a gallerp, his head turned to one side, while he fairly +obscured the landscape with great clouds o' pike dust! + +"We wuz crossin' the railroad when old Julie heered that nicker, an' +right thar she balked. Neither gentle persuasion from the peach tree +switch which I helt in my hand, nor well-aimed kicks of Jim Henry's +boots in her flanks could budge her till that colt come up pantin' +beside her. We jest did clear the track when the accomerdashun whizzed +by. Well, sir, when old Julie spied them kyars she began buck-jumpin' +in a manner that would'er struck terror to a less experienced +hosswoman. Jim Henry, who wuz gazin' at the train with childlike +pleasure, wuz tuk wholly by suprise, and before he knowed what wuz up +he wuz precippytated inter the branches o' a red-haw tree. He crawled +out, a wreck, his face and hands scratched and bleedin' and his +britches hangin' in shreds, and them his Sundays, too! I managed to +pin 'em tergether with beauty pins, and cautionin' him not to turn his +back to the ordiance, we finally resumed our journey. That colt alluz +tries hisself, and jest as we reached the square, in Glasgow, his +appertite began clammerin', and Julie refused to go till the pesky +critter's wants wuz appeased. Them Glasgowites is dear lovers of good +hoss flesh, and quite a crowd gethered to discuss the good pints of +the old mare and that mule colt. + +"Some boys mistook Jim Henry for somebody they knowed and hollered, +'Say, Reube!' 'Hey, Reube!' at him. Jim Henry wuz fur explainin' to +'em their mistake, till one of 'em began to sing, 'When Reuben comes +to town, he's shore to be done brown!' 'Jim Henry,' says I, sternly, +'you're no child o' mine ef you take _that_! Now, if you don't get +down and thrash him I'm agoin' to set you afire when I get you home.' + +"Jim Henry needed no second biddin'. He wuz off that nag in a jiffy, +and the way he did wallerp that boy wuz a cawshun! He sellerbrated his +victry by givin' the Bear Waller war-whoop. Then crawlin' up behind +me, he said he wuz _now_ ready fur meetin'. That boy's a born fiter. +He gets it honest, for me and Lum are both experts, but then practice +makes perfect, as the sayin' is. + +"Our arrival created considerable stir in meetin'. Why is it that when a +distinguished person enters a church it allus perduces a flutter? Owin' +to the rent in Jim Henry's britches, I shoved him inter the back seat. +Cautionin' him not to let me ketch him throwin' paper wads, I swept +merjestercally up the ile and tuk a seat by the orgin. A flood of +approvin' glances fastened themselves on my jet bonnet and fur-lined +dolman. I wuz sorry I didn't know the fust song. It must have been a new +one to that choir. Thar wuz four of 'em and each one wuz singin' it to a +different tune, and they jest couldn't keep tergether! The coarse-voiced +gal to my rear lagged dretfully. When the tall blonde, who wuz the only +one of 'em that knowed the tune, when she'd sing, + + "'Wake the song!' + +that gal who lagged would echo, + + "'Wake the song!' + +in a voice as coarse as Lum's. She 'peared to depend on the tall gal +for the words, for when the tall 'un would sing, + + "'Song of Ju-ber-lee,' + +the gal that lagged, and the two gents, would repeat, 'Of Ju-ber-lee.' + +"I passed her my book, thinkin' the words wuz tore out o' hern, but, +la! she jest glared at me, and she and them gents, if anything, +bellered louder'n ever. I looked at the preacher, expecting to see him +covered with shygrin, but, la! he wuz takin' it perfectly cam, with +his eyes walled up at the ceilin' and his hands folded acrost his +stummick like he might be havin' troubles of his own. + +"I kept hopin' that tryo would either ketch up with the leader or jest +have the curridge to quit. Goodness knows, I done what I could fur +'em, by beatin' time with my turkey wing. + +"Somebody must have give 'em a tip, for the next song which the +preacher give out as 'a solo,' that tryo jest pintedly giv it up and +set thar is silent as clambs. The tall gal riz and commenced singin' +and that tryo never pertended to help her out! My heart ached in +symperthy fur her as she stood thar alone, singin' away with her voice +quaverin', and not a human bein' in that house jined in, not even the +_preacher_! But she had _grit_, and kept right on! Most people +would'er giv right up. She's a middlin' good singer, but is dretfully +handercapt by that laggin' tryo and a passel o' church members that +air too triflin' to sing in meetin'. The song wuz a new 'un to me, but +havin' a nacheral year for music, I soon ketched the tune and jined in +on the last verse with a vim. Of course I could only hummit, not +knowin' the words, but I come down on it good and strong and showed +them folks that Angeline Keaton ain't one to shirk a duty, if they +wuz. After the sermon the preacher giv out 'Thar Is a Fountain Filled +with Blood.' Here wuz my chanct to show 'em what the brag-voice of +Bear Waller wuz like! + +"With my voice risin' and falling and dwellin' with extry force on the +fust syllerbles of foun-tin and sin-ners, in long, drawn-out meeter, I +fairly lost myself in the grand old melerdy. I wuz soarin' inter the +third verse when I discovered I wuz the only one in the house that +knowed it! The rest of 'em wuz singin' it to a friverlous tune like +them Mose Beasley plays on his fiddle! What wuz more, they wuz +titterin' like I wuz in errer! The very idy! That wuz too much fur me, +and beckernin' Jim Henry to foller, I marched outer meetin'! + +"We found the old mare had slipped the bridle and gone home, so thar +wuz nothin' left fur us to do but foot it. The last thing I heered as +we struck the Bear Waller pike and set out fur home wuz that +coarse-voiced gal, still lagging behind, as she sang, + + "'The Blood of the Lamb!'" + + + + +MARIA THOMPSON DAVIESS + + +Miss Maria Thompson Daviess, author of _The Melting of Molly_, was born +at Harrodsburg, Kentucky, in October, 1872, the descendant of the famous +Joseph Hamilton Daviess, the granddaughter of the historian of +Harrodsburg, whose full name she bears, and the niece of Mrs. H. D. +Pittman and Miss Annie Thompson Daviess, the Kentucky novelists. Miss +Daviess was graduated from Science Hill Academy, Shelbyville, Kentucky, +in 1891, after which she studied English for a year at Wellesley +College. She then went to Paris to study art at Julien's, and several of +her pictures have been hung in the Salon. As a miniature painter she +excelled. At the conclusion of her art course, Miss Daviess returned to +America, making her home at Nashville, Tennessee, where she resides at +the present time. She taught at Belmont College, Nashville, for a year +or more, and set up as a painter of miniatures for a public that +demanded values in their portraits that she could not see fit to grant, +so she finally decided to write. Miss Daviess's first book, and the one +that she is still best known by, was _Miss Selina Lue and the Soap-Box +Babies_ (Indianapolis, 1909). Miss Lue, spinster, tucks babies into a +row of soap-boxes, maintaining sort of a free day-nursery, and the +reader has much delicious humor from her duties. _Miss Selina Lue_ was +followed by _The Road to Providence_ (Indianapolis, 1910), dominated by +the character of Mother Mayberry, guide, philosopher, and friend to a +Tennessee town; _Rose of Old Harpeth_ (Indianapolis, 1911), was a love +story "as ingenuous and sweet as a boy's first kiss under a ruffled +sunbonnet." Selina Lue and Mother Mayberry were both past their bloom; +Rose possessed the power and glory of youth. _The Treasure Babies_ +(Indianapolis, 1911), was a delightful children's story, which has been +dramatized and produced, but Miss Daviess's most charming novel, _The +Melting of Molly_ (Indianapolis, 1912), was "the saucy success of the +season," for eight months the best selling book in America. Molly must +melt from the plumpest of widows to the slenderest of maidens in just +three months because the sweetheart of her girlhood days, now a +distinguished diplomat, homeward bound, demands a glimpse of her in the +same blue muslin dress which she wore at their parting years ago. The +melting process, with the O. Henry twist at the end, is the author's +business to narrate, and she does it in the most fetching manner. The +little novel is "gay, irresistible, all sweetness and spice and +everything nice." Miss Daviess's latest story, _Sue Jane_ (New York, +1912), has for its heroine a little country girl who comes to Woodlawn +Seminary (which is none other than the author's _alma mater_, Science +Hill), is at first laughed at and later loved by the girls of that +school. She is as quaint and charming a child as one may hope to meet in +the field of juvenile fiction. _The Elected Mother_ (Indianapolis, +1912), the best of the three short-stories tucked in the back of the +Popular edition of _Miss Selina Lue_ (New York, 1911), was a rather +unique argument for woman's equal rights. It proves that motherhood and +mayoralties may go hand and hand--in at least one modern instance. +_Harpeth Roses_ (Indianapolis, 1912), were wise saws culled from the +pages of her first four books, made into an attractive little volume. +Just as the year of 1912 came to a close Miss Daviess's publishers +announced that her new novel, _Andrew the Glad_, a love story, would +appear in January, 1913. _Phyllis_, another juvenile, will also be +issued in 1913, but will first be serialized in _The Visitor_, a +children's weekly, of Nashville. That Miss Daviess has been an +indefatigable worker may be gathered at a glance. She has the "best +seller touch," which is the most gratifying thing a living writer may +possess. The present public demands that its reading shall be as light +as a cream puff and sparking as a brook, and, in order to qualify for +_The Bookman's_ monthly handicap, a writer must possess those two +requisites: deftness of touch and brightness. These Miss Daviess has. +And so, when the summer-days are over-long and the winter's day is dull, +Maria Thompson Daviess and her brood of books will be found certain +dispellers of earthly woes and bringers of good cheer. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Bookman_ (December, 1909); _The Bookman_ (July, + 1912). + + +MRS. MOLLY MORALIZES[70] + +[From _The Melting of Molly_ (Indianapolis, 1912)] + +Why don't people realize that a seventeen-year-old girl's heart is a +sensitive wind-flower that may be shattered by a breath? Mine +shattered when Alfred went away to find something he could do to make +a living, and Aunt Adeline gave the hard green stem to Mr. Carter when +she married me to him. Poor Mr. Carter! + +No, I wasn't twenty, and this town was full of women who were aunts +and cousins and law-kin to me, and nobody did anything for me. They +all said with a sigh of relief, "It will be such a nice safe thing for +you, Molly." And they really didn't mean anything by tying up a gay, +dancing, frolicking, prancing colt of a girl with a terribly ponderous +bridle. But God didn't want to see me always trotting along slow and +tired and not caring what happened to me, even pounds and pounds of +plumpness, so he found use for Mr. Carter in some other place but this +world, and I feel that He is going to see me through whatever happens. +If some of the women in my missionary society knew how friendly I feel +with God, they would put me out for contempt of court. + +No, the town didn't mean anything by chastening my spirit with Mr. +Carter, and they didn't consider him in the matter at all, poor man. +Of that I feel sure. Hillsboro is like that. It settled itself here in +a Tennessee valley a few hundreds of years ago and has been hatching +and clucking over its own small affairs ever since. All the houses set +back from the street with their wings spread out over their gardens, +and mothers here go on hovering even to the third and fourth +generation. Lots of times young, long-legged, frying-size boys +scramble out of the nests and go off to college and decide to grow up +where their crow will be heard by the world. Alfred was one of them. + +And, too, occasionally some man comes along from the big world and +marries a plump little broiler and takes her away with him, but mostly +they stay and go to hovering life on a corner of the family estate. +That's what I did. + +I was a poor, little, lost chick with frivolous tendencies and they all +clucked me over into this empty Carter nest which they considered +well-feathered for me. It gave them all a sensation when they found out +from the will just how well it was feathered. And it gave me one, too. +All that money would make me nervous if Mr. Carter hadn't made Doctor +John its guardian, though I sometimes feel that the responsibility of me +makes him treat me as if he were my step-grandfather-in-law. But all in +all, though stiff in its knees with aristocracy, Hillsboro is lovely +and loving; and couldn't inquisitiveness be called just real affection +with a kind of squint in its eye? + +And there I sat on my front steps, being embraced in a perfume of +everybody's lilacs and peachblow and sweet syringa and affectionate +interest and moonlight, with a letter in my hand from the man whose +two photographs and many letters I had kept locked up in the garret +for years. Is it any wonder I tingled when he told me that he had +never come back because he couldn't have me and that now the minute he +landed in America he was going to lay his heart at my feet? I added +his honors to his prostrate heart myself and my own beat at the +prospect. All the eight years faded away and I was again back in the +old garden down at Aunt Adeline's cottage saying good-by, folded up in +his arms. That's the way my memory put the scene to me, but the word +"folded" made me remember that blue muslin dress again. I had promised +to keep it and wear it for him when he came back--and I couldn't +forget that the blue belt was just twenty-three inches and mine +is--no, I _won't_ write it. I had got that dress out of the old trunk +not ten minutes after I had read the letter and measured it. + +No, nobody would blame me for running right across the garden to +Doctor John with such a real trouble as that! All of a sudden I hugged +the letter and the little book up close to my breast and laughed until +the tears ran down my cheeks. + +Then before I went into the house I assembled my garden and had family +prayers with my flowers. I do that because they are all the family I've +got, and God knows that all His budding things need encouragement, +whether it is a widow or a snowball-bush. He'll give it to us! + +And I'm praying again as I sit here and watch for the doctor's light +to go out. I hate to go to sleep and leave it burning, for he sits up +so late and he is so gaunt and thin and tired-looking most time. +That's what the last prayer is about, almost always,--sleep for him +and no night call! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[70] Copyright, 1912, by the Bobbs-Merrill Company. + + + + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +Cale Young Rice, poet and dramatist, was born at Dixon, Kentucky, +December 7, 1872. He graduated from Cumberland University, in +Tennessee, and then went to Harvard University, where he received his +Bachelor of Arts degree in 1895, and his Master's degree in the +following year. In 1902 Mr. Rice was married to Miss Alice Caldwell +Hegan, whose _Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch_ had been published the +year before. Mr. Rice has been busy for years as a lyric poet and +maker of plays for the study, though several of them, indeed, have +received stage presentation. His several books of shorter poems are: +_From Dusk to Dusk_ (Nashville, Tennessee, 1898); _With Omar_ +(Lebanon, Tennessee, 1900), privately printed in an edition of forty +copies; _Song Surf_ (Boston, 1901), in which _With Omar_ was +reprinted; _Nirvana Days_ (New York, 1908); _Many Gods_ (New York, +1910); and his latest book of lyrics, _Far Quests_ (New York, 1912). +Mr. Rice's plays have been published as follows: _Charles di Tocca_ +(New York, 1903); _David_ (New York, 1904); _Plays and Lyrics_ (London +and New York, 1906), a large octavo containing _David_, _Yolanda of +Cyprus_, a poetic drama, and all of his best work; _A Night in +Avignon_ (New York, 1907), a little one-act play based upon the loves +of Petrarch and Laura, which was "put upon the boards" in Chicago with +Donald Robertson in the leading _role_. It was part one of a dramatic +trilogy of the Italian Renaissance. Next came a reprinting in an +individual volume of his _Yolanda of Cyprus_ (New York, 1908); and +_The Immortal Lure_ (New York, 1911), four plays, the first of which, +_Giorgione_, is part two of the trilogy of one-act plays of which _A +Night in Avignon_ was the first part. The trilogy will be closed with +another one-act drama, _Porzia_, which is now announced for +publication in January, 1913. Mr. Rice has been characterized by the +_New York Times_ as a "doubtful poet," but that paper's recent and +uncalled for attack upon Madison Cawein, together with many other +seemingly absurd positions, makes one wonder if it is not a "doubtful +judge." After all is said, it must be admitted that Mr. Rice has done +a small group of rather pleasing lyrics, and that his plays, perhaps +impossible as safe vehicles for an actor with a reputation to sustain, +are not as turgid as _The Times_ often is, and not as superlatively +poor as some critics have held. Of course, Mr. Rice is not a great +dramatist, nor a great poet, yet the body of his work is considerable, +and our literature could ill afford to be rid of it. The Rices have an +attractive home in St. James Court, Louisville, Kentucky. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Critic_ (September, 1904); _The Atlantic + Monthly_ (September, 1904); _The Bookman_ (December, 1911); + _Lippincott's Magazine_ (January, 1912). + + +PETRARCA AND SANCIA[71] + +[From _A Night in Avignon_ (New York, 1907)] + + _Petrarca._ While we are in the world the world's in us. + The Holy Church I own-- + Confess her Heaven's queen; + But we are flesh and all things that are fair + God made us to enjoy-- + Or, high in Paradise, we'll know but sorrow. + You though would ban earth's beauty, + Even the torch of Glory + That kindled Italy once and led great Greece-- + The torch of Plato, Homer, Virgil, all + The sacred bards and sages, pagan-born! + I love them! they are divine! + And so to-night--I-- + (_Voices._) + They! it is Lello! Lello! Lello! Sancia!-- + + +(_Hears a lute and laughter below, then a call, "Sing, Sancia"; then +Sancia singing:_) + + To the maids of Saint Remy + All the gallants go for pleasure; + To the maids of Saint Remy-- + Tripping to love's measure! + To the dames of Avignon + All the masters go for wiving; + To the dames of Avignon-- + That shall be their shriving! + +(_He goes to the Loggia as they gayly applaud. Then Lello cries:_) + + _Lello._ Ho-ho! Petrarca! Pagan! are you in? + What! are you a sonnet-monger? + + _Petrarca._ Ai, ai, aih! + (_Motions_ Gherhardo--_who goes_.) + + _Lello._ Come then! Your door is locked! down! let us in! + (_Rattles it._) + + _Petrarca._ No, ribald! hold! the key is on the sill! + Look for it and ascend! + (Orso _enters_.) + Stay, here is Orso! + +(_The old servant goes through and down the stairs to meet them. In a +moment the tramp of feet is heard and they enter--_Lello_ between +them--singing_:) + + Guelph! Guelph! and Ghibbeline! + Ehyo! ninni! onni! onz! + I went fishing on All Saints' Day + And--caught but human bones! + + I went fishing on All Saints' Day, + The Rhone ran swift, the wind blew black! + I went fishing on All Saints' Day-- + But my love called me back! + + She called me back and she kissed my lips-- + Oh, my lips! Oh! onni onz! + "Better take love than--bones! bones! + (Sancia _kisses_ Petrarca.) + Better take love than bones." + +(_They scatter with glee and_ Petrarca _seizes_ Sancia _to him_.) + + _Petrarca._ Yes, little Sancia! and you, my friends! + Warm love is better, better! + And braver! Come, Lello! give me your hand! + And you, Filippa! No, I'll have your lips! + + _Sancia._ (_interposing_). Or--less? One at a time, Messer Petrarca! + You learn too fast. Mine only for to-night. + + _Petrarca._ And for a thousand nights, Sancia fair! + + _Sancia._ You hear him? Santa Madonna! pour us wine, + To pledge him in! + + _Petrarca._ The tankards bubble o'er! + (_They go to the table._) + And see, they are wreathed of April, + With loving myrtle and laurel intertwined. + We'll hold symposium, as bacchanals! + + _Sancia._ And that is--what? some dull and silly show + Out of your sallow books? + + _Petrarca._ Those books were writ + With ink of the gods, my Sancia, upon + Papyri of the stars! + + _Sancia._ And--long ago? + Ha! long ago? + + _Petrarca._ Returnless centuries! + + _Sancia._ (_contemptuously_). Who loves the past, + Loves mummies and their dust-- + And he will mould! + Who loves the future loves what may not be, + And feeds on fear. + Only one flower has Time--its name is Now! + Come, pluck it! pluck it! + + _Lello._ Brava, maid! the Now! + + _Sancia._ (_dancing_). Come, pluck it! pluck it! + + _Petrarca._ By my soul, I will: + (_Seizes her again._) + It grows upon these lips--and if to-night + They leant out over the brink of Hell, I would. + (_She breaks from him._) + + _Flippa._ Enough! the wine! the wine! + + _Sancia._ O ever-thirsty + And ever-thrifty Pippa! Well, pour out! + (_She lifts a brimming cup._) + We'll drink to Messer Petrarca-- + Who's weary of his bed-mate, Solitude. + May he long revel in the courts of Venus! + + _All (drinking)._ Aih, long! + + _Petrarca._ As long as Sancia enchants them! + + _Flippa._ I'd trust him not, Sancia. Put him to oath. + + _Sancia._ And, to the rack, if faithless? This Flippa! + Messer Petrarca, should not be made + High Jurisconsult to our lord, the Devil, + Whose breath of life is oaths?... + But, swear it!--by the Saints! + Who were great sinners all! + And by the bones of every monk or nun + Who ever darkened the world! + + _Lello._ Or ever shall! + (_A pause._) + + _Petrarca._ I'll swear your eyes are singing + Under the shadow of your hair, mad Sancia, + Like nightingales in the wood! + + _Sancia._ Pah! Messer Poet-- + Such words as those you vent without an end-- + To the Lady Laura! + + _Petrarca._ Stop! + (_Grows pale._) + Not _her_ name--here! + (_All have sat down; he rises._) + + _Sancia._ O-ho! this air will soil it? and it might + Not sound so sweet in sonnets ever after? + (_To the rest--rising._) + Shall we depart, that he may still indite them? + "To Laura--On the Vanity of Passion?" + "To Laura--Unrelenting?" + "To Laura--Whose Departing Darkens the Sky?" + (_Laughs._) + "To Laura--Who Deigns Not a Single Tear?" + (Orso _enters_.) + Shall we depart? + +FOOTNOTE: + +[71] Copyright, 1907, by McClure, Phillips and Company. + + + + +ROBERT M. McELROY + + +Robert McNutt McElroy, author of the best of the recent histories of +Kentucky, was born at Perryville, Kentucky, December 28, 1872. He took +the three degrees conferred by Princeton University; and since 1901 he +has been assistant professor of American history in that institution. +For the _Metropolitan Magazine_ of New York Dr. McElroy wrote an +excellent _History of the Mexican War_, but this work has not yet +appeared in book form. His _Kentucky in the Nation's History_ (New +York, 1909), gave him an honorable place among the younger generation +of American historians, and certainly a high place in Kentucky +literature. Upon his history of Kentucky Dr. McElroy labored for many +years, no sacrifice was too great for him to make, no journey too long +for him to undertake, provided a better perspective were to be +obtained at the end of his travels. He spent many months with Colonel +Reuben T. Durrett at Louisville, working in his library, and sitting +at his feet drinking from the well of Western history which the +Colonel has kept undefiled. This, too, was what so sadly mars his +work: he does in the discussion of several great questions, hardly +more than serve as amanuensis for Colonel Durrett and the late Colonel +John Mason Brown. Their opinions and conclusions are accepted +_carte-blanche_, and all other authorities are ruthlessly set aside. +Dr. McElroy accepts Colonel Brown's book upon the Spanish Conspiracy, +and writes a single line concerning Thomas Marshall Green's great +work! He brings his narrative down to the commencement of the Civil +War, which probably indicates that a second volume is in preparation +in order that the entire field may be surveyed. His work is most +scholarly, the latest historical procedure is sustained throughout, +and the pity is that he so slavishly followed one or two authorities, +though both of them were wholly excellent and profound, to the +exclusion of all others. Originality of opinion is what the work +lacks, a lack which it might have easily possessed with the author's +undoubted ability, had he not lingered so long in literary Louisville. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Dr. McElroy to the Author; _Who's Who + in America_ (1912-1913). + + +GEORGE ROGERS CLARK[72] + +[From _Kentucky in the Nation's History_ (New York, 1909)] + +It was at this critical moment that George Rogers Clark, the future +conqueror of the Northwest territory, took up his permanent abode +among the Kentucky pioneers. Clark had visited Kentucky, on a brief +tour of inspection, during the previous autumn (Sept., 1775), and had +been placed in command of the irregular militia of the settlements. He +had returned to Virginia, filled with the importance of establishing +in Kentucky an extensive system of public defence, and with the firm +conviction that the claims of Henderson & Company ought to be +disallowed by Virginia. His return to Kentucky, in 1776, marks the +beginning of the end of the Transylvania Company. In spite of his +youth (he was only twenty-four) he was far the most dangerous opponent +that Henderson & Company had in the province. A military leader by +nature, he had served in Lord Dunmore's war with such conspicuous +success that he had been offered a commission in the British Army. +This honor he had declined, preferring to remain free to serve his +country in the event of a revolt from British tyranny. + +Shortly after his arrival, Clark proposed that, in order to bring +about a more certain connection with Virginia, and the more definitely +to repudiate the authority of the Transylvania Company, a regular +representative assembly should be held at Harrodsburg. His own views +he expressed freely in advancing his suggestion. Agents, he said, +should be appointed to urge once more the right of the region to be +taken under the protection of Virginia, and, if this request should +again be unheeded, we should "employ the lands of the country as a +fund to obtain settlers, and establish an independent state." + +The proposed assembly convened at Harrodsburg on the 6th of June. +Clark was not present when the session began, and when he arrived, he +found that the pressing question of the day had already been acted +upon, and that he himself, with Gabriel John Jones, had been elected a +delegate to represent the settlements in the Virginia Assembly. Clark +knew that such an election would not entitle them to seats, but he +agreed to visit Williamsburg, and present the cause of his fellow +pioneers. Provided with a formal memorial to the Virginia Assembly, he +started, with Jones, for Virginia and, after a very painful journey, +upon which, Clark declared, I suffered "more torment than I ever +experienced before or since," they reached the neighborhood of +Charlottesville, only to learn that the Assembly had adjourned. Jones +set off for a visit to the settlements on the Holston; but Clark, +intent upon his mission, pushed on to Hanover County, where he secured +an interview with Patrick Henry, then Governor of Virginia. + +After listening to Clark's report of the troubles of the frontier +colony, and doubtless enjoying his denunciation of the Transylvania +Company, Governor Henry introduced him to the executive Council of the +State, and he at once requested from them five hundred pounds of +powder for frontier defence. He had determined to accomplish the +object of his mission in any manner possible, and he knew that if he +could induce the authorities of Virginia to provide for the defence of +the frontier settlements, the announcement of her property rights in +them would certainly follow, to the destruction of the plans of +Henderson and his colleagues. + +The Council, however, doubtless also foreseeing these consequences, +declared that its powers could not be so construed as to give it +authority to grant such a request. But Clark was insistent, and urged +his case so effectively that, after considerable discussion, the +Council announced that, as the call appeared urgent, they would assume +the responsibility of lending five hundred pounds of powder to Clark, +making him personally responsible for its value, in case their +assumption of authority should not be upheld by the Burgesses. They +then presented him with an order to the keeper of the public magazine, +calling for the powder desired. + +This was exactly what Clark did not want, as the loan of five hundred +pounds of powder to George Rogers Clark, could in no sense be +interpreted as an assumption by Virginia, of the responsibility of +defending the western frontier, and his next act was most +characteristic of the man. He returned the order with a curt note, +declaring his intention of repairing at once to Kentucky, and exerting +the resources of that country to the formation of an independent +State, for, he frankly declared, "a country which is not worth +defending is not worth claiming." + +This threat proved instantly successful. The Council recalled Clark to +their presence and, on August 23, 1776, delivered him another order +calling for five hundred pounds of gunpowder, which was to be conveyed +to Pittsburg by Virginia officials, there "to be safely kept and +delivered to George Rogers Clark or his order, for the use of the said +inhabitants of Kentucky." + +With this concession Clark was completely satisfied, for he felt that by +it Virginia was admitting her obligation to defend the pioneers of the +West, and that an open declaration of sovereign rights over the +territory must soon follow. He accordingly wrote to his friends in +Kentucky, requesting them to receive the powder at Pittsburg, and convey +it to the Kentucky stations, while he himself awaited the opening of the +autumn session of the Virginia Assembly, where he hoped to procure a +more explicit verdict against the claims of Henderson's Company. + +At the time appointed for the meeting, Clark, accompanied by his +colleague, Gabriel John Jones, proceeded to Williamsburg and presented +his petition to the Assembly, where again his remarkable personality +secured a victory. In spite of the vigorous exertions of Henderson and +Campbell in behalf of the Transylvania Company, the Virginia Assembly +(December 7, 1776) passed an act dividing the vast, ill-defined +region, hitherto known as Fincastle County, into three sections, to be +known as Kentucky County, Washington County, and Montgomery County, +Virginia. The County of Kentucky, comprising almost the same territory +as is contained in the present State of Kentucky, was thus recognized +as a political unit of the Virginia Commonwealth, and as such was +entitled to representation. + +This statute decided the fate of the Transylvania Company, as there +could not be two Sovereign Proprietors of the soil of Kentucky County. +And so passed, a victim to its own lust of gain, the last attempt to +establish a proprietary government upon the free soil of the United +States; and George Rogers Clark, as founder of Kentucky's first +political organization, became the political father of the Commonwealth, +even as Daniel Boone had been the father of her colonization. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[72] Copyright, 1909, by Moffat, Yard and Company. + + + + +EDWIN D. SCHOONMAKER + + +Edwin Davies Schoonmaker, poet, was born at Scranton, Pennsylvania, +February 1, 1873. He removed from Ohio to Kentucky in 1886, and he +lived at Lexington almost continuously until 1904. Mr. Schoonmaker was +educated at old Kentucky (Transylvania) University; and in 1904 he +married a Kentucky woman, who has published a play and a novel. For +the last several years he and his wife have lived at Bearsville, New +York, high up in the Catskills. Mr. Schoonmaker's first book was a +verse play, entitled _The Saxons--a Drama of Christianity in the +North_ (Chicago, 1905). This was based upon the attempt on the part of +Rome to force the religion of Christ upon the pagans in the forests of +the North, and it was a very strong piece of work. His second work, +another verse drama, will appear in 1913, entitled _The Americans_. +It will be published by Mr. Mitchell Kennerley, for whom Mr. +Schoonmaker is planning two other plays. Mr. Schoonmaker has had short +lyrics in many of the leading magazines. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Arena_ (May, 1906); _Hampton's Magazine_ (June, + 1910); _The Forum_ (August, 1912). + + +THE PHILANTHROPIST[73] + +[From _The American Magazine_ (October, 1912)] + + I neither praise nor blame thee, aged Scot, + In whose wide lap the shifting times have poured + The heavy burden of that golden hoard + That shines far off and shall not be forgot. + + I only see thee carving far and wide + Thy name on many marbles through the land, + Or flashing splendid from the jeweler's hand + Where medaled heroes show thy face with pride. + + Croesus had not such royal halls as thou, + Nor Timon half as many friends as crowd + Thy porches when thy largesses are loud, + Learning and Peace are stars upon thy brow. + + And still thy roaring mills their tribute bring + As unto Caesar, and thy charities + Have borne thy swelling fame beyond the seas, + Where thou in many realms art all but king. + + Yet when night lays her silence on thine ears + And thou art at thy window all alone, + Pondering thy place, dost thou not hear the groans + Of them that bear thy burdens through the years? + + +FOOTNOTE: + +[73] Copyright, 1912, by the Phillips Publishing Company. + + + + +CREDO HARRIS + + +Credo Harris, novelist, was born near Louisville, Kentucky, January 8, +1874. He was educated in the schools of Louisville and finished at +college in the East. He settled in New York as a newspaper man and the +following ten years of his life were given to that work. In 1908 Mr. +Harris abandoned daily journalism in order to devote himself to +fiction. Only a few of his short-stories had gotten into the magazines +when his first book, entitled _Toby, a Novel of Kentucky_ (Boston, +1912), appeared. In spite of the fact that the author's literary +models were, perhaps, too manifest, _Toby_ was well liked by many +readers. Mr. Harris's second story, _Motor Rambles in Italy_ (New +York, 1912), was cordially received by those very critics who assailed +his first volume with vehemence. It is both a book of travels and a +romance, the recital being in the form of love letters to his +sweetheart, Polly, and also descriptive of the country from +Baden-Baden to Rome seen from the tonneau of a big touring-car. Mr. +Harris has a new story well under way, which will probably appear in +1913. He resides at Glenview, Kentucky, with his father, but his work +on _The Louisville Herald_ takes him into town almost every day. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Harris to the Author; _The + Courier-Journal_ (November 30, 1912). + + +BOLOGNA[74] + +[From _Motor Rambles in Italy_ (New York, 1912)] + +Bologna! Home of the sausage! Does not your mouth water at just the +thought of it! I can see your pretty nose turn up in a curve that +simply screams "Disgusting"--but you have never been quite fair to +this relic of menageries. + +To-day at luncheon our waiter first pranced up with a dish I did not +recognize. It has long been a rule of mine--especially in Italy--that +when I do not recognize a dish I wave it by. But rules are sent +broadcast before the Bolognese spirit of patriotism. Would I be +permitted to refuse this dish? No. He poked it still nearer and gave +me a polite look. "No," I said, "not any." He poked it still nearer +and his look became troubled. "No," I said again. This time his look +was indignant as he exclaimed: "But, signor, it is _mortadella_!" +Indeed, we found his persistence quite justifiable. + +I could be satisfied to linger here. It is a pleasant mixture of +cosmopolitan and mediaeval, blending a touch of geniality which adds +much to its charm. The people are happier, perhaps it would be best to +say more smiling, in Bologna than farther north. If one can be +reconciled to the incongruity of living in a hotel that was a +fifteenth century palace overlooking the solemn tombs of jurists, and +then stepping to the corner for a twentieth century electric car, he +can steel himself to put up with many other temperamental +contradictions to be found in this capital of the Emilia. + +But because of its cosmopolitanism I shall tell you little. In big +places like this there is so much to see, so much to digest, so much +to read out of guide books, that--what's the use? My letters are +permitted, you have threatened, only so long as I tell an occasional +thing which may serve you and the Dowager when you come through next +year by motor, and while I do not believe you quite mean this, or +would throw it down if you saw me heading toward the tender realms of +nothingness, your wish shall, nevertheless, constitute my aim. Should +I digress, it will be because my love for you is stronger than +myself--an assertion of doubtful value at the present time. + +So if you want to know Bologna, read your guide books. Here, you shall +have only the more untrodden paths, which, if you follow as I have +done, you may be fortunate. For you must know that all I have seen has +been discovered by your eyes alone. Many a day has passed since you +brought and taught me the things truly beautiful in this world. Great +sculptures, rich paintings, magnificent architecture, are in the well +worn paths of every one's progress which those who pass cannot help +seeing, but a changing leaf, the sweep of a bird, a child's laugh at +the roadside, ah, those are the bounties your hands have poured into +my lap! Thousands pass along this way, piled high with perishable +treasures, and never dream that they are trampling a masterpiece with +every crunch of their bourgeoise boots. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[74] Copyright, 1912, by Moffat, Yard and Company. + + + + +HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES + + +Mrs. Hallie Erminie Rives-Wheeler, maker of mysteries, was born near +Hopkinsville, Kentucky, May 2, 1874, the daughter of Colonel Stephen +T. Rives. She is a cousin of Princess Troubetzkey, the celebrated +Virginia novelist. Miss Rives, to give her her old name, was educated +in Kentucky schools, after which she went to New York with her mother. +In 1896 Miss Rives's mother died and she and her father moved to +Amherst county, Virginia, which is her present American home. Her +literary labors fall naturally into two periods: the first, which +included five "red-hot" books, as follows: _The Singing Wire and Other +Stories_ (Clarksville, Tennessee, 1892), the "other stories" being +four in number and nameless here; _A Fool in Spots_ (St. Louis, 1894); +_Smoking Flax_ (New York, 1897); _As the Hart Panteth_ (New York, +1898); and _A Furnace of Earth_ (New York, 1900). Miss Rives's second +period of work began with _Hearts Courageous_ (Indianapolis, 1902), a +romance of Revolutionary Virginia, and continues to the present time. +This was followed by _The Castaway_ (Indianapolis, 1904), based upon +the career of Lord Byron; and the great poems of the Englishman are +made to swell the length of the story. In _Tales from Dickens_ +(Indianapolis, 1905), Miss Rives did for the novelist what Lamb did +for Shakespeare--made him readable for children. _Satan Sanderson_ +(Indianapolis, 1907), a wild and thrilling tale of today, one of the +"six best sellers" for many months, was followed by what is, perhaps, +her best book, a story set in Japan, entitled _The Kingdom of Slender +Swords_ (Indianapolis, 1910). Her latest novel is _The Valiants of +Virginia_ (Indianapolis, 1912), the action of which begins in New +York, but is transferred to Virginia. Miss Rives was married in Tokyo, +Japan, December 29, 1906, to Mr. Post Wheeler, writer and diplomat, +now connected with the American embassy at Rome. While none of her +novels is set against Kentucky backgrounds, several of her short +stories published in the magazines are Kentucky to the core. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The American Review of Reviews_ (October, 1902); + _The Nation_ (August 11, 1904). + + +THE BISHOP SPEAKS[75] + +[From _Satan Sanderson_ (Indianapolis, 1907)] + +Inside the study, meanwhile, the bishop was greeting Harry Sanderson. He +had officiated at his ordination and liked him. His eyes took in the +simple order of the room, lingering with a light tinge of disapproval +upon the violin case in the corner, and with a deeper shade of question +upon the jewel on the other's finger--a pigeon-blood ruby in a setting +curiously twisted of the two initial letters of his name. + +There came to his mind for an instant a whisper of early prodigalities +and wildness which he had heard. For the lawyer who had listened to +Harry Sanderson's recital on the night of the making of the will had +not considered it a professional disclosure. He had thought it a "good +story," and had told it at his club, whence it had percolated at +leisure through the heavier strata of town-talk. The tale, however, +had seemed rather to increase than to discourage popular interest in +Harry Sanderson. The bishop knew that those whose approval had been +withheld were in the hopeless minority, and that even these could not +have denied that he possessed desirable qualities--a manner by turns +sparkling and grave, picturesqueness in the pulpit, and the +unteachable tone of blood--and had infused new life into a generally +sleepy parish. He had dismissed the whisper with a smile, but oddly +enough it recurred to him now at sight of the ruby ring. + +"I looked in to tell you a bit of news," said the bishop. "I've just +come from David Stires--he has a letter from Van Lennap, the great +eye-surgeon of Vienna. He disagrees with the rest of them--thinks +Jessica's case may not be hopeless." + +The cloud that Hugh's call had left on Harry's countenance lifted. + +"Thank God!" he said. "Will she go to him?" + +The bishop looked at him curiously, for the exclamation seemed to hold +more than a conventional relief. + +"He is to be in America next month. He will come here to examine, and +perhaps to operate. An exceptional girl," went on the bishop, "with a +remarkable talent! The angel in the chapel porch, I suppose you know, +is her modelling, though that isn't just masculine enough in feature +to suit me. The Scriptures are silent on the subject of woman-angels +in Heaven; though, mind you, I don't say they're not common on earth!" + +The bishop chuckled mildly at his own epigram. + +"Poor child!" he continued more soberly. "It will be a terrible thing +for her if this last hope fails her, too! Especially now, when she and +Hugh are to make a match of it." + +Harry's face was turned away, or the bishop would have seen it suddenly +startled. "To make a match of it!" To hide the flush he felt staining +his cheek, Harry bent to close the safe. A something that had darkled in +some obscure depth of his being, whose existence he had not guessed, was +throbbing now to a painful resentment. Jessica to marry Hugh! + +"A handsome fellow--Hugh!" said the bishop. "He seems to have returned +with a new heart--a brand plucked from the burning. You had the same +_alma mater_, I think you told me. Your influence has done the boy +good, Sanderson!" He laid his hand kindly on the other's shoulder. +"The fact that you were in college together makes him look up to +you--as the whole parish does," he added. + +Harry was setting the combination, and did not answer. But through the +turmoil in his brain a satiric voice kept repeating: + +"No, they don't call me 'Satan' now!" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[75] Copyright, 1907, by the Bobbs-Merrill Company. + + + + +EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY + + +Edwin Carlile Litsey, author of _The Love Story of Abner Stone_, was +born at Beechland, Kentucky, June 3, 1874. He was educated in public +and private schools, but he did not go to college. At the age of +seventeen years Mr. Litsey entered the banking business, and he is now +connected with the Marion National Bank, of his present home, Lebanon, +Kentucky. His first novel, _The Princess of Gramfalon_ (Cincinnati, +1898), was a daring piece of imagination, creating impossible lands +and peoples, and it has been forgotten by author and public alike. Mr. +Litsey's strongest and best work so far is a beautiful tale of Nature, +entitled _The Love Story of Abner Stone_ (New York, 1902). This +novelette made the author many friends, as it is a charming story. In +1904 he won first prize in _The Black Cat_ story-contest, over ten +thousand competitors, with _In the Court of God_. His stories of wild +animals in their haunts were brought together in _The Race of the +Swift_ (Boston, 1905). This contains some of his best work, the first +story being especially fine and strong. Mr. Litsey's latest novel, +_The Man from Jericho_ (New York, 1911), was not up to the standard +set in his earlier works, and in no sense is it a noteworthy +production. It shows a decided falling off, and it brought +disappointment to many admirers of _The Love Story of Abner Stone_ and +_The Race of the Swift_. In 1912 Mr. Litsey contributed several +short-stories to _The Cavalier_, and next year he will issue another +novel, to be entitled _A Maid of the Kentucky Hills_. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Book Buyer_ (July, 1902); _Munsey's Magazine_ + (April, 1903). + + +THE RACE OF THE SWIFT[76] + +[From _The Race of the Swift_ (Boston, 1905)] + +The next morning, near midday, her merciless offsprings teased and +worried her so that the she-fox crept forth in spite of the warning of +the day before, and set her sharp muzzle towards the crest of the +range, with the intention of invading territory which hitherto her +feet had never pressed. There were wild turkeys back in the hills, and +wary and suspicious as she knew them to be, they were no match for her +wily woodcraft. But scarcely had her noiseless feet gone over the top +of the knob, when a sharp yelp immediately behind her caused her to +jump and turn quickly. They were there--her enemies--and their noses +were smelling out her trail, for as yet they had not seen her. Even as +she leaped for the nearest cover like a yellow flash, her first +thought was of the little ones biding at home. She must lead her foes +away from that cleft in the rocks where her love-children lay awaiting +her return. And though her life should be given up, yet would she die +alone, and far away, before she would sacrifice her young. + +It was a hard and stubborn race which she ran for the next six hours. +At times her loyal, loving heart seemed ready to burst from the strain +she thrust upon it. At times fleet feet were pattering almost at her +heels, and pitiless jaws were held wide to grasp her; then again only +the echo of the stubborn cry of her pursuers reached her. She had +doubled time and again. Once a brief respite was granted her when she +dashed up a slanting tree-trunk which, in falling, had lodged in the +branches of another tree. Eight tawny forms dashed hotly, furiously +by, then she descended and took the back track. Only for a moment, +however, were the cunning dogs deceived. They discovered the artifice +almost as soon as it was perpetrated, and came harking back themselves +with redoubled zeal. So the long hours of the afternoon wore away. Not +a moment that was free from effort; not an instant that death did not +hover over the mother fox, awaiting the least misstep to descend. Back +and forth, around and across, and still the subtlety of the fox eluded +the haste and fury of the hounds. All were tired to the point of +exhaustion, but none would give up. The sun went down; tremulous +shadows, like curtains hung, were draped among the trees. The timid +stars came out again and the halfed moon arose, a little larger than +the night before. And still, with inveterate hate on the one side, and +the undying strength of despair on the other, the grim chase swept +through the night. At last the blood-rimmed eyes of the reeling quarry +saw familiar landmarks. Unconsciously, in her blind efforts, she had +come to the neighborhood of her den. Perhaps the love within her heart +had guided her back. She found her strength quickly failing, and with +a realization of this her scheming brain awoke as from a trance, and +drove her to deeper guile. Two rods away was the creek. To it she +staggered, splashed through the low water for a dozen yards, and hid +herself beneath the gnarled roots of a tree from the base of which the +stream had eaten away the soil. She listened intensely. She heard the +pack lose the scent, search half-heartedly for a few minutes, for +they, too, were weary to dropping, then withdraw one at a time, +beaten. But for half an hour the brave animal lay against the tree +roots, waiting and resting. Then she came out cautiously, looked +around her, and with difficulty gained the mouth of her den. Casting +one keen glance over her shoulder through the checkered spaces of the +forest, she glided softly within, and lying down, curled her tired +body protectingly around her sleeping little ones. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[76] Copyright, 1905, by Little, Brown and Company. + + + + +MILTON BRONNER + + +Milton Bronner, literary critic and journalist, was born at +Louisville, Kentucky, November 10, 1874. He was graduated from the +University of Virginia, in 1895, when he returned to his home to join +the staff of the old _Louisville Commercial_. In 1900 Mr. Bronner +removed to Covington, Kentucky, to become city editor of _The Kentucky +Post_, of which paper he is now editor-in-chief. Mr. Bronner's first +book, called _Letters from the Raven_ (New York, 1907), was a work +about Lafcadio Hearn with many of Hearn's hitherto unpublished +letters. His second and most important volume so far, _Maurice +Hewlett_ (Boston, 1910), is the first adequate discussion of the +novels and poems of the celebrated English author. His method was to +treat the works in the order of their publication, together with a +brief word upon Mr. Hewlett's life. His little book must have pleased +the novelist as much as it did the public. Mr. Bronner seems to have a +_flair_ for new writers who later "arrive." Thus years ago _Poet-Lore_ +published his paper on William Ernest Henley, before Henley's fame was +so firmly established. Some years later _The Independent_ had his +essay on Francis Thompson, whom all the world now declares to have +been a great and true poet. Still later _The Forum_ printed his +criticism of John Davidson, in which high estimates were set upon the +unfortunate fellow's works; and _The Bookman_ has printed a series of +his critical appreciations of such men as John Masefield, Ezra Pound, +Wilbur Underwood, W. H. Davies, W. W. Gibson, and Lionel Johnson, +which introduced these now celebrated poets to the American public. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Forum_ (September, 1910); _The Bookman_ + (August; November, 1911); _The Bookman_ (April; October, 1912). + + +MR. HEWLETT'S WOMEN[77] + +[From _Maurice Hewlett_ (Boston, 1910)] + +Mr. Hewlett is mainly interested in his women. They are the pivots +about whom his comedies and tragedies move. And his treatment of them +differs from all the great contemporary novelists. Kipling gives +snapshot photographs of women. He shows them in certain brief moments +of their existence, in vivid blacks and whites, caught on the instant +whether the subjects were laughing or crying. Stevenson's few women +are presented in silhouette. Barrie and Hardy give etchings in which +line by line and with the most painstaking art, the features are +drawn. But Meredith and Mr. Hewlett give paintings in which brush +stroke after brush stroke has been used. The reader beholds the +finished work, true not only in features, but in colouring. + + * * * * * + +Now Mr. Hewlett is purely medieval. The Hewlett woman is forever the +plaything of love. She is always in the attitude of the pursuing who +is pursued. She is forever the subject of passion, holy or unholy. Men +will fight for her, plunge kingdoms and cities in war or ruin for her, +die for her. Sometimes, as in "The Stooping Lady," she is the willing +object of this love and stoops to enjoy its divine benison; sometimes +she flees from it when it displays a satyr face as in "The Duchess of +Nona;" sometimes she is caught up in its tragic coil as in "The +Queen's Quair," and destroyed by it. Hewlett's women, like Hardy's, +are stray angels, but like Meredith's they are creatures of the chase. +And, note the difference from Meredith!--this, according to the gospel +of Mr. Hewlett, is as it should be. + +Since it is woman's proper fate to be loved, it would seem to be +impossible for Mr. Hewlett to write a story in which there is not some +romantic love interest. And in each case there is a stoop on the part +of one. The stoop may be happy or the reverse, but it is there. He +recurs to the idea again and again, but each time with a difference +that prevents monotony. + +In the main, Mr. Hewlett's women are good women. They are loyal and +loving, ready alike to take beatings or kisses. There is no ice in +their bosoms which must needs be thawed. Nor are Mr. Hewlett's women +"kind" after the manner of the Stendhal characters. They are not women +who make themselves common. For the most part, they are Rosalinds and +Perditas of an humbler sort, with the beauty of those immortal girls, +but without their supreme wit and high spirits. They are girls who are +stricken down with love's dart and who make no effort to remove the +dear missiles. They are true dwellers in romance-land, beautiful +creatures who give themselves to their chosen lords without thought of +sin or of the future. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[77] Copyright, 1910, by L. E. Bassett. + + + + +A. ST. CLAIR MACKENZIE + + +Alastair St. Clair Mackenzie, author of _The Evolution of Literature_, +was born at Inverness, Scotland, February 17, 1875. "Blue as a molten +sapphire gleams the Moray Firth below Culloden Moor, under whose +purple heather sleep some of the warrior ancestors of Alastair St. +Clair Mackenzie, near which he was born." The University of Glasgow +conferred the degree of Master of Arts upon him in 1892. He then did +graduate work in English at the University of Edinburgh for a year, +after which he studied for some months under Sir Richard C. Jebb of +the University of Cambridge, and Edward Caird of Oxford University. +Mackenzie met S. R. Crockett, Henry Drummond, William Black, Alfred +Tennyson, and many other distinguished men of letters, before he came +to America. After a brief residence in Philadelphia he came to the +State University of Kentucky, at Lexington, in September, 1899, as +head of the department of English, and under his supervision the +curriculum has been extended from three courses to thirty. Among +Kentucky educators he has been the pioneer in introducing Journalism, +Comparative Philology, and Comparative Literature. In 1911 he +received the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws from Kentucky Wesleyan +College, the only degree of the kind ever conferred by that +institution. In 1912 Dr. Mackenzie was Ropes Foundation lecturer at +the University of Cincinnati. He is now dean of the Graduate School of +the University of Kentucky. Besides contributing many articles to +periodicals, Dr. Mackenzie wrote, in 1904, the first history of +Lexington Masonic Lodge, No. 1, the earliest in the West; and, in +1907, the article on Hew Ainslie, the Scottish-Kentucky poet, +published in the _Library of Southern Literature_, and pronounced by +many competent critics to be the finest essay in that great +collection. His _The Evolution of Literature_ (New York, 1911), the +English edition of which was issued by John Murray, London, deals with +the origins of literature, as its title indicates, and it has placed +Dr. Mackenzie at the head of Southern students of this subject. Into +this work went the researches and deliberate judgments of a lifetime; +and that a scholar should produce such a work in the West or South, +without a great library near at hand, is in itself remarkable. Dr. +Mackenzie has done what will probably come to be regarded as the most +scholarly production of a Kentucky hand, although the work is more +suggestive than it is conclusive. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1910, v. + xv); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +A KELTIC TALE[78] + +[From _The Evolution of Literature_ (New York, 1911)] + +Here is an old Keltic tale of farewell. It was a night of mist, a low +moon brooding over the braes, the heathery braes. The man sat by the +seashore, as he sang quaint ballads of a land across the water, where +men never see death. There was none to reveal the secrets of the +glens, nor could any one tell him what the eagle cried to the stag at +the corrie, while the burn wimpled on with its song of sobbing. He sat +and listened, but he was knowing naught of sadness. To his ears came +only the accents of the fairies of joy, and they called him to seek +the fountain where song had its birth. Away from the sea he climbed +till its voice came faint, faint across the bracken. At last, full +weary, he slept. The night passed, and a leveret stood up, gazing upon +his face without fear. A deer came to the stream, beheld the sleeping +figure, and fled not. A grey linnet perched upon the pale hand lying +across the bosom; it looked the sun in the face, and sang, but the man +did not awake. Again the shadows melted into the night of stars, and +the hills said to one another, "He has found Death and Life. For we +know, and God knows, all his dreams. He has found the secret of the +sea, the message of all the streams, and the fountain-head of song." + +In quest of literary strivings and achievements, lowly as well as +exalted, we have journeyed through all the principal lands of the globe. +The forests of Africa have shaded us from the scorching sun, and the +tang of the salt sea has smitten us off Cape Horn. Visions of scenes +familiar have mingled with sights and sounds of cities that flourished +forty centuries ago. Wherever we have gone, we have noticed that +vitality is the quality which gives permanent value to all true art. +Popular opinion, blind perhaps to the qualities of art as art, caring +nothing about the more elusive charms of verse and prose, is quick to +detect the presence or absence of a vital relationship between +literature and humanity. Literary art voices life and gives life. The +higher the art the more effectively does it fill the onlooker with a +sense of life, personal and racial, dignified, wholesome, inexhaustible. +Apparently it is the ideal within the real that becomes ever more +manifest in the course of the evolution of literature. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[78] Copyright, 1911, by Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. + + + + + +LAURA SPENCER PORTOR + + +Miss Laura Spencer Portor, poet and short-story writer, was born at +Covington, Kentucky, in 1875. She lived at Covington until ten years +old, when she was taken to Paris, France, where she attended private +schools for two years. She returned to Kentucky, and attended school +at Cincinnati, but she afterwards entered the old Norwood Institute, +Washington. Her education being finished, Miss Portor again made her +home at Covington, where she resided until a few years ago, when she +went to New York, her home at the present time. She has worked in many +literary fields. Children's work; essays; short-stories; feature and +editorial work of all kinds; and verse for children and "grown-ups." +Miss Portor is now children's editor of _The Woman's Home Companion_. +She has been so very busy with her magazine work that she has found +time to publish but one book, _Theodora_ (Boston, 1907), a little tale +for children, done in collaboration with Miss Katharine Pyle, sister +of the famous American artist, the late Howard Pyle, and herself an +artist and author of ability and reputation. The next few years will +certainly see several of Miss Portor's manuscripts published in book +form. Among her magazine stories and verse that have attracted +attention may be mentioned her purely Kentucky tales, such as "A +Gentleman of the Blue Grass," published in _The Ladies' Home Journal_; +"The Judge," which appeared in _The Woman's Home Companion_; "Sally," +a Southern story, printed in _The Atlantic Monthly_; and "My French +School Days," an essay, also printed in _The Atlantic_, are thought to +be the best things in prose Miss Portor has written so far. Her poems, +"The Little Christ" (_Atlantic Monthly_), and "But One Leads South" +(_McClure's Magazine_), are her most characteristic work in verse. She +has written much for children in both prose and poetry. Miss Portor +is one of Kentucky's proudest hopes in fiction or verse, and the books +that are to be published from her pen will bring together her work in +a manner that will be highly pleasing to her admirers. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Harper's Magazine_ (August, 1900); _St. Nicholas + Magazine_ (October, 1912). + + +THE LITTLE CHRIST[79] + +[From _The Atlantic Monthly_, December, 1905] + + Mother, I am thy little Son-- + Why weepest thou? + + _Hush! for I see a crown of thorns, + A bleeding brow._ + + Mother, I am thy little Son-- + Why dost thou sigh? + + _Hush! for the shadow of the years + Stoopeth more nigh!_ + + Mother, I am thy little Son-- + Oh, smile on me. + The birds sing blithe, the birds sing gay, + The leaf laughs on the tree. + + _Oh, hush thee! The leaves do shiver sore + That tree whereon they grow, + I see it hewn, and bound, to bear + The weight of human woe!_ + + Mother, I am thy little Son-- + The Night comes on apace-- + When all God's waiting stars shall smile + On me in thy embrace. + + _Oh, hush thee! I see black starless night! + Oh, could'st thou slip away + Now, by the hawthorn hedge of Death,-- + And get to God by Day!_ + + +BUT ONE LEADS SOUTH[80] + +[From _McClure's Magazine_, December, 1909] + + So many countries of the earth, + So many lands of such great worth; + So stately, tall, and fair they shine,-- + So royal, all,--but one is mine. + + So many paths that come and go, + Busy and freighted, to and fro; + So many that I never see + That still bring gifts and friends to me; + So many paths that go and come, + But one leads South,--and that leads home. + + Oh, I would rather see the face + Of that dear land a little space + Than have earth's richest, fairest things + My own, or touch the hands of kings.-- + I'm homesick for it! When at night + The silent road runs still and white,-- + Runs onward, southward, still and fair, + And I know well it's going there, + And I know well at last 'twill come + To that old candle-lighted home,-- + Though all the candles of heaven are lit, + I'm homesick for the sight of it! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[79] Copyright, 1905, by Houghton, Mifflin Company. + +[80] Copyright, 1909, by S. S. McClure Company. + + + + +LEIGH GORDON GILTNER + + +Miss Leigh Gordon Giltner, poet and short-story writer, was born at +Eminence, Kentucky, in 1875. She is the daughter of the Rev. W. S. +Giltner, who was for many years president of Eminence College, from +which the future writer was graduated. She later pursued a course in +English at the University of Chicago, and studied Shakespeare and +dramatic art with Hart Conway of the Chicago School of Acting. Miss +Giltner's book of lyrics, _The Path of Dreams_ (Chicago, 1900), brought +her many kind words from the reviewers. This little book contained some +very excellent verse, but, shortly after its appearance, the author +abandoned poesy for the short-story. Her stories and sketches have +appeared in the _New England Magazine_, _The Century_, _Munsey's +Overland Monthly_, _The Reader_, _The Era_, and several other +periodicals. Within the last year or so she has had quite a number of +short-stories in _Young's Magazine_ "of breezy stories." At the present +time Miss Giltner has a Kentucky novel and a comedy in preparation, both +of which should appear shortly. She is one of the most beautiful of +Kentucky's writers: her frontispiece portrait in _The Path of Dreams_ is +said to have disarmed many carping critics who untied the little volume +with malice aforethought. But back of her personal loveliness, is a mind +of much power, cleverness, and originality. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Nation_ (September 6, 1900); _Munsey's + Magazine_ (October, 1902); _The Overland_ (October, 1910). + + +THE JESTING GODS[81] + +[From _Munsey's Magazine_ (July, 1904)]. + +From the first it had been, in the nature of things, perfectly patent +to every member of the party gathered at Grantleigh for the shooting +that Tompkins' bride cared not a whit for Tompkins--which, if one +happened to know the man, was scarcely a matter for surprise. + +Tompkins, though a good fellow on the whole, was an unmitigated idiot. +Not a mere insignificant unit in the world's noble army of fools, but +a fool so conspicuous and of so infinite a variety as to be at all +times the cynosure of the general gaze. + +When a man is a fool and knows it, his folly not infrequently attains +the measure of wisdom. Let him but conceal his motley beneath a cloak +of weighty silence and he will presently acquire a reputation for +solid intelligence and a wise conservatism. But Tompkins was not one +of these. He joyously jangled his bells and flourished his bauble, +wholly unaware the while of the spectacle he was making of himself. If +he could have been persuaded to take on a neutral tint and keep +himself well in the background, inanity might, in time, have assumed +the dignity of intellectuality: but he lacked the sense of proportion, +of values. He was always in the foreground and always a more or less +inharmonious element in the _ensemble_. + +Tompkins had published an impossible volume of prose, followed by a +yet more impossible volume of verse: his crudely impressionistic +essays at art made the judicious grieve: he dabbled in music and posed +as a lyric tenor, though he had neither voice nor ear. A temperament +essentially histrionic kept him constantly in the centre of the stage. +With no remote realization of his limitations, he aspired to play +leads and heavies, when Fate had inexorably cast him for a line of low +comedy. He contrived to make divers and sundry kinds and degrees of an +idiot of himself on all possible occasions--and even when there was no +possible occasion therefor. He had a faculty for doing the wrong thing +which amounted to inspiration. + +We had been wont to speculate at the Club as to whether Tompkins would +ever find a woman the measure of whose folly should so far exceed his +own as to impel her to marry him. We wondered much when we heard that +he had at last achieved this feat. We wondered more when we saw the +woman who had made it a possibility. + +"_Titania_ and _Bottom_, by Jove!" whispered Ronalds to me as Tompkins +followed his wife into the drawing-room on the evening of their arrival +at Grantleigh Manor. (Tompkins is asked everywhere on account of his +relationship to old Lord Wrexford.) My fancy, which I had allowed to +play freely about the lady of Tompkins' choice since I had heard of his +marriage, had wavered between a spinster of uncertain age who had +accepted him as a _dernier resort_ and a simpering school girl too young +to know her own mind. I now glanced at the bride--and gasped. + +She was one of those women whose beauty is so absolute, so compelling, +as to admit of neither question nor criticism. It quite took away +one's breath. Every man in the room was gaping at her, but she bore +the ordeal with all grace and calm, though she was the daughter of a +struggling curate in some obscure locality remote from social +advantages. She was of a singularly striking type: the beauty of her +face was almost tragic in its intensity: the ghost of some immemorial +sorrow seemed to lurk in the depths of her dark eyes: but when her too +sombre expression was irradiated by the transient gleam of her rare +smile, she was positively dazzling. (I am aware that I shall seem to +"promulgate rhapsodies for dogmas" so to speak, but my proverbial +indifference to feminine charm should endorse me.) + + * * * * * + +As the days passed--we were at Grantleigh for a fortnight--I found +myself watching for some flaw in her conception, some inaccuracy in +her interpretation of her _role_. But I watched in vain. There was +always a perfect appreciation of the requirements of the situation, +always the perfection of taste in its treatment. Evidently she had +thrown herself into the part and was playing it--would play it, +perhaps, to the end--with artistic _abandon_, tempered by a fine +discretion and discrimination. If her yoke galled, this proud woman +made no sign. But even the subtlest artiste has her unguarded moment, +and it was in such a moment that I chanced to see her the night before +the last of our stay. + +The men had come in late from a day's shooting over the moors and were +on their way to their rooms to dress for dinner. Tompkins had gone up +stairs just ahead of me (his apartments were next mine) and had +carelessly left a door opening on the corridor slightly ajar. In +passing I unconsciously glanced that way and my eyes fell full upon +the mirrored face of Elinor Tompkins as her husband crossed toward +where she sat at her dressing table. The flash of feeling that crossed +her countenance held me for a moment transfixed. Such a look, such an +unbelievable complex of shrinking, repugnance, utter loathing and +self-contempt I had never seen or imagined.... Like a flash it came +and went. The next instant she had forced herself to smile and was +lifting her face for her husband's caress, while Tompkins, physically +and mentally short-sighted, bent and inclined his lips to hers. I +caught my breath sharply. A choking sensation in my throat paid +tribute to her art. Not even Duse was more a mistress of emotional +control, expression, and repression. But this was something more than +the perfection of acting: it was courage, the courage of endurance +long drawn out--a greater than that which impels men to the cannon's +mouth and a swift and sure surcease from suffering. + +That evening at dinner, Villars, who had run up to town for the day, +and found time for a gossip at the Club, proceeded to open his budget. +He had had the satisfaction of surprising us with the rumored +engagement of Lady Agatha Trelor to the scapegrace son of an +impoverished peer: he had hinted delicately at a scandal in high +official life: and had made his climax with the announcement of the +sudden demise of old Lord Ilverton and the consequent succession of +Delmar to his title and estates--when I glanced, by purest chance, at +Mrs. Tompkins. (I had fallen into a way of looking at her often--she +was certainly an interesting study.) Her face was white, even to the +lips. Chancing to turn, she found my eyes upon her. In an instant she +had somehow compelled the color to her cheeks and recovered her wonted +perfect poise and calm. + +That night in the smoking room, Villars shed light upon the subject. +Tompkins was presumably haunting his wife's footsteps at the moment. +In his unconscious egotism he never spared her: there was seldom a +moment when she might drop her smiling mask: the essence of his +personality pervaded her whole atmosphere. + +"I met old Waxby at the Club to-day," Villars was saying, +"and--_apropos_ of Delmar's succession to the title--he mentioned that +there had been a serious affair of the heart between him and our +fellow-guest, Mrs. Tompkins, then Elinor Barton. It seems one of +Ilverton's innumerable country places was near the village where the +Bartons lived and Delmar met the girl there last Autumn. The affair +soon assumed serious proportions: Ilverton heard of the engagement: +cut up an awful shindy: had a scene with Del, and finally bundled him +off to India post haste. The girl had grit, though. She sent her +compliments to Lord Ilverton with the assurance that he need have +given himself no uneasiness, as she had already twice refused his son +and heir, and was prepared to repeat the refusal should occasion +arise. They say his Lordship, who had cooled down a bit, chuckled +mightily over the message and vowed that had it only been one of his +younger sons, she should have had him, by Jupiter!... But things +weren't easy for the girl at home. She had an invalid mother, a +nervous, nagging creature, who dinned it into her ears that she'd lost +the chance of a lifetime: that she was standing in the light of three +marriageable younger sisters: that with her limited social advantages +few matrimonial opportunities might be expected to come her way--and +more to the same effect till the poor girl was nearly driven frantic." + +"Why not have tried the stage--with her voice and presence any manager +would have been glad to take her on," Landis suggested. + +"She considered it, they say, but her reverend father turned a fit at +the bare suggestion. At this juncture, Tompkins presented himself as a +suitor: it was duly pointed out to Miss Barton by her loving parents +that he was rather an eligible _parti_: rich, not bad looking, and a +nephew of Wrexford's, and that she would better take the goods the +gods provided, which, in sheer desperation, she ultimately did. You +can see she loathes him, but she's evidently made up her mind to be +decent to him--and by Jove, she doesn't do it by halves! She's got +sand, all right, and I honor her for the way she makes the best of a +bad bargain--though it's not a pleasant thing to see." + +"It's a beastly pity!" broke in Ronalds warmly. "It makes me ill to see +her wasting herself and her subtleties on a dolt like Algy. What a +splendid pair she and Del would have made, and what a shame his Lordship +didn't obligingly die a few months sooner--since it had to be!" + +At this precise moment I caught sight of Tompkins standing just +without the parted portierres. How long he had been there I could not +guess, but doubtless quite long enough. He looked like a man who had +had a facer and was a bit dazed in consequence. I think I gasped, for +on the instant he looked my way with a glance that held an appeal, +which I must somehow have answered. In an instant he was gone and the +other men, all unaware of his proximity, pursued their theme. + +I did not see Tompkins at our hurried buffet breakfast next morning, and +I began to hope he would not go out with the guns that day, thus sparing +me the awkward necessity of meeting him again. But he presently appeared +on the terrace in his shooting togs, and I knew I was in for it. His +manner, however, which was entirely as usual, reassured me. Either he +had heard less than I had feared or the callousness of stupidity +protected him. He chatted with his wonted gayety with the men: he made +the ladies at hand to see us off a labored compliment or two, and met my +eye without consciousness or embarassment. I wondered if it were +stolidity or stoicism? All day he was in the best of spirits: he was +positively hilarious when we gathered at the gamekeeper's cottage for +luncheon--and I decided upon the former with a sense of relief, for the +thing had somehow got on my nerves. + +But later, as we returned to the field, he so palpably waited for me +to come up with him (we always put Tompkins in the van for safety's +sake--he did such fearful and wonderful things with his gun) that I +was forced to join him. After a moment he said, with an effort: + +"Sibley, I want to ask, as a very great personal favor, that you will +never, under any circumstances, mention to anyone--to _any one_," he +repeated, with a curious effect of earnestness, "about--last night." + +I hastened to give him my assurance. It was the least I could do. + +"Thank you," he said simply. "I felt I might depend upon you." Then, +because we were men--and Englishmen--we spoke of other things. + +Late that afternoon, as we bent our steps homeward, Tompkins and I +found ourselves again together. We had somehow strayed from the rest, +and under the guidance of a keeper, striding ahead, laden with +trappings of the hunt, were making our way toward Grantleigh. +Tompkins' manner was entirely simple and unconstrained. A respect I +had not previously accorded him was growing upon me. We were both dead +tired, and when we spoke at all it was of the day's sport. + +As we neared the Manor, the keeper, far in the lead, vaulted lightly +over a stile in a hedgerow. I followed less lightly (my enemies aver +that I am growing stout) with Tompkins in the rear.... Suddenly a shot, +abnormally loud and harsh in the twilight hush, rang out at my back. +Blind and deaf--fatally blind and deaf as I had been--I realized its +import on the instant. Even before I turned I knew what I should see. + +Tompkins was lying in a huddled heap at the foot of the stile, and as +I bent over him I saw that it was a matter of moments. He had bungled +things all his life, poor fellow, but he had not bungled this. + +"An accident, Sibley," he gasped, as I knelt beside him. "I +was--always--awkward--with a gun, you know. _An accident_--you'll +remember, old man? Elinor must not--" + +Speech failed him for an instant. An awful agony was upon him, but no +moan escaped his lips. His life had been a farce, a failure, but if he +had not known how to live, assuredly he knew how to die.... The +shadows were closing round him. He put out a groping hand for mine. + +"I think I'm--going, Sibley," he whispered. "Tell Elinor--" And with +her name upon his lips, he went out into the dark. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[81] Copyright, 1904, by the Frank A. Munsey Company. + + + + + +MARGARET S. ANDERSON + + +Miss Margaret Steele Anderson, poet and critic, was born at +Louisville, Kentucky, in 1875. She was educated in the public schools, +with a short special course at Wellesley College. Since 1901 Miss +Anderson has been literary editor of _The Evening Post_, of +Louisville, having a half-page of book reviews and literary notes in +the Saturday edition. From 1903 to 1908 she was "outside reader" for +_McClure's Magazine_; and since quitting _McClure's_, she has been a +public lecturer upon literature and art in New York, Philadelphia, +Pittsburg, Memphis, and Lake Chautauqua. Miss Anderson's fine poems +have appeared in _The Atlantic Monthly_, _The Century_, _McClure's_, +but the greater number of them have been published in _The American +Magazine_. She has also contributed considerable verse to the minor +magazines. The next year will witness Miss Anderson's poems brought +together in a charming volume, entitled _The Flame in the Wind_, which +form they very certainly merit. No Kentucky woman of the present time +has done better work in verse than has she. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _McClure's Magazine_ (August, 1902); _The Century_ + (September, 1904). + + +THE PRAYER OF THE WEAK[82] + +[From _McClure's Magazine_ (September, 1909)] + + Lord of all strength--behold, I am but frail! + Lord of all harvest--few the grapes and pale + Allotted for my wine-press! Thou, O Lord, + Who holdest in Thy gift the tempered sword, + Hast armed me with a sapling! Lest I die, + Then hear my prayer, make answer to my cry: + Grant me, I pray, to tread my grapes as one + Who hath full vineyards, teeming in the sun; + Let me dream valiantly; and undismayed + Let me lift up my sapling like a blade; + Then, Lord, Thy cup for mine abundant wine! + Then, Lord, Thy foeman for that steel of mine! + + +NOT THIS WORLD[83] + +[From _McClure's Magazine_ (November, 1909)] + + Shall I not give this world my heart, and well, + If for naught else, for many a miracle + Of spring, and burning rose, and virgin snow?-- + _Nay, by the spring that still shall come and go + When thou art dust, by roses that shall blow + Across thy grave, and snows it shall not miss, + Not this world, oh, not this!_ + + Shall I not give this world my heart, who find + Within this world the glories of the mind-- + That wondrous mind that mounts from earth to God?-- + _Nay, by the little footways it hath trod, + And smiles to see, when thou art under sod, + And by its very gaze across the abyss, + Not this world, oh, not this!_ + + Shall I not give this world my heart, who hold + One figure here above myself, my gold, + My life and hope, my joy and my intent?-- + _Nay, by that form whose strength so soon is spent, + That fragile garment that shall soon be rent, + By lips and eyes the heavy earth shall kiss, + Not this world, oh, not this!_ + + Then this poor world shall not my heart disdain? + Where beauty mocks and springtime comes in vain, + And love grows mute, and wisdom is forgot? + _Thou child and thankless! On this little spot_ + _Thy heart hath fed, and shall despise it not; + Yea, shall forget, through many a world of bliss, + Not this world, oh, not this!_ + + +WHISTLER (AT THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM)[84] + +[From _The Atlantic Monthly_ (August, 1910)] + + So sharp the sword, so airy the defense! + As 'twere a play, or delicate pretense; + So fine and strange--so subtly-poised, too-- + The egoist that looks forever through! + + That winged spirit--air and grace and fire-- + A-flutter at the frame, is your desire; + Nay, it is you--who never knew the net, + Exquisite, vain--whom we shall not forget! + +FOOTNOTES: + +[82] Copyright, 1909, by S. S. McClure Company. + +[83] Copyright, 1909, by S. S. McClure Company. + +[84] Copyright, 1910, by the Atlantic Monthly Company. + + + + +ABBY MEGUIRE ROACH + + +Mrs. Abby Meguire Roach, "the very cleverest of the Louisville school +of women novelists," was born at Philadelphia in 1876. She was +educated in the schools of her native city, finishing her training +with a year at Wellesley College. In 1899 she was married to Mr. Neill +Roach, of Louisville, Kentucky, and that city has been her home since. +Mrs. Roach wrote many stories of married life for the New York +magazines, which were afterwards collected and published as _Some +Successful Marriages_ (New York, 1906). These have been singled out by +the reviewers as "charming" and "most beautiful"; and her work has +been compared to Miss May Sinclair's, the famous English novelist. One +of Mrs. Roach's most recent stories was published in _The Century +Magazine_ for July, 1907, entitled "Manifest Destiny," but this has +not been followed by any others in the last year or so. +"Unremembering June," one of the best of the tales in _Some Successful +Marriages_, relates the love of Molly-Moll for her invalid husband, +after whose death she falls in love with Reno, the father of Lola, +"who had been his salvage from the wreck of his marriage." + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Harper's Magazine_ (May, 1907); _Library of + Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909, v. xv), contains Miss Marilla + Waite Freeman's excellent study of Mrs. Roach. + + +UNREMEMBERING JUNE[85] + +[From _Some Successful Marriages_ (New York, 1906)] + +"And you will let me have word of you? Surely? And give me a chance to +be of use? Won't you?" he persisted, taking leave. She swept his face +swiftly with a glance of inquiry, intelligence. "Won't you?" + +"O-h--perhaps," with just the faintest puckering of the mouth. + +But spring passed without word from her, until there were times when +Reno's impatience seethed like a colony of bees at hiving-time. + +At last he wrote. + +With unpardonable deliberation a brief answer came: Molly's son was a +couple months old, but not yet finished enough to be much to look at. + +He wrote again: Lola was pale from the city, and bored with herself +and her maid; a farm with other children on it sounded like fairyland +to her. Could some arrangement be made...? + +Lola had been there a month before he had any word but her own +hard-written and naturally not very voluminous love-letters, letters in +which the homesickness was an ever fainter and fainter echo of the first +wild cry, and in which the references to "Dandie" made it plain that she +had adopted the other children's auntie into a peculiar relationship +with herself. At last a postscript from Mrs. Loring herself: + +"Wouldn't you like to come to see her? It's worth a longer trip." + +"Of course I would. You're uncommon slow asking me. What kind of +father, and man, do you think me?" + +Molly was standing with the baby in her arms, chewing its chub of +fist. In the warm wind soft wisps of blown brown hair curled all +around forehead and neck. Her flesh was firm, transparent, aglow; her +skin as clear, satiny, pink as the baby's. And what generous, sweet +plumpness! She was at perhaps the most beautiful time of a woman's +life--in the glamour of first young motherhood, with the beauty of +perfect health and uncoarsened maturity. + +And in the black-and-white of her shirt-waist suit there was no more +suggestion of mourning than there is thought of winter in full +June--rich, warm, full of promise, "unremembering June," the present +and future tenses of the year's declension. + +As she stood biting the baby, Reno understood why. His look devoured +her. + +Seeing him, her eyes only gave greeting, and, smiling, directed his to +the group of animated children's overalls in a sand-pile in front of +her. One particular occupant of one particular pair of overalls spied +him. Lola flew. He held her off, brown, round, rosy. "Why, who is +this? Whose little girl--or boy--are you?" + +Her head dropped; she dropped from his hand like a nipped flower. + +"Whose little girl _are_ you?" coached a rich voice with an +undercurrent of laughter. + +Like a flower again, the child swayed at the breath of that elemental +nature. "Dandie's little girl," ventured a small voice. At sight of +the father's face, Molly laughed, a laugh of many significances. And +with a flood of recollected loyalty, "_Papa's!_" gasped the child, and +smothered him with remorse. + +"Wouldn't you like to be Dandie's and papa's little girl all at once?" + +("Well! I like that!") + +"Why, yes. Ain't I? Can't I?" + +"I think you can." + +("Oh, you do?") + +"No?" His grip on her wrist hurt, and forced her to look up. ("Is it +only a mother you want for Lola--and yourself?"); and, looking, she +was satisfied; and, looking, she flushed slowly from head to foot, +answering him. + +"The most loyal, affectionate woman in the world!" he added, after a +little. + +"Oh, never mind the fairy tales!" she scoffed, pleased, waiting. + +He spoke none of the time-honored commonplaces that belittle or +dignify or mask the real individual feeling under the stereotype of +what it is assumed love ought to be. He could foresee her amusement. +Besides, it would have been about as appropriate as trying to capture +a bird with a smile. + +"But I would never marry any woman that I wasn't sure would be kind to +Lola and fond of her." + +"Oh, Lola!" Her whole look was soft and sweet. "I am fond of her now." +Then a mischievous laugh bubbled in her throat. "And could be of you, +too, if you insist." Even with the laugh her eyes were deeper than +words, grave and tender. + +"As to that, also, Molly-Moll, what you will be to me I am quite +satisfied, quite." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[85] Copyright, 1906, by Harper and Brothers. + + + + +IRVIN S. COBB + + +Irvin Shrewsbury Cobb, humorist and short-story writer, was born at +Paducah, Kentucky, June 23, 1876. He was educated in public and +private schools, but the newspaper field loomed large before him, and +at the age of nineteen he became editor of the Paducah _Daily News_. +For three years he conducted the "Sour Mash" column in the Louisville +_Evening Post_, when he returned to Paducah to become managing editor +of the _News-Democrat_, which position he held from 1901 to 1904. Late +in the year of 1904 Mr. Cobb went to New York, and for a year he was +editor of the humorous section and special writer for _The Evening +Sun_. In 1905 he became staff humorist for _The World_, and for the +following six years he remained with that paper. Mr. Cobb has written +several plays, none of which have been published in book form, but +they have been produced upon the stage. They include: _The +Campaigner_, _Funabashi_, _Mr. Busybody_, _The Gallery God_, _The +Yeggman_, and _Daffy-Down-Dilly_. He has written many humorous +stories, among which may be mentioned: _New York Through Funny +Glasses_, _The Hotel Clerk_, _Live Talks with Dead Ones_, _Making +Peace at Portsmouth_, _The Gotham Geography_, and _The Diary of Noah_. + +Then, one day, the daily grind racked his nerves, he rebelled and +bethought himself of the good old days in Kentucky years agone. Ah, what +a fine chapter was added to the history of our native letters when Cobb +looked backward! Now, when he was but twenty-four years of age, he had +written a story, a horror tale of Reelfoot Lake, which he named +"Fishhead" and immediately forgot, but which he had brought on East with +him. On this he made some minor revisions and started it on its round of +the magazine editors. But Cobb didn't wait for the fate of "Fishhead"; +and it's a good thing that he didn't! He wrote what he now regards as +his first fiction story, The Escape of Mr. Trimm; and _The Saturday +Evening Post_ accepted it so quickly, printing it in the issue for +November 27, 1909, that Cobb gleefully cashed the cheque and sent them +another shortly thereafter. The editor of _The Post_, George Horace +Lorimer, whom many competent judges considered the greatest editor in +the United States, realized that a new literary planet had swam into his +ken; and in 1911 he asked Cobb to become a staff contributor, which the +Kentuckian was delighted to do. All of his stories have appeared in that +publication, all save _Fishhead_, which Mr. Lorimer regarded as a bit +too strong medicine for his subscribers. Mr. Cobb's next big story in +_The Post_ was one that he has come to regard as the best thing he has +done hitherto, "An Occurrence Up a Side Street," which appeared in the +issue for January 21, 1911. This was a real horror tale, a "thriller," +making one couple the name of Cobb with Poe, a comparison which has +gathered strength with the passing of the months. For _The Post_ Mr. +Cobb created Judge Priest, a character that has made him famous. He did +a group of tales about and around this leading citizen of a certain +Southern town--which town was none other than his own Paducah; and which +character was none other than old Judge Bishop, whom many Kentuckians +recall with pleasure. Cobb is a great realist and he has never had any +patience with the romanticists. He painted the old town and the old +judge and the judge's friends and enemies--if he had any--just as he +remembered them. The best of these yarns, perhaps, was "Words and +Music," printed in the issue for October 28, 1911; and when they were +collected the other day and published under the title of _Back Home_ +(New York, 1912), that story, in which the old judge "rambles," was the +first of the ten tales the book contained. Some reviewers of this work +have rather loosely characterized it as a novel, and in a certain big +sense it is; but the sub-title is a better description: "the narrative +of Judge Priest and his people." The book is really a series of +pictures; and what Francis H. Underwood did so well in his Kentucky +novel, _Lord of Himself_, and what William C. Watts did much better in +his _Chronicles of a Kentucky Settlement_, Irvin S. Cobb has done in a +manner superior to either of them in his _Back Home_. Judge Priest is a +worthy and welcome addition to the gallery of American heroes of prose +fiction, hung next to Bret Harte's highest heroes. Cohan and Harris have +acquired the dramatic rights of his book, and it is to be made into +play-form by Bayard Veiller, author of _Within the Law_, the great +"hit" of the 1912 New York season, in collaboration with the Kentuckian, +who once wrote of his original plays, which have already been listed: +"One was accidentally destroyed, one was lost, and one was loaned out +and never returned." Let us hope that none of these things may overtake +the present work; and that, when Thomas Wise struts across the boards in +the autumn of 1913 as Judge Priest he may receive a bigger "hand" than +he ever drew in _The Gentleman from Mississippi_. + +Besides these tales of Judge Priest, Cobb wrote several detached +short-stories, and many humorous articles for _The Post_ during 1912. +The best of this humor appeared simultaneously with _Back Home_, in a +delightful little book, called _Cobb's Anatomy_ (New York, 1912). This +contained four essays on the following subjects: "Tummies," perhaps +the funniest thing he has done so far; "Teeth;" "Hair;" "Hands and +Feet." The only adverse criticism to make of the work was its length: +it was too short. Its sequel will appear in 1913 under the title of +_Cobb's Bill of Fare_, containing four humorous skits. Aside from his +Judge Priest yarns, which began in _The Post_ in the autumn of 1911 +and ran throughout the year of 1912, and his humorous papers which +also appeared from time to time, Cobb wrote the greatest short-story +ever written by a Kentuckian (save that first book of stories by James +Lane Allen), entitled "The Belled Buzzard" (_The Post_, September 28, +1912). This, with "An Occurrence Up a Side Street," and "Fishhead," +which is to be published in _The Cavalier_ for January 11, 1913, after +having been rejected by almost every reputable magazine in America, +form a trio of horror tales of such power as to compel comparison with +the best work of Edgar Poe, with the "shade" going to the Kentuckian +in many minds. All three of them, together with "The Escape of Mr. +Trimm"; "The Exit of Anse Dugmore," a Kentucky mountain yarn; and +four unpublished stories, called "Another of Those Cub Reporter +Stories"; "Smoke of Battle"; "To the Editor of the Sun;" and "Guilty +as Charged," will appear in book form in the autumn of 1913, entitled +_The Escape of Mr. Trimm_. + +In summing up Cobb's work for the New York _Sun_, Robert H. Davis, +editor of the Munsey magazines, wrote: "Gelett Burgess, in a lecture +at Columbia College, said that Cobb was one of the ten great American +humorists. Cobb ought to demand a recount. There are not ten humorists +in the world, although Cobb is one of them.... Thus in Irvin Cobb we +find Mark Twain, Bret Harte, and Edgar Allan Poe at their best.... If +he uses his pen for an Alpine stock, the Matterhorn is his." And +George Horace Lorimer holds that Cobb is "the biggest writing-man ever +born in Kentucky; and he's going to get better all the time." This is +certainly high praise, but that it voices the opinions of many people +is beyond all question. "The great 'find' of 1912" may be the +trade-mark of his future. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Everybody's Magazine_ (April, 1911); _Hampton's + Magazine_ (October, 1911); _The American Magazine_ (November, + 1912); _Who's Cobb and Why_, by R. H. Davis (New York, 1912, a + brochure). + + +THE BELLED BUZZARD[86] + +[From _The Saturday Evening Post_ (Philadelphia, September 28, 1912)] + +There was a swamp known as Little Niggerwool, to distinguish it from +Big Niggerwool, which lay nearer the river. It was traversable only by +those who knew it well--an oblong stretch of yellow mud and yellower +water, measuring, maybe four miles its longest way and two miles +roughly at its widest; and it was full of cypress and stunted swamp +oak, with edgings of cane-break and rank weeds; and in one place, +where a ridge crossed it from side to side, it was snaggled like an +old jaw with dead tree-trunks, rising close-ranked and thick as teeth. +It was untenanted of living things--except, down below, there were +snakes and mosquitoes, and a few wading and swimming fowl; and up +above, those big woodpeckers that the country people called +logcocks--larger than pigeons, with flaming crests and spiky +tails--swooping in their long, loping flight from snag to snag, always +just out of gunshot of the chance invader, and uttering a strident cry +which matched those surroundings so fitly that it might well have been +the voice of the swamp itself. + +On one side Little Niggerwool drained its saffron waters off into a +sluggish creek, where summer ducks bred, and on the other it ended +abruptly at a natural bank of high ground, along which the county +turnpike ran. The swamp came right up to the road, and thrust its +fringe of reedy, weedy undergrowth forward as though in challenge to +the good farm lands that were spread beyond the barrier. At the time I +am speaking of it was midsummer, and from these canes and weeds and +waterplants there came a smell so rank as almost to be overpowering. +They grew thick as a curtain, making a blank green wall taller than a +man's head. + +Along the dusty stretch of road fronting the swamp nothing living had +stirred for half an hour or more. And so at length the weedstems +rustled and parted, and out from among them a man came forth silently +and cautiously. He was an old man--an old man who had once been fat, +but with age had grown lean again, so that now his skin was by odds +too large for him. It lay on the back of his neck in folds. Under the +chin he was pouched like a pelican and about the jowls was wattled +like a turkey-gobbler. + +He came out upon the road slowly and stopped there, switching his legs +absently with the stalk of a horseweed. He was in his shirtsleeves--a +respectable, snuffy old figure; evidently a man deliberate in words +and thoughts and actions. There was something about him suggestive of +an old staid sheep that had been engaged in a clandestine transaction +and was afraid of being found out. + +He had made amply sure no one was in sight before he came out of the +swamp, but now, to be doubly certain, he watched the empty road--first +up, then down--for a long half minute, and fetched a sighing breath of +satisfaction. His eyes fell upon his feet and, taken with an idea, he +stepped back to the edge of the road and with a wisp of crabgrass +wiped his shoes clean of the swamp mud, which was of a different color +and texture from the soil of the upland. All his life Squire H. B. +Gathers had been a careful, canny man, and he had need to be doubly +careful on this summer morning. Having disposed of the mud on his +feet, he settled his white straw hat down firmly upon his head, and, +crossing the road, he climbed a stake-and-rider fence laboriously and +went plodding sedately across a weedfield and up a slight slope toward +his house, half a mile away, upon the crest of the little hill. + +He felt perfectly natural--not like a man who had just taken a +fellowman's life--but natural and safe, and well satisfied with +himself and his morning's work. And he was safe--that was the main +thing--absolutely safe. Without hitch or hindrance he had done the +thing for which he had been planning and waiting and longing all these +months. There had been no slip or mischance; the whole thing had +worked out as plainly and simply as two and two make four. No living +creature except himself knew of the meeting in the early morning at +the head of Little Niggerwool, exactly where the squire had figured +they should meet; none knew of the device by which the other man had +been lured deeper and deeper in the swamp to the exact spot where the +gun was hidden. No one had seen the two of them enter the swamp; no +one had seen the squire emerge, three hours later, alone. The gun, +having served its purpose, was hidden again, in a place no mortal eye +would ever discover. Face downward, with a hole between his +shoulderblades, the dead man was lying where he might lie undiscovered +for months or for years, or forever. His pedler's pack was buried in +the mud so deep that not even the probing crawfishes could find it. He +would never be missed probably. There was but the slightest likelihood +that inquiry would ever be made for him--let alone a search. He was a +stranger and a foreigner, the dead man was, whose comings and goings +made no great stir in the neighborhood, and whose failure to come +again would be taken as a matter of course--just one of those +shiftless, wandering dagoes, here to-day and gone to-morrow. That was +one of the best things about it--these dagoes never had any people in +this country to worry about them or look for them when they +disappeared. And so it was all over and done with, and nobody the +wiser. The squire clapped his hands together briskly with the air of a +man dismissing a subject from his mind for good, and mended his gait. + +He felt no stabbings of conscience. On the contrary, a glow of +gratification filled him. His house was saved from scandal; his present +wife would philander no more--before his very eyes--with these young +dagoes, who came from nobody knew where, with packs on their backs and +persuasive, wheedling tongues in their heads. At this thought the squire +raised his head and considered his homestead. It looked pretty good to +him--the small white cottage among the honey locusts, with beehives and +flowerbeds about it; the tidy whitewashed fence; the sound outbuildings +at the back, and the well-tilled acres roundabout. + +At the fence he halted and turned about, carelessly and casually, and +looked back along the way he had come. Everything was as it should +be--the weedfield steaming in the heat; the empty road stretching +along the crooked ridge like a long gray snake sunning itself; and +beyond it, massing up, the dark, cloaking stretch of swamp. Everything +was all right, but----. The squire's eyes, in their loose sacs of +skin, narrowed and squinted. Out of the blue arch away over yonder a +small black dot had resolved itself and was swinging to and fro, like +a mote. A buzzard--hey? Well, there were always buzzards about on a +clear day like this. Buzzards were nothing to worry about--almost any +time you could see one buzzard, or a dozen buzzards if you were a mind +to look for them. + +But this particular buzzard now--wasn't he making for Little +Niggerwool? The squire did not like the idea of that. He had not +thought of the buzzards until this minute. Sometimes when cattle +strayed the owners had been known to follow the buzzards, knowing +mighty well that if the buzzards led the way to where the stray was, +the stray would be past the small salvage of hide and hoofs--but the +owner's doubts would be set at rest for good and all. + +There was a grain of disquiet in this. The squire shook his head to +drive the thought away--yet it persisted, coming back like a midge +dancing before his face. Once at home, however, Squire Gathers +deported himself in a perfectly normal manner. With the satisfied +proprietorial eye of an elderly husband who has no rivals, he +considered his young wife, busied about her household duties. He sat +in an easy-chair upon his front gallery and read his yesterday's +Courier-Journal which the rural carrier had brought him; but he kept +stepping out into the yard to peer up into the sky and all about him. +To the second Mrs. Gathers he explained that he was looking for +weather signs. A day as hot and still as this one was a regular +weather-breeder; there ought to be rain before night. + +"Maybe so," she said; "but looking's not going to bring rain." + +Nevertheless the squire continued to look. There was really nothing to +worry about; still at midday he did not eat much dinner, and before +his wife was half through with hers he was back on the gallery. His +paper was cast aside and he was watching. The original buzzard--or, +anyhow, he judged it was the first one he had seen--was swinging back +and forth in great pendulum swings, but closer down toward the +swamp--closer and closer--until it looked from that distance as though +the buzzard flew almost at the level of the tallest snags there. And +on beyond this first buzzard, coursing above him, were other buzzards. +Were there four of them? No; there were five--five in all. + +Such is the way of the buzzard--that shifting black question-mark +which punctuates a Southern sky. In the woods a shoat or a sheep or a +horse lies down to die. At once, coming seemingly out of nowhere, +appears a black spot, up five hundred feet or a thousand in the air. +In broad loops and swirls this dot swings round and round and round, +coming a little closer to earth at every turn and always with one +particular spot upon the earth for the axis of its wheel. Out of space +also other moving spots emerge and grow larger as they tack and jibe +and drop nearer, coming in their leisurely buzzard way to the feast. +There is no haste--the feast will wait. If it is a dumb creature that +has fallen stricken the grim coursers will sooner or later be +assembled about it and alongside it, scrouging ever closer and closer +to the dying thing, with awkward outthrustings of their naked necks +and great dust-raising flaps of the huge, unkempt wings; lifting their +feathered shanks high and stiffly like old crippled grave-diggers in +overalls too tight--but silent and patient all, offering no attack +until the last tremor runs through the stiffening carcass and the eyes +glaze over. To humans the buzzard pays a deeper meed of respect--he +hangs aloft longer; but in the end he comes. No scavenger shark, no +carrion crab, has chambered more grisly secrets in his digestive +processes than this big charnel bird. Such is the way of the buzzard. + + * * * * * + +The squire missed his afternoon nap, a thing that had not happened in +years. He stayed on the front gallery and kept count. Those moving +distant black specks typified uneasiness for the squire--not fear +exactly, or panic or anything akin to it, but a nibbling, nagging kind +of uneasiness. Time and again he said to himself that he would not +think about them any more; but he did--unceasingly. + +By supper-time there were seven of them. + + * * * * * + +He slept light and slept badly. It was not the thought of that dead +man lying yonder in Little Niggerwool that made him toss and fume +while his wife snored gently alongside him. It was something else +altogether. Finally his stirrings roused her and she asked drowsily +what ailed him. Was he sick? Or bothered about anything? + +Irritated, he answered her snappishly. Certainly nothing was bothering +him, he told her. It was a hot-enough night--wasn't it? And when a man +got a little along in life he was apt to be a light sleeper--wasn't +that so? Well, then? She turned upon her side and slept again with her +light, purring snore. The squire lay awake, thinking hard and waiting +for day to come. + +At the first faint pink-and-gray glow he was up and out upon the +gallery. He cut a comic figure standing there, in his shirt in the +half light, with the dewlap at his throat dangling grotesquely in the +neck-opening of the unbuttoned garment, and his bare bowed legs +showing, splotched and varicose. He kept his eyes fixed on the skyline +below, to the south. Buzzards are early risers too. Presently, as the +heavens shimmered with the miracle of sunrise, he could make them +out--six or seven, or maybe eight. + +An hour after breakfast the squire was on his way down through the +weed field to the country road. He went half eagerly, half +unwillingly. He wanted to make sure about those buzzards. It might be +that they were aiming for the old pasture at the head of the swamp. +There were sheep grazing there--and it might be that a sheep had died. +Buzzards were notoriously fond of sheep, when dead. Or, if they were +pointed for the swamp he must satisfy himself exactly what part of the +swamp it was. He was at the stake-and-rider fence when a mare came +jogging down the road, drawing a rig with a man in it. At sight of the +squire in the field the man pulled up. + +"Hi, squire!" he began. "Goin' somewheres?" + +"No; jest knockin' about," the squire said--"jest sorter lookin' the +place over." + +"Hot agin--ain't it?" said the other. + +The squire allowed that it was, for a fact, mighty hot. Commonplaces of +gossip followed this--county politics, and a neighbor's wife sick of +breakbone fever down the road a piece. The subject of crops succeeded +inevitably. The squire spoke of the need of rain. Instantly he regretted +it, for the other man, who was by way of being a weather wiseacre, +cocked his head aloft to study the sky for any signs of clouds. + +"Wonder whut all them buzzards are doin' yonder, squire," he said, +pointing upward with his whipstock. + +"Whut buzzards--where?" asked the squire with an elaborate note of +carelessness in his voice. + +"Right yonder, over Little Niggerwool--see 'em there?" + +"Oh, yes," the squire made answer. "Now I see 'em. They ain't doin' +nothin, I reckin--jest flyin' round same as they always do in clear +weather." + +"Must be somethin' dead over there!" speculated the man in the buggy. + +"A hawg probably," said the squire promptly--almost too promptly. +"There's likely to be hawgs usin' in Niggerwool. Bristow, over the +other side from here--he's got a big drove of hawgs." + +"Well, mebbe so," said the man; "but hawgs is a heap more apt to be +feedin' on high ground, seems like to me. Well, I'll be gittin' along +towards town. G'day, squire." And he slapped the lines down on the +mare's flank and jogged off through the dust. + +He could not have suspected anything--that man couldn't. As the squire +turned away from the road and headed for his house he congratulated +himself upon that stroke of his in bringing in Bristow's hogs; and yet +there remained this disquieting note in the situation, that buzzards +flying, and especially buzzards flying over Little Niggerwool, made +people curious--made them ask questions. + +He was halfway across the weedfield when, above the hum of insect +life, above the inward clamor of his own busy speculations, there came +to his ear dimly and distantly a sound that made him halt and cant his +head to one side the better to hear it. Somewhere, a good way off, +there was a thin, thready, broken strain of metallic clinking and +clanking--an eery ghost-chime ringing. It came nearer and became +plainer--tonk-tonk-tonk; then the tonks all running together briskly. + +A cowbell--that was it; but why did it seem to come from overhead, +from up in the sky, like? And why did it shift so abruptly from one +quarter to another--from left to right and back again to left? And how +was it that the clapper seemed to strike so fast? Not even the +breachiest of breachy young heifers could be expected to tinkle a +cowbell with such briskness. The squire's eye searched the earth and +the sky, his troubled mind giving to his eye a quick and flashing +scrutiny. He had it. It was not a cow at all. It was not anything that +went on four legs. + +One of the loathly flock had left the others. The orbit of his swing had +carried him across the road and over Squire Gathers' land. He was +sailing right toward and over the squire now. Craning his flabby neck +the squire could make out the unwholesome contour of the huge bird. He +could see the ragged black wings--a buzzard's wings are so often ragged +and uneven--and the naked throat; the slim, naked head; the big feet +folded up against the dingy belly. And he could see a bell too--an +ordinary cowbell--that dangled at the creature's breast and jangled +incessantly. All his life nearly Squire Gathers had been hearing about +the Belled Buzzard. Now with his own eye he was seeing him. + +Once, years and years and years ago, some one trapped a buzzard, and +before freeing it clamped about its skinny neck a copper band with a +cowbell pendent from it. Since then the bird so ornamented has been +seen a hundred times--and heard oftener--over an area as wide as half +the continent. It has been reported, now in Kentucky, now in Florida, +now in North Carolina--now anywhere between the Ohio River and the +Gulf. Crossroads correspondents take their pens in hand to write to +the country papers that on such and such a date, at such a place, +So-and-So saw the Belled Buzzard. Always it is the Belled Buzzard, +never a belled buzzard. The Belled Buzzard is an institution. + +There must be more than one of them. It seems hard to believe that one +bird, even a buzzard in his prime, and protected by law in every +Southern state and known to be a bird of great age, could live so long +and range so far, and wear a clinking cowbell all the time! Probably +other jokers have emulated the original joker; probably if the truth +were known there have been a dozen such; but the country people will +have it that there is only one Belled Buzzard--a bird that bears a +charmed life and on his neck a never-silent bell. + + * * * * * + +Squire Gathers regarded it a most untoward thing that the Belled Buzzard +should have come just at this time. The movements of ordinary, unmarked +buzzards mainly concerned only those whose stock had strayed; but almost +anybody with time to spare might follow this rare and famous visitor, +this belled and feathered junkman of the sky. Supposing now that some +one followed it to-day--maybe followed it even to a certain thick clump +of cypress in the middle of Little Niggerwool! + +But at this particular moment the Belled Buzzard was heading directly +away from that quarter. Could it be following him? Of course not! It +was just by chance that it flew along the course the squire was +taking. But, to make sure, he veered off sharply, away from the +footpath into the high weeds. He was right; it was only a chance. The +Belled Buzzard swung off, too, but in the opposite direction, with a +sharp tonking of its bell, and, flapping hard, was in a minute or two +out of hearing and sight, past the trees to the westward. + +Again the squire skimped his dinner, and again he spent the long, +drowsy afternoon upon his front gallery. In all the sky there were now +no buzzards visible, belled or unbelled--they had settled to earth +somewhere; and it served somewhat to soothe the squire's pestered +mind. This does not mean, though, that he was by any means easy in his +thoughts. Outwardly he was calm enough, with the ruminative judicial +air befitting the oldest justice of the peace in the county; but, +within him, a little something gnawed unceasingly at his nerves like +one of those small white worms that are to be found in seemingly sound +nuts. About once in so long a tiny spasm of the muscles would contract +the dewlap under his chin. The squire had never heard of that play, +made famous by a famous player, wherein the murdered victim was a +pedler, too, and a clamoring bell the voice of unappeasable remorse in +the murderer's ear. As a strict church goer the squire had no use for +players or for play-actors, and so was spared that added canker to his +conscience. It was bad enough as it was. + +That night, as on the night before, the old man's sleep was broken and +fitful, and disturbed by dreaming, in which he heard a metal clapper +striking against a brazen surface. This was one dream that came true. +Just after daybreak he heaved himself out of bed, with a flop of his +broad bare feet upon the floor, and stepped to the window and peered +out. Half seen in the pinkish light, the Belled Buzzard flapped directly +over his roof and flew due south, right toward the swamp--drawing a +direct line through the air between the slayer and the victim--or, +anyway, so it seemed to the watcher, grown suddenly tremulous. + + * * * * * + +Kneedeep in yellow swamp water the squire squatted, with his shotgun +cocked and loaded and ready, waiting to kill the bird that now +typified for him guilt and danger and an abiding great fear. Gnats +plagued him and about him frogs croaked. Almost overhead a logcock +clung lengthwise to a snag, watching him. Snake-doctors, insects with +bronze bodies and filmy wings, went back and forth like small living +shuttles. Other buzzards passed and repassed, but the squire waited, +forgetting the cramps in his elderly limbs and the discomfort of the +water in his shoes. + +At length he heard the bell. It came nearer and nearer, and the Belled +Buzzard swung overhead not sixty feet up, its black bulk a fair target +against the blue. He aimed and fired, both barrels bellowing at once +and a fog of thick powder smoke enveloping him. Through the smoke he +saw the bird careen, and its bell jangled furiously; then the buzzard +righted itself and was gone, fleeing so fast that the sound of its +bell was hushed almost instantly. Two long wing feathers drifted +slowly down; torn disks of gunwadding and shredded green scraps of +leaves descended about the squire in a little shower. + +He cast his empty gun from him, so that it fell in the water and +disappeared; and he hurried out of the swamp as fast as his shaky legs +would take him, splashing himself with mire and water to his eyebrows. +Mucked with mud, breathing in great gulps, trembling, a suspicious +figure to any eye, he burst through the weed curtain and staggered into +the open, his caution all gone and a vast desperation fairly choking +him--but the gray road was empty and the field beyond the road was +empty; and, except for him, the whole world seemed empty and silent. + +As he crossed the field Squire Gathers composed himself. With plucked +handfuls of grass he cleaned himself of much of the swamp mire that +coated him over; but the little white worm that gnawed at his nerves +had become a cold snake that was coiled about his heart, squeezing it +tighter and tighter! + + * * * * * + +This episode of the attempt to kill the Belled Buzzard occurred in the +afternoon of the third day. In the forenoon of the fourth, the weather +being still hot, with cloudless skies and no air stirring, there was a +rattle of warped wheels in the squire's lane and a hail at his yard +fence. Coming out upon his gallery from the innermost darkened room of +his house, where he had been stretched upon a bed, the squire shaded +his eyes from the glare and saw the constable of his own magisterial +district sitting in a buggy at the gate waiting for some one. + +The old man came down the dirtpath slowly, almost reluctantly, with +his head twisted up sidewise, listening, watching; but the constable +sensed nothing strange about the other's gait and posture; the +constable was full of the news he brought. He began to unload the +burden of it without preamble. + +"Mornin', Squire Gathers. There's been a dead man found in Little +Niggerwool--and you're wanted." + +He did not notice that the squire was holding on with both hands to +the gate; but he did notice that the squire had a sick look out of his +eyes and a dead, pasty color in his face; and he noticed--but attached +no meaning to it--that when the Squire spoke his voice seemed flat and +hollow. + +"Wanted--fur--whut?" The squire forced the words out of his throat. + +"Why, to hold the inquest," explained the constable. "The coroner's +sick abed, and he said you bein' the nearest jestice of the peace +should serve." + +"Oh," said the squire with more ease. "Well, where is it--the body?" + +"They taken it to Bristow's place and put it in his stable for the +present. They brought it out over on that side and his place was the +nearest. If you'll hop in here with me, squire, I'll ride you right +over there now. There's enough men already gathered to make up a jury, +I reckin." + +"I--I ain't well," demurred the squire. "I've been sleepin' porely +these last few nights. It's the heat," he added quickly. + +"Well, such, you don't look very brash, and that's a fact," said the +constable; "but this here job ain't goin' to keep you long. You see +it's in such shape--the body is--that there ain't no way of makin' out +who the feller was, nor whut killed him. There ain't nobody reported +missin' in this county as we know of, either; so I jedge a verdict of +a unknown person dead from unknown causes would be about the correct +thing. And we kin git it all over mighty quick and put him underground +right away, suh--if you'll go along now." + +"I'll go," agreed the squire, almost quivering in his newborn +eagerness. "I'll go right now." He did not wait to get his coat or to +notify his wife of the errand that was taking him. In his shirtsleeves +he climbed into the buggy, and the constable turned his horse and +clucked him into a trot. And now the squire asked the question that +knocked at his lips demanding to be asked--the question the answer to +which he yearned for and yet dreaded. + +"How did they come to find--it?" + +"Well, suh, that's a funny thing," said the constable. "Early this +mornin' Bristow's oldest boy--that one they call Buddy--he heared a +cowbell over in the swamp and so he went to look; Bristow's got cows, +as you know, and one or two of 'em is belled. And he kept on followin' +after the sound of it till he got way down into the thickest part of +them cypress slashes that's near the middle there; and right there he +run acrost it--this body. + +"But, suh, squire, it wasn't no cow at all. No, suh; it was a buzzard +with a cowbell on his neck--that's whut it was. Yes, suh; that there +same old Belled Buzzard he's come back agin and is hangin' round. They +tell me he ain't been seen round here sence the year of the yellow +fever--I don't remember myself, but that's whut they tell me. The +niggers over on the other side are right smartly worked up over it. +They say--the niggers do--that when the Belled Buzzard comes it's a +sign of bad luck for somebody, shore!" + +The constable drove on, talking on, garrulous as a guinea-hen. The +squire didn't heed him. Hunched back in the buggy he harkened only to +those busy inner voices filling his mind with thundering portents. +Even so, his ear was first to catch above the rattle of the buggy +wheels the faraway, faint tonk-tonk! They were about halfway to +Bristow's place then. He gave no sign, and it was perhaps half a +minute before the constable heard it too. + +The constable jerked the horse to a standstill and craned his neck +over his shoulder. + +"Well, by doctors!" he cried, "if there ain't the old scoundrel now, +right here behind us! I kin see him plain as day--he's got an old +cowbell hitched to his neck; and he's shy a couple of feathers out of +one wing. By doctors, that's somethin' you won't see every day! In all +my born days I ain't never seen the beat of that!" + +Squire Gathers did not look; he only cowered back farther under the +buggy-top. In the pleasing excitement of the moment his companion took +no heed, though, of anything except the Belled Buzzard. + +"Is he followin' us?" asked the squire in a curiously flat voice. + +"Which--him?" answered the constable, still stretching his neck. "No, +he's gone now--gone off to the left--jest a-zoonin', like he'd forgot +somethin'." + +And Bristow's place was to the left! But there might still be time. To +get the inquest over and the body underground--those were the main +things. Ordinarily humane in his treatment of stock, Squire Gathers +urged the constable to greater speed. The horse was lathered and his +sides heaved wearily as they pounded across the bridge over the creek +which was the outlet to the swamp and emerged from a patch of woods in +sight of Bristow's farm buildings. + +The house was set on a little hill among cleared fields, and was in +other respects much like the squire's own house, except that it was +smaller and not so well painted. There was a wide yard in front with +shade trees and a lye-hopper and a well-box, and a paling fence with a +stile in it instead of a gate. At the rear, behind a clutter of +outbuildings--a barn, a smokehouse and a corncrib--was a little peach +orchard; and flanking the house on the right there was a good-sized +cowyard, empty of stock at this hour, with feeding racks ranged in a +row against the fence. A two-year-old negro child, bareheaded and +barefooted, and wearing but a single garment, was grubbing busily in +the dirt under one of these feedracks. + +To the front fence a dozen or more riding horses were hitched, flicking +their tails at the flies; and on the gallery men in their shirtsleeves +were grouped. An old negro woman, with her head tied in a bandanna and a +man's old slouch hat perched upon the bandanna, peeped out from behind a +corner. There were hound dogs wandering about, sniffing uneasily. + +Before the constable had the horse hitched the squire was out of the +buggy and on his way up the footpath, going at a brisker step than the +squire usually traveled. The men on the porch hailed him gravely and +ceremoniously, as befitting an occasion of solemnity. Afterward some +of them recalled the look in his eye; but at the moment they noted +it--if they noted it at all--subconsciously. + +For all his haste the squire, as was also remembered later, was almost +the last to enter the door; and before he did enter he halted and +searched the flawless sky as though for signs of rain. Then he hurried +on after the others, who clumped single file along a narrow little hall, +the bare, uncarpeted floor creaking loudly under their heavy farm shoes, +and entered a good-sized room that had in it, among other things, a +high-piled feather bed and a cottage organ--Bristow's best room, now to +be placed at the disposal of the law's representatives for the inquest. +The squire took the largest chair and drew it to the very center of the +room, in front of a fireplace, where the grate was banked with withering +asparagus ferns. The constable took his place formally at one side of +the presiding official. The others sat or stood about where they could +find room--all but six of them, whom the squire picked for his coroner's +jury, and who backed themselves against the wall. + +The squire showed haste. He drove the preliminaries forward with a +sort of tremulous insistence. Bristow's wife brought a bucket of fresh +drinking water and a gourd, and almost before she was out of the room +and the door closed behind her the squire had sworn his jurors and was +calling the first witness, who it seemed likely would also be the only +witness--Bristow's oldest boy. The boy wriggled in confusion as he sat +on a cane-bottomed chair facing the old magistrate. All there, barring +one or two, had heard his story a dozen times already, but now it was +to be repeated under oath; and so they bent their heads, listening as +though it were a brand-new tale. All eyes were on him; none were +fastened on the squire as he, too, gravely bent his head, +listening--listening. + +The witness began--but had no more than started when the squire gave a +great, screeching howl and sprang from his chair and staggered +backward, his eyes popped and the pouch under his chin quivering as +though it had a separate life all its own. Startled, the constable +made toward him and they struck together heavily and went down--both +on all fours--right in front of the fireplace. + +The constable scrambled free and got upon his feet, in a squat of +astonishment, with his head craned; but the squire stayed upon the +floor, face downward, his feet flopping among the rustling asparagus +greens--a picture of slavering animal fear. And now his gagging +screech resolved itself into articulate speech. + +"I done it!" they made out his shrieked words. "I done it! I own up--I +killed him! He aimed fur to break up my home and I tolled him off into +Niggerwool and killed him! There's a hole in his back if you'll look +fur it. I done it--oh, I done it--and I'll tell everything jest like +it happened if you'll jest keep that thing away from me! Oh, my Lawdy! +Don't you hear it? It's a-comin' clos'ter and clos'ter--it's a-comin' +after me! Keep it away----" His voice gave out and he buried his head +in his hands and rolled upon the gaudy carpet. + +And now they heard what he had heard first--they heard the +tonk-tonk-tonk of a cowbell, coming near and nearer toward them along +the hallway without. It was as though the sound floated along. There was +no creak of footsteps upon the loose, bare boards--and the bell jangled +faster than it would dangling from a cow's neck. The sound came right to +the door and Squire Gathers wallowed among the chairlegs. + +The door swung open. In the doorway stood a negro child, barefooted and +naked except for a single garment, eying them with serious, rolling +eyes--and, with all the strength of his two puny arms, proudly but +solemnly tolling a small, rusty cowbell he had found in the cowyard. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[86] Copyright, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company. + + + + +ISAAC F. MARCOSSON + + +Isaac Frederick Marcosson, editor and author, was born at Louisville, +Kentucky, September 13, 1876, of Jewish ancestry. He was educated in the +public schools of Louisville, and attended High School for a year. In +1894 he entered journalism, joining the staff of the Louisville _Times_, +of which he was subsequently literary and city editor. In 1903 Mr. +Marcosson went to New York, and became associate editor of _The World's +Work_; and in connection with this work he served its publishers, +Doubleday, Page and Company, as literary adviser. While with _The +World's Work_ he wrote many articles on topics of vital interest. From +March, 1907, to 1910, Mr. Marcosson was financial editor of _The +Saturday Evening Post_ of Philadelphia. For _The Post_ he conducted +three popular departments: "Your Savings"; "Literary Folks"; and "Wall +Street Men." Every other week he had a signed article upon some subject +of general interest. Some of his articles upon "Your Savings" have been +collected and published in a small book, called _How to Invest Your +Savings_ (Philadelphia, 1907). Mr. Marcosson's latest book, _The +Autobiography of a Clown_ (New York, 1910), written upon an unusual +subject, attracted wide attention. A part of it was originally published +anonymously as a serial in _The Post_, and the response it evoked +encouraged Mr. Marcosson to make a little book of his hero, who was none +other than Jules Turnour, the famous Ringling clown. Jules furnished the +facts, or part of them, perhaps, but Mr. Marcosson made him more +attractive in cold type than he had ever been under the big tent. _The +Autobiography of a Clown_ deserved all the kind things that were said +about it. Since 1910 Mr. Marcosson has been associate editor of +_Munsey's Magazine_ and the other periodicals that are owned by Mr. +Munsey. His articles usually lead the magazine. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Bookman_ (April; June; December, 1910). + + +THE WAGON CIRCUS[87] + +[From _The Autobiography of a Clown_ (New York, 1910)] + +All the circuses then were wagon shows. They traveled from town to +town in wagons. The performers went ahead to the hotel in 'buses or +snatched what sleep they could in specially built vans. The start for +the next town was usually made about three o'clock in the morning. No +"run" from town to town was more than twenty miles, and more often it +was considerably less. At the head of the cavalcade rode the leader, +on horseback, with a lantern. Torches flickered from most of the +wagons, and cast big shadows. The procession of creaking vehicles, +neighing horses, and sometimes roaring beasts was an odd picture as it +wound through the night. Many of the drivers slept on their seats. The +elephant always walked majestically, with a sleepy groom alongside. +The route was indicated by flaming torches left at points where the +roads turned. Sometimes these torches went out, and the show got lost. +More than once a farmer was rudely aroused from his slumbers, and +nearly lost his wits when he poked his head out of his window and saw +the black bulk of an elephant in his front yard. It was, indeed, the +picturesque day of the circus. + +My first engagement was with the Burr Robbins circus, which was a big +wagon show. The night traveling in the wagons was new to me, and at +first strange. But I got to like it very much. It was a great relief to +lie in the wagons, out under the stars, and feel the sweet breath of the +country. Often the nights were so still that the only sounds were the +creaking of the wagons, and occasionally the words, "Mile up," that the +elephant driver always used to urge his patient, plodding beast. + +The circus arrangement then was much different from now. Then the whole +outfit halted outside the town, which was never reached until after +daylight. The canvas men would hurry to the "lot" to put up the tents +while we remained behind to spruce up for the parade. Gay flags were +hoisted over the dusty wagons; the tired and sleepy performers turned +out of tousled beds to put on the finery of the Orient. A gorgeous +howdah was placed on the elephant's back, and a dark-eyed beauty, +usually from some eastern city, was hoisted aloft to ride in state, and +to be the envy and admiration of every village maiden. No matter how +long, wet, or dusty had been our journey from the last town, everybody, +man and beast, always braced up for the parade. Of course, by this time +we were surrounded by a crowd of gaping countrymen. Often the triumphant +parade of the town was made on empty stomachs, for there was to be no +let-up until the people of the community had had every bit of "free +doing" that the circus could supply. The clowns always drove mules in +the parade. When the parade reached the grounds, the performers changed +clothes, hastened back to the village hotel, and ate heartily. If there +was time, we snatched a few hours of sleep. But sleep and the circus man +are strangers during the season. Ask any circus man when he sleeps, and +he will say, "In the winter time." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[87] Copyright, 1910, by Moffat, Yard and Company. + + + + +GERTRUDE KING TUFTS + + +Mrs. Gertrude King Tufts, author of _The Landlubbers_, was born in +Boone county, Kentucky, in 1877, the daughter of Col. William S. King. +She was educated in Kentucky and at private schools in Philadelphia, +after which she took a library course and went to New York to work. +The property she had inherited had been squandered, so she was +compelled to seek her own fortune. For a while she did well, but her +struggle for success was most severe. For nearly two years Miss King +knew "physical pain and the utter want of money." Finally, however, in +1907, she became editor of the educational department of the Macmillan +Company, and then she set to work upon her novel, _The Landlubbers_ +(New York, 1909), which was first conceived as a short story, and was +finished in the hot summer of 1908. Polly, heroine, is a school +teacher out West, who hates her job, saves her money, and decides to +see the world. On the trip across the Atlantic, she falls in with +Flossie, confidence queen, and she is soon "broke." Suicide seems to +be the only way out of her predicament and, at midnight, she quits her +state-room to silently slip into the ocean. She is no sooner on deck, +however, than she is confronted with cries from the crew and captain +that the ship has struck an iceberg and is sinking. The next day Polly +finds herself and Dick, hero-lover, on the old battered ship and +alone. They, then, are "the landlubbers," and their experiences on the +drifting, water-soaked craft, is the story. Miss King dramatized her +novel, as she is anxious to become famous as a playwright, "not as a +mere yarn-spinner." She also prepared a wonderful human document of +her struggles in New York that was most interesting as an excellent +piece of writing, and as an advertisement for her book. At the present +time Miss King is said to be engaged upon a "long novel----a +leisurely, picturesque thing into which I want to put a good deal of +life." Miss King was married on February 26, 1912, to Mr. Walter B. +Tufts, a New York business man. She is a kinswoman of Mr. Credo +Harris, the Kentucky novelist. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Bookman_ (May, 1909); _Lexington Leader_ (May + 16, 1909). + + +SHIPWRECKED[88] + +[From _The Landlubbers_ (New York, 1909)] + +I woke, not roused by any unusual sound or motion, but disturbed by a +sense of hovering evil, a horror imminent and unescapable. I sat up, +looked at my watch--for I had not turned off the light--and saw that +it was toward half-past eleven o'clock. The great ship was silent, +save for the throbbing of her iron pulses. As I listened, the fog-horn +moaned out its warning, and as the deep note died away seven bells +rang faintly from above. My watch, then, was right--and it was time! + +I remembered what I had to do, and obeyed the decision of my more +wakeful self, though I was far more influenced by the sense of vague, +impersonal fear. Still muffled in the stupor of sleep, and shaken from +head to foot by a nervous trembling, I rose, put on my long cloak, and +flung a scarf over my disordered hair, for if I were to meet anyone I +must seem merely a restless passenger seeking a breath of fresh air. I +moved rapidly as I grew more wakeful, and tried not to think. From +habit I folded my rugs neatly, and plumped up the pillow on which I +had been lying. My throat and lips were dry, and I drank a glass of +water before I unlocked my door and stepped out into the passage. + +There rose above me a long, horrible cry, a shout blent discordantly +of the voices of two-score men, a fearful sound as of the essence of +brute fear. Many feet pattered upon the deck. There were wordless +shouts, shrieked oaths, sharp commands, the boatswain's whistle +piercing through the whole mass of confused sound. The great horn +boomed just once more--I heard it through my hands upon my ears as I +cowered against the wall. + +Then the deck quivered under my feet as a horrible, grinding, rending +crash shut out every other sound, and the great ship trembled +throughout her length, and began to reel drunkenly from side to side, +settling over, with every swing, further and further to port. + +A new, more deafening clamour arose all about me, as the sleepers were +aroused, and in half a minute the corridor was filled with whitefaced +people in all sorts of dress and undress, carrying all kinds of queer +treasures, weeping, shrieking, cursing; there was even laughter, +hysterical and uncontrollable, and strange stammered words of +blasphemy, prayer, reassurance, were shaken out between chattering +teeth. A fat steward ran by, shoving rudely aside those whom till now +he had lovingly tended as the source of tips. Now he struck away the +trembling hands which clutched at his white jacket, ignoring the +shivering inquiries as to "What was the matter?" The rapid passage of +him gave the excited crowd the impulse it needed, and as one man they +surged toward the stair--I with the rest. + +But at the foot of the stair reason returned to me, and I reflected +that it was absurd for me to join in the struggle for that life which +I had just prepared to renounce. Here was death held out to me in the +cold hand of Fate, as I could not doubt--and here was I pitiably +trying to thrust away the gift! + +I wrenched myself out of that frantic crowd, and made my way back to +my stateroom with some difficulty, owing to the ship's unusual motion +and the increasing list to port. She quivered no longer, indeed, but +there passed through her from time to time a long, waving shudder, +like the throe of a dying thing, unspeakably fearful and very +sickening. As I passed beyond the close-packed crowd the sounds of +their terror became more awful. I could discern the cries of little +children, the quavering clamour of the very old. The pity of it +overcame me, and I staggered into my stateroom and closed the door +upon it all. But overhead there was still the swift tramp of feet, the +harsh sound of voices--steadier now, and less multiplied, the tokens +of a brave and awful preparation. + +The next quarter of an hour--for I am sure that the time could not +have been as much as twenty minutes, though it seemed that I sat with +clenched hands for several days--was spent in a struggle with myself +which devoured all my strength. I had heard much, and, in the folly of +my peaceful, untempted youth, had often spoken of the cowardice of +suicide. But now it required more courage and strength of will than I +had ever believed myself capable of just to sit upon that divan, +passively waiting to give back my warm, vigorous life to the infinity +whence it came. Several times I gave in, and rose and laid my hand +upon the doorknob--and conquered myself and went back to the divan and +sat down again. Meanwhile, the noise went on above and about me; the +fat steward, his face green with fear, flung my door open without +knocking. "To the boats, Miss--captain's orders--no luggage----" He +went on to the next room: "To the boats, sir!" The room was empty, and +he passed to the next: "To the boats----" His teeth knocked against +each other, tears of fright glittered down his broad face, but I +heard him open doors faithfully the length of the starboard passage. +It was, I suppose, his great hour. + +I went to close the door, and found myself confronted by a man, +barefooted, clad in shirt and trousers. It was Champion. "You awake, +miss? I came to call you--All right? I'm going to get Mr. Darragh on +deck," and he vanished. + +His friendly, anxious look broke down something in me, and I was on a +sudden overwhelmed by the passion of life; my humanity awoke again, and +I longed for life, for life however stern, painful, hardwrung from peril +and deprivation, for life snatched with bleeding hands out of the fanged +jaws of the universe. I stood irresolute, the handle of the door in my +hand, for I know not how long. The swaying of the ship became less +regular, and the sounds of her straining, wrenched framework sickened +me. I stepped over the threshold--the ship gave a last long trembling +lurch from which it seemed she could not right herself; there rose a +mighty hissing roar and the shriek of the steam from the hold, louder +cries from the deck, the lights went out. I stumbled in the dark and +fell, striking my head, and something warm and wet trickled down my face +as a huge silence settled down upon me, swift and gentle as the wing of +a great brooding bird, and I was very peaceful and very happy, for was I +not being rocked--no, I was swinging, "letting the old cat die" in the +big backyard at Carsonville, Illinois. No, it was better than that--I +was dying, for the dark was shot by flashes of golden light, throbbing +and raying painfully from my head, and then everything ebbed quietly, +gently away. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[88] Copyright, 1909, by Doubleday, Page and Company. + + + + +CHARLES HANSON TOWNE + + +Charles Hanson Towne, poet of New York's many-sided life, was born at +Louisville, Kentucky, February 2, 1877, the son of Professor Paul +Towne. He left Kentucky before he was five years old, and he has been +living in New York practically ever since. Mr. Towne was educated in +the public schools of New York, and then spent a year at the College +of the City of New York. He was editor of _The Smart Set_ for several +years, but he resigned this position to become literary editor of _The +Delineator_. At the present time Mr. Towne is managing editor of _The +Designer_, one of the Butterick publications. With H. Clough-Leighter +he published two song-cycles, entitled _A Love Garden_, and _An April +Heart_; and with Amy Woodforde-Finden he collaborated in the +preparation of three song-cycles, entitled _A Lover in Damascus_, +_Five Little Japanese Songs_, and _A Dream of Egypt_. His original and +independent work is to be found in his three volumes of verse, the +first of which was _The Quiet Singer and Other Poems_ (New York, +1908), a collection of lyrics reprinted from various magazines; +_Manhattan: a Poem_ (New York, 1909), an epic of New York City; and +_Youth and Other Poems_ (New York, 1911), a metrical romance of +domestic happiness, with a group of pleasing shorter poems. +_Manhattan_ is the best thing Mr. Towne has done so far. The poem is +the life of the present-day New Yorker, the rich and the poor, the +famous and the infamous, from many points of view. The poet has turned +the most commonplace events of every-day life into verse of +exceptional quality and much strength. As the singer of the passing +show in New York City, Mr. Towne has done his best work. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Bookman_ (March, 1910); _The Forum_ (June, + 1911); _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ (December, 1912). + + +SPRING[89] + +[From _Manhattan, a Poem_ (New York, 1909)] + + Spring comes to town like some mad girl, who runs + With silver feet upon the Avenue, + And, like Ophelia, in her tresses twines + The first young blossoms--purple violets + And golden daffodils. These are enough-- + These fragile handfuls of miraculous bloom-- + To make the monster City feel the Spring! + One dash of color on her dun-grey hood, + One flash of yellow near her pallid face, + And she and April are the best of friends-- + Benighted town that needs a friend so much! + How she responds to that first soft caress, + And draws the hoyden Spring close to her heart, + And thrills and sings, and for one little time + Forgets the foolish panic of her sons, + Forgets her sordid merchandise and trade, + And lightly trips, while hurdy-gurdies ring-- + A wise old crone upon a holiday! + + +SLOW PARTING[90] + +[From _Youth and Other Poems_ (New York, 1911)] + + There was no certain hour + Wherein we said good-bye; + But day by day, and year by year + We parted--you and I; + And ever as we met, each felt + The shadow of a lie. + + It would have been too hard + To say a swift farewell; + You could not goad your tongue to name + The words that rang my knell; + But better that quick death than this + Glad heaven and mad hell! + + +OF DEATH + +(To Michael Monahan) + +[From the same] + + Why should I fear that ultimate thing-- + The Great Release of clown and king? + + Why should I dread to take my way + Through the same shadowed path as they? + + But can it be a shadowy road + Whereon both Youth and Genius strode? + + Can it be dark, since Shakespeare trod + Its unknown length, to meet our God; + + Since Shelley, with his valiant youth, + Fared forth to learn the final Truth; + + Since Milton in his blindness went + With wisdom and a high content; + + And Angelo lit with white flame + The pathway when God called his name; + + And Dante, seeking Beatrice, + Marched fearless down the deep abyss? + + Where Plutarch went, and Socrates, + Browning and Keats, and such as these, + + Homer, and Sappho with her song + That echoes still for the vast throng; + + Lincoln and strong Napoleon, + And calm, courageous Washington; + + Great Alexander, Nero--names + That swept the world with deathless flames-- + + I need not fear that I shall fall + When the Lord God's great Voice shall call; + + For I shall find the roadway bright + When I go forth some quiet night. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[89] Copyright, 1909, by Mitchell Kennerley. + +[90] Copyright, 1911, by Mitchell Kennerley. + + + + +WILLIAM E. WALLING + + +William English Walling, writer upon sociological subjects, was born at +Louisville, Kentucky, March 14, 1877. When twenty years of age he was +graduated from the University of Chicago with the B. S. degree; and he +subsequently did graduate work in economics and sociology for a year at +the same institution. Since 1902 Mr. Walling has been a resident at the +University Settlement in New York. He has contributed to many of the +high-class magazines, but he is best seen as a writer in his two books, +entitled _Russia's Message_ (New York, 1908); and _Socialism As It Is_ +(New York, 1912). The first title, _Russia's Message_, is one of the +authoritative works upon that race; and it has been received as such in +many quarters. And the same statement may be made of his excellent +discussion of socialism. Mr. Walling is a member of many political and +social societies. He has an attractive home at Cedarhurst, Long Island. +In the early spring of 1913 the Macmillan Company will issue another +book for Mr. Walling, entitled _The Larger Aspects of Socialism_. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Nation_ (August 6, 1908); _Review of Reviews_ + (August, 1908); _The Independent_ (May 16, 1912). + + +RUSSIA AND AMERICA[91] + +[From _Russia's Message_ (New York, 1908)] + +Russia, like the United States, is a self-sufficient country; more than +a country, a world. Like the new world, the Russian world forms an +almost complete economic whole, embracing under a single government +nearly all, if not all, climates and nearly all the raw products used in +modern life; both countries are large exporters of agricultural +products, both are devoted more to agriculture than to manufacturing +industry. Both of these worlds are composed largely of newly acquired +and newly settled territory; though both are inhabited by very many +races, in each a single race prevails numerically and in most other +respects over all the rest, and keeps them together as a single whole. +As the result of the mixture of races and the recent settlement of large +parts of both countries, their culture is international, world-culture, +unmarked by the comparatively provincial nationalistic tendencies of +England, Germany, or France. We may look, according to a great German +publicist, Kautsky, to America for the great economic experiments of the +near future and to Russia for the new (social) politics. + +America is essentially a country of rapid economic evolution, while +Russia is undeveloped, economically and financially dependent. America +is the country of economic genius, a nation whose conceptions of +material development have reached even a spiritual height. The great +American qualities, the American virtues, the American imagination, +have thrown themselves almost wholly into business, the material +development of the country. Americans are the first of modern peoples +that have learned to respect the repeated failures of enterprising +individuals with a genius for affairs, knowing that such failures +often lead to greater heights of success. They have learned how to +excuse enormous waste when it was made for the sake of economics lying +in the distant future. They can appreciate the enterprise of persons +who, instead of immediately exploiting their properties, know how to +wait, like some of our most able builders that, foreseeing the +brilliant future of the locality in which they are situated, are +satisfied with temporary structures and poor incomes until the time is +ripe for some of the magnificent modern achievements in architecture, +in which we so clearly lead. All three of these types of men we admire +are true revolutionists, who prefer to wait, to waste, or to fail, +rather than to accept the lesser for the greater good. + +So it is with Russians in their politics. There seems no reason for +doubting that the near future will show that the political failures +now being made by the Russians are the failures of political genius, +that the waste of lives and property will be repaid later a +hundredfold, and that the hopeful and planful patience with which the +Russians are looking forward and working to a great social +transformation promises the greatest and most magnificent results when +that transformation is achieved. Already the political revolution of +the Russian people, though not yet embodied in political institutions, +is becoming as rapid, as remarkable, as phenomenal, as the economic +revolution of the United States. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[91] Copyright, 1908, by Doubleday, Page and Company. + + + + +THOMPSON BUCHANAN + + +Thompson Buchanan, novelist and playwright, was born at New York City, +June 21, 1877. Before he was thirteen years of age his family settled +at Louisville, Kentucky; and from 1890 to 1894 he attended the Male +High School in that city. Being the son of a retired clergyman of the +Episcopal church, it was fitting that he should select the University +of the South as his college, and in September, 1895, he reached the +little town of Sewanee, in the Tennessee mountains, and matriculated +in the University. He left college without a degree in July, 1897, and +returned to his home at Louisville, where he shortly afterwards became +police court reporter for the now defunct _Louisville Commercial_. Mr. +Buchanan was connected with the _Commercial_ until 1900, save six +months of service as a private in the First Kentucky Volunteer +Infantry during the Spanish-American War. He saw service in the Porto +Rico campaign with his regiment and, after peace was declared, +returned to his home and to his position on the paper. In 1900 Mr. +Buchanan went with _The Courier-Journal_; and during the same year he +was dubbed a lieutenant in the Kentucky State Guards. In 1902 he left +Colonel Watterson's paper for _The Louisville Herald_, of which he was +dramatic critic for more than a year. The year of 1904 found Mr. +Buchanan in New York on _The Evening Journal_, with which he was +connected for four years, when he abandoned journalism in order to +devote his entire attention to literature. Mr. Buchanan's first book, +_The Castle Comedy_ (New York, 1904), a romance of the time of +Napoleon, which many critics compared to Booth Tarkington's _Monsieur +Beaucaire_, was followed by _Judith Triumphant_ (New York, 1905), +another novel, set in the ancient city of Bethulia, with the Judith of +the Apocrypha as the heroine. His dramatization of _The Castle Comedy_ +was so generally commended, that he decided to desert the field of +fiction for the writing of plays. His first effort, _Nancy Don't +Care_, was met with a like response from the public, and the young +playwright presented _The Intruder_, which certainly justified belief +in his ultimate arrival as a dramatist, if it did nothing more. The +play that brought Mr. Buchanan wider fame than anything he has done +hitherto was _A Woman's Way_, a comedy of manners, in which Miss Grace +George created the character of the wife with convincing power. +_Marion Stanton_ is quite unfortunately in love with her exceedingly +rich, but bored, husband, Howard Stanton, who seeks the society of +other women, one of whom happens to be with him when his motor car is +wrecked near New Haven at a most unseemly hour. The New York "yellows" +are advised of the accident and they, of course, desire details--which +desire precipitates the action of the play. "Scandal," in type the +size of an ordinary country weekly, is flashed across the "heads" of +the big dailies, extras are put forth hourly, a family conference is +called at the home of the Stantons, a rich young widow from the South +is regarded by the papers as Stanton's partner in the accident, and a +very merry time is had by all concerned. The way the woman took out of +her difficulties is unfrequented by many, although it should have been +well-worn long before _Marion_ made it famous. The drama was one of +the authentic successes of 1909, and it certainly established its +author's reputation. A novelization of _A Woman's Way_ (New York, +1909), was made by Charles Somerville, and accorded a large sale, but +how infinitely better would have been a publication of the play as +produced! Quite absurd novelizations of plays are at the present time +one of the literary fads which should have been in at the birth and +death of Charles Lamb. _The Cub_, produced in 1910, a comedy with a +mixture of melodrama and farce, was concerned with a young Louisville +newspaper man, "a cub," who is assigned to "cover" a family feud in +the Kentucky mountains. That he finds himself in many situations, +pleasant and otherwise, we may be sure. A celebrated critic called +_The Cub_ "one of the wittiest of plays"--which opinion was shared by +many who saw it. _Lula's Husbands_, a farce from the French, was also +produced in 1910. _The Rack_, produced in 1911, was followed by +_Natalie_, and _Her Mother's Daughter_, all of which were given stage +presentation. Mr. Buchanan spent most of the year of 1912 writing and +rehearsing his new play, _The Bridal Path_, a matrimonial comedy in +three acts, which is to be produced in February, 1913. None of his +plays have been issued in book form, but, besides his first two +romances and the novelization of _A Woman's Way_, two other novels +have appeared, entitled _The Second Wife_ (New York, 1911); and +_Making People Happy_ (New York, 1911). That Thompson Buchanan is the +ablest playwright Kentucky has produced is open to no sort of serious +discussion; with the exception of Mr. Dazey and Mrs. Flexner he is, +indeed, quite alone in his field. Kentucky has poetic dramatists +almost without number, but the practical playwright, whose lines reach +his audience across the footlights, is a _rara avis_. Augustus Thomas, +the foremost living American playwright, resided at Louisville for a +short time, and his finest drama, _The Witching Hour_, is set wholly +at Louisville, although written in New York, but Kentucky's claim upon +him is too slender to admit of much investigation. Mr. Buchanan has +done so much in such a short space of time that one is tempted to turn +his own favorite shibboleth upon him and exclaim: "Fine!" + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Theatre Magazine_ (April; May, 1909); _The + American Magazine_ (November, 1910); _The Green Book_ (January, + 1911). + + +THE WIFE WHO DIDN'T GIVE UP[92] + +[From _A Woman's Way_ (_Current Literature_, New York, June, 1909)] + +_Act III, Scene I. Mr. Lynch, the reporter, enters, joining General +Livingston, Mrs. Stanton's father, and Bob, Morris, and Whitney, all +of whom have had escapades with the winsome widow._ + + _General Livingston._ I represent Mr. Stanton, and I tell you, + sir, I do not propose to have him hounded in this damnable fashion + any longer. I shall hold you personally responsible. + + _Lynch._ General, you're the fifth man who's said that to me since + three o'clock. + + _General Livingston._ (_Sharp._) What! + + _Lynch._ And if you do physically assault me, General, I shall + certainly land you in the night court, and collect space on the + story spread on the front page, sure--"Famous old soldier fined + for brutally assaulting innocent young newspaper man." + + +(_General Livingston stands completely dumbfounded, his hands +twitching, quivering with rage._) + + _General Livingston._ (_Gasps almost tearfully._) Have you + newspaper men no sense of personal decency, personal dignity? + + _Lynch._ Don't be too hard on us, General. During business hours, + our associations are very bad. + + _General Livingston._ What do you mean? + + _Lynch._ We have the name of the lady who was with Mr. Stanton in + his car at the time of his accident. We have learned all about the + trip and we have the woman's name. So I have come to give Mr. + Stanton a---- + + _General Livingston._ (_Interrupting._) Would the papers print + that? + + _Lynch._ Would they print it? Well--(_Smiles significantly._) + + _General Livingston._ Then I shall say nothing, but our lawyers + will take action. + + _Lynch._ They'd better take it quick. You'll have fifty reporters + up here by to-morrow night. If Mr. Stanton refuses to say + anything, we will simply send out the story that the woman in the + car with him at the time of his automobile accident + was----(_Pauses, then with dramatic emphasis._) Mrs. Elizabeth + Blakemore. + + _General Livingston._ (Starting back in amazement.) Good + gracious!! + + _Bob and Morris._ (_Turn, face each other, absolute amazement + showing on their faces, speak together._) Well, what do you think + of that? (_Whitney alone is not surprised. The situation is held a + moment, then Stanton enters. He does not see Lynch at first._) + + _Stanton._ (_As he comes on._) General, I wish to + apologize----(_Stops short, seeing Lynch._) + + _General Livingston._ (_Whirling on Stanton._) Apologize! + Apologize! How dare you, sir! (_Losing his self-control._) My + great-grandfather killed his man for just such an insult---- + +[_Marion enters to save the situation. The reporter withdraws for a +moment, while the general informs her that Mrs. Blakemore must leave +the house at once. Marion demurs._] + + _Marion._ Father, I told you once what concerns my own life I must + settle my own way. I don't want to appear disrespectful, but you + cannot coerce me in my own house. (_Walks past him to the door and + opens it._) Good evening, Mr. Lynch. + + _Lynch._ (_Sincere tone._) I hope you will believe me, Mrs. + Stanton, when I tell you it is not a pleasure to me to have to + come on this errand. + + _Marion._ Thank you, Mr. Lynch. + + _Lynch._ I'd rather talk to Mr. Stanton. + + _Marion._ Sorry, but----(_Her manner is pleasant and friendly, but + firm. Lynch evidently likes her and with a shrug he accepts + situation._) + + _Lynch._ Then please understand my position, and how I regret + personally the question that, as a newspaper man, I must put. + (_Marion bows._) Bluntly, Mrs. Stanton, we have the name of that + woman. + + _Marion._ Yes. + + _Lynch._ And we are going to publish it unless it can be proven + wrong. + + _Marion._ I'd expect that. Who is she? + + _Lynch._ Mrs. Elizabeth Blakemore. (_Lynch pronounces the name + regretfully. Marion stares at him a moment in amazement, then + throws back her head and gives way to a peal of laughter. The men + on the stage stare at Marion amazed._) + + _Marion._ Oh, this is too good! Too good! Forgive me, Mr. Lynch. + (_Goes off into another peal of laughter, turns to the men._) + Howard, Dad, all of you, did you hear that? What a splendid joke! + (_The men try awkwardly to back her up._) + + _General Livingston._ Splendid! Haw! Haw! + + _Bob._ Fine, he, he! + + _Morris._ (_At head of table._) Ho, ho. I never knew anything like + it. + + _Whitney._ I told Mr. Lynch he was on a cold trail. + + _Lynch._ (_Grimly._) You can't laugh me off. + + _Marion._ (_Struggling for self-control._) Of course not. But you + must forgive my having my laugh first. I'll offer more substantial + proof. (_Opens door, letting in immediately the sound of women's + talking and laughter which stop short as though the women had + looked around at the opening of the door. Calling in her most + dulcet tone._) Elizabeth! + + _Mrs. Blakemore._ (_Her voice heard off stage._) Yes, Marion, + dear. (_An amazed gasp from the men. Mrs. Blakemore appears at the + door._) + + _Marion._ Come in! (_Mrs. Blakemore enters, looks about quickly, + almost fearfully. Marion slips her arm about Mrs. Blakemore's + waist in reassuring fashion, laughing, but at the same time giving + Mrs. Blakemore a warning pressure with her arm._) Don't say a + word, dear. The greatest joke you ever heard! Come! (_Mrs. + Blakemore, following suit, slips her arm about Marion. They come + down stage to Lynch, their arms about each other's waist most + affectionately. The men are staring at them dumfounded. Marion and + Mrs. Blakemore stop opposite Lynch. Marion speaks gaily._) Mr. + Lynch, of the City News, may I present Mrs. Elizabeth Blakemore? + + _Lynch._ (_In amazement._) Mrs. Blakemore! + + _Mrs. Blakemore._ (_Bowing pleasantly._) Glad to meet you, Mr. + Lynch. + + _Lynch._ (_Repeating, dazed._) Mrs. Blakemore! + + _Marion._ (_Gaily._) And you see she's not lame a bit from her + broken leg. + + _Mrs. Blakemore._ What's the joke? + + _Marion._ (_Taunting._) You would not expect, Mr. Lynch, to find + plaintiff and corespondent so friendly. + + _Mrs. Blakemore._ (_Gasping._) Plaintiff! Corespondent! + + _Marion._ Yes, dear. Mr. Lynch came all the way up from down town + to tell me that I am going to bring a divorce suit against Howard, + naming you as corespondent. Now wasn't that sweet of him? (_She + keeps her warning pressure about Mrs. Blakemore's waist._) + + _Mrs. Blakemore._ (_Taking the cue._) This is awful! Horrible! + + _Marion._ Now, dear, don't lose your sense of humor. (_To Lynch._) + Are you satisfied, Mr. Lynch? + + _Lynch._ Forgive me. Mrs. Stanton, but you are so confounded + clever you might run in a "ringer." (_Reaches in his pocket, + brings out a picture, holds it up and compares the picture with + Mrs. Blakemore. Finally looks up._) Guess you win, Mrs. Stanton. + + _Marion._ Thanks. (_Bows satirically._) + + _Lynch._ Yes, you must be right I don't believe even you could put + your arm about the _other woman_. (_A suppressed, gasping + exclamation from the men._) + + _Marion._ That observation hardly requires an answer, Mr. Lynch. + + _Lynch._ Sorry to have disturbed you. Good night! + + _All._ (_With relief._) Good night. + + [_The flabbergasted reporter withdraws, but Marion still keeps her + arm about Mrs. Blakemore. When he re-opens the door, as if he had + forgotten something, he finds the picture undisturbed. Mrs. + Blakemore thanks Marion for her generosity, and goes out, followed + by the others._ "Good night, my friend," the widow remarks, + "you'll get all that is coming to you." _Stanton calls back Marion + who has also deserted the room._] + + _Stanton._ Marion! Marion! + + _Marion._ (_Enters._) Has she gone? + + _Stanton._ Who? + + _Marion._ Puss? + + _Stanton._ Oh, she's not my Puss. + + _Marion._ Not your Puss, Howard? Then whose Puss is she? + + _Stanton._ God knows--maybe. Marion. I've loved you all the time. + I've been a fool, a weak, dazzled fool. I love you. Won't you + forgive me and take me back? + + _Marion._ Take you back? Why, I've never even given you up. Do you + think I could stand for that cat--Puss, I mean--in this house and + me off to Reno? + +CURTAIN. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[92] Copyright, 1909, by the Current Literature Publishing Company. + + + + +WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT + + +Will Levington Comfort, "the new style novelist," was born at +Kalamazoo, Michigan, January 17, 1878. He was educated in the grammar +and high schools of Detroit, and was at Albion College, Albion, +Michigan, for a short time. Mr. Comfort was a newspaper reporter in +Detroit for a few months, but, in 1898, he did his first real +reporting on papers in Cincinnati, Ohio, and Covington, Kentucky. +During the Spanish-American War he served in the Fifth United States +Cavalry; and in 1899 he was war correspondent in the Philippines and +China for the "Detroit Journal Newspaper Syndicate;" and in 1904 he +was in Russia and Japan during the war for the "Pittsburgh Dispatch +Newspaper Syndicate." Thus he followed the war-god almost around the +world; and out of his experiences he wrote his anti-war novel, +_Routledge Rides Alone_ (Philadelphia, 1909). This proved to be one of +the most popular of recent American novels, now in its ninth edition. +It was followed by _She Buildeth Her House_ (Philadelphia, 1911), his +quasi-Kentucky novel. In order to get the local color for this book, +Mr. Comfort spent some months at Danville, Kentucky, the _Danube_ of +the story, and of his stay in the little town, together with his +opinion of the Kentucky actress in the book, Selma Cross, he has +written: "I always considered Selma Cross the real thing. I had quite +a wonderful time doing her, and she came to be most emphatically in +Kentucky. It was a night in Danville when some amateur theatricals +were put on, that I got the first idea of a big crude woman with a +handicap of beauty-lack, but big enough to win against every law. She +had to go on the anvil, hard and long. I was interested to watch her +in the sharp odor of decadence to which her life carried her. She +wabbles, becomes tainted a bit, but rises to shake it all off. I did +the Selma Cross part of _She Buildeth Her House_ in the Clemons +House, Danville.... I also did a novelette while I was in Kentucky. +The Lippincotts published it under the caption, _Lady Thoroughbred, +Kentuckian_." No critic has written nearer the truth of Selma Cross +than the author himself: "She was a bit strong medicine for most +people." Mr. Comfort has made many horseback trips through Kentucky, +and he has "come to feel authoritative and warmly tender in all that +concerns the folk and the land." His latest novel, _Fate Knocks at the +Door_ (Philadelphia, 1912), is far and away the strongest story he has +written. Mr. Comfort has created a style that the critics are calling +"new, big, but crude in spots;" and it certainly does isolate him from +any other American novelist of today. Whatever may be said for or +against his style, this much is certain: he who runs may read it--some +other time! His work is seldom clear at first glances. Mr. Comfort +devoted the year 1912 to the writing of a new novel, _The Road of +Living Men_, which will be issued by his publishers, the Lippincotts, +in March, 1913. He has an attractive home and family at Detroit. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Lippincott's Magazine_ (March, 1908); _Lippincott's + Magazine_ (March; April; August, 1912). + + +AN ACTRESS'S HEART[93] + +[From _She Buildeth Her House_ (Philadelphia, 1911)] + +Selma Cross was sick for a friend, sick from containing herself. On +this night of achievement there was something pitiful in the need of +her heart. + +"New York has turned rather too many pages of life before my eyes, +Selma, for me to feel far above any one whose struggles I have not +endured." + +The other leaned forward eagerly. "I liked you from the first moment, +Paula," she said. "You were so rounded--it seemed to me. I'm all +streaky, all one-sided. You're bred. I'm cattle.... Some time I'll tell +you how it all began. I said I would be the greatest living +tragedienne--hurled this at a lot of cat-minds down in Kentucky fifteen +years ago. Of course, I shall. It does not mean so much to me as I +thought, and it may be a bauble to you, but I wanted it. Its +far-away-ness doesn't torture me as it once did, but one pays a ghastly +price. Yes, it's a climb, dear. You must have bone and blood and +brain--a sort of brain--and you should have a cheer from below; but I +didn't. I wonder if there ever was a fight that can match mine? If so, +it would not be a good tale for children or grown-ups with delicate +nerves. Little women always hated me. I remember one restaurant cashier +on Eighth Avenue told me I was too unsightly to be a waitress. I have +done kitchen pot-boilers and scrubbed tenement-stairs. Then, because I +repeated parts of plays in those horrid halls--they said I was crazy.... +Why, I have felt a perfect lust for suicide--felt my breast ache for a +cool knife and my hand rise gladly. Once I played a freak part--that was +my greater degradation--debased my soul by making my body look worse +than it is. I went down to hell for that--and was forgiven. I have been +so homesick, Paula, that I could have eaten the dirt in the road of that +little Kentucky town.... Yes, I pressed against the steel until +something broke--it was the steel, not me. Oh, I could tell you +much!"... + +She paused but a moment. + +"The thing so dreadful to overcome was that I have a body like a great +Dane. It would not have hurt a writer, a painter, even a singer, so +much, but we of the drama are so dependent upon the shape of our +bodies. Then, my face is like a dog or a horse or a cat--all these I +have been likened to. Then I was slow to learn repression. This a part +of culture, I guess--breeding. Mine is a lineage of Kentucky poor +white trash, who knows, but a speck of 'nigger'? I don't care now, +only it gave me a temper of seven devils, if it was so. These are some +of the things I have contended with. I would go to a manager and he +would laugh me along, trying to get rid of me gracefully, thinking +that some of his friends were playing a practical joke on him. +Vhruebert thought that at first. Vhruebert calls me _The Thing_ now. I +could have done better had I been a cripple; there are parts for a +cripple. And you watch, Paula, next January when I burn up things +here, they'll say my success is largely due to my figure and face!" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[93] Copyright, 1911, by J. B. Lippincott Company. + + + + +FRANK WALLER ALLEN + + +Frank Waller Allen, novelist, was born at Milton, Kentucky, September +30, 1878, the son of a clergyman. He spent his boyhood days at +Louisville, and, in the fall of 1896, he entered Kentucky (Transylvania) +University, Lexington, Kentucky. While in college he was editor of _The +Transylvanian_, the University literary magazine; and he also did +newspaper work for _The Louisville Times_, and _The Courier-Journal_. +Mr. Allen quit college to become a reporter on the Kansas City +_Journal_, later going with the Kansas City _Times_ as book editor. He +resigned this position to return to Kentucky University to study +theology. He is now pastor of the First Christian (Disciples) church, at +Paris, Missouri. Mr. Allen's first stories were published in _Munsey's_, +_The Reader_, and other periodicals, but it is upon his books that he +has won a wide reputation in Kentucky and the West. The first title was +a sketch, _My Ships Aground_ (Chicago, 1900), and his next work was an +exquisite tale of love and Nature, entitled _Back to Arcady_ (Boston, +1905), which has sold far into the thousands and is now in its third +edition. A more perfect story has not been written by a Kentuckian of +Mr. Allen's years. _The Maker of Joys_ (Kansas City, 1907), was so +slight that it attracted little attention, yet it is exceedingly +well-done; and in his latest book, _The Golden Road_ (New York, 1910), +he just failed to do what one or two other writers have recently done so +admirably. His Nature-loving tinker falls a bit short, but some +excellent writing may be found in this book. Mr. Allen has recently +completed another novel, _The Lovers of Skye_, which will be issued by +the Bobbs-Merrill Company in the spring of 1913. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Reader Magazine_ (October, 1905); _Who's Who in + America_ (1912-1913). + + +A WOMAN ANSWERED + +[From _The Maker of Joys_ (Kansas City, Missouri, 1907)] + +At this moment the servant lifted the tapestries and announced: "The +lady, sir." + +This time, before he could stop her, she took his hand and kissed it. + +"There was little use in my coming today," she said, "except to thank +you." + +"Why, I do not quite understand you. What for?" asked the rector in +surprise. + +"For answering my question." + +"Tell me?" he replied. + +"You've known me a long time," she answered, "and being Jimmy Duke, it +isn't necessary for me to tell you how I've lived. But you and +me--once youth is gone, sir, and people are a long time old. I've +thought of this a great deal lately, and I've been trying to decide +what's right and what's wrong.... Then I read in the papers about you. +About the things you preach and the like, and I knew you could tell +me. I knew you'd know whether good people are faking, and which life +is best. You see, I'd never thought of it in all my life before until +just a little while ago. Just a month or such a matter." + +"And now?" asked the Shepherd of St. Mark's. + +"I could have left the old life years ago if I had wanted to," she +continued, ignoring his question. "There is a man--well, there's several +of them--but this a special one, who, for years, has wanted me to marry +him. I always liked him better than anybody I knew, but I just couldn't +give up the life. He is a plain man in a little village in Missouri, and +I thought I'd die if I went. He offered to move to the city and I was +afraid for him. You see I just didn't know what was good and what was +bad, yet I didn't want this man to become like other men I knew." + +"Tell me, what are you going to do?" he asked eagerly. He had almost +said, "Tell me what to do." + +"Well," she answered, "since I have been thinking it all over, things +as they are have become empty. There is no joy in it, and I am weary +of it all.... Yesterday I came to you. I wanted to ask you whether it +was best or not to leave the old life. But I did not have to ask you. +I saw how it was when you told me what you had done. And O, how I +thank you for straightening it all out for me. Besides," she added +with hesitancy, "after I left you last night I telegraphed for the man +in the little village out west." + +When she had gone he gazed out of the window after her as she walked +buoyant and happy through the night. + +"Perhaps," softly said the Maker of Joys, "it is the memory of the old +days that is sweetest after all." + + + + +VENITA SEIBERT + + +Miss Venita Seibert, whose charming stories of German-American child +life have been widely read and appreciated, was born at Louisville, +Kentucky, December 29, 1878. Miss Seibert was educated in the +Louisville public schools, and almost at once entered upon a literary +career. She contributed short stories and verse to the leading +periodicals, her first big serial story being published in _The +American Magazine_ during 1907 and 1908, entitled _The Different +World_. This dealt with the life and imaginings of a little +German-American girl, a dreamy, sensitive child, and showing the +poetry of German home life and the originality of childhood. The story +was highly praised by Miss Ida M. Tarbell and other able critics. +Under the title of _The Gossamer Thread_ (Boston, 1910), Miss Seibert +brought these tales together in one volume. There "the chronicles of +Velleda, who understood about 'the different world,'" may be read to +the heart's desire. Miss Seibert, who resides at Louisville, Kentucky, +promises big for the future, and her next book should bring her a +wider public, as well as greater growth in literary power. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _McClure's Magazine_ (September, 1903); _Library of + Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1910, v. xv). + + +THE ORIGIN OF BABIES[94] + +[From _The Gossamer Thread_ (Boston, 1910)] + +Oh, it was a puzzling world. Not the least puzzling thing was babies. +Mrs. Katzman had come several times with a little brown satchel and +brought one to Tante--a little, little thing that had to be fed catnip +tea and rolled in a shawl and kept out of draughts. The advantage of +having a new baby in the house was that it meant a glorious period of +running wild, for of course one did not pretend to obey the girl who +came to cook. Also, there was much company who brought nice things to +eat for Tante, who naturally left the biggest part for the children. + +Of course God sent the little babies, but how did he get them down to +Mrs. Katzman? She averred that she got them out of the river, but this +Velleda knew to be a fib, for of course they would drown in the river. +Tante said they fell down from Heaven, but of course such a fall would +kill a little baby. Gros-mamma Wallenstein said a stork brought them, +and for a time Velleda thought Mrs. Katzman must be a stork; but when +she saw a picture of one she knew that it was only a bird. Then she +decided that the stork carried the babies to Mrs. Katzman's and she +divided them around; but Mrs. Katzman's little boy, questioned in the +most searching manner, declared that he had never seen a sign of any +stork about the premises. + +Just after Baby Ernest's coming, Velleda and Freddy went all the way +to Mrs. Katzman's house--and it was quite a long way, fully three +blocks--to beg her to exchange him for a girl. + +"We've only used him two days and he's just as good as new," stated +Velleda, guiltily concealing the fact that he cried a great deal. But +Mrs. Katzman said she really couldn't think of it, as God settled all +those matters himself. It was on this occasion that Velleda had +cross-examined Mrs. Katzman's little boy regarding the stork. There +was no doubting the truth of Georgie's statements, for he told Velleda +dolefully that he himself had long desired a brother or a sister, but +never a baby had he seen in that house. Evidently Mrs. Katzman fetched +them from somewhere else in the brown satchel. + +"You might have had ours," said Velleda. "We didn't want him. We +prayed for a girl." + +"Oh, you'll soon find out _that_ don't do any good." Georgie kicked +gloomily at a stone. "I used to pray, too, but God's awful stubborn +when it comes to babies." + +Velleda wondered at the strangeness of things. All the little girls +and some of the little boys who had no baby brother or sister to take +care of, thought it a great treat to be allowed to wheel the +baby-buggy up and down the square, really a most irksome task, as +Velleda could testify. At Velleda's house they believed with the poet +that "Time's noblest offspring is the last," so the baby reigned king, +which was not always pleasant for his smaller slaves. Therefore she +wondered at Georgie's taste. However, since he evidently regarded his +brotherless state as a deep misfortune, she was full of sympathy and +would do what she could for him. + +"You just pray a little harder," she advised; "and," struck by a +brilliant thought, "look in the brown satchel every night! Maybe +you'll find one left over." + +She and Freddy went home feeling very sorry for Georgie. He was only +another illustration of the old saying which Onkel often commented +on--the shoemaker's children wear ragged shoes, the painter's own +house is the last to receive a fresh coat, and the stork woman has no +baby of her own. + +Regarding this great question there was one point upon which everybody +agreed. Velleda had her own system of deciding questions; she sifted +the versions of her various informants, retained those points upon +which all agreed, and upon this common ground proceeded to erect the +structure of her own reasoning. Grown-ups, she knew, had a weakness +for mild fibbing, which was not lying and not wrong at all, but was +naturally very disconcerting when one burned to learn the real truth +about a thing. The stork theory, the river theory, the falling from +Heaven theory--all possessed one mutual starting point: God sent the +little babies. There was of course no doubt in that regard, and +Velleda finally decided that God placed them in the woods in a certain +spot, marked where they were to go, and then vanished into Heaven (for +of course no one had ever seen God), whereupon Mrs. Katzman approached +with the brown satchel. + +This was a most satisfactory theory, with no flaws in its logic, +reasonable and probable, and conflicting with no known law. The +question was shelved. + +Velleda, going up to the third floor room of Nellie Johnson with a +pitcher of milk which the dairywoman had asked her to deliver, found the +girl huddled up before a small stove, looking so white and miserable +that Velleda's heart ached for her, although she knew that Nellie was a +very wicked person and nobody in the neighborhood spoke to her. Across +her knees lay a white bundle. Velleda considered the matter. + +"I guess God loves you anyway, Nellie," she concluded. "He has sent +you a little baby." + +The girl tossed the bundle upon the bed with a fierce gesture. + +"God?" she said bitterly. "It ain't God sent that baby. The Devil sent +him!" + +Velleda fled down the stairs. + +It is indeed a puzzling world. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[94] Copyright, 1910, by Small, Maynard and Company. + + + + +CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK + + +Charles Neville Buck, novelist and short-story writer, was born near +Midway, Kentucky, April 15, 1879. He spent the first fifteen years of +his life at his birthplace, save the four years he was in South +America with his father, the Hon. C. W. Buck, who was United States +Minister to Peru from 1885 to 1889, and the author of _Under the +Sun_, a Peruvian romance. At the age of fifteen years, Charles Neville +Buck went to Louisville to enter the high school; and, in 1898, he was +graduated from the University of Louisville. He studied art and joined +the staff of _The Evening Post_, of Louisville, as cartoonist, which +position he held for a year, when he became an editorial writer on +that paper. Mr. Buck studied law and was admitted to the bar, but he +did not practice. In 1908 he quit journalism for prose fiction. His +short-stories were accepted by American and English magazines, but he +won his first real reputation with a novel of mental aberration, +entitled _The Key to Yesterday_ (New York, 1910), the scenes of which +were set against Kentucky, France, and South America. Mr. Buck's next +novel, _The Lighted Match_ (New York, 1911), was an international love +romance in which a rich young American falls in love with the +princess, and about-to-be-queen, of a bit of a kingdom near Spain. +Benton, hero, has a rocky road to travel, but he, of course, +demolishes every barrier and proves again that love finds a way. _The +Lighted Match_ is a rattling good story, and it contains many purple +patches between the hiss of the revolutionist's bomb and lovers' +sighs. Mr. Buck's latest novel, _The Portal of Dreams_ (New York, +1912), was a very clever story. His first Kentucky novel, and the +finest thing he has done, he and his publisher think, is _The Strength +of Samson_, which will appear in four parts in _The Cavalier_, a +weekly magazine, for February, 1913, after which it will be almost +immediately published in book form under the title of _The Call of the +Cumberlands_. Mr. Buck's home is at Louisville, Kentucky, but he +spends much of his time in New York, where he lives at the Hotel +Earle, in Waverly Place, a stone's throw from the apartments of his +friend, Thompson Buchanan, the Kentucky playwright. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Harper's Weekly_ (October 8, 1910); _Cosmopolitan + Magazine_ (August, 1911); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913). + + +THE DOCTRINE ACCORDING TO JONESY[95] + +[From _The Lighted Match_ (New York, 1911)] + +Despite the raw edge on the air, the hardier guests at "Idle Times" +still clung to those outdoor sports which properly belonged to the +summer. That afternoon a canoeing expedition was made up river to +explore a cave which tradition had endowed with some legendary tale of +pioneer days and Indian warfare. + +Pagratide, having organized the expedition with that object in view, had +made use of his prior knowledge to enlist Cara for the crew of his +canoe, but Benton, covering a point that Pagratide had overlooked, +pointed out that an engagement to go up the river in a canoe is entirely +distinct from an engagement to come down the river in a canoe. He cited +so many excellent authorities in support of his contention that the +matter was decided in his favor for the return trip, and Mrs. +Porter-Woodleigh, all unconscious that her escort was a Crown Prince, +found in him an introspective and altogether uninteresting young man. + +Benton and the girl in one canoe, were soon a quarter of a mile in +advance of the others, and lifting their paddles from the water they +floated with the slow current. The singing voices of the party behind +them came softly adrift along the water. All of the singers were young +and the songs had to do with sentiment. + +The girl buttoned her sweater closer about her throat. The man stuffed +tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and bent low to kindle it into a +cheerful spot of light. + +A belated lemon afterglow lingered at the edge of the sky ahead. +Against it the gaunt branches of a tall tree traced themselves +starkly. Below was the silent blackness of the woods. + +Suddenly Benton raised his head. + +"I have a present for you," he announced. + +"A present?" echoed the girl. "Be careful, Sir Gray Eyes. You played +the magician once and gave me a rose. It was such a wonderful +rose"--she spoke almost tenderly--"that it has spoiled me. No +commonplace gifts will be tolerated after that." + +"This is a different sort of present," he assured her. "This is a god." + +"A what!" Cara was at the stern with the guiding paddle. The man +leaned back, steadying the canoe with a hand on each gunwale, and +smiled into her face. + +"Yes," he said, "he is a god made out of clay with a countenance that +is most unlovely and a complexion like an earthenware jar. I acquired +him in the Andes for a few _centavos_. Since then we have been +companions. In his day he had his place in a splendid temple of the +Sun Worshipers. When I rescued him he was squatting cross-legged on a +counter among silver and copper trinkets belonging to a civilization +younger than his own. When you've been a god and come to be a souvenir +of ruins and dead things--" the man paused for a moment, then with the +ghost of a laugh went on "--it makes you see things differently. In +the twisted squint of his small clay face one reads slight regard for +mere systems and codes." + +He paused so long that she prompted him in a voice that threatened to +become unsteady. "Tell me more about him. What is his godship's name?" + +"He looked so protestingly wise," Benton went on, "that I named him +Jonesy. I liked that name because it fitted him so badly. Jonesy is +not conventional in his ideas, but his morals are sound. He has seen +religions and civilizations and dynasties flourish and decay, and it +has all given him a certain perspective on life. He has occasionally +given me good council." + +He paused again, but, noting that the singing voices were drawing +nearer, he continued more rapidly. + +"In Alaska I used to lie flat on my cot before a great open fire and +his god-ship would perch crosslegged on my chest. When I breathed, he +seemed to shake his fat sides and laugh. When a pagan god from Peru +laughs at you in a Yukon cabin, the situation calls for attention. I +gave attention. + +"Jonesy said that the major human motives sweep in deep channels, +full-tide ahead. He said you might in some degree regulate their floods +by rearing abutments, but that when you tried to build a dam to stop the +Amazon you are dealing with folly. He argued that when one sets out to +dam up the tides set flowing back in the tributaries of the heart it is +written that one must fail. That is the gospel according to Jonesy." + +He turned his face to the front and shot the canoe forward. There was +silence except for the quiet dipping of their paddles, the dripping of +the water from the lifted blades, and the song drifting down river. +Finally Benton added: + +"I don't know what he will say to you, but perhaps he will give you +good advice--on those matters which the centuries can't change." + +Cara's voice came soft, with a hint of repressed tears. + +"He has already given me good advice, dear--" she said, "good advice +that I can't follow." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[95] Copyright, 1911, by W. J. Watt and Company. + + + + +GEORGE BINGHAM + + +George Bingham ("Dunk Botts"), newspaper humorist, was born near +Wallonia, Kentucky, August 1, 1879. He quit school at the age of ten +years to become "the devil" in a printing office at Eddyville, +Kentucky. Two years later he removed to Mayfield, Kentucky, and +accepted a position on _The Mirrow_. Shortly afterwards he wrote his +first ficticious "news-letter" from an imaginary town called Boney +Ridge, Kentucky, and submitted it to the critical eye of a tramp +printer. This nomad at once saw the boy's design: to burlesque the +letters received from the _Mirrow's_ crossroad correspondents; and he +encouraged him. Mr. Bingham remained at Mayfield until he was twenty +years of age, at which time he felt important enough to go out and see +the world. Like most prodigals homesickness seized him for its very +own; and he started home perched high on a freight train. Homeward +bound he first had the name of his future paper suggested to him. +Battling through a tiny town in Tennessee he enquired of the brakeman +as to its name. + +"Walhalla," answered the "shack." + +"Hogwallow?" repeated the young Kentuckian. + +"Hell no! Who ever heard of a place called 'Hogwallow'?" + +Upon reaching home Mr. Bingham decided to put the village of +Hogwallow, Kentucky, on the map. His first letter from that town was +printed in the old _Mayfield Monitor_, under the pen-name of "Dunk +Botts," which he has retained hitherto. After having written several +Hogwallow letters, he was compelled to accept a position on a small +newspaper; then nothing more was heard of Hogwallow until 1901, when +he wrote a letter every few weeks, for a year, and then went to +California. He "arrived back home on June 1, 1905, had a chill a week +later, and launched _The Hogwallow Kentuckian_ on July 15." He took +the public into his confidence, telling them that his object was to +conduct a burlesque newspaper, or, rather, a parody on one. He peopled +his imaginary town and its environs with forty or more characters +whose names summed them up without further ado; and he founded such +important places as Rye Straw, Tickville, Hog Hill church and +graveyard, Wild Onion schoolhouse, Gander Creek, and several other +necessary hamlets and institutions. On May 15, 1909, Mr. Bingham +suspended publication in order to make another trip to California. Two +years later he returned to Kentucky for the sole purpose of +resurrecting his paper. He resumed publication on June 17, 1911, at +Paducah, but Irvin Cobb's town seemingly got on his nerves and, after +three months, he tucked his "sheet" under his arm and returned to his +first love, Mayfield, where he has remained ever since. _The Hogwallow +Kentuckian_ is published every Saturday night, read in thirty-seven +states, and copied by the leading newspapers of America and England. +Mr. Bingham has written more than five thousand "news items" for the +paper, besides some five hundred short-stories, sketches, and +paragraphs. He contributes considerable Hogwallow news to Charles +Hamilton Musgrove's[96] page in _The Evening Post_ of Louisville; but +he is an "outside contributor," doing his work at Mayfield. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Bingham to the Author; the St. + Louis _Post-Dispatch_ (January 14, 1912). + + +HOGWALLOW NEWS + +[From _The Hogwallow Kentuckian_ (December 21, 1912)] + +Atlas Peck can't see why his left shoe wears out so much quicker than +his right one, when his right one does just as much walking as his left. + +Until times get better and the financial questions of the nation gets +fully settled the Old Miser on Musket Ridge will live on two +hickorynuts per day. + +Sim Flinders has brought back with him from the Calf Ribs neighborhood +a feather bed made of owl feathers. While coming home with it on his +back the other night it was so soft and downy he fell to sleep while +walking along the road. + +Yam Sims appeared in public last Sunday with a new pair of pants and a +striped necktie. They have made a wonderful change in his appearance, +and until they wear out he will rank among our best people. + +A dawg fight attracted a lot of attention and broke up the +conversation at the Hog Ford moonshine still house the other day. One +of the dawgs belonged to Poke Eazley and the other to Jefferson +Potlocks, and the difficulty came up over some misunderstanding +between their owners. + +Ellick Hellwanger is fixing to celebrate his wooden wedding next week +with a quart of wood alcohol. + +Tobe Moseley's mule is able to walk around again after being propped +up against a persimmon tree for several days. + +Tobe Moseley took his jug over to the sorghum mill early Tuesday +morning of last week after some molasses, and has not yet returned. No +grave fears, however, are entertained on account of his protracted +absence, as sorghum molasses run slow in cold weather. + +Bullets have been falling in Hogwallow for the past few days. They are +thought to be those Raz Barlow fired at the moon a few nights ago. + +Luke Mathewsla has a good hawg pen for sale cheap. It would make a +good front yard, and Luke may move his house up behind it. + +Cricket Hicks has gone up to Tickville to get an almanac, as he is on +the program for a lot of original jokes at Rye Straw Saturday night. + +Isaac Hellwanger fell off of a foot lawg while watching a panel of +fence float down Gander creek the other morning. He says it don't pay +to get too interested in one thing. + +Slim Pickens has received through the mails a bottle of dandruff cure, +and he is taking two teaspoonfuls after each meal. + +Poke Eazley has been puny this week with lumbago, and had to be +excused from singing at the Dog Hill church Sunday, being too weak to +carry a tune, or lift his voice. + +Fit Smith is having his shoes remodeled, and will occupy them next week. + +Columbus Allsop's head has been itching for several days. He says that +is a sign Christmas is coming. + +The Dog Hill Preacher will be surprised by his congregation next +Sunday morning when they will give him a Christmas present, which they +have already bought. The preacher is greatly surprised every time his +congregation gives him anything. + +Fletcher Henstep's geese are being fattened for Christmas, and have +been turned loose in the Musket Ridge corn patches. They all wear +lanterns as it is late before they get in at night. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[96] Mr. Musgrove, who is to leave _The Post_ at the end of 1912 to +become humorist editor of _The Louisville Times_, was born in +Kentucky, and is the author of a charming volume of verse, _The Dream +Beautiful and Other Poems_ (Louisville; 1898). He is to issue in 1913 +another book of poems, through a Louisville firm, to be entitled _Pan +and Aeolus_. When Mr. Musgrove joins _The Times_ he will take _The +Post's_ clever cartoonist, Paul Plaschke, with him; and they will +occupy an office next to Colonel Henry Watterson's in the new +Courier-Journal and Times building. + + + + +MABEL PORTER PITTS + + +Miss Mabel Porter Pitts, poet, was born near Flemingsburg, Kentucky, +January 5, 1884. Her family removed to Seattle, Washington, when she was +a girl, and her education was received at the Academy of the Holy Names. +Miss Pitts lived at Seattle for a number of years, but she now resides +at San Francisco. Her verse and short-stories have appeared in several +of the eastern magazines, and they have been read with pleasure by many +people. Her first book of poems, _In the Shadow of the Crag and Other +Poems_ (Denver, Colorado, 1907), is now in its third edition, five +thousand copies having been sold so far. This seems to show that there +are people in the United States who care for good verse. Miss Pitts is +well-known on the Pacific coast, where she has spent nearly all her +life, but she must be introduced to the people of her native State, +Kentucky. Her short-stories are as well liked as her poems, a collection +of them is promised for early publication, and she should have a +permanent place in the literature of Kentucky. + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Overland Monthly_ (January; December, 1904; April, + 1908). + + +ON THE LITTLE SANDY[97] + +[From _In the Shadow of the Crag and Other Poems_ (Denver, 1907)] + + Just within the mystic border of Kentucky's blue grass region + There's a silver strip of river lying idly in the sun, + On its banks are beds of fragrance where the butterflies are legion + And the moonbeams frame its glory when the summer day is done. + + There's a little, rose-wreathed cottage nestling close upon its + border + Where a tangled mass of blossoms half conceals an open door, + There's a sweet, narcotic perfume from a garden's wild disorder, + And the jealous poppies cluster where its kisses thrill the shore. + + From across its dimpled bosom comes the half-hushed, careful calling + Of a whippoorwill whose lonely heart is longing for its mate, + And the sun aslant the sleepy eyes of fox-gloves gently falling + Tells the fisherman out yonder that the hour is growing late. + + From the branches of the poplars a spasmodic sleepy twitter + Comes, 'twould seem, in careless answer to the pleading of a song, + And perhaps the tiny bosom holds despair that's very bitter + For his notes are soon unheeded by the little feathered throng. + + Then the twilight settling denser shows a rush-light dimly burning-- + Ah, how well I know the landing drowsing 'neath its feeble beams, + And my homesick heart to mem'ries of the yesterday is turning + While I linger here, forgotten, with no solace but my dreams. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[97] Copyright, 1907, by the Author. + + + + +MARION FORSTER GILMORE + + +Miss Marion Forster Gilmore, the young Louisville poet and dramatist, +was born at Anchorage, Kentucky, November 27, 1887. She was educated +at Hampton College, Louisville, and at a private school in Washington, +D. C. At the age of fourteen years she wrote a poem while crossing the +Rocky Mountains that attracted the attention of Joaquin Miller and +Madison Cawein, and won her the friendship of both poets. When but +fifteen years old she had completed her three-act tragedy of +_Virginia_, set in Rome during the days of the Decemvirs. This is +purely a play for the study, and hardly fitted for stage presentation, +yet it has been praised by William Faversham, the famous actor. Miss +Gilmore contributed lyrics to the _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ and +_Leslie's Weekly_, which, with her play, she published in a charming +book, entitled _Virginia, a Tragedy, and Other Poems_ (Louisville, +Kentucky, 1910). _The Cradle Song_, originally printed in the +_Cosmopolitan_ for May, 1908, is one of the best of her shorter poems. +Miss Gilmore has recently returned to her home at Louisville, after +having spent a year in European travel and study.[98] + + BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ (January, 1909); _Current + Literature_ (August, 1910). + + +THE CRADLE SONG[99] + +[From _Virginia, a Tragedy, and Other Poems_ (Louisville, Kentucky, +1910)] + + Adown the vista of the years, + I turn and look with silent soul, + As though to catch a muted strain + Of melody, that seems to roll + In tender cadence to my ear. + But, as I wait with eyes that long + The singer to behold--it fades, + And silence ends the Cradle Song. + + But when the shadows of the years + Have lengthened slowly to the West, + And once again I lay me down + To sleep, upon my mother's breast, + Then well I know I ne'er again + Shall cry to God, "How long? How long?" + For, to my soul, her voice will sing + A never-ending Cradle Song. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[98] There are two other young women poets of Louisville who should be +mentioned in the same breath with Miss Gilmore: Miss Ethel Allen +Murphy, author of _The Angel of Thought and Other Poems_ (Boston, +1909), and contributor of brief lyrics to _Everybody's Magazine_; and +Miss Hortense Flexner, on the staff of _The Louisville Herald_, whose +poems in the new _Mammoth Cave Magazine_ have attracted much +attention. Miss Flexner is to have a poem published in _The American +Magazine_ in 1913. + +[99] Copyright, 1910, by the Author. + + + + +APPENDIX + + + + +MRS. AGNES E. MITCHELL + + +Dr. Henry A. Cottell, the Louisville booklover, is authority for the +statement that Mrs. Agnes E. Mitchell, author of _When the Cows Come +Home_, one of the loveliest lyrics in the language, lived at +Louisville for some years, and that she wrote her famous poem within +the confines of that city. The date of its composition must have been +about 1870. Mrs. Mitchell was the wife of a clergyman, but little else +is known of her life and literary labors. It is a real pity that her +career has not come down to us in detail. She certainly "lodged a note +in the ear of time," and firmly fixed her fame with it. + + +WHEN THE COWS COME HOME + +[From _The Humbler Poets_, edited by S. Thompson (Chicago, 1885)] + + With Klingle, Klangle, Klingle, + 'Way down the dusty dingle, + The cows are coming home; + Now sweet and clear, and faint and low, + The airy tinklings come and go, + Like chimings from some far-off tower, + Or patterings of an April shower + That makes the daisies grow; + Koling, Kolang, Kolinglelingle, + 'Way down the darkening dingle, + The cows come slowly home; + And old-time friends, and twilight plays + And starry nights and sunny days, + Come trooping up the misty ways, + When the cows come home. + + With Jingle, Jangle, Jingle, + Soft sounds that sweetly mingle, + The cows are coming home; + Malvine and Pearl and Florimel, + DeCamp, Red Rose and Gretchen Schnell, + Queen Bess and Sylph and Spangled Sue, + Across the fields I hear her OO-OO, + And clang her silver bell; + Goling, Golang, Golinglelingle, + With faint far sounds that mingle, + The cows come slowly home; + And mother-songs of long-gone years, + And baby joys, and childish tears, + And youthful hopes, and youthful fears, + When the cows come home. + + With Ringle, Rangle, Ringle, + By twos and threes and single, + The cows are coming home; + Through the violet air we see the town, + And the summer sun a-slipping down; + The maple in the hazel glade + Throws down the path a longer shade, + And the hills are growing brown; + To-ring, to-rang, to-ringleingle, + By threes and fours and single, + The cows come slowly home. + The same sweet sound of wordless psalm, + The same sweet June-day rest and calm, + The same sweet scent of bud and balm, + When the cows come home. + + With a Tinkle, Tankle, Tinkle, + Through fern and periwinkle, + The cows are coming home. + A-loitering in the checkered stream, + Where the sun-rays glance and gleam, + Starine, Peach Bloom and Phoebe Phyllis + Stand knee-deep in the creamy lilies + In a drowsy dream; + To-link, to-lank, to-linkleinkle, + O'er banks with buttercups a-twinkle, + The cows come slowly home; + And up through memory's deep ravine + Come the brook's old song--its old-time sheen, + And the crescent of the silver queen, + When the cows come home. + + With a Klingle, Klangle, Klingle, + With a loo-oo and moo-oo and jingle. + The cows are coming home; + And over there on Morlin hill + Hear the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill; + The dew drops lie on the tangled vines, + And over the poplars Venus shines. + And over the silent mill; + Ko-link, ko-lang, ko-lingleingle; + With a ting-a-ling and jingle, + The cows come slowly home; + Let down the bars; let in the train + Of long-gone songs, and flowers and rain, + For dear old times come back again + When the cows come home. + + + + + +INDEX + + + Ainslie, Hew, I, 87-91 + + Allen, Frank Waller, II, 366-368 + + Allen, James Lane, II, 4-17 + + Allison, Young E., II, 53-56 + + Altsheler, Joseph A., II, 144-149 + + Anderson, Miss Margaret S., II, 318-320 + + Andrews, Mrs. Mary R. S., II, 104-110 + + Aroni, Ernest, II, 206 + + Audubon, John J., I, 45-51 + + Audubon, John W., I, 185-187 + + + Badin, Stephen T., I, 30-34 + + Banks, Mrs. Nancy Huston, II, 17-20 + + Barnett, Mrs. Evelyn S., II, 119-122 + + Bartlett, Elisha, I, 147-150 + + Barton, William E., II, 126-129 + + Bascom, Henry B., I, 98-102 + + Baskett, James Newton, II, 1-4 + + Bayne, Mrs. Mary Addams, II, 202-205 + + Beck, George, I, 23-26 + + Betts, Mary E. W., I, 237-239 + + Bingham, George, II, 375-378 + + Bird, Robert M., I, 135-139 + + Birney, James G., I, 91-95 + + Blackburn, J. C. S., I, 232 + + Bledsoe, Albert T., I, 169-172 + + Bolton, Mrs. Sarah T., I, 228-230 + + Bradford, John, I, 5-7 + + Breckinridge, John C., I, 231-234 + + Breckinridge, Robert J., I, 112-114 + + Breckinridge, W. C. P., I, 319-323 + + Brodhead, Mrs. Eva Wilder, II, 267-273 + + Broadus, John A., I, 261-265 + + Bronner, Milton, II, 303-305 + + Brown, John Mason, I, 240 + + Browne, J. Ross, I, 200-204 + + Bruner, James D., II, 184-186 + + Buchanan, Thompson, II, 355-362 + + Buck, Charles Neville, II, 371-375 + + Burton, George Lee, II, 222-228 + + Butler, Mann, I, 59-62 + + Butler, William O., I, 84-87 + + + Caldwell, Charles, I, 34-37 + + Call, Richard E., I, 240 + + Cawein, Madison, II, 187-198 + + Childs, Mrs. Mary F., I, 356-359 + + Chivers, Thomas H., I, 152-156 + + Clay, Henry, I, 39-44 + + Clay, Mrs. Mary R., I, 240 + + Cobb, Irvin S., II, 323-342 + + Collins, Lewis, I, 104-106 + + Collins, Richard H., 244-247 + + Comfort, Will Levington, II, 363-366 + + Connelley, Wm. E., II, 63-67 + + Conrard, Harrison, II, 236-237 + + Corwin, Thomas, I, 95-98 + + Cosby, Fortunatus, Jr., I, 119-123 + + Cottell, Dr. Henry A., II, 384 + + Cotter, Joseph S., II, 115-116 + + Crittenden, John J., I, 71-74 + + Crittenden, William L., I, 238 + + Crockett, Ingram, II, 77-80 + + Cutter, George W., I, 176-179 + + + Dargan, Mrs. Olive Tilford, II, 255-262 + + Davie, George M., I, 363-364 + + Daviess, Miss Maria Thompson, II, 279-283 + + Davis, Jefferson, I, 156-160 + + Dazey, Chas. 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S., II, 305-307 + + Madden, Miss Eva A., II, 170-172 + + Magruder, Allan B., I, 37-39 + + Marcosson, Isaac F., II, 343-345 + + Marriner, Harry L., II, 262-264 + + Marriott, Crittenden, II, 211-217 + + Martin, Mrs. George M., II, 198-202 + + Marshall, Humphrey, I, 26-29 + + Marshall, Thomas F., I, 123-126 + + Marvin, William F., I, 145-147 + + Mason, Miss Emily V., I, 191-193 + + Menefee, Richard H., I, 173-175 + + Mulligan, James H., I, 348-352 + + Murphy, Miss Ethel Allen, II, 381 + + Musgrove, Charles Hamilton, II, 377 + + Mitchel, Ormsby M., I, 166-169 + + Mitchell, Mrs. Agnes E., II, 385-386 + + Morehead, James T., I, 102-104 + + Morehead, Mrs. L. M., I, 103 + + Morris, Rob, I, 205-207 + + + Navarro, Mary Anderson de, II, 101-104 + + Norris, Mrs. Zoe A., II, 135-139 + + + Obenchain, Mrs. Eliza Calvert, II, 81-84 + + O'Hara, Theodore, I, 218-228 + + O'Malley, Charles J., II, 86-91 + + + Patterson, John, II, 123-125 + + Pattie, James O., I, 142-144 + + Penn, Shadrach, I, 82-83 + + Perrin, William H., I, 240 + + Perry, Bliss, I, 252 + + Peter, Dr. Robert, I, 240-241 + + Petrie, Mrs. Cordia G., II, 273-279 + + Piatt, Mrs. Sarah M. B., I, 303-307 + + Pickett, Thomas E., I, 241 + + Pirtle, Alfred, I, 240 + + Pitts, Miss Mabel Porter, II, 379-380 + + Plaschke, Paul, II, 377 + + Polk, Jefferson J., I, 126-128 + + Portor, Miss Laura S., II, 308-310 + + Prentice, George D., I, 129-135 + + Price, Samuel W., I, 240 + + Price, William T., I, 359-362 + + + Quisenberry, A. C., II, 27-28 + + + Rafinesque, C. S., I, 56-58 + + Ranck, George W., I, 240 + + Rankin, Adam, I, 17-19 + + Rice, Mrs. Alice Hegan, II, 238-243 + + Rice, Cale Young, II, 284-289 + + Ridgely, Benj. H., II, 129-135 + + Rives, Mrs. Hallie Erminie, II, 297-300 + + Roach, Mrs. Abby Meguire, II, 320-323 + + Robertson, George, I, 78-82 + + Robertson, Harrison, II, 74-77 + + Robins, Miss Elizabeth, II, 156-162 + + Rouquette, Adrien E., I, 187-191 + + Rule, Lucien V., II, 265-266 + + + Schoonmaker, E. D., II, 293-294 + + Seibert, Miss Venita, II, 368-371 + + Semple, Miss Ellen C., II, 162-165 + + Shaler, Nathaniel S., I, 336-342 + + Sherley, Douglass, II, 110 + + Shindler, Mrs. Mary P., I, 179-180 + + Shreve, Thomas H., I, 163-166 + + Slaughter, Mrs. Elvira M., II, 110-114 + + Smith, Langdon, II, 91-96 + + Smith, William B., II, 20-26 + + Smith, Z. F., I, 258-261 + + Spalding, John L., I, 334-335 + + Spalding, Martin J., I, 181-184 + + Speed, Thomas, I, 240 + + Stanton, Henry T., I, 297-302 + + + Taylor, Zachary, I, 62-65 + + Tevis, Mrs. Julia A., I, 107-111 + + Towne, Charles Hanson, II, 350-353 + + Tufts, Mrs. Gertrude King, II, 345-349 + + + Underwood, Francis H., I, 250-254 + + Underwood, Oscar W., II, 150-155 + + + Verhoeff, Miss Mary, I, 241 + + Vest, George G., I, 285-287 + + Visscher, William L., I, 342-344 + + + Walling, W. E., II, 353-355 + + Waltz, Mrs. Elizabeth Cherry, II, 205-209 + + Walworth, Miss Reubena H., II, 209-211. + + Warfield, Mrs. Catherine A., I, 197-200 + + Warfield, Ethelbert D., II, 116-118 + + Watterson, Henry, I, 325-331 + + Watts, William C., I, 279-282 + + Webber, Charles W., I, 211-215 + + Weir, James, Senior, I, 234-237 + + Welby, Mrs. Amelia B., I, 207-211 + + Whitsitt, William H., I, 240 + + Willson, Forceythe, I, 313-319 + + Wilson, Richard H., II, 244-247 + + Wilson, Robert Burns, II, 29-35 + + Winchester, Boyd, I, 307-310 + + Wood, Henry Cleveland, II, 60-63 + + Woods, William Hervey, II, 47-49 + + + Young, Bennett H., I, 344-348 + + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes + +Obvious punctuation and spelling errors fixed throughout. + +The oe ligature in this etext has been replaced with oe. + +Inconsistent hyphenation is as in the original. + +Page 106: The title and italicization has been changed from (... little +story, _With A Good Samaritan_ ...) to this (... little story, with _A +Good Samaritan_ ...) to match the title in the rest of the text. + +Page 392: In the Index Mulligan, Murphy and Musgrove are entered out +of alphabetic order as in the original. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Kentucky in American Letters, v. 2 of 2, by +John Wilson Townsend + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KENTUCKY IN AMERICAN *** + +***** This file should be named 39407.txt or 39407.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/4/0/39407/ + +Produced by Brian Sogard, Douglas L. 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