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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39c37a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68318 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68318) diff --git a/old/68318-0.txt b/old/68318-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2e15b65..0000000 --- a/old/68318-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4564 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The provincial American and other -papers, by Meredith Nicholson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The provincial American and other papers - -Author: Meredith Nicholson - -Release Date: June 14, 2022 [eBook #68318] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was - created from images of public domain material made - available by the University of Toronto Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND -OTHER PAPERS *** - - - - - -By Meredith Nicholson - - THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND OTHER PAPERS. - - A HOOSIER CHRONICLE. With illustrations. - - THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS. With illustrations. - - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - - - - -The Provincial American - - - - - The Provincial American - - And Other Papers - - By - Meredith Nicholson - - [Illustration] - - London - CONSTABLE & CO. LIMITED - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - 1913 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - To - - George Edward Woodberry - - Guide, Counselor - And the most inspiring of Friends - This Volume is Dedicated - With grateful and affectionate - Regard - - _Indianapolis, September 1912._ - - - - -Contents - - - THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN 1 - - EDWARD EGGLESTON 33 - - A PROVINCIAL CAPITAL 55 - - EXPERIENCE AND THE CALENDAR 89 - - SHOULD SMITH GO TO CHURCH? 115 - - THE TIRED BUSINESS MAN 159 - - THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF: A DIALOGUE 187 - - CONFESSIONS OF A “BEST-SELLER” 205 - - - These papers, with one exception, have appeared in the _Atlantic - Monthly_. A part of “Experience and the Calendar,” under another - title, was published in the _Reader Magazine_. - - - - - The Provincial American - And Other Papers - - - - -The Provincial American - - _Viola._ What country, friends, is this? - - _Captain._ This is Illyria, lady. - - _Viola._ And what should I do in Illyria? - My brother he is in Elysium. - - _Twelfth Night._ - - -I AM a provincial American. My forebears were farmers or country-town -folk. They followed the long trail over the mountains out of Virginia -and North Carolina, with brief sojourns in western Pennsylvania and -Kentucky. My parents were born, the one in Kentucky, the other in -Indiana, within two and four hours of the spot where I pen these -reflections, and I had voted before I saw the sea or any Eastern city. - -In attempting to illustrate the provincial point of view out of my -own experiences I am moved by no wish to celebrate either the Hoosier -commonwealth--which has not lacked nobler advertisement--or myself; but -by the hope that I may cheer many who, flung by fate upon the world’s -byways, shuffle and shrink under the reproach of their metropolitan -brethren. - -Mr. George Ade has said, speaking of our fresh-water colleges, that -Purdue University, his own _alma mater_, offers everything that Harvard -provides except the sound of _a_ as in “father.” I have been told that -I speak our _lingua rustica_ only slightly corrupted by urban contacts. -Anywhere east of Buffalo I should be known as a Westerner; I could not -disguise myself if I would. I find that I am most comfortable in a town -whose population does not exceed a fifth of a million,--a place in -which men may relinquish their seats in the street car to women without -having their motives questioned, and where one calls the stamp-clerk at -the post-office by his first name. - - -I - -Across a hill-slope that knew my childhood, a bugle’s grieving melody -used to float often through the summer twilight. A highway lay -hidden in the little vale below, and beyond it the unknown musician -was quite concealed, and was never visible to the world I knew. -Those trumpetings have lingered always in my memory, and color my -recollections of all that was near and dear in those days. Men who had -left camp and field for the soberer routine of civil life were not yet -fully domesticated. My bugler was merely solacing himself for lost joys -by recurring to the vocabulary of the trumpet. I am confident that he -enjoyed himself; and I am equally sure that his trumpetings peopled the -dusk for me with great captains and mighty armies, and touched with a -certain militancy all my youthful dreaming. - -No American boy born during or immediately after the Civil War can -have escaped in those years the vivid impressions derived from the -sight and speech of men who had fought its battles, or women who had -known its terror and grief. Chief among my playthings on that peaceful -hillside was the sword my father had borne at Shiloh and on to the sea; -and I remember, too, his uniform coat and sash and epaulets and the -tattered guidon of his battery, that, falling to my lot as toys, yet -imparted to my childish consciousness a sense of what war had been. The -young imagination was kindled in those days by many and great names. -Lincoln, Grant, and Sherman were among the first lispings of Northern -children of my generation; and in the little town where I was born -lived men who had spoken with them face to face. I did not know, until -I sought them later for myself, the fairy-tales that are every child’s -birthright; and I imagine that children of my generation heard less of - - “old, unhappy, far-off things, - And battles long ago,”-- - -and more of the men and incidents of contemporaneous history. Great -spirits still on earth were sojourning. I saw several times, in his -last years, the iron-willed Hoosier War Governor, Oliver P. Morton. By -the time I was ten, a broader field of observation opening through my -parents’ removal to the state capital, I had myself beheld Grant and -Sherman; and every day I passed in the street men who had been partners -with them in the great, heroic, sad, splendid struggle. These things -I set down as a background for the observations that follow,--less as -text than as point of departure; yet I believe that bugler, sounding -“charge” and “retreat” and “taps” in the dusk, and those trappings of -war beneath whose weight I strutted upon that hillside, did much toward -establishing in me a certain habit of mind. From that hillside I have -since ineluctably viewed my country and my countrymen and the larger -world. - -Emerson records Thoreau’s belief that “the flora of Massachusetts -embraced almost all the important plants of America,--most of the oaks, -most of the willows, the best pines, the ash, the maple, the beech, the -nuts. He returned Kane’s ‘Arctic Voyage’ to a friend of whom he had -borrowed it, with the remark that most of the phenomena noted might be -observed in Concord.” - -The complacency of the provincial mind is due less, I believe, to -stupidity and ignorance, than to the fact that every American county -is in a sense complete, a political and social unit, in which the -sovereign rights of a free people are expressed by the court-house and -town hall, spiritual freedom by the village church-spire, and hope -and aspiration in the school-house. Every reader of American fiction, -particularly in the realm of the short story, must have observed the -great variety of quaint and racy characters disclosed. These are the -_dramatis personæ_ of that great American novel which some one has said -is being written in installments. Writers of fiction hear constantly of -characters who would be well worth their study. In reading two recent -novels that penetrate to the heart of provincial life, Mr. White’s “A -Certain Rich Man” and Mrs. Watts’s “Nathan Burke,” I felt that the -characters depicted might, with unimportant exceptions, have been found -almost anywhere in those American States that shared the common history -of Kansas and Ohio. Mr. Winston Churchill, in his admirable novels of -New England, has shown how closely the purely local is allied to the -universal. - -When “David Harum” appeared, characters similar to the hero of that -novel were reported in every part of the country. I rarely visit -a town that has not its cracker-barrel philosopher, or a poet who -would shine but for the callous heart of the magazine editor, or an -artist of supreme though unrecognized talent, or a forensic orator -of wonderful powers, or a mechanical genius whose inventions are -bound to revolutionize the industrial world. In Maine, in the back -room of a shop whose windows looked down upon a tidal river, I have -listened to tariff discussions in the dialect of Hosea Biglow; and a -few weeks later have heard farmers along the un-salt Wabash debating -the same questions from a point of view that revealed no masted ships -or pine woods, with a new sense of the fine tolerance and sanity and -reasonableness of our American people. Mr. James Whitcomb Riley, one of -our shrewdest students of provincial character, introduced me one day -to a friend of his in a village near Indianapolis who bore a striking -resemblance to Abraham Lincoln, and who had something of Lincoln’s -gift for humorous narration. This man kept a country store, and his -attitude toward his customers, and “trade” in general, was delicious in -its drollery. Men said to be “like Lincoln” have not been rare in the -Mississippi Valley, and politicians have been known to encourage belief -in the resemblance. - -Colonel Higginson once said that in the Cambridge of his youth any -member of the Harvard faculty could answer any question within the -range of human knowledge; whereas in these days of specialization some -man can answer the question, but it may take a week’s investigation to -find him. In “our town”--“a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored thing, -sir, but mine own!”--I dare say it was possible in that _post-bellum_ -era to find men competent to deal with almost any problem. These were -mainly men of humble beginnings and all essentially the product of our -American provinces. I should like to set down briefly the ineffaceable -impression some of these characters left upon me. I am precluded by a -variety of considerations from extending this recital. The rich field -of education I ignore altogether; and I may mention only those who have -gone. As it is beside my purpose to prove that mine own people are -other than typical of those of most American communities, I check my -exuberance. Sad, indeed, the offending if I should protest too much! - - -II - -In the days when the bugle still mourned across the vale, Lew Wallace -was a citizen of my native town of Crawfordsville. There he had -amused himself, in the years immediately before the civil conflict, -in drilling a company of “Algerian Zouaves” known as the “Montgomery -Guards,” of which my father was a member, and this was the nucleus of -the Eleventh Indiana Regiment which Wallace commanded in the early -months of the war. It is not, however, of Wallace’s military services -that I wish to speak now, nor of his writings, but of the man himself -as I knew him later at the capital, at a time when, in the neighborhood -of the federal building at Indianapolis, any boy might satisfy his -longing for heroes with a sight of many of our Hoosier Olympians. He -was of medium height, erect, dark to swarthiness, with finely chiseled -features and keen black eyes, with manners the most courtly, and a -voice unusually musical and haunting. His appearance, his tastes, his -manner, were strikingly Oriental. - -He had a strong theatric instinct, and his life was filled with -drama--with melodrama, even. His curiosity led him into the study -of many subjects, most of them remote from the affairs of his day. -He was both dreamer and man of action; he could be “idler than the -idlest flowers,” yet his occupations were many and various. He was an -aristocrat and a democrat; he was wise and temperate, whimsical and -injudicious in a breath. As a youth he had seen visions, and as an old -man he dreamed dreams. The mysticism in him was deep-planted, and he -was always a little aloof, a man apart. His capacity for detachment was -like that of Sir Richard Burton, who, at a great company given in his -honor, was found alone poring over a puzzling Arabic manuscript in an -obscure corner of the house. Wallace, like Burton, would have reached -Mecca, if chance had led him to that adventure. - -Wallace dabbled in politics without ever being a politician; and -I might add that he practiced law without ever being, by any high -standard, a lawyer. He once spoke of the law as “that most detestable -of human occupations.” First and last he tried his hand at all the -arts. He painted a little; he moulded a little in clay; he knew -something of music and played the violin; he made three essays in -romance. As boy and man he went soldiering; he was a civil governor, -and later a minister to Turkey. In view of his sympathetic interest in -Eastern life and character, nothing could have been more appropriate -than his appointment to Constantinople. The Sultan Abdul Hamid, -harassed and anxious, used to send for him at odd hours of the night -to come and talk to him, and offered him on his retirement a number of -positions in the Turkish Government. - -With all this rich experience of the larger world, he remained the -simplest of natures. He was as interested in a new fishing-tackle as in -a new book, and carried both to his houseboat on the Kankakee, where, -at odd moments, he retouched a manuscript for the press, or discussed -politics with the natives. Here was a man who could talk of the “Song -of Roland” as zestfully as though it had just been reported from the -telegraph-office. - -I frankly confess that I never met him without a thrill, even in his -last years and when the ardor of my youthful hero-worship may be said -to have passed. He was an exotic, our Hoosier Arab, our story-teller -of the bazaars. When I saw him in his last illness, it was as though -I looked upon a gray sheik about to fare forth unawed toward unmapped -oases. - -No lesson of the Civil War was more striking than that taught by the -swift transitions of our citizen soldiery from civil to military life, -and back again. This impressed me as a boy, and I used to wonder, as I -passed my heroes on their peaceful errands in the street, why they had -put down the sword when there must still be work somewhere for fighting -men to do. The judge of the federal court at this time was Walter Q. -Gresham, brevetted brigadier-general, who was destined later to adorn -the Cabinets of Presidents of two political parties. He was cordial and -magnetic; his were the handsomest and friendliest of brown eyes, and a -noble gravity spoke in them. Among the lawyers who practiced before him -were Benjamin Harrison and Thomas A. Hendricks, who became respectively -President and Vice-President. - -Those Hoosiers who admired Gresham ardently were often less devotedly -attached to Harrison, who lacked Gresham’s warmth and charm. General -Harrison was akin to the Covenanters who bore both Bible and sword -into battle. His eminence in the law was due to his deep learning -in its history and philosophy. Short of stature, and without grace -of person,--with a voice pitched rather high,--he was a remarkably -interesting and persuasive speaker. If I may so put it, his political -speeches were addressed as to a trial judge rather than to a jury, his -appeal being to reason and not to passion or prejudice. He could, in -rapid flights of campaigning, speak to many audiences in a day without -repeating himself. He was measured and urbane; his discourses abounded -in apt illustrations; he was never dull. He never stooped to pietistic -clap-trap, or chanted the jaunty chauvinism that has so often caused -the Hoosier stars to blink. - -Among the Democratic leaders of that period, Hendricks was one of the -ablest, and a man of many attractive qualities. His dignity was always -impressive, and his appearance suggested the statesman of an earlier -time. It is one of immortality’s harsh ironies that a man who was a -gentleman, and who stood moreover pretty squarely for the policies that -it pleased him to defend, should be published to the world in a bronze -effigy in his own city as a bandy-legged and tottering tramp, in a -frock coat that never was on sea or land. - -Joseph E. McDonald, a Senator in Congress, was held in affectionate -regard by a wide constituency. He was an independent and vigorous -character who never lost a certain raciness and tang. On my first -timid venture into the fabled East I rode with him in a day-coach from -Washington to New York on a slow train. At some point he saw a peddler -of fried oysters on a station platform, alighted to make a purchase, -and ate his luncheon quite democratically from the paper parcel in his -car seat. He convoyed me across the ferry, asked where I expected to -stop, and explained that he did not care for the European plan himself; -he liked, he said, to have “full swing at a bill of fare.” - -I used often to look upon the towering form of Daniel W. Voorhees, whom -Sulgrove, an Indiana journalist with a gift for translating Macaulay -into Hoosierese, had named “The Tall Sycamore of the Wabash.” In a -crowded hotel lobby I can still see him, cloaked and silk-hatted, the -centre of the throng, and my strict upbringing in the antagonistic -political faith did not diminish my admiration for his eloquence. - -Such were some of the characters who came and went in the streets of -our provincial capital in those days. - - -III - -In discussions under captions similar to mine it is often maintained -that railways, telegraphs, telephones, and newspapers are so knitting -us together, that soon we shall all be keyed to a metropolitan pitch. -The proof adduced in support of this is the most trivial, but it -strikes me as wholly undesirable that we should all be ironed out and -conventionalized. In the matter of dress, for example, the women of our -town used to take their fashions from “Godey’s” and “Peterson’s” _via_ -Cincinnati; but now that we are only eighteen hours from New York, with -a well-traveled path from the Wabash to Paris, my counselors among the -elders declare that the tone of our society--if I may use so perilous -a word--has changed little from our good old black alpaca days. The -hobble skirt receives prompt consideration in the “Main” street of any -town, and is viewed with frank curiosity, but it is only a one day’s -wonder. A lively runaway or the barbaric yawp of a new street fakir may -dethrone it at any time. - -New York and Boston tailors solicit custom among us semi-annually, but -nothing is so stubborn as our provincial distrust of fine raiment. -I looked with awe, in my boyhood, upon a pair of mammoth blue-jeans -trousers that were flung high from a flagstaff in the centre of -Indianapolis, in derision of a Democratic candidate for governor, James -D. Williams, who was addicted to the wearing of jeans. The Democrats -sagaciously accepted the challenge, made “honest blue jeans” the -battle-cry, and defeated Benjamin Harrison, the “kid-glove” candidate -of the Republicans. Harmless demagoguery this, or bad judgment on the -part of the Republicans; and yet I dare say that if the sartorial issue -should again become acute in our politics the banner of bifurcated -jeans would triumph now as then. A Hoosier statesman who to-day -occupies high office once explained to me his refusal of sugar for his -coffee by remarking that he didn’t like to waste sugar that way; he -wanted to keep it for his lettuce! I do not urge sugared lettuce as -symbolizing our higher provincialism, but mayonnaise may be poison to -men who are nevertheless competent to construe and administer law. - -It is much more significant that we are all thinking about the same -things at the same time, than that Farnam Street, Omaha, and Fifth -Avenue, New York, should vibrate to the same shade of necktie. The -distribution of periodicals is so managed that California and Maine -cut the leaves of their magazines on the same day. Rural free delivery -has hitched the farmer’s wagon to the telegraph-office, and you can’t -buy his wife’s butter now until he has scanned the produce market in -his newspaper. This immediacy of contact does not alter the provincial -point of view. New York and Texas, Oregon and Florida will continue to -see things at different angles, and it is for the good of all of us -that this is so. We have no national political, social, or intellectual -centre. There is no “season” in New York, as in London, during which -all persons distinguished in any of these particulars meet on common -ground. Washington is our nearest approach to such a meeting-place, -but it offers only short vistas. We of the country visit Boston -for the symphony, or New York for the opera, or Washington to view -the government machine at work, but nowhere do interesting people -representative of all our ninety millions ever assemble under one roof. -All our capitals are, as Lowell put it, “fractional,” and we shall -hardly have a centre while our country is so nearly a continent. - -Nothing in our political system could be wiser than our dispersion into -provinces. Sweep from the map the lines that divide the States and we -should huddle like sheep suddenly deprived of the protection of known -walls and flung upon the open prairie. State lines and local pride -are in themselves a pledge of stability. The elasticity of our system -makes possible a variety of governmental experiments by which the -whole country profits. We should all rejoice that the parochial mind -is so open, so eager, so earnest, so tolerant. Even the most buckramed -conservative on the eastern coast-line, scornful of the political -follies of our far-lying provinces, must view with some interest the -dallyings of Oregon with the Referendum, and of Des Moines with the -Commission System. If Milwaukee wishes to try socialism, the rest of us -need not complain. Democracy will cease to be democracy when all its -problems are solved and everybody votes the same ticket. - -States that produce the most cranks are prodigal of the corn that pays -the dividends on the railroads the cranks despise. Indiana’s amiable -feeling toward New York is not altered by her sister’s rejection or -acceptance of the direct primary, a benevolent device of noblest -intention, under which, not long ago, in my own commonwealth, my fellow -citizens expressed their distrust of me with unmistakable emphasis. It -is no great matter, but in open convention also I have perished by the -sword. Nothing can thwart the chastening hand of a righteous people. - -All passes; humor alone is the touchstone of democracy. I search the -newspapers daily for tidings of Kansas, and in the ways of Oklahoma -I find delight. The Emporia “Gazette” is quite as patriotic as the -Springfield “Republican” or the New York “Post,” and to my own taste, -far less depressing. I subscribed for a year to the Charleston “News -and Courier,” and was saddened by the tameness of its sentiments; for -I remember (it must have been in 1883) the shrinking horror with which -I saw daily in the Indiana Republican organ a quotation from Wade -Hampton to the effect that “these are the same principles for which -Lee and Jackson fought four years on Virginia’s soil.” Most of us are -entertained when Colonel Watterson rises to speak for Kentucky and -invokes the star-eyed goddess. When we call the roll of the States, if -Malvolio answer for any, let us suffer him in patience and rejoice in -his yellow stockings. “God give them wisdom that have it; and those -that are fools, let them use their talents.” - -Every community has its dissenters, protestants, kickers, cranks; the -more the merrier. My town has not lacked impressive examples, and I -early formed a high resolve to strive for membership in their execrated -company. George W. Julian,--one of the noblest of Hoosiers,--who had -been the Free-Soil candidate for Vice-President in 1852, a delegate to -the first Republican convention, five times a member of Congress, a -supporter of Greeley’s candidacy, and a Democrat in the consulship of -Cleveland, was a familiar figure in our streets. In 1884 I was dusting -law-books in an office where mug-wumpery flourished, and where the -iniquities of the tariff, Matthew Arnold’s theological opinions, and -the writings of Darwin, Spencer, and Huxley were discussed at intervals -in the days’ business. - - -IV - -Many complain that we Americans give too much time to politics, but -there could be no safer outlet for that “added drop of nervous fluid” -which Colonel Higginson found in us and turned over to Matthew Arnold -for further analysis. No doubt many voices will cry in the wilderness -before we reach the promised land. A people which has been fed on the -Bible is bound to hear the rumble of Pharaoh’s chariots. It is in the -blood to resent the oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely. -The winter evenings are long on the prairies, and we must always be -fashioning a crown for Cæsar or rehearsing his funeral rites. No great -danger can ever seriously menace the nation so long as the remotest -citizen clings to his faith that he is a part of the governmental -mechanism and can at any time throw it out of adjustment if it doesn’t -run to suit him. He can go into the court-house and see the men he -helped to place in office; or if they were chosen in spite of him, he -pays his taxes just the same and waits for another chance to turn the -rascals out. - -Mr. Bryce wrote: “This tendency to acquiescence and submission; this -sense of the insignificance of individual effort, this belief that the -affairs of men are swayed by large forces whose movement may be studied -but cannot be turned, I have ventured to call the Fatalism of the -Multitude.” It is, I should say, one of the most encouraging phenomena -of the score of years that has elapsed since Mr. Bryce’s “American -Commonwealth” appeared, that we have grown much less conscious of the -crushing weight of the mass. It has been with something of a child’s -surprise in his ultimate successful manipulation of a toy whose -mechanism had baffled him that we have begun to realize that, after -all, the individual counts. The pressure of the mass will yet be felt, -but in spite of its persistence there are abundant signs that the -individual is asserting himself more and more, and even the undeniable -acceptance of collectivist ideas in many quarters helps to prove it. -With all our faults and defaults of understanding,--populism, free -silver, Coxey’s army, and the rest of it,--we of the West have not done -so badly. Be not impatient with the young man Absalom; the mule knows -his way to the oak tree! - -Blaine lost Indiana in 1884; Bryan failed thrice to carry it. The -campaign of 1910 in Indiana was remarkable for the stubbornness of -“silent” voters, who listened respectfully to the orators but left the -managers of both parties in the air as to their intentions. In the -Indiana Democratic State Convention of 1910 a gentleman was furiously -hissed for ten minutes amid a scene of wildest tumult; but the cause he -advocated won, and the ticket nominated in that memorable convention -succeeded in November. Within fifty years Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois -have sent to Washington seven Presidents, elected for ten terms. -Without discussing the value of their public services it may be said -that it has been an important demonstration to our Mid-Western people -of the closeness of their ties with the nation, that so many men of -their own soil have been chosen to the seat of the Presidents; and -it is creditable to Maine and California that they have cheerfully -acquiesced. In Lincoln the provincial American most nobly asserted -himself, and any discussion of the value of provincial life and -character in our politics may well begin and end in him. We have seen -verily that - - “Fishers and choppers and ploughmen - Shall constitute a state.” - -Whitman, addressing Grant on his return from his world’s tour, declared -that it was not that the hero had walked “with kings with even pace the -round world’s promenade”;-- - - “But that in foreign lands, in all thy walks with kings, - Those prairie sovereigns of the West, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, - Ohio’s, Indiana’s millions, comrades, farmers, soldiers, all to the - front, - Invisibly with thee walking with kings with even pace the round - world’s promenade, - Were all so justified.” - -What we miss and what we lack who live in the provinces seem to me of -little weight in the scale against our compensations. We slouch,--we -are deficient in the graces,--we are prone to boast,--and we lack -in those fine reticences that mark the cultivated citizen of the -metropolis. We like to talk, and we talk our problems out to a finish. -Our commonwealths rose in the ashes of the hunter’s camp-fires, and -we are all a great neighborhood, united in a common understanding of -what democracy is, and animated by ideals of what we want it to be. -That saving humor which is a philosophy of life flourishes amid the -tall corn. We are old enough now--we of the West--to have built up in -ourselves a species of wisdom, founded upon experience, which is a part -of the continuing, unwritten law of democracy. We are less likely these -days to “wobble right” than we are to stand fast or march forward like -an army with banners. - -We provincials are immensely curious. Art, music, literature, -politics--nothing that is of contemporaneous human interest is alien to -us. If these things don’t come to us, we go to them. We are more truly -representative of the American ideal than our metropolitan cousins, -because (here I lay my head upon the block) we know more about, oh, -so many things! We know vastly more about the United States, for one -thing. We know what New York is thinking before New York herself knows -it, because we visit the metropolis to find out. Sleeping-cars have -no terrors for us, and a man who has never been west of Philadelphia -seems to us a singularly benighted being. Those of our Western -school-teachers who don’t see Europe for three hundred dollars every -summer get at least as far East as Concord, to be photographed “by the -rude bridge that arched the flood.” - -That fine austerity which the voluble Westerner finds so smothering -on the Boston and New York express is lost utterly at Pittsburg. From -gentlemen cruising in day-coaches--dull wights who advertise their -personal sanitation and literacy by the toothbrush and fountain-pen -planted sturdily in their upper left-hand waistcoat pockets--one may -learn the most prodigious facts and the philosophy thereof. “Sit over, -brother; there’s hell to pay in the Balkans,” remarks the gentleman who -boarded the interurban at Peru or Connersville, and who would just as -lief discuss the Papacy or child labor, if revolutions are not to your -liking. - -In Boston a lady once expressed her surprise that I should be hastening -home for Thanksgiving Day. This, she thought, was a New England -festival. More recently I was asked by a Bostonian if I had ever heard -of Paul Revere. Nothing is more delightful in us, I think, than our -meekness before instruction. We strive to please; all we ask is “to be -shown.” - -Our greatest gain is in leisure and the opportunity to ponder and -brood. In all these thousands of country towns live alert and shrewd -students of affairs. Where your New Yorker scans headlines as he -“commutes” homeward, the villager reaches his own fireside without -being shot through a tube, and sits down and reads his newspaper -thoroughly. When he repairs to the drug-store to abuse or praise the -powers that be, his wife reads the paper, too. A United States Senator -from a Middle Western State, making a campaign for renomination -preliminary to the primaries, warned the people in rural communities -against the newspaper and periodical press with its scandals and -heresies. “Wait quietly by your firesides, undisturbed by these false -teachings,” he said in effect; “then go to your primaries and vote -as you have always voted.” His opponent won by thirty thousand,--the -amiable answer of the little red school-house. - - -V - -A few days ago I visited again my native town. On the slope where I -played as a child I listened in vain for the mourning bugle; but on the -college campus a bronze tablet commemorative of those sons of Wabash -who had fought in the mighty war quickened the old impressions. The -college buildings wear a look of age in the gathering dusk. - - “Coldly, sadly descends - The autumn evening. The field - Strewn with its dank yellow drifts - Of withered leaves, and the elms, - Fade into dimness apace, - Silent; hardly a shout - From a few boys late at their play!” - -Brave airs of cityhood are apparent in the town, with its paved -streets, fine hall and library; and everywhere are wholesome life, -comfort, and peace. The train is soon hurrying through gray fields and -dark woodlands. Farmhouses are disclosed by glowing panes; lanterns -flash fitfully where farmers are making all fast for the night. The -city is reached as great factories are discharging their laborers, and -I pass from the station into a hurrying throng homeward bound. Against -the sky looms the dome of the capitol; the tall shaft of the soldiers’ -monument rises ahead of me down the long street and vanishes starward. -Here where forests stood seventy-five years ago, in a State that has -not yet attained its centenary, is realized much that man has sought -through all the ages,--order, justice, and mercy, kindliness and good -cheer. What we lack we seek, and what we strive for we shall gain. And -of such is the kingdom of democracy. - - - - -Edward Eggleston - - - - -Edward Eggleston - - -THE safest appeal of the defender of realism in fiction continues to -be to geography. The old inquiry for the great American novel ignored -the persistent expansion by which the American States were multiplying. -If the question had not ceased to be a burning issue, the earnest -seeker might now be given pause by the recent appearance upon our maps -of far-lying islands which must, in due course, add to the perplexity -of any who wish to view American life steadily or whole. If we should -suddenly vanish, leaving only a solitary Homer to chant us, we might -possibly be celebrated adequately in a single epic, but as long as we -continue malleable and flexible we shall hardly be “begun, continued, -and ended” in a single novel, drama, or poem. He were a much-enduring -Ulysses who could touch once at all our ports. Even Walt Whitman, from -the top of his omnibus, could not see across the palms of Hawaii or the -roofs of Manila; and yet we shall doubtless receive, in due course, -bulletins from the Dialect Society with notes on colonial influences in -American speech. Thus it is fair to assume that in the nature of things -we shall rely more and more on realistic fiction for a federation of -the scattered States of this decentralized and diverse land of ours -in a literature which shall become our most vivid social history. We -cannot be condensed into one or a dozen finished panoramas; he who -would know us hereafter must read us in the flashes of the kinetoscope. - -Important testimony to the efficacy of an honest and trustworthy -realism has passed into the record in the work of Edward Eggleston, our -pioneer provincial realist. Eggleston saw early the value of a local -literature, and demonstrated that where it may be referred to general -judgments, where it interprets the universal heart and conscience, an -attentive audience may be found for it. It was his unusual fortune to -have combined a personal experience at once varied and novel with a -self-acquired education to which he gave the range and breadth of true -cultivation, and, in special directions, the precision of scholarship. -The primary facts of life as he knew them in the Indiana of his -boyhood took deep hold upon his imagination, and the experiences of -that period did much to shape his career. He knew the life of the Ohio -Valley at an interesting period of transition. He was not merely a -spectator of striking social phenomena; but he might have said, with a -degree of truth, _quorum pars magna fui_; for he was a representative -of the saving remnant which stood for enlightenment in a dark day -in a new land. Literature had not lacked servants in the years of -his youth in the Ohio Valley. Many knew in those days the laurel -madness; but they went “searching with song the whole world through” -with no appreciation of the material that lay ready to their hands at -home. Their work drew no strength from the Western soil, but was the -savorless fungus of a flabby sentimentalism. It was left for Eggleston, -with characteristic independence, to abandon fancy for reality. He -never became a great novelist, and yet his homely stories of the -early Hoosiers, preserving as they do the acrid bite of the persimmon -and the mellow flavor of the pawpaw, strengthen the whole case for a -discerning and faithful treatment of local life. What he saw will not -be seen again, and when “The Hoosier Schoolmaster” and “Roxy” cease to -entertain as fiction they will teach as history. - -The assumption in many quarters that “The Hoosier Schoolmaster” was -in some measure autobiographical was always very distasteful to Dr. -Eggleston, and he entered his denial forcibly whenever occasion -offered. His own life was sheltered, and he experienced none of the -traditional hardships of the self-made man. He knew at once the -companionship of cultivated people and good books. His father, Joseph -Cary Eggleston, who removed to Vevay, Indiana, from Virginia in -1832, was an alumnus of William and Mary College, and his mother’s -family, the Craigs, were well known in southern Indiana, where they -were established as early as 1799. Joseph Cary Eggleston served in -both houses of the Indiana Legislature, and was defeated for Congress -in the election of 1844. His cousin, Miles Cary Eggleston, was a -prominent Indiana lawyer, and a judge in the early days, riding the -long Whitewater circuit, which then extended through eastern Indiana -from the Ohio to the Michigan border. Edward Eggleston was born at -Vevay, December 10, 1837. His boyhood horizons were widened by the -removal of his family to New Albany and Madison, by a sojourn in the -backwoods of Decatur County, and by thirteen months spent in Amelia -County, Virginia, his father’s former home. There he saw slavery -practiced, and he ever afterward held anti-slavery opinions. There -was much to interest an intelligent boy in the Ohio Valley of those -years. Reminiscences of the frontiersmen who had redeemed the valley -from savagery seasoned fireside talk with the spice of adventure; -Clark’s conquest had enrolled Vincennes in the list of battles of the -Revolution; the battle of Tippecanoe was recent history; and the long -rifle was still the inevitable accompaniment of the axe throughout -a vast area of Hoosier wilderness. There was, however, in all the -towns--Vevay, Brookville, Madison, Vincennes--a cultivated society, and -before Edward Eggleston was born a remarkable group of scholars and -adventurers had gathered about Robert Owen at New Harmony, in the lower -Wabash, and while their experiment in socialism was a dismal failure, -they left nevertheless an impression which is still plainly traceable -in that region. Abraham Lincoln lived for fourteen years (1816-30) in -Spencer County, Indiana, and witnessed there the same procession of the -Ohio’s argosies which Eggleston watched later in Switzerland County. - -Edward Eggleston attended school for not more than eighteen months -after his tenth year, and owing to ill health he never entered college, -though his father, who died at thirty-four, had provided a scholarship -for him. But he knew in his youth a woman of unusual gifts, Mrs. Julia -Dumont, who conducted a dame school at Vevay. Mrs. Dumont is the -most charming figure in early Indiana history, and Dr. Eggleston’s -own portrait of her is at once a tribute and an acknowledgment. She -wrote much in prose and verse, so that young Eggleston, besides the -stimulating atmosphere of his own home, had before him in his formative -years a writer of somewhat more than local reputation for his intimate -counselor and teacher. His schooling continued to be desultory, but -his curiosity was insatiable, and there was, indeed, no period in -which he was not an eager student. His life was rich in those minor -felicities of fortune which disclose pure gold to seeing eyes in -any soil. He wrote once of the happy chance which brought him to a -copy of Milton in a little house where he lodged for a night on the -St. Croix River. His account of his first reading of “L’Allegro” is -characteristic: “I read it in the freshness of the early morning, and -in the freshness of early manhood, sitting by a window embowered with -honeysuckles dripping with dew, and overlooking the deep trap-rock -dalles through which the dark, pine-stained waters of the St. Croix -River run swiftly. Just abreast of the little village the river -opened for a space, and there were islands; and a raft, manned by two -or three red-shirted men, was emerging from the gorge into the open -water. Alternately reading ‘L’Allegro’ and looking off at the poetic -landscape, I was lifted out of the sordid world into a region of -imagination and creation. When, two or three hours later, I galloped -along the road, here and there overlooking the dalles and river, the -glory of a nature above nature penetrated my being; and Milton’s song -of joy reverberated still in my thoughts.” He was, it may be said, a -natural etymologist, and by the time he reached manhood he had acquired -a reading knowledge of half a dozen languages. We have glimpses of him -as chain-bearer for a surveying party in Minnesota; as walking across -country toward Kansas, with an ambition to take a hand in the border -troubles; and then once more in Indiana, in his nineteenth year, as -an itinerant Methodist minister. He rode a four-week circuit with -ten preaching places along the Ohio, his theological training being -described by his statement that in those days “Methodist preachers -were educated by the old ones telling the young ones all they knew.” -He turned again to Minnesota to escape malaria, preaching in remote -villages to frontiersmen and Indians, and later he ministered to -churches in St. Paul and elsewhere. He held, first at Chicago and later -at New York, a number of editorial positions, and he occasionally -contributed to juvenile periodicals; but these early writings were in -no sense remarkable. - -“The Hoosier Schoolmaster” appeared serially in “Hearth and Home” in -1871. It was written in intervals of editorial work and was a _tour -de force_ for which the author expected so little publicity that he -gave his characters the names of persons then living in Switzerland -and Decatur counties, Indiana, with no thought that the story would -ever penetrate to its habitat. But the homely little tale, with all -its crudities and imperfections, made a wide appeal. It was pirated at -once in England; it was translated into French by “Madame Blanc,” and -was published in condensed form in the “Revue des Deux Mondes”; and -later, with one of Mr. Aldrich’s tales and other stories by Eggleston, -in book form. It was translated into German and Danish also. “Le -Maître d’Ecole de Flat Creek” was the title as set over into French, -and the Hoosier dialect suffered a sea-change into something rich and -strange by its cruise into French waters. The story depicts Indiana -in its darkest days. The State’s illiteracy as shown by the census of -1830 was 14.32 per cent as against 5.54 in the neighboring State of -Ohio. The “no lickin’, no learnin’” period which Eggleston describes -is thus a matter of statistics; but even before he wrote the old -order had changed and Caleb Mills, an alumnus of Dartmouth, had come -from New England to lead the Hoosier out of darkness into the light -of free schools. The story escaped the oblivion which overtakes most -books for the young by reason of its freshness and novelty. It was, -indeed, something more than a story for boys, though, like “Tom Sawyer” -and “The Story of a Bad Boy,” it is listed among books of permanent -interest to youth. It shows no unusual gift of invention; its incidents -are simple and commonplace; but it daringly essayed a record of local -life in a new field, with the aid of a dialect of the people described, -and thus became a humble but important pioneer in the development of -American fiction. It is true that Bret Harte and Mark Twain had already -widened the borders of our literary domain westward; and others, like -Longstreet, had turned a few spadefuls of the rich Southern soil; but -Harte was of the order of romancers, and Mark Twain was a humorist, -while Longstreet, in his “Georgia Scenes,” gives only the eccentric and -fantastic. Eggleston introduced the Hoosier at the bar of American -literature in advance of the Creole of Mr. Cable or the negro of -Mr. Page or Mr. Harris, or the mountaineer of Miss Murfree, or the -delightful shore-folk of Miss Jewett’s Maine. - -Several of Eggleston’s later Hoosier stories are a valuable testimony -to the spiritual unrest of the Ohio Valley pioneers. The early Hoosiers -were a peculiarly isolated people, shut in by great woodlands. The -news of the world reached them tardily; but they were thrilled by new -versions of the Gospel brought to them by adventurous evangelists, -whose eloquence made Jerusalem seem much nearer than their own national -capital. Heated discussions between the sects supplied in those days -an intellectual stimulus greater than that of politics. Questions -shook the land which were unknown at Westminster and Rome; they are -now well-nigh forgotten in the valley where they were once debated so -fiercely. The Rev. Mr. Bosaw and his monotonously sung sermon in “The -Hoosier Schoolmaster” are vouched for, and preaching of the same sort -has been heard in Indiana at a much later period than that of which -Eggleston wrote. “The End of the World” (1872) describes vividly the -extravagant belief of the Millerites, who, in 1842-43, found positive -proof in the Book of Daniel that the world’s doom was at hand. This -tale shows little if any gain in constructive power over the first -Hoosier story, and the same must be said of “The Circuit Rider,” -which portrays the devotion and sacrifice of the hardy evangelists of -the Southwest among whom Eggleston had served. “Roxy” (1878) marks -an advance; the story flows more easily, and the scrutiny of life is -steadier. The scene is Vevay, and he contrasts pleasantly the Swiss -and Hoosier villagers, and touches intimately the currents of local -religious and political life. Eggleston shows here for the first time a -capacity for handling a long story. The characters are of firmer fibre; -the note of human passion is deeper, and he communicates to his pages -charmingly the atmosphere of his native village,--its quiet streets -and pretty gardens, the sunny hills and the broad-flowing river. -Vevay is again the scene in “The Hoosier Schoolboy” (1883), which is, -however, no worthy successor to “The Schoolmaster.” The workmanship -is infinitely superior to that of his first Hoosier tale, but he had -lost touch, either with the soil (he had been away from Indiana for -more than a decade), or with youth, or with both, and the story is flat -and tame. After another long absence he returned to the Western field -in which he had been a pioneer, and wrote “The Graysons” (1888), a -capital story of Illinois, in which Lincoln is a character. Here and in -“The Faith Doctor,” a novel of metropolitan life which followed three -years later, the surer stroke of maturity is perceptible; and the short -stories collected in “Duffles” include “Sister Tabea,” a thoroughly -artistic bit of work, which he once spoke of as being among the most -satisfactory things he had written. - - * * * * * - -A fault of all of Eggleston’s earlier stories is their too serious -insistence on the moral they carried--a resort to the Dickens method -of including Divine Providence among the _dramatis personæ_; but this -is not surprising in one in whom there was, by his own confession, -a life-long struggle “between the lover of literary art and the -religionist, the reformer, the philanthropist, the man with a mission.” -There is little humor in these tales,--there was doubtless little -in the life itself,--but there is abundant good nature. In all he -maintains consistently the point of view of the realist, his lapses -being chiefly where the moralist has betrayed him. There are many -pictures which denote his understanding of the illuminative value -of homely incident in the life he then knew best; there are the -spelling-school, the stirring religious debates, the barbecue, the -charivari, the infare, glimpses of “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,” and the -“Hard Cider” campaign. Those times rapidly receded; Indiana is one of -the older States now, and but for Eggleston’s tales there would be no -trustworthy record of the period he describes. - -Lowell had made American dialect respectable, and had used it as the -vehicle for his political gospel; but Eggleston invoked the Hoosier -_lingua rustica_ to aid in the portrayal of a type. He did not, -however, employ dialect with the minuteness of subsequent writers, -notably Mr. James Whitcomb Riley; but the Southwestern idiom -impressed him, and his preface and notes in the later edition of -“The Schoolmaster” are invaluable to the student. Dialect remains in -Indiana, as elsewhere, largely a matter of observation and opinion. -There has never been a uniform folk-speech peculiar to the people -living within the borders of the State. The Hoosier dialect, so called, -consisting more of elisions and vulgarized pronunciations than of true -idiom, is spoken wherever the Scotch-Irish influence is perceptible -in the West Central States, notably in the southern counties of Ohio, -Indiana, and Illinois. It is not to be confounded with the cruder -speech of the “poor-whitey,” whose wild strain in the Hoosier blood was -believed by Eggleston to be an inheritance of the English bond-slave. -There were many vague and baffling elements in the Ohio Valley speech, -but they passed before the specialists of the Dialect Society could -note them. Mr. Riley’s Hoosier is more sophisticated than Eggleston’s, -and thirty years of change lie between them,--years which wholly -transformed the State, physically and socially. It is diverting to -have Eggleston’s own statement that the Hoosiers he knew in his youth -were wary of New England provincialisms, and that his Virginia father -threatened to inflict corporal punishment on his children “if they -should ever give the peculiar vowel sound heard in some parts of New -England in such words as ‘roof’ and ‘root.’” - -While Eggleston grew to manhood on a frontier which had been a -great battle-ground, the mere adventurous aspects of this life -did not attract him when he sought subjects for his pen; but the -culture-history of the people among whom his life fell interested -him greatly, and he viewed events habitually with a critical eye. He -found, however, that the evolution of society could not be treated -satisfactorily in fiction, so he began, in 1880, while abroad, the -researches in history which were to occupy him thereafter to the end of -his life. His training as a student of social forces had been superior -to any that he could have obtained in the colleges accessible to him, -for he had seen life in the raw; he had known, on the one hand, the -vanishing frontiersmen who founded commonwealths around the hunters’ -camp-fires; and he had, on the other, witnessed the dawn of a new -era which brought order and enlightenment. He thus became a delver in -libraries only after he had scratched under the crust of life itself. -While he turned first to the old seaboard colonies in pursuit of his -new purpose, he brought to his research an actual knowledge of the -beginnings of new States which he had gained in the open. He planned a -history of life in the United States on new lines, his main idea being -to trace conditions and movements to remotest sources. He collected -and studied his material for sixteen years before he published any -result of his labors beyond a few magazine papers. “The Beginnings of a -Nation” (1896) and “The Transit of Civilization” (1901) are only part -of the scheme as originally outlined, but they are complete as far -as they go, and are of permanent interest and value. History was not -to him a dusty lumber room, but a sunny street where people came and -went in their habits as they lived; and thus, in a sense, he applied -to history the realism of fiction. He pursued his task with scientific -ardor and accuracy, but without fussiness or dullness. His occupations -as novelist and editor had been a preparation for his later work, for -it was the story quality that he sought in history, and he wrote with -an editorial eye to what is salient and interesting. It is doubtful -whether equal care has ever been given to the preparation of any other -historical work in this country. The plan of the books is in itself -admirable, and the exhaustive character of his researches is emphasized -by copious notes, which are hardly less attractive than the text they -amplify and strengthen. He expressed himself with simple adequacy, -without flourish, and with a nice economy of words; but he could, when -he chose, throw grace and charm into his writing. He was, in the best -sense, a humanist. He knew the use of books, but he vitalized them from -a broad knowledge of life. He had been a minister, preaching a simple -gospel, for he was never a theologian as the term is understood, but he -enlisted zealously in movements for the bettering of mankind, and his -influence was unfailingly wholesome and stimulating. - -His robust spirit was held in thrall by an invalid body, and throughout -his life his work was constantly interrupted by serious illnesses; -but there was about him a certain blitheness; his outlook on life -was cheerful and sanguine. He was tremendously in earnest in all his -undertakings and accomplished first and last an immense amount of -work,--preacher, author, editor, and laborious student, his industry -was ceaseless. His tall figure, his fine head with its shock of white -hair, caught the attention in any gathering. He was one of the most -charming of talkers, leading lightly on from one topic to another. -No one who ever heard his voice can forget its depth and resonance. -Nothing in our American annals is more interesting or more remarkable -than the rise of such men, who appear without warning in all manner -of out-of-the-way places and succeed in precisely those fields which -environment and opportunity seemingly conspire to fortify most strongly -against them. Eggleston possessed in marked degree that self-reliance -which Higginson calls the first requisite of a new literature, and -through it he earned for himself a place of dignity and honor in -American letters. - - - - -A Provincial Capital - - - - -A Provincial Capital - - -THE Hoosier is not so deeply wounded by the assumption in Eastern -quarters that he is a wild man of the woods as by the amiable -condescension of acquaintances at the seaboard, who tell him, when he -mildly remonstrates, that his abnormal sensitiveness is provincial. -This is, indeed, the hardest lot, to be called a “mudsill” and then -rebuked for talking back! There are, however, several special insults -to which the citizen of Indianapolis is subjected, and these he resents -with all the strength of his being. First among them is the proneness -of many to confuse Indianapolis and Minneapolis. To the citizen of the -Hoosier capital, Minneapolis seems a remote place, that can be reached -only by passing through Chicago. Still another source of intense -annoyance is the persistent fallacy that Indianapolis is situated on -the Wabash River. There seems to be something funny about the name -of this pleasant stream,--immortalized in late years by a tuneful -balladist,--which a large percentage of the people of Indianapolis have -never seen except from a car window. East of Pittsburg the wanderer -from Hoosierdom expects to be asked how things are on the Waybosh,--a -pronunciation which, by the way, is never heard at home. Still another -grievance that has embittered the lives of Indianapolitans is the -annoying mispronunciation of the name of their town by benighted -outsiders. Rural Hoosiers, in fact, offend the ears of their city -cousins with Indianopolis; but it is left usually for the Yankee -visitor to say _Injun_apolis, with a stress on _Injun_ which points -rather unnecessarily to the day of the war-whoop and scalp-dance. - -Indianapolis--like Jerusalem, “a city at unity with itself,” where the -tribes assemble, and where the seat of judgment is established--is -in every sense the capital of all the Hoosiers. With the exception -of Boston, it is the largest state capital in the country; and no -other American city without water communication is so large. It is -distinguished primarily by the essentially American character of its -people. A considerable body of Germans contributed much first and last -to its substantial growth, not only by the example of their familiar -industry and frugality, but in later years through their intelligent -interest in all manner of civic improvement, in general education, -and in music and art. Only in the past decade has there been any -perceptible drift of undesirable immigrants from southeastern Europe to -our city and the problems they create have been met promptly by wise -agencies of social service. There was an influx of negroes at the close -of the war, and the colored voters (about seventy-five hundred in 1912) -add considerably to our political perplexities. - -Indiana was admitted as a State in 1816, and the General Assembly, -sitting at Corydon in 1821, designated Indianapolis, then a settlement -of struggling cabins, as the state capital. The name of the new town -was not adopted without a struggle, Tecumseh, Suwarro, and Concord -being proposed and supported, while the name finally chosen aroused -the hostility of those who declared it unmelodious and etymologically -abominable. It is of record that the first mention of the name -Indianapolis in the legislature caused great merriment. The town was -laid out in broad streets, which were quickly adorned with shade -trees that are an abiding testimony to the foresight of the founders. -Alexander Ralston, one of the engineers employed in the first survey, -had served in a similar capacity at Washington, and the diagonal -avenues and the generous breadth of the streets are suggestive of -the national capital. The urban landscape lacks variety: the town is -perfectly flat, and in old times the mud was intolerable, but the trees -are a continuing glory. - -Central Indiana was not, in 1820, when the first cabin was built, a -region of unalloyed delight. The land was rich, but it was covered with -heavy woods, and much of it was under water. Indians still roamed the -forests, and the builder of the first cabin was killed by them. There -were no roads, and White River, on whose eastern shore the town was -built, was navigable only by the smallest craft. Mrs. Beecher, in “From -Dawn to Daylight,” described the region as it appeared in the forties: -“It is a level stretch of land as far as the eye can reach, looking -as if one good, thorough rain would transform it into an impassable -morass. How the inhabitants contrive to get about in rainy weather, -I can’t imagine, unless they use stilts. The city itself has been -redeemed from this slough, and presents quite a thriving appearance, -being very prettily laid out, with a number of fine buildings.” Dr. -Eggleston, writing in his novel “Roxy” of the same period, lays stress -on the saffron hue of the community, the yellow mud seeming to cover -all things animate and inanimate. - -But the founders possessed faith, courage, and hardihood, and “the -capital in the woods” grew steadily. The pioneers were patriotic and -religious; their patriotism was, indeed, touched with the zeal of -their religion. For many years before the Civil War a parade of the -Sunday-school children of the city was the chief feature of every -Fourth of July celebration. The founders labored from the first in -the interest of morality and enlightenment. The young capital was -a converging point for a slender stream of population that bore in -from New England, and a broader current that swept westward from the -Middle and Southeastern States. There was no sectional feeling in those -days. Many of the prominent settlers from Kentucky were Whigs, but -a newcomer’s church affiliation was of far more importance than his -political belief. Membership in a church was a social recommendation -in old times, but the importance of religion seemed to diminish as the -town passed the two-hundred-thousand mark. Perhaps two hundred thousand -is the dead-line--I hope no one will press me too hard to defend this -suggestion--beyond which a community loses its pristine sensitiveness -to benignant influences; but there was indubitably in the history of -our capital a moment at which we became disagreeably conscious that we -were no longer a few simple and well-meaning folk who made no social -engagements that would interfere with Thursday night prayer-meeting, -but a corporation of which we were only unconsidered and unimportant -members. - -The effect of the Civil War upon Indianapolis was immediate and -far-reaching. It emphasized, through the centralizing there of the -State’s military energy, the fact that it was the capital city,--a -fact which until that time had been accepted languidly by the average -Hoosier countryman. The presence within the State of an aggressive body -of sympathizers with Southern ideas directed attention throughout the -country to the energy and resourcefulness of Morton, the War Governor, -who pursued the Hoosier Copperheads relentlessly, while raising a -great army to send to the seat of war. Again, the intense political -bitterness engendered by the war did not end with peace, or with the -restoration of good feeling in neighboring States, but continued for -twenty-five years more to be a source of political irritation, and, -markedly at Indianapolis, a cause of social differentiation. In the -minds of many, a Democrat was a Copperhead, and a Copperhead was an -evil and odious thing. Referring to the slow death of this feeling, -a veteran observer of affairs who had, moreover, supported Mr. -Cleveland’s candidacy twice, recently said that he had never been able -wholly to free himself from this prejudice. But the end really came -in 1884, with the reaction against Blaine, which was nowhere more -significant of the flowering of independence than at Indianapolis. - -Following the formative period, which may be said to have ended with -the Civil War, came an era of prosperity in business, and even of -splendor in social matters. Some handsome habitations had been built in -the _ante-bellum_ days, but they were at once surpassed by the homes -which many citizens reared for themselves in the seventies. These -remain, as a group, the handsomest residences that have been built at -any period in the history of the city. Life had been earnest in the -early days, but it now became picturesque. The terms “aristocrats” -and “first families” were heard in the community, and something of -traditional Southern ampleness and generosity crept into the way of -life. No one said _nouveau riche_ in those days; the first families -were the real thing. No one denied it, and misfortune could not shake -or destroy them. - -A panic is a stern teacher of humility, and the financial depression -that fell upon the country in 1873 drove the lesson home remorselessly -at Indianapolis. There had been nothing equivocal about the boom. -Western speculators had not always had a fifty-year-old town to operate -in,--the capital of a State, a natural railway centre,--no arid village -in a hot prairie, but a real forest city that thundered mightily in the -prospectus. There was no sudden collapse; a brave effort was made to -ward off the day of reckoning; but this only prolonged the agony. Among -the victims there was little whimpering. A thoroughbred has not proved -his mettle until he has held up his head in defeat, and the Hoosier -aristocrat went down with his flag flying. Those that had suffered -the proud man’s contumely then came forth to sneer. An old-fashioned -butternut Democrat remarked, of a banker who failed, that “no wonder -Blank busted when he drove to business in a carriage behind a nigger -in uniform.” The memory of the hard times lingered long at home and -abroad. A town where credit could be so shaken was not, the Eastern -insurance companies declared, a safe place for further investments; -and in many quarters Indianapolis was not forgiven until an honest, -substantial growth had carried the lines of the city beyond the _terra -incognita_ of the boom’s outer rim. - -Many of the striking characteristics of the true Indianapolitan are -attributable to those days, when the city’s bounds were moved far -countryward, to the end that the greatest possible number of investors -might enjoy the ownership of town lots. The signal effect of this -dark time was to stimulate thrift and bring a new era of caution and -conservatism; for there is a good deal of Scotch-Irish in the Hoosier, -and he cannot be fooled twice with the same bait. During the period of -depression the town lost its zest for gayety. It took its pleasures a -little soberly; it was notorious as a town that welcomed theatrical -attractions grudgingly, though this attitude must be referred back also -to the religious prejudices of the early comers. Your Indianapolitan -who has personal knowledge of the panic, or who had listened to the -story of it from one who weathered the storm, has never forgotten -the discipline of the seventies: though he has reached the promised -land, he still remembers the hot sun in the tyrant’s brickyards. So -conservatism became the city’s rule of life. The panic of 1893 caused -scarcely a ripple, and the typical Indianapolis business man to this -day is one who minds his barometer carefully. - -Indianapolis became a city rather against its will. It liked its own -way, and its way was slow; but when the calamity could no longer be -averted, it had its trousers creased and its shoes polished, and -accepted with good grace the fact that its population had reached two -hundred thousand, and that it had crept to a place comfortably near -the top in the list of bank clearances. A man who left Indianapolis in -1885, returned in 1912--the Indianapolitan, like the cat in the ballad, -always comes back; he cannot successfully be transplanted--to find -himself a stranger in a strange city. Once he knew all the people who -rode in chaises; but on his return he found new people flying about in -automobiles that cost more than any but the most prosperous citizen -earned in the horse-car days; once he had been able to discuss current -topics with a passing friend in the middle of Washington Street; now he -must duck and dive, and keep an eye on the policeman if he would make -a safe crossing. He is asked to luncheon at a club; in the old days -there were no clubs, or they were looked on as iniquitous things; he is -carried off to inspect factories which are the largest of their kind in -the world. At the railroad yards he watches the loading of machinery -for shipment to Russia and Chili, and he is driven over asphalt streets -to parks that had not been dreamed of before his term of exile. - -Manufacturing is the great business of the city, still sootily -advertised on the local countenance in spite of heroic efforts to -enforce smoke-abatement ordinances. There are nearly two thousand -establishments within its limits where manufacturing in some form is -carried on. Many of these rose in the day of natural gas, and it was -predicted that when the gas had been exhausted the city would lose -them; but the number has increased steadily despite the failure of the -gas supply. There are abundant coal-fields within the State, so that -the question of fuel will not soon be troublesome. The city enjoys, -also, the benefits to be derived from the numerous manufactories in -other towns of central Indiana, many of which maintain administrative -offices there. It is not only a good place in which to make things, -but a point from which many things may be sold to advantage. Jobbing -flourished even before manufacturing attained its present proportions. -The jobbers have given the city an enviable reputation for enterprise -and fair dealing. When you ask an Indianapolis jobber whether the -propinquity of St. Louis, Cincinnati, Chicago, and Cleveland is not -against him, he answers that he meets his competitors daily in every -part of the country and is not afraid of them. - -Indianapolis was long a place of industry, thrift, and comfort, where -the simple life was not only possible but necessary. Its social -entertainments were of the tamest sort, and the change in this respect -has come only within a few years,--with the great wave of growth and -prosperity that has wrought a new Indianapolis from the old. If left -to itself, the old Indianapolis would never have known a horse show or -a carnival,--would never have strewn itself with confetti, or boasted -the greatest automobile speedway in the world; but the invading -time-spirit has rapidly destroyed the walls of the city of tradition. -Business men no longer go home to dinner at twelve o’clock and take a -nap before returning to work; and the old amiable habit of visiting for -an hour in an office where ten minutes of business was to be transacted -has passed. A town is at last a city when sociability has been squeezed -out of business and appointments are arranged a day in advance by -telephone. - -The distinguishing quality of Indianapolis continues, however, to be -its simple domesticity. The people are home-loving and home-keeping. In -the early days, when the town was a rude capital in the wilderness, the -citizens stayed at home perforce; and when the railroad reached them -they did not take readily to travel. A trip to New York is still a much -more serious event, considered from Indianapolis, than from Denver or -Kansas City. It was an Omaha young man who was so little appalled by -distance that, having an express frank, he formed the habit of sending -his laundry work to New York, to assure a certain finish to his linen -that was unattainable at home. The more the Hoosier travels, the more -he likes his own town. Only a little while ago an Indianapolis man who -had been in New York for a week went to the theatre and saw there a -fellow-townsman who had just arrived. He hurried around to greet him at -the end of the first act. “Tell me,” he exclaimed, “how is everything -in old Indianapolis?” - -The Hoosiers assemble at Indianapolis in great throngs with slight -excuse. In addition to the steam railroads that radiate in every -direction interurban traction lines have lately knit new communities -into sympathetic relationship with the capital. One may see the real -Hoosier in the traction station,--and an ironed-out, brushed and -combed Hoosier he is found to be. You may read the names of all the -surrounding towns on the big interurban cars that mingle with the -local traction traffic. They bring men whose errand is to buy or sell, -or who come to play golf on the free course at Riverside Park, or on -the private grounds of the Country Club. The country women join their -sisters of the city in attacks upon the bargain counters. These cars -disfigure the streets, but no one has made serious protest, for are not -the Hoosiers welcome to their capital, no matter how or when they visit -it; and is not this free intercourse, as the phrase has it, “a good -thing for Indianapolis”? This contact between town and country tends to -stimulate a state feeling, and as the capital grows this intimacy will -have an increasing value. - -There is something neighborly and cozy about Indianapolis. The man -across the street or next door will share any good thing he has with -you, whether it be a cure for rheumatism, a new book, or the garden -hose. It is a town where doing as one likes is not a mere possibility, -but an inherent right. The woman of Indianapolis is not afraid to -venture abroad with her market-basket, albeit she may carry it in -an automobile. The public market at Indianapolis is an ancient and -honorable institution, and there is no shame but much honor in being -seen there in conversation with the farmer and the gardener or the -seller of herbs, in the early hours of the morning. The market is so -thoroughly established in public affection that the society reporter -walks its aisles in pursuit of news. The true Indianapolis housewife -goes to market; the mere resident of the city orders by telephone, -and meekly accepts what the grocer has to offer; and herein lies a -difference that is not half so superficial as it may sound, for at -heart the people who are related to the history and tradition of -Indianapolis are simple and frugal, and if they read Emerson and -Browning by the evening lamp, they know no reason why they should -not distinguish, the next morning, between the yellow-legged chicken -offered by the farmer’s wife at the market and frozen fowls of doubtful -authenticity that have been held for a season in cold storage. - -The narrow margin between the great parties in Indiana has made the -capital a centre of incessant political activity. The geographical -position of the city has also contributed to this, the state leaders -and managers being constant visitors. Every second man you meet is a -statesman; every third man is an orator. The largest social club in -Indiana exacts a promise of fidelity to the Republican party,--or did, -until insurgency made the close scrutiny of the members’ partisanship -impolite if not impolitic!--and within its portals chances and changes -of men and measures are discussed tirelessly. And the pilgrim is not -bored with local affairs; not a bit of it! Municipal dangers do not -trouble the Indianapolitan; his eye is on the White House, not the town -hall. The presence in the city through many years of men of national -prominence--Morton, Harrison, Hendricks, McDonald, English, Gresham, -Turpie, of the old order, and Fairbanks, Kern, Beveridge, and Marshall -in recent years--has kept Indianapolis to the fore as a political -centre. Geography is an important factor in the distribution of favors -by state conventions. Rivalry between the smaller towns is not so -marked as their united stand against the capital, though this feeling -seems to be abating. The city has had, at least twice, both United -States Senators; but governors have usually been summoned from the -country. Harrison was defeated for governor by a farmer (1876), in a -heated campaign, in which “Kid-Gloved Harrison” was held up to derision -by the adherents of “Blue-Jeans Williams.” And again, in 1880, a -similar situation was presented in the contest for the same office -between Albert G. Porter and Franklin Landers, both of Indianapolis, -though Landers stood ruggedly for the “blue jeans” idea. - -The high tide of political interest was reached in the summer and fall -of 1888, when Harrison made his campaign for the presidency, largely -from his own doorstep. Marion County, of which Indianapolis is the -seat, was for many years Republican; but neither county nor city has -lately been “safely” Democratic or Republican. At the city election -held in October, 1904, a Democrat was elected mayor over a Republican -candidate who had been renominated in a “snap” convention, in the face -of aggressive opposition within his party. The issue was tautly drawn -between corruption and vice on the one hand and law and order on the -other. An independent candidate, who had also the Prohibition support, -received over five thousand votes. - -The difficulties in the way of securing intelligent and honest city -government have, however, multiplied with the growth of the city. The -American municipal problem is as acutely presented in Indianapolis -as elsewhere. The more prosperous a city the less time have the -beneficiaries of its prosperity for self-government. It is much simpler -to allow politicians of gross incapacity and leagued with vice to -levy taxes and expend the income according to the devices and desires -of their own hearts and pockets than to find reputable and patriotic -citizens to administer the business. Here as elsewhere the party -system is indubitably at the root of the evil. It happens, indeed, -that Indianapolis is even more the victim of partisanship than other -cities of approximately the same size for the reason that both the old -political organizations feel that the loss of the city at a municipal -election jeopardizes the chances of success in general elections. Just -what effect the tariff and other national issues have upon street -cleaning and the policing of a city has never been explained. It is -interesting to note that the park board, whose members serve without -pay, has been, since the adoption of the city charter, a commission -of high intelligence and unassailable integrity. The standard having -been so established no mayor is likely soon to venture to consign this -board’s important and responsible functions to the common type of city -hall hangers-on. - -It is one of the most maddening of the anomalies of American life -that municipal pride should exhaust its energy in the exploitation of -factory sites and the strident advertisement of the number of freight -cars handled in railroad yards, while the municipal corporation itself -is turned over to any band of charlatans and buccaneers that may seek -to capture it. In 1911-12 the municipal government had reached the -lowest ebb in the city’s history. It had become so preposterous and -improvement was so imperatively demanded that many citizens, both as -individuals and in organizations, began to interest themselves in plans -for reform. The hope here as elsewhere seems to be in the young men, -particularly of the college type, who find in local government a fine -exercise for their talents and zeal. - -In this connection it may be said that the Indianapolis public -schools owe their marked excellence and efficiency to their complete -divorcement from political influence. This has not only assured the -public an intelligent and honest expenditure of school funds, but -it has created a corps spirit among the city’s teachers, admirable -in itself, and tending to cumulative benefits not yet realized. The -superintendent of schools has absolute power of appointment, and he is -accountable only to the commissioners, and they in turn are entirely -independent of the mayor and other city officers. Positions on the -school board are not sought by politicians. The incumbents serve -without pay, and the public evince a disposition to find good men and -to keep them in office. - -The soldiers’ monument at Indianapolis is a testimony to the deep -impression made by the Civil War on the people of the State. The -monument is to Indianapolis what the Washington Monument is to the -national capital. The incoming traveler beholds it afar, and within the -city it is almost an inescapable thing, though with the advent of the -sky-scraper it is rapidly losing its fine dignity as the chief incident -of the skyline. It stands in a circular plaza that was originally a -park known as the “Governor’s Circle.” This was long ago abandoned as -a site for the governor’s mansion, but it offered an ideal spot for -a monument to Indiana soldiers, when, in 1887, the General Assembly -authorized its construction. The height of the monument from the street -level is two hundred and eighty-four feet and it stands on a stone -terrace one hundred and ten feet in diameter. The shaft is crowned by -a statue of Victory thirty-eight feet high. It is built throughout of -Indiana limestone. The fountains at the base, the heroic sculptured -groups “War” and “Peace,” and the bronze astragals representing the -army and navy, are admirable in design and execution. The whole effect -is one of poetic beauty and power. There is nothing cheap, tawdry, or -commonplace in this magnificent tribute of Indiana to her soldiers. The -monument is a memorial of the soldiers of all the wars in which Indiana -has participated. The veterans of the Civil War protested against this, -and the controversy was long and bitter; but the capture of Vincennes -from the British in 1779 is made to link Indiana to the war of the -Revolution; and the battle of Tippecanoe, to the war of 1812. The -war with Mexico, and seven thousand four hundred men enlisted for the -Spanish War are likewise remembered. It is, however, the war of the -Rebellion, whose effect on the social and political life of Indiana -was so tremendous, that gives the monument its great cause for being. -The white male population of Indiana in 1860 was 693,348; the total -enlistment of soldiers during the ensuing years of war was 210,497! The -names of these men lie safe for posterity in the base of the gray shaft. - -The newspaper paragrapher has in recent years amused himself at the -expense of Indiana as a literary centre, but Indianapolis as a village -boasted writers of at least local reputation, and Coggeshall’s “Poets -and Poetry of the West” (1867) attributes half a dozen poets to the -Hoosier capital. The Indianapolis press has from the beginning been -distinguished by enterprise and decency, and in several instances by -vigorous independence. The literary quality of the city’s newspapers -was high, even in the early days, and the standard has not been -lowered. Poets with cloaks and canes were, in the eighties, pretty -prevalent in Market Street near the post-office, the habitat then of -most of the newspapers. The poets read their verses to one another and -cursed the magazines. A reporter for one of the papers, who had scored -the triumph of a poem in the “Atlantic,” was a man of mark among the -guild for years. The local wits stabbed the fledgeling bards with their -gentle ironies. A young woman of social prominence printed some verses -in an Indianapolis newspaper, and one of her acquaintances, when asked -for his opinion of them, said they were creditable and ought to be set -to music--and played as an instrumental piece! The wide popularity -attained by Mr. James Whitcomb Riley quickened the literary impulse, -and the fame of his elders and predecessors suffered severely from -the fact that he did not belong to the cloaked brigade. General Lew -Wallace never lived at Indianapolis save for a few years in boyhood, -while his father was governor, though toward the end of his life -he spent his winters there. Maurice Thompson’s muse scorned “paven -ground,” and he was little known at the capital even during his term -of office as state geologist, when he came to town frequently from his -home in Crawfordsville. Mr. Booth Tarkington, the most cosmopolitan of -Hoosiers, has lifted the banner anew for a younger generation through -his successful essays in fiction and the drama. - -If you do not in this provincial capital meet an author at every -corner, you are at least never safe from men and women who read -books. In many Missouri River towns a stranger must still listen to -the old wail against the railroads; at Indianapolis he must listen to -politics, and possibly some one will ask his opinion of a sonnet, just -as though it were a cigar. A judge of the United States Court sitting -at Indianapolis, was in the habit of locking the door of his private -office and reading Horace to visiting attorneys. There was, indeed, -a time--_consule Planco_--when most of the federal officeholders -at Indianapolis were bookish men. Three successive clerks of the -federal courts were scholars; the pension agent was an enthusiastic -Shakespearean; the district attorney was a poet; and the master of -chancery a man of varied learning, who was so excellent a talker that, -when he met Lord Chief Justice Coleridge abroad, the English jurist -took the Hoosier with him on circuit, and wrote to the justice of the -American Supreme Court who had introduced them, to “send me another man -as good.” - -It is possible for a community which may otherwise lack a true local -spirit to be unified through the possession of a sense of humor; and -even in periods of financial depression the town has always enjoyed -the saving grace of a cheerful, centralized intelligence. The first -tavern philosophers stood for this, and the courts of the early times -were enlivened by it,--as witness all Western chronicles. The Middle -Western people are preëminently humorous, particularly those of the -Southern strain from which Lincoln sprang. During all the years that -the Hoosier suffered the reproach of the outside world, the citizen of -the capital never failed to appreciate the joke when it was on himself; -and looking forth from the wicket of the city gate, he was still more -keenly appreciative when it was “on” his neighbors. The Hoosier is a -natural story-teller; he relishes a joke, and to talk is his ideal of -social enjoyment. This was true of the early Hoosier, and it is true -to-day of his successor at the capital. The Monday night meetings of -the Indianapolis Literary Club--organized in 1877 and with a continuous -existence to this time--have been marked by racy talk. The original -members are nearly all gone; but the sayings of a group of them--the -stiletto thrusts of Fishback, the lawyer; the droll inadvertences of -Livingston Howland, the judge; and the inimitable anecdotes of Myron -Reed, soldier and preacher--crept beyond the club’s walls and became -town property. This club is old and well seasoned. It is exclusive--so -much so that one of its luminaries remarked that if all of its members -should be expelled for any reason, none could hope to be readmitted. -It has entertained but four pilgrims from the outer world,--Matthew -Arnold, Dean Farrar, Joseph Parker, and John Fiske. - -The Hoosier capital has always been susceptible to the charms of -oratory. Most of the great lecturers in the golden age of the American -lyceum were welcomed cordially at Indianapolis. The Indianapolis pulpit -has been served by many able men, and great store is still set by -preaching. When Henry Ward Beecher ministered to the congregation of -the Second Presbyterian Church (1838-46), his superior talents were -recognized and appreciated. He gave a series of seven lectures to the -young men of the city during the winter of 1843-44, on such subjects as -“Industry,” “Gamblers and Gambling,” “Popular Amusements,” etc., which -were published at Indianapolis immediately, in response to an urgent -request signed by thirteen prominent citizens. - -The women of Indianapolis have aided greatly in fashioning the city -into an enlightened community. The wives and daughters of the founders -were often women of cultivation, and much in the character of the city -to-day is plainly traceable to their work and example. During the -Civil War they did valiant service in caring for the Indiana soldier. -They built for themselves in 1888 a building--the Propylæum--where -many clubs meet; and they were long the mainstay of the Indianapolis -Art Association, which, by a generous and unexpected bequest a few -years ago, now boasts a permanent museum and school. It is worth -remembering that the first woman’s club--in the West, at least--was -organized on Hoosier soil--at Robert Owen’s New Harmony--in 1859. -The women of the Hoosier capital have addressed themselves zealously -in many organizations to the study of all subjects related to good -government. The apathy bred of commercial success that has dulled the -civic consciousness of their fathers and husbands and brothers has had -the effect of stimulating their curiosity and quickening their energies -along lines of political and social development. - - * * * * * - -I have been retouching here and there this paper as it was written ten -years ago. In the intervening decade the population of Indianapolis has -increased 38.1 per cent, jumping from 169,161 to 233,650, and passing -both Providence and Louisville. Something of the Southern languor that -once seemed so charming--something of what the plodding citizens of -the mule-car days liked to call “atmosphere”--has passed. And yet the -changes are, after all, chiefly such as address the eye rather than -the spirit. There are more people, but there are more good people! -The coming of the army post has widened our political and social -horizons. The building of the Homeric speedway that has caused us to -be written large on the world’s pink sporting pages, and the invasion -of foreigners, have not seriously disturbed the old neighborliness, -kindliness, and homely cheer. Elsewhere in these pages I mention the -passing of the church as the bulwark behind which this community had -entrenched itself; and yet much the same spirituality that was once -observable endures, though known by new names. - -The old virtues must still be dominant, for visitors sensitive to -such impressions seem to be conscious of their existence. Only to-day -Mr. Arnold Bennett, discoursing of America in “Harper’s Magazine,” -finds here exactly the things whose passing it is the local fashion -to deplore. In our maple-lined streets he was struck by the number of -detached houses, each with its own garden. He found in these homes “the -expression of a race incapable of looking foolish, of being giddy, of -running to extremes.” And I am cheered by his declaration of a belief -that in some of the comfortable parlors of our quiet thoroughfares -there are “minor millionaires who wonder whether, outsoaring the -ambition of a bit of property, they would be justified in creeping -downtown and buying a cheap automobile!” And I had been afraid that -every man among us with anything tangible enough to mortgage had -undertaken the task of advertising one of our chief industries by -modernizing Ezekiel’s vision of the wheels! - -It is cheering to know that this pilgrim from the Five Towns thought -us worthy of a place in his odyssey, and that his snapshots reveal so -much of what my accustomed eyes sometimes fail to see. I am glad to -be reëstablished by so penetrating an observer in my old faith that -there are planted here on the West Fork of White River some of the -roots of “essential America.” If we are not typical Americans we offer -the nearest approach to it that I, in my incurable provincialism, know -where to lay hands on. - - - - -Experience and the Calendar - - - - -Experience and the Calendar - - -“USELESS, quite useless, young man,” said the doctor, pursing his -lips; and as he has a nice feeling for climax, he slapped the reins on -Dobbin’s broad back and placidly drove away. - -Beneath that flapping gray hat his wrinkled face was unusually -severe. His eyes really seemed to flash resentment through his green -spectacles. The doctor’s remark related to my manipulation of a new -rose-sprayer which I had purchased this morning at the village hardware -store, and was directing against the pests on my crimson ramblers when -he paused to tell me that he had tried that identical device last year -and found it worthless. As his shabby old phaeton rounded the corner, I -turned the sprayer over to my young undergraduate friend Septimus, and -hurried in to set down a few truths about the doctor. - -He is, as you may already have guessed, the venerable Doctor -Experience, of the well-known university that bears his name. He is -a person of quality and distinction, and the most quoted of all the -authorities on life and conduct. How empty the day would be in which -we did not hear some one say, “Experience has taught me--” In the -University of Experience the Doctor fills all the chairs; and all his -utterances, one may say, are _ex cathedra_. - -He is as respectable for purposes of quotation as Thomas à Kempis or -Benjamin Franklin. We really imagine--we who are alumni of the old -doctor’s ivy-mantled knowledge-house, and who recall the austerity -of his curriculum and the frugality of Sunday evening tea at his -table--that his own courses were immensely profitable to us. We -remember well how he warned us against yielding to the persuasions -of the world, the flesh, and the devil, illustrating his points with -anecdotes from his own long and honorable career. He used to weep over -us, too, in a fashion somewhat dispiriting; but we loved him, and -sometimes as we sit in the winter twilight thinking of the days that -are no more, we recall him in a mood of affection and regret, and do -not mind at all that cheerless motto in the seal of the university -corporation, “_Experientia docet stultos_,” to which he invariably -calls attention after morning prayers. - -“My young friends,” he says, “I hope and trust that my words may be -the means of saving you from much of the heartache and sorrow of this -world. When I was young--” - -This phrase is the widely accepted signal for shuffling the feet and -looking bored. We turn away from the benign doctor at his reading-desk, -fumbling at that oft-repeated lecture which our fathers and -grandfathers remember and quote,--we turn our gaze to the open windows -and the sunlight. The philosophy of life is in process of making out -there,--a new philosophy for every hour, with infinite spirit and -color, and anon we hear bugles crying across the hills of our dreams. -“When I was young!” If we were not the politest imaginable body of -students,--we who take Doctor Experience’s course because it is (I -blush at the confession) a “snap,”--we should all be out of the window -and over the hills and far away. - -The great weakness of Experience as a teacher lies in the fact that -truth is so alterable. We have hardly realized how utterly the snows -and roses of yesteryear vanish before the amiable book agent points -out to us the obsolete character of our most prized encyclopædia. All -books should be purchased with a view to their utility in lifting the -baby’s chin a proper distance above the breakfast table; for, quite -likely, this will soon become their sole office in the household. -Within a fifteen-minute walk of the window by which I write lives a -man who rejects utterly the idea that the world is round, and he is -by no means a fool. He is a far more interesting person, I dare say, -than Copernicus or Galileo ever was; and his strawberries are the -earliest and the best produced in our township. Truth, let us say, is a -continuing matter, and hope springeth eternal. This is where I parted -company with the revered doctor long ago. His inability to catch bass -in the creek isn’t going to keep me at home to-morrow morning. For all -I care, he may sit on his veranda and talk himself hoarse to his old -friend, Professor Killjoy, whose gum shoes and ear-muffs are a feature -of our village landscape. - -When you and I, my brother, are called on to address the young, how -blithely we congratulate our hearers upon being the inheritors of the -wisdom of all the ages. This is one of the greatest of fallacies. The -twentieth century dawned upon American States that were bored by the -very thought of the Constitution, and willing to forget that venerable -document at least long enough to experiment with the Initiative, the -Referendum, and the Recall. What some Lord Chief Justice announced -as sound law a hundred years ago means nothing to commonwealths -that have risen since the motor-car began honking in the highway. -On a starry night in the spring of 1912 a veteran sea-captain, with -wireless warnings buttoned under his pea-jacket, sent the finest ship -in the world smashing into an iceberg. All the safety devices known -to railroading cannot prevent some engineer from occasionally trying -the experiment of running two trains on a single track. With the full -weight of the experience of a thousand years against him the teller -begins to transfer the bank’s money to his own pocket, knowing well the -hazard and the penalty. - -We pretend to invoke dear old Experience as though he were a god, -fondly imagining that an honest impulse demands that we appeal to him -as an arbiter. But when we have submitted our case and listened to -his verdict, we express our thanks and go away and do exactly as we -please. We all carry our troubles to the friends whose sympathy we know -outweighs their wisdom. We want them to pat us on the back and tell us -that we are doing exactly right. If by any chance they are bold enough -to give us an honest judgment based on real convictions, we depart -with a grievance, our confidence shaken. We lean upon our friends, to -be sure; but we rely upon them to bail us out after the forts of folly -have crashed about our ears and we pine in the donjon, rather than on -their advice that might possibly have preserved us on the right side -of the barricade. And I may note here, that of all the offices that -man may undertake, that of the frank friend is the most thankless. The -frank friend! It is he who told you yesterday that you were looking -wretchedly ill. Doctor Experience had warned _him_; and he felt it to -be his duty to stop _you_ in your headlong plunge. To-morrow he will -drop in to tell you in gentle terms that your latest poem is--well, he -hates to say it--but he fears it isn’t up to your old mark! The frank -friend, you may remember, is Doctor Experience’s favorite pupil. - -We are all trying to square wisdom with our own aims and errors. -Professional men, whose business is the giving of advice, are fully -aware of this. Death is the only arbiter who can enforce his own writs, -and it is not for man to speak a final word on any matter. - -I was brought up to have an immense respect--reverence, even--for -law. It seemed to me in my youth to embody a tremendous philosophy. -Here, I used to say, as I pondered opinion and precedent,--here is -the very flower and fruit of the wisdom of the ages. I little dreamed -that both sides of every case may be supported by authorities of equal -dignity. Imagine my bewilderment when I found that a case which is -likely to prove weak before one infallible judge may be shifted with -little trouble to another, equally infallible, but with views known -to be friendly to the cause in question. I sojourned for a time in a -judicial circuit where there was considerable traveling to be done by -the court and bar. The lawyer who was most enterprising in securing a -sleeping-car stateroom wherein to play poker--discreetly and not too -successfully--with the judge, was commonly supposed to have the best -chance of winning his cases. - -Our neighbors’ failures are really of no use to us. “No Admittance” -and “Paint” are not accepted by the curious world as warnings, but as -invitations. - - “A sign once caught the casual eye, - And it said, ‘Paint’; - And every one who passed it by, - Sinner or saint, - Into the fresh green color must - Make it his biz - A doubting finger-point to thrust, - That he, accepting naught on trust, - Might say, ‘It is, it is!’” - -Cynic, do I hear? The term is not one of opprobrium. A cynic is the -alert and discerning man who declines to cut the cotton-filled pie or -pick up the decoy purse on All Fools’ Day. - -We are bound to test for ourselves the identical heating apparatus -which the man next door cast away as rubbish last spring. We know -why its heat units were unsatisfactory to him,--it was because his -chimneys were too small; and though our own are as like them as two -peas we proceed to our own experiment with our eyes wide open. Mrs. B -telephones to Mrs. A and asks touching the merits, habits, and previous -condition of servitude of the cook Mrs. A discharged this morning. Mrs. -A, who holds an honorary degree bestowed upon her by the good Doctor -Experience, leans upon the telephone and explains with conscientious -detail the deficiencies of Mary Ann. She does as she would be done by -and does it thoroughly. But what is her astonishment to learn the next -day that Mary Ann’s trunk has been transferred to Mrs. B’s third story; -that Mary Ann’s impossible bread and deadly cake are upon Mrs. B’s -table! Mrs. B, too, took a course of lectures under Doctor Experience, -and she admires him greatly; but what do these facts avail her when -guests are alighting at the door and Mary Ann is the only cook visible -in the urban landscape? Moreover, Mrs. A _always was_ (delectable -colloquialism!) a hard mistress, and Mrs. B must, she feels, judge of -these matters for herself. And so--so--say we all of us! - -Men who have done post-graduate work in the good doctor’s school are -no better fortified against error than the rest of us who may never -have got beyond his kindergarten. The results might be different if it -were not that Mistress Vanity by her arts and graces demoralizes the -doctor’s students, whose eyes wander to the windows as she flits across -the campus. Conservative bankers, sage lawyers, and wise legislators -have been the frequent and easy prey of the gold-brick operator. The -police announce a new crop of “suckers” every spring,--which seems to -indicate that Mistress Vanity wields a greater influence than Doctor -Experience. These words stare at me oddly in type; they are the symbols -of a disagreeable truth,--and yet we may as well face it. The eternal -ego will not bow to any dingy doctor whose lectures only illustrate his -own inability to get on in the world. - -The best skating is always on thin ice,--we like to feel it crack and -yield under our feet; there is a deadly fascination in the thought of -the twenty or forty feet of cold water beneath. Last year’s mortality -list cuts (dare I do it?) no ice with us; we must make our own -experiments, while the doctor screams himself hoarse from his bonfire -on the bank. He has held many an inquest on this darkling shore of -the river of time, and he will undoubtedly live to hold many another; -but thus far we have not been the subjects; and when it comes to the -mistakes of others we are all delighted to serve on the coroner’s jury. - -It isn’t well for us to be saved from too many blunders; we need the -discipline of failure. It is better to fail than never to try, and -the man who can contemplate the graveyard of his own hopes without -bitterness will not always be ignored by the gods of success. - -Septimus had a narrow escape yesterday. He was reading “Tom Jones” -in the college library, when the doctor stole close behind him and -Septimus’s nervous system experienced a terrible shock. But it was -the doctor’s opportunity. “Read biography, young man; biographies of -the good and great are veritable textbooks in this school!” So you -may observe Septimus to-day sprawled under the noblest elm on the -campus, with his eyes bulging out as he follows Napoleon on the retreat -from Russia. He has firmly resolved to profit by the failure of “the -darkly-gifted Corsican.” To-morrow evening, when he tries to hitch the -doctor’s good old Dobbin to the chapel bell, and falls from the belfry -into the arms of the village constable, he is far more tolerant of -Napoleon’s mistakes. An interesting biography is no more valuable than -a good novel. If life were an agreed state of facts and not a joyful -experiment, then we might lean upon biography as final; but in this and -in all matters, let us deal squarely with Youth. Boswell’s “Johnson” is -only gossip raised to the highest power; the reading of it will make -Septimus cheerfuler, but it will not keep him from wearing a dinner -coat to a five o’clock tea or teach him how to earn more than four -dollars a week. - -We have brought existence to an ideal state when at every breakfast -table we face a new world with no more use for yesterday than for the -grounds of yesterday’s coffee. The wisdom behind us is a high wall -which we cannot scale if we would. Its very height is tempting, but -there is no rose-garden beyond it--only a bleak plain with the sea of -time gnawing its dreary shores. - -To be old and to know ten thousand things--there is something august -and majestic in the thought; but to be young and ignorant, to see -yesterday pass, a shining ripple on the flood of oblivion, and then to -buckle down to the day’s business,--there’s a better thing than being -old and wise! We are forever praising the unconscious ease of great -literature; and that ease--typical of the life and time reflected--was -a thing of the day, with no yesterdays’ dead weight dragging it down. -Whitman’s charm for those of us who like him lies in the fact that he -doesn’t invite us to a rummage sale of cast-off raiment, but offers -fabrics that are fresh and in new patterns. We have all known that same -impatience of the past that he voices so stridently. The world is as -new to him as it was to Isaiah or Homer. - - “When I heard the learned astronomer, - When the proofs and figures were ranged in columns before me, - When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and - measure them; - When I, sitting, heard the astronomer where he lectured with much - applause in the lecture room, - How soon, unaccountably, I became tired and sick, - Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself, - In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time - Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.” - -The old doctor can name all the stars without a telescope, but he does -not know that in joy they “perform their shining.” The real note in -life is experiment and quest, and we are detached far more than we -realize from what was and concerned with what is and may be. - -There is a delightful comedy,--long popular in England and known in -America, in which a Martian appears on earth to teach Dickens-like -lessons of unselfishness to men. Since witnessing it, I have often -indulged in speculations as to the sensations of a pilgrim who might -wing his way from another star to this earth, losing in the transition -all knowledge of his own past--and come freshly upon our world and its -achievements, beholding man at his best and worst without any knowledge -whatever of our history or of the evolution through which we have -become what we are. There you would have a critic who could view our -world with fresh eyes. What we were yesterday would mean nothing to -him, and what we are to-day he might judge honestly from a standpoint -of utility or beauty. Not what was old or new, but what was good, would -interest him--not whether our morals are better than those of our -ancestors, but whether they are of any use at all. The croaking plaint -of Not-What-It-Used-To-Be, the sanguine It-Will-Come-In-Time, would -have no meaning for such a judge. - -“And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also; knowing that -tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, -hope.” - -The conjunction of these last words is happy. Verily in experience lies -our hope. In learning what to do and what not to do, in stumbling, -falling to rise again and faring ever upward and onward. Yes, in and -through experience lies our hope, but not, O brother, a wisdom gained -vicariously,--not yours for me nor mine for you,--nor from enduring -books, charm they never so wisely,--but every one of us, old and young, -for himself. - -Literature is rich in advice that is utterly worthless. Life’s “Book -of Don’ts” is only read for the footnotes that explain why particular -“don’ts” failed,--it has become in reality the “Book of Don’ts that -Did.” It is pleasant to remember that the gentle Autocrat, a man of -science as well as of letters, did not allow professional courtesy to -stand in the way of a characteristic fling at Doctor Experience. He -goes, in his contempt, to the stupid creatures of the barnyard, and -points in high disdain to “that solemn fowl, Experience, who, according -to my observation, cackles oftener than she drops real live eggs.” - -If the old doctor were to be taken at his own valuation and we should -be disposed to profit by his teachings, our lives would be a dreary -round; and youth, particularly, would find the ginger savorless in the -jar and the ale stale in the pot. I saw my venerable friend walking -abroad the other day in the flowered dressing-gown which he so much -affects, wearing his familiar classroom smile. I heard him warning -a boy, who was hammering a boat together out of wretchedly flimsy -material, that his argosy would never float; but the next day I saw the -young Columbus faring forth, with his coat for sail, and saw him turn -the bend in the creek safely and steer beyond “the gray Azores” of his -dreams. - -The young admiral cannot escape the perils of the deep, and like St. -Paul he will know shipwreck before his marine career is ended; but why -discourage him? Not the doctor’s hapless adventures, but the lad’s own -are going to make a man of him. I know a town where, thirty years ago, -an afternoon newspaper failed about once every six months. There was, -so the wiseacres affirmed, no manner of use in trying it again. But -a tow-headed boy put his small patrimony into a venture, reinforced -it with vigorous independence and integrity, and made it a source of -profit to himself and a valued agent in the community. In twenty years -the property sold for a million dollars. Greatness, I assure Septimus, -consists in achieving the impossible. - - “Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, - Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, - And marching single in an endless file, - Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. - To each they offer gifts after his will, - Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. - I, in my pleachèd garden, watched the pomp, - Forgot my morning wishes, hastily - Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day - Turned and departed silent. I, too late, - Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.” - -The season is at hand when Time throws his annual challenge in our -teeth. The bell tinkles peremptorily and a calendar is thrust upon -us. November is still young when we are dragged upon the threshold of -another year. The leisurely dismissal of the old year is no longer -possible; we may indulge in no lingering good-bye, but the old fellow -hustles out in haste, with apologetic, shrinking step and we slam -the door upon him. It is off with the old love and on with the new, -whether we will or no. I solemnly protest against the invasion of the -calendar. In an age that boasts of freedom, I rebel against a tyrant -who comes merely to warn us of the fugitive character of Time; for that -sharp elbow in the ribs has prodded many a noble soul to his death. -These pretty devices that we are asked to hang upon our walls are the -seductive advertisements of an insinuating and implacable foe. We are -asked to be _particeps criminis_ in his hideous trade, for must I -not tear off and cast as rubbish to the void a day, a week, a month, -that I may not have done with at all? Why, may I ask, should I throw -my yesterdays into the waste-basket? Yet if I fail, falling only a -few leaves behind, is not my shameless inefficiency and heedlessness -paraded before the world? How often have I delivered myself up to my -enemies by suffering April to laugh her girlish laughter through torrid -July? I know well the insinuating smile of the friend who, dropping in -on a peaceful morning, when Time, as far as I am concerned, has paused -in the hay-field to dream upon his scythe handle, walks coolly to the -calendar and brings me up to date with a fine air of rebuke, as though -he were conferring the greatest favor in the world. I am sure that I -should have no standing with my neighbors if they knew that I rarely -wind my watch and that the clocks in my house, save one or two that -are kept going merely to avoid explanations, are never wound. - -There is a gentle irony in the fact that the most insolent dispensers -of calendars are the life insurance companies. It is a legitimate -part of their nefarious game: you and I are their natural prey, and -if they can accent for us the mortality of the flesh by holding up -before us, in compact form, the slight round of the year, they are -doing much to impress upon us the appalling brevity of our most -reasonable expectancy. How weak we are to suffer the intimidation of -these soulless corporations, who thrust their wares upon us as much as -to say, “Here’s a new year, and you’d better make the most of it, for -there’s no saying when you will get another.” You, my friend, with your -combined calendar and memorandum always before you, may pledge all your -to-morrows if you will; but as for me the Hypocritic Days, the Barefoot -Dervishes, may ring my bell until they exhaust the battery without -gaining a single hour as my grudging alms. - -We are all prone to be cowards, and to bend before the tyrant whose -banner is spread victoriously on all our walls. Poets and philosophers -aid and abet him; the preachers are forever telling us what a dreadful -fellow he is, and warning us that if we don’t get on the good side -of him we are lost forever,--mere wreckage on a grim, inhospitable -shore. Hypocrisy and false oaths are born of such teaching. Januarius, -let us remember, was two-faced, and it has come about naturally that -New Year’s oaths carry a reserve. They are not, in fact, serious -obligations. It is a poor soul that sets apart a certain number of days -for rectitude, and I can’t for the life of me see anything noble in -making a constable of the calendar. I find with joy that I am freeing -myself of the tyrant’s thrall. I am never quite sure of the day of the -week; I date my letters yesterday or to-morrow with equal indifference. -June usually thrusts her roses into my windows before I change the year -in dating my letters. The magazines seem leagued with the calendar for -man’s undoing. I sometimes rush home from an inspection of a magazine -counter in mad haste to get where Oblivion cannot stretch forth a -long, lean arm and pluck me into the eternal shades; for I decline -with all the strength of my crude Western nature, to countenance the -manufacture of yesterdays, no matter how cheerful they may be, out of -my confident to-morrows. A March magazine flung into the teeth of a -February blizzard does not fool the daffodils a particle. This stamping -of months that have not arrived upon our current literature is nothing -more or less than counterfeiting;--or rather, the issuing of false -currency by the old Tyrant who stands behind the counter of the Bank -of Time. And there is the railway time-table,--the unconscious comic -utterance of the _Zeitgeist_! If the 12.59 is one minute or one hour -late, who cares, I wonder? Who am I, pray, that I should stuff my -pocket with calendars and time-tables? Why not throw the charts to the -fishes and let the winds have their will with us awhile! Let us, I beg, -leave some little margin in our lives for the shock of surprise! - -The Daughters of Time are charming young persons, and they may offer -me all the bread, kingdoms, stars they like; but they must cheer up -or keep out of my front yard! No shuffling around, like Barefoot -Dervishes; but in golden sandals let them come, and I will kindle a -fire of next year’s calendars in their honor. When the snows weigh -heavily upon the hills, let us not mourn for yesterday or waste time -in idle speculations at the fireside, but address ourselves manfully -to the hour’s business. And as some of the phrases of Horace’s ode to -Thaliarchus rap for attention in an old file box at the back of my -head, I set down a pleasant rendering of them by Mr. Charles Edmund -Merrill, Jr. - - “To-morrow? Shall the fleeting years - Abide our questioning? They go - All heedless of our hopes and fears. - To-morrow? ’Tis not ours to know - That we again shall see the flowers. - To-morrow is the gods’, but oh, - To-day is ours.” - -We all salute heartily and sincerely the “grandeur and exquisiteness” -of old age. It is not because Doctor Experience is old that we distrust -his judgment; it is not his judgment that we distrust half so much as -his facts. They are good, as facts go, but we are all foreordained and -predestined to reap our own crop. He need not take the trouble to nail -his sign, “No thoroughfare,” on the highways that have perplexed him, -for we, too, must stray into the brambles and stumble at the ford. It -is decreed that we sail without those old charts of his, and we drop -our signal-books and barometer overboard without a qualm. The reefs -change with every tide, adding zest to our adventure; and while the -gulfs may wash us down, there’s always the chance that, in our own way -and after much anxious and stupid sailing, we may ground our barnacled -hulks on the golden sands of the Happy Isles. Our blood cries for the -open sea or the long white road, and - - “Rare the moment and exceeding fleet - When the spring sunlight, tremulous and thin, - Makes glad the pulses with tumultuous beat - For meadows never won nor wandered in.” - - - - -Should Smith go to Church? - - - - -Should Smith go to Church? - - -I THINK he should. Moreover, I think I should set Smith an example by -placing myself on Sunday morning in a pew from which he may observe me -at my devotions. Smith and I attended the same Sunday school when we -were boys, and remained for church afterwards as a matter of course. -Smith now spends his Sunday mornings golfing, or pottering about his -garden, or in his club or office, and after the midday meal he takes a -nap and loads his family into a motor for a flight countryward. It must -be understood that I do not offer myself as a pattern for Smith. While -I resent being classified with the lost sheep, I am, nevertheless, -a restless member of the flock, prone to leap the wall and wander. -Smith is the best of fellows,--an average twentieth-century American, -diligent in business, a kind husband and father, and in politics -anxious to vote for what he believes to be the best interests of the -country. - -In the community where we were reared it was not respectable not to go -to church. I remember distinctly that in my boyhood people who were -not affiliated with some church were looked upon as lawless pariahs. -An infidel was a marked man: one used to be visible in the streets I -frequented, and I never passed him without a thrill of horror. Our -city was long known as “a poor theatre town,” where only Booth in -_Hamlet_ and Jefferson in _Rip_ might be patronized by church-going -people who valued their reputations. Yet in the same community no -reproach attaches to-day to the non-church-going citizen. A majority of -the men I know best, in cities large and small, do not go to church. -Most of them are in nowise antagonistic to religion; they are merely -indifferent. Clearly, there must be some reason for this change. It -is inconceivable that men would lightly put from them the faith of -their fathers through which they are promised redemption from sin and -everlasting life. - -Now and then I hear it asserted that the church is not losing its hold -upon the people. Many clergymen and laymen resent the oft-repeated -statement that we Americans are not as deeply swayed by religion as -in other times; but this seems to me a case of whistling through a -graveyard on a dark night. - -A recent essayist,[1] writing defensively of the church, cries, in -effect, that it is moving toward the light; don’t shoot! He declares -that no one who has not contributed something toward the solution of -the church’s problem has earned the right to criticize. I am unable to -sympathize with this reasoning. The church is either the repository -of the Christian religion on earth, the divinely inspired and blessed -tabernacle of the faith of Christ, or it is a stupendous fraud. There -is no sound reason why the church should not be required to give an -account of its stewardship. If it no longer attracts men and women in -our strenuous and impatient America, then it is manifestly unjust to -deny to outsiders the right of criticism. Smith is far from being a -fool, and if by his test of “What’s in it for me?” he finds the church -wanting, it is, as he would say, “up to the church” to expend some of -its energy in proving that there is a good deal in it for him. It is -unfair to say to Smith, who has utterly lost touch with the church, -that before he is qualified to criticize the ways and the manners of -churches he must renew an allegiance which he was far too intelligent -and conscientious to sever without cause. - -Nor can I justly be denied the right of criticism because my own -ardor is diminished, and I am frequently conscious of a distinct -lukewarmness. I confess to a persistent need in my own life for the -support, the stimulus, the hope, that is inherent in the teachings -of Christianity; nevertheless the church--that is to say, the -Protestantism with which I am familiar--has seemed to me increasingly -a wholly inadequate medium for communicating to men such as Smith and -myself the help and inspiration of the vision of Christ. There are -far too many Smiths who do not care particularly whether the churches -prosper or die. And I urge that Smith is worthy of the church’s best -consideration. Even if the ninety-and-nine were snugly housed in the -fold, Smith’s soul is still worth the saving. - - “I don’t want to go no furder - Than my Testyment fer that.” - -Yet Smith doesn’t care a farthing about the state of his soul. Nothing, -in fact, interests him less. Smith’s wife had been “brought up in the -church,” but after her marriage she displayed Smith to the eyes of the -congregation for a few Easter Sundays and then gave him up. However, -their children attend Sunday school of a denomination other than that -in which the Smiths were reared, and Smith gives money to several -churches; he declares that he believes churches are a good thing, and -he will do almost anything for a church but attend its services. What -he really means to say is that he thinks the church is a good thing for -Jones and me, but that, as for himself, he gets on comfortably without -it. - -And the great danger both to the church and to Smith lies in the fact -that he does apparently get on so comfortably without it! - - -I - -My personal experiences of religion and of churches have been rather -varied, and while they present nothing unusual, I shall refer to them -as my justification for venturing to speak to my text at all. I was -baptized in the Episcopal Church in infancy, but in about my tenth -year I began to gain some knowledge of other Protestant churches. One -of my grandfathers had been in turn Methodist and Presbyterian, and I -“joined” the latter church in my youth. Becoming later a communicant of -the Episcopal Church, I was at intervals a vestryman and a delegate to -councils, and for twenty years attended services with a regularity that -strikes me as rather admirable in the retrospect. - -As a boy I was taken to many “revivals” under a variety of -denominational auspices, and later, as a newspaper reporter, I was -frequently assigned to conferences and evangelistic meetings. I made my -first “hit” as a reporter by my vivacious accounts of the performances -of a “trance” revivalist, who operated in a skating-rink in my -town. There was something indescribably “woozy” in those cataleptic -manifestations in the bare, ill-lighted hall. I even recall vividly -the bump of the mourners’ heads as they struck the floor, while the -evangelist moved among the benches haranguing the crowd. Somewhat -earlier I used to delight in the calisthenic performances of a “boy -preacher” who ranged my part of the world. His physical activities were -as astonishing as his volubility. At the high moment of his discourse -he would take a flying leap from the platform to the covered marble -baptismal font. He wore pumps for greater ease in these flights, and -would run the length of the church with astonishing nimbleness, across -the backs of the seats over the heads of the kneeling congregation. -I often listened with delicious horripilations to the most startling -of this evangelist’s perorations, in which he described the coming of -the Pale Rider. It was a shuddersome thing. The horror of it, and the -wailing and crying it evoked, come back to me after thirty years. - -The visit of an evangelist used to be an important event in my -town; converts were objects of awed attention, particularly in the -case of notorious hardened sinners whose repentance awakened the -greatest public interest and sympathy. Now that we have passed the -quarter-million mark, revivals cause less stir, for evangelists of -the more militant, spectacular type seem to avoid the larger cities. -Those who have never observed the effect of a religious revival upon -a community not too large or too callous to be shaken by it have no -idea of the power exerted by the popular evangelist. It is commonly -said that these visits only temporarily arrest the march of sin; that -after a brief experience of godly life the converts quickly relapse; -but I believe that these strident trumpetings of the ram’s horn are -not without their salutary effect. The saloons, for a time at least, -find fewer customers; the forces of decency are strengthened, and the -churches usually gain in membership. Most of us prefer our religion -without taint of melodrama, but it is far from my purpose to asperse -any method or agency that may win men to better ways of life. - -At one time and another I seem to have read a good deal on various -aspects of religion. Newman and the Tractarians interested me -immensely. I purchased all of Newman’s writings, and made a collection -of his photographs, several of which gaze at me, a little mournfully -and rebukingly, as I write; for presently I took a cold plunge into -Matthew Arnold, and Rome ceased to call me. Arnold’s writings on -religious subjects have been obscured by the growing reputation of his -poetry; but it was only yesterday that “Literature and Dogma” and “God -and the Bible” enjoyed great vogue. He translated continental criticism -into terms that made it accessible to laymen, and encouraged liberal -thought. He undoubtedly helped many to a new orientation in matters of -faith. - -My reading in church history, dogma, and criticism has been about -that of the average layman. I have enjoyed following the experiments -of the psychical researchers, and have been a diligent student of -the proceedings of heresy trials. The Andover case and the Briggs -controversy once seemed important, and they doubtless were, but they -established nothing of value. The churches are warier of heresy trials -than they were; and in this connection I hold that a clergyman who -entertains an honest doubt as to the virgin birth or the resurrection -may still be a faithful servant of Jesus Christ. To unfrock him merely -arouses controversy, and draws attention to questions that can never -be absolutely determined by any additional evidence likely to be -adduced. The continuance in the ministry of a doubter on such points -becomes a question of taste which I admit to be debatable; but where, -as has happened once in late years, the culprit was an earnest and -sincere doer of Christianity’s appointed tasks, his conviction served -no purpose beyond arousing a species of cynical enjoyment in the bosom -of Smith, and of smug satisfaction in those who righteously flung a -well-meaning man to the lions. - -Far more serious are the difficulties of those ministers of every shade -of faith who find themselves curbed and more or less openly threatened -for courageously attacking evils they find at their own doors by those -responsible for the conditions they assail. Only recently two or -three cases have come to my attention of clergymen who had awakened -hostility in their congregations by their zeal in social service. The -loyal support of such men by their fellows seems to me far nobler than -the pursuit of heretics. The Smiths of our country have learned to -admire courage in their politics, and there is no reason for believing -that they will not rally to a religion that practices it undauntedly. -Christ, of all things, was no coward. - -There is, I believe, nowhere manifest at this time, within the larger -Protestant bodies at least, any disposition to defend the inerrancy of -the Bible, and this is fortunate in that it leaves the churches free to -deal with more vital matters. It seems fair to assume that criticism -has spent its force, and done its worst. The spirit of the Bible has -not been harmed by it. The reliance of the Hebrews on the beneficence -of Jehovah, the testimony of Jesus to the enduring worth of charity, -mercy, and love, have in nowise been injured by textual criticism. -The Old Testament, fancifully imagined as the Word of God given by -dictation to specially chosen amanuenses, appeals to me no more -strongly than a Bible recognized as the vision of brooding spirits, -who, in a time when the world was young, and earth was nearer heaven -than now, were conscious of longings and dreams that were wonderfully -realized in their own hearts and lives. And the essentials of Christ’s -teachings have lost nothing by criticism. - -The Smiths who have drifted away from the churches will hardly be -brought back to the pews by even the most scholarly discussion of -doubtful texts. Smith is not interested in the authenticity of lines or -chapters, nor do nice points of dogma touch the affairs of his life or -the needs of his soul. The fact that certain gentlemen in session at -Nicæa in A.D. 325 issued a statement of faith for his guidance strikes -him as negligible; it does not square with any need of which he is -conscious in his own breast. - -A church that would regain the lost Smiths will do well to satisfy that -large company of the estranged and the indifferent that one need not -believe all that is contained between the lids of the Bible to be a -Christian. Much of the Bible is vulnerable, but Jesus explained himself -in terms whose clarity has in nowise been clouded by criticism. Smith -has no time, even if he had the scholarship, to pass upon the merits of -the Book of Daniel; but give him Christ’s own words without elucidation -and he is at once on secure ground. There only lately came into my -hands a New Testament in which every utterance of Jesus is given the -emphasis of black-face type, with the effect of throwing his sayings -into high relief; and no one reading his precepts thus presented can -fail to be impressed by the exactness with which He formulated his -“secret” into a working platform for the guidance of men. Verily there -could be no greater testimony to the divine authority of the Carpenter -of Nazareth than the persistence with which his ideal flowers upon the -ever-mounting mass of literature produced to explain Him. - - -II - -Smith will not be won back to the church through appeals to theology, -or stubborn reaffirmations of creeds and dogmas. I believe it may -safely be said that the great body of ministers individually recognize -this. A few cling to a superstition that there is inherent in religion -itself a power which by some sort of magic, independently of man, will -make the faith of Christ triumphant in the world. I do not believe -so; Smith could not be made to think so. And Smith’s trouble is, if I -understand him, not with faith after all, but with works. The church -does not impress him as being an efficient machine that yields adequate -returns upon the investment. If Smith can be brought to works through -faith, well enough; but he is far more critical of works than of faith. -Works are within the range of his experience; he admires achievement: -show him a foundation of works and interest him in strengthening that -foundation and in building upon it, and his faith will take care of -itself. - -The word we encounter oftenest in the business world nowadays is -“efficiency”; the thing of which Smith must first be convinced is that -the church may be made efficient. And on that ground he must be met -honestly, for Smith is a practical being, who surveys religion, as -everything else, with an eye of calculation. At a time when the ethical -spirit in America is more healthy and vigorous than ever before, Smith -does not connect the movements of which he is aware in business and -politics with religion. Religion seems to him to be a poor starved side -issue, not a source and guiding spirit in the phenomena he observes and -respects. - -The economic waste represented in church investment and administration -does not impress Smith favorably, nor does it awaken admiration in -Jones or in me. Smith knows that two groceries on opposite sides of the -street are usually one too many. We used to be told that denominational -rivalry aroused zeal, but this cannot longer be more than an absurd -pretense. This idea that competition is essential to the successful -extension of Christianity continues to bring into being many crippled -and dying churches, as Smith well knows. And he has witnessed, too, -a deterioration of the church’s power through its abandonment of -philanthropic work to secular agencies, while churches of the familiar -type, locked up tight all the week save for a prayer-meeting and -choir-practice, have nothing to do. What strikes Smith is their utter -wastefulness and futility. - -The lack of harmony in individual churches--and there is a good deal -of it--is not reassuring to the outsider. The cynical attitude of -a good many non-church-going Smiths is due to the strifes, often -contemptibly petty, prevailing within church walls. It seems difficult -for Christians to dwell together in peace and concord. In almost every -congregation there appears to be a party favorable to the minister and -one antagonistic to him. A minister who seemed to me to fill more fully -the Christian ideal than any man I have known was harassed in the most -brutal fashion by a congregation incapable of appreciating the fidelity -and self-sacrifice that marked his ministry. I recall with delight -the fighting qualities of another clergyman who was an exceptionally -brilliant pulpit orator. He was a Methodist who had fallen to the lot -of a church that had not lately been distinguished for able preaching. -This man filled his church twice every Sunday, and it was the one -sought oftenest by strangers within the city’s gates; yet about half -his own membership hated him cordially. Though I was never of his -flock, I enjoyed his sermons; and knowing something of his relations -with the opposition party in his congregation, I recall with keenest -pleasure how he fought back. Now and then an arrow grazed his ear; but -he was unheedful of warnings that he would be pilloried for heresy. He -landed finally in his old age in an obscure church, where he died, -still fighting with his back to the wall. Though the shepherd’s crook -as a weapon is going out of style, I have an idea that clergymen who -stand sturdily for their own ideals receive far kindlier consideration -than those who meekly bow to vestries, trustees, deacons, elders, and -bishops. - -Music has long been notoriously a provoker of discord. Once in -my news-hunting days I suffered the ignominy of a “scoop” on a -choir-rumpus, and I thereupon formed the habit of lending an anxious -ear to rumors of trouble in choir-lofts. The average ladder-like _Te -Deum_, built up for the display of the soprano’s vocal prowess, has -always struck me as an unholy thing. I even believe that the horrors of -highly embellished offertories have done much to tighten purse-strings -and deaden generous impulses. The presence behind the pulpit of a -languid quartette praising God on behalf of the bored sinners in the -pews has always seemed to me the profanest of anomalies. Nor has long -contemplation of vested choirs in Episcopal churches shaken my belief -that church music should be an affair of the congregation. - -There seems to exist inevitably, even in the smallest congregation, “a -certain rich man” whose opinions must be respected by the pulpit. The -minister of a large congregation confessed to me despairingly, not long -ago, that the courage had been taken out of him by the protests evoked -whenever he touched even remotely upon social topics like child labor, -or shorter hours for workingmen. There were manufacturers in that -church who would not “stand for it.” Ministers are warned that they -must attend to their own business, which is preaching the Word of God -not so concretely or practically as to offend the “pillars.” - -Just what is it, I wonder, that a minister may preach without hazarding -his job? It is said persistently that the trouble with the church at -the present day is that the ministers no longer preach the Word of God; -that if Christian Truth were again taught with the old vigor, people -would hear it gladly. This is, I believe, an enormous fallacy. I know -churches where strict orthodoxy has been preached uninterruptedly for -years, and which have steadily declined in spite of it--or because -of it. Not long ago, in a great assembly of one of the strongest -denominations, when that cry for a return to the “Old Bible Truth” was -raised, one minister rose and attacked the plea, declaring that he had -never faltered in his devotion to ancient dogma, and yet his church -was dying. And even so, many churches whose walls echo uninterruptedly -an absolutely impeccable orthodoxy are failing. We shall not easily -persuade Smith to forego the golf-links on Sunday morning to hear the -“Old Gospel Truth” preached in out-worn, meaningless phrases. Those old -coins have the gold in them, but they must be recast in new moulds if -they are again to pass current. - - -III - -The difficulties of the clergy are greatly multiplied in these days. -The pulpit has lost its old authority. It no longer necessarily follows -that the ministers are the men of greatest cultivation in their -community. The Monday morning newspapers formerly printed, in my town, -pretty full excerpts of sermons. I recall the case of one popular -minister whose sermons continued to be printed long after he had -removed to another city. Nowadays nothing from the pulpit that is not -sensational is considered worth printing. And the parson has lost his -social importance, moving back slowly toward his old place below the -salt. He used to be “asked,” even if he was not sincerely “expected” at -the functions given by his parishioners; but this has changed now that -fewer families have any parson to invite. - -A minister’s is indubitably the hardest imaginable lot. Every one -criticizes him. He is abused for illiberality, or, seeking to be all -things to all men, he is abused for consorting with sinners. His -door-bell tinkles hourly, and he must answer the behest of people -he does not know, to marry or bury people he never heard of. He is -expected to preach eloquently, to augment his flock, to keep a hand -on the Sunday school, to sit on platforms in the interest of all good -causes, and to bear himself with discretion amid the tortuous mazes -of church and secular politics. There seem to be, in churches of all -kinds, ambitious pontiffs--lay popes--possessed of an ambition to hold -both their fellow laymen and their meek, long-suffering minister in -subjection. Why anyone should wish to be a church boss I do not know; -and yet the supremacy is sometimes won after a struggle that has -afforded the keenest delight to the cynical Smiths on the outside. One -must view these internecine wars more in sorrow than in anger. They -certainly contribute not a little to popular distrust of the church as -a conservator of love and peace. - -There are men in the ministry who can have had no clear vocation to the -clerical life; but there are misfits and failures in all professions. -Some of these, through bigotry or stupidity, do much to justify Smith’s -favorite dictum that there is as much Christianity outside the church -as within it. Now and then I find a Smith whose distrust of religion -is based upon some disagreeable adventure with a clergyman, and I -can’t deny that my own experiences with the cloth have been, on one or -two occasions, disturbing. As to the more serious of these I may not -speak, but I shall mention two incidents, for the reason that they are -such trifles as affect Smith with joy. Once in a parish-meeting I saw -a bishop grossly humiliated for having undertaken to rebuke a young -minister for wearing a chasuble, or not wearing it, or for removing -it in the pulpit, or the other way round,--at any rate, it was some -such momentous point in ecclesiastical millinery that had loosened -a frightful fury of recrimination. The very sight or suggestion -of chasubles has ever since awakened in me the most unchristian -resentment. While we fought over the chasuble I suppose people actually -died within bow-shot of the church without knowing that “if any man sin -we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous.” - -And speaking of bishops, I venture the interpolation that that office, -believed by many to be the softest berth in Zion as it exists in the -Episcopal Church, is in fact the most vexatious and thankless to -which any man can aspire; nor have I in mind the laborious lives of -adventurous spirits like Whipple, Hare, and Rowe, but others who carry -the burdens of established dioceses, where the troubles of one minister -are multiplied upon the apostolic head by the number of parishes in his -jurisdiction. - -Again, at a summer resort on our North Atlantic Coast once familiar to -me, there stood, within reach of fierce seas, one of the most charming -of churches. It was sought daily by visitors, and many women, walking -the shore, used to pause there to rest, for prayer, or out of sheer -curiosity. And yet it appeared that no woman might venture into this -edifice hatless. The _locum tenens_, recalling St. Paul’s question -whether it is “comely that a woman pray unto God uncovered,” was so -outraged by the visits of hatless women to the church that he tacked -a notice on the door setting forth in severe terms that, whereas men -should enter the church bareheaded, women should not desecrate the -temple by entering uncovered. I remember that when I had read that -warning, duly signed with the clergyman’s name, I sat down on the rocks -and looked at the ocean for a long time, marveling that a sworn servant -of God, consecrated in his service by the apostles’ successors, able -to spend a couple of months at one of the pleasantest summer resorts -in America, should have been horror-struck at the unholy intrusion of -a hatless girl in his church, when people in the hot city he had fled -suffered and died, ignorant of the very name of Christ. - - -IV - -“My church home” is an old phrase one still hears in communities -whose social life is not yet wholly divorced from the church. There -is something pleasant and reassuring in the sound of it; and I do not -believe we shall ever have in America an adequate substitute for that -tranquility and peace which are still observable in towns where the -church retains its hold upon the larger part of the community, and -where it exercises a degree of compulsion upon men and women who find -in its life a faith and hope that have proved not the least strong of -the bulwarks of democracy. In wholly strange towns I have experienced -the sense of this in a way I am reluctant to think wholly sentimental. -Where, on crisp winter evenings, the young people come trooping happily -in from the meetings of their own auxiliary societies, where vim and -energy are apparent in the gathering congregation, and where one sees -with half an eye that the pastor is a true leader and shepherd of his -flock--in such a picture there must be, for many of us, something -that lays deep hold upon the heart. They are not concerned in such -gatherings with higher criticism, but with cleanness and wholesomeness -of life, and with that faith, never to be too closely scrutinized or -analyzed, that “singeth low in every heart.” - -One might weep to think how rare those pictures must become--one -might weep if there were not the great problems now forced upon us, -of chance and change, that drive home to all thinking men and women -the great need of infusing the life of the spirit into our industrial -and political struggles. If, in the end, our great experiment in -self-government fail, it will be through the loss of those spiritual -forces which from the beginning have guided and ruled us. It is only -lately that we have begun to hear of Christian socialism, and a -plausible phrase it is; but true democracy seems to me essentially -Christian. When we shall have thoroughly christianized our democracy, -and democratized our Christianity, we shall not longer yield to moods -of despair, or hearken to prophets of woe. - -The Smith for whom I presume to speak is not indifferent to the call of -revitalized democracy. He has confessed to me his belief that the world -is a kindlier place, and that more agencies of helpfulness are at work, -than ever before; and to restore the recalcitrant Smith to the church -it is necessary first of all to convince him that the church honestly -seeks to be the chief of such agencies. The Young Men’s Christian -Association, the Charity Organization Society, and the Settlement House -all afford outlets for Smith’s generous benevolences. And it was a dark -day for the church when she allowed these multiplying philanthropies -to slip away from her. Smith points to them with a flourish, and says -that he prefers to give his money where it is put to practical use. To -him the church is an economic parasite, doing business on one day of -the week, immune from taxation, and the last of his neighbors to scrape -the snow from her sidewalks! The fact that there are within fifteen -minutes’ walk of his house half a dozen churches, all struggling to -maintain themselves, and making no appreciable impression upon the -community, is not lost upon Smith,--the practical, unemotional, busy -Smith. Smith speaks to me with sincere admiration of his friend, the -Salvation Army major, to whom he opens his purse ungrudgingly; but the -church over the way--that grim expensive pile of stone, closed for all -but five or six hours of the week!--Smith shakes his head ruefully when -you suggest it. It is to him a bad investment that ought to be turned -over to a receiver for liquidation. - -Smith’s wife has derived bodily and spiritual help from Christian -Science, and Smith speaks with respect of that cult. He is half -persuaded that there must be something in it. A great many of the -Smiths who never had a church tie, or who gave up church-going, -have allied themselves with Christian Science,--what many of Mrs. -Eddy’s followers in familiar talk abbreviate as “Science,” as though -Science were the more important half of it. This proves at least that -the Smiths are not averse to some sort of spiritual food, or quite -clearly demonstrates a dissatisfaction with the food they had formerly -received. It proves also that the old childlike faith in miracles is -still possible even in our generation. Christian Science struts in -robes of prosperity in my bailiwick, and its followers pain and annoy -me only by their cheerful assumption that they have just discovered God. - -Smith’s plight becomes, then, more serious the more we ponder his case; -but the plight of the church is not less grave to those who, feeling -that Christianity has still its greatest work to do, are anxious for -its rejuvenation. As to whether the church should go to Smith, or Smith -should seek the church, there can be no debate. Smith will not seek the -church; it must be on the church’s initiative that he is restored to -it. The Layman’s Forward Movement testifies to the awakened interest -of the churches in Smith. As I pen these pages I pick up a New York -newspaper and find on the pages devoted to sports an advertisement -signed by the Men and Religion Forward Movement, calling attention to -the eight hundred and eighty churches, Protestant and Catholic, and the -one hundred and seven synagogues in the metropolis,--the beginning, -I believe, of a campaign of advertising on sporting pages. I repeat, -that I wish to belittle no honest effort in any quarter or under any -auspices to interest men in the spiritual life; but I cannot forbear -mentioning that Smith has already smiled disagreeably at this effort to -catch his attention. Still, if Smith, looking for the baseball score, -is reminded that the church is interested in his welfare, I am not one -to sit in the scorner’s seat. - - -V - -A panacea for the ills of the church is something no one expects -to find; and those who are satisfied with the church as it stands, -and believe it to be unmenaced by danger,--who see the Will of God -manifested even in Smith’s disaffection, will not be interested in -my opinion that, of all the suggestions that have been made for the -renewal of the church’s life, church union, upon the broadest lines, -directed to the increase of the church’s efficiency in spiritual and -social service, is the one most likely to bring Smith back to the fold. -Moreover, I believe that Smith’s aid should be invoked in the business -of unification, for the reason that on patriotic grounds, if no other, -he is vitally concerned in the welding of Christianity and democracy -more firmly together. Church union has long been the despair and the -hope of many sincere, able, and devoted men, who have at heart the best -interests of Christendom, and it is impossible that any great number -of Protestants except the most bigoted reactionaries can distrust the -results of union. - -The present crisis--for it is not less than that--calls for more -immediate action by all concerned than seems imminent. We have heard -for many years that “in God’s own time” union would be effected; and -yet union is far from being realized. The difficulty of operating -through councils and conventions is manifest. These bodies move -necessarily and properly with great deliberation. Before the great -branches of Protestantism have reconciled their differences, and agreed -upon a _modus vivendi_, it is quite possible that another ten or twenty -years may pass; and in the present state of the churches, time is of -the essence of preservation and security. - -While we await action by the proposed World Conference for the -consideration of questions touching “faith and order,” much can be -done toward crystallizing sentiment favorable to union. A letter -has been issued to its clergy by the Episcopal Church, urging such -profitable use of the interval of waiting; and I dare say the same -spirit prevails in other communions. A purely sentimental union will -not suffice, nor is the question primarily one for theologians or -denominational partisans, but for those who believe that there is -inherent in the method and secret of Jesus something very precious that -is now seriously jeopardized, and that the time is at hand for saving -it, and broadening and deepening the channel through which it reaches -mankind. - - -VI - -In the end, unity, if it ever take practical form, must become a -local question. This is certainly true in so far as the urban field -is concerned, and I may say in parenthesis that, in my own state, -the country churches are already practicing a kind of unification, -in regions where the automobile and the interurban railway make it -possible for farm and village folk to run into town to church. Many -rural churches have been abandoned and boarded up, their congregations -in this way forming new religious and social units. I suggest that in -towns and cities where the weaknesses resulting from denominational -rivalry are most apparent, the problems of unification be taken up in -a purely local way. I propose the appointment of local commissions, -representative of all Protestant bodies, to study the question and -devise plans for increasing the efficiency of existing churches, and -to consider ways and means of bringing the church into vital touch -with the particular community under scrutiny. This should be done in a -spirit of absolute honesty, without envy, hatred, or malice. The test -of service should be applied relentlessly, and every religious society -should make an honest showing of its conditions and needs. - -Upon the trial-balance thus struck there should be, wherever needed, -an entirely new redistribution of church property, based wholly upon -local and neighborhood needs. For example, the familiar, badly housed, -struggling mission in an industrial centre would be able at once to -anticipate the fruits of years of labor, through the elimination of -unnecessary churches in quarters already over-supplied. Not only -should body and soul be cared for in the vigorous institutional church, -the church of the future, but there is no reason why the programme -should not include theatrical entertainments, concerts, and dances. -Many signs encourage the belief that the drama has a great future in -America, and the reorganized, redistributed churches might well seize -upon it as a powerful auxiliary and ally. Scores of motion-picture -shows in every city testify to the growing demand for amusement, and -they conceal much mischief; and the public dance-house is a notorious -breeder of vice. - -Let us consider that millions of dollars are invested in American -churches, which are, in the main, open only once or twice a week, and -that fear of defiling the temple is hardly justification for the small -amount of actual service performed by the greater number of churches of -the old type. By introducing amusements, the institutional church--the -“department church,” if you like--would not only meet a need, but it -would thus eliminate many elements of competition. The people living -about a strong institutional church would find it, in a new sense, “a -church home.” The doors should stand open seven days in the week to -“all such as have erred and are deceived”; and men and women should be -waiting at the portals “to comfort and help the weak-hearted; and to -raise up those who fall.” - -If in a dozen American cities having from fifty thousand to two or -three hundred thousand inhabitants, this practical local approach -toward union should be begun in the way indicated, the data adduced -would at least be of importance to the convocations that must -ultimately pass upon the question. Just such facts and figures as could -be collected by local commissions would naturally be required, finally, -in any event; and much time would be saved by anticipating the call for -such reports. - -I am familiar with the argument that many sorts of social service are -better performed by non-sectarian societies, and we have all witnessed -the splendid increase of secular effort in lines feebly attacked and -relinquished, as though with a grateful sigh, by the churches. When the -Salvation Army’s trumpet and drum first sounded in the market-place, -we were told that that valiant organization could do a work impossible -for the churches; when the Settlement House began to appear in American -cities, that, too, was undertaking something better left to the -sociologist. Those prosperous organizations of Christian young men and -women, whose investment in property in our American cities is now very -great, are, also, we are assured, performing a service which the church -could not properly have undertaken. Charity long ago moved out of the -churches, and established headquarters in an office with typewriter and -telephone. - -If it is true that the service here indicated is better performed by -secular organizations, why is it that the power of the church has -steadily waned ever since these losses began? Certainly there is little -in the present state of American Protestantism to afford comfort to -those who believe that a one-day-a-week church, whose apparatus is -limited to a pulpit in the auditorium, and a map of the Holy Land in -the Sunday-school room, is presenting a veritable, living Christ to the -hearts and imaginations of men. - -And on the bright side of the picture it should be said that nothing in -the whole field of Christian endeavor is more encouraging or inspiring -than an examination of the immense social service performed under the -auspices of various religious organizations in New York City. This -has been particularly marked in the Episcopal Church. The late Bishop -Potter, and his successor in the metropolitan diocese, early gave great -impetus to social work, and those who contend that the church’s sole -business is to preach the Word of God will find a new revelation of -the significance of that Word by a study of the labors of half a dozen -parishes that exemplify every hour of every day the possibilities of -efficient Christian democracy. - -The church has lost ground that perhaps never can be recovered. Those -who have established secular settlements for the poor, or those who -have created homes for homeless young men and women, can hardly be -asked to “pool” and divide their property with the churches. But, -verily, even with all the many agencies now at work to ameliorate -distress and uplift the fallen, the fields continue white already to -the harvest, and the laborers are few. With the church revitalized, -and imbued with the spirit of utility and efficiency so potent in our -time, it may plant its wavering banner securely on new heights. It may -show that all these organizations that have sapped its strength, and -diminished the force of its testimony before men, have derived their -inspiration from Him who came out of Nazareth to lighten all the world. - - -VII - -The reorganization of the churches along the line I have indicated -would work hardship on many ministers. It would not only mean that many -clergymen would find themselves seriously disturbed in positions long -held under the old order, but that preparation for the ministry would -necessarily be conducted along new lines. The training that now fits a -student to be the pastor of a one-day-a-week church would be worthless -in a unified and socialized church. - -“There are diversities of gifts”; but “it is the same God which worketh -all in all.” In the departmental church, with its chapel or temple -fitly adorned, the preaching of Christ’s message would not be done -by a weary minister worn by the thousand vexatious demands upon a -minister’s time, but by one specially endowed with the preaching gift. -In this way the prosperous congregation would not enjoy a monopoly of -good preaching. Men gifted in pastoral work would specialize in that, -and the relationship between the church and the home, which has lost -its old fineness and sweetness, would be restored. Men trained in -that field would direct the undertakings frankly devised to provide -recreation and amusement. Already the school-house in our cities is -being put to social use; in the branch libraries given by Mr. Carnegie -to my city, assembly-rooms and kitchens are provided to encourage -social gatherings; and here is another opportunity still open to the -church if it hearken to the call of the hour. - -In this unified and rehabilitated church of which I speak,--the -every-day-in-the-week church, open to all sorts and conditions of -men,--what would become of the creeds and the old theology? I answer -this first of all by saying that coalition in itself would be a supreme -demonstration of the enduring power and glory of Christianity. Those -who are jealous for the integrity of the ancient faith would manifestly -have less to defend, for the church would be speaking for herself in -terms understood of all men. The seven-day church, being built upon -efficiency and aiming at definite results, could afford to suffer men -to think as they liked on the virgin birth, the miracles, and the -resurrection of the body, if they faithfully practiced the precepts of -Jesus. - -This busy, helpful, institutional church, welcoming under one roof men -of all degrees, to broaden, sweeten, and enlighten their lives, need -ask no more of those who accept its service than that they believe in -a God who ever lives and loves, and in Christ, who appeared on earth -in His name to preach justice, mercy, charity, and kindness. I should -not debate metaphysics through a barred wicket with men who needed the -spiritual or physical help of the church, any more than my neighbor, -Smith, that prince of good fellows, would ask a hungry tramp to saw a -cord of wood before he gave him his breakfast. - -Questions of liturgy can hardly be a bar, nor can the validity of -Christian orders in one body or another weigh heavily with any who are -sincerely concerned for the life of the church and the widening of its -influence. “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them -also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and they shall become -one flock, one shepherd.” I have watched ministers in practically every -Christian church take bread and break it, and bless the cup, and offer -it in the name of Jesus, and I have never been able to feel that the -sacrament was not as efficacious when received reverently from one as -from another. - -If wisdom and goodness are God, then foolish, indeed, is he who would -“misdefine these till God knows them no more.” The unified seven-day -church would neglect none of “the weightier matters of the law, justice -and mercy and faith,” in the collecting of tithe of mint and anise and -cummin. It would not deny its benefits to those of us who are unblest -with deep spiritual perception, for it is by the grace of God that we -are what we are. “I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the -understanding also: I will sing with the spirit and I will sing with -the understanding also. Else if thou bless with the spirit, how shall -he that filleth the place of the unlearned say the Amen at thy giving -of thanks, seeing he knoweth not what thou sayest?” - - “Hath man no second life?--_Pitch this one high!_ - Sits there no judge in Heaven our sins to see?-- - _More strictly, then, the inward judge obey!_ - Was Christ a man like us? _Ah, let us try - If we, then, too, can be such men as he!_” - -Somewhere there is a poem that relates the experience of a certain -humble priest, who climbed the steeple of his church to commune more -nearly with God. And, as he prayed, he heard the Voice answering, and -asked, “Where art thou, Lord?” and the Lord replied, “Down here, among -my people!” - - - - -The Tired Business Man - - - - -The Tired Business Man - - -I - -SMITH flashed upon me unexpectedly in Berlin. It was nearly a year -ago, just before the summer invasion of tourists, and I was reading -the letters of a belated mail over my coffee, when I was aroused by an -unmistakable American voice demanding water. I turned and beheld, in -a sunny alcove at the end of the restaurant, my old friend Smith who -had dropped his newspaper for the purpose of arraigning a frightened -and obtuse waiter for his inability to grasp the idea that persons -in ordinary health, and reasonably sane, do, at times, use water as -a beverage. It was not merely the alarmed waiter and all his tribe -that Smith execrated: he swept Prussia and the German Empire into the -limbo of lost nations. Mrs. Smith begged him to be calm, offering -the plausible suggestion that the waiter couldn’t understand a word -of English. She appealed to a third member of the breakfast party, a -young lady, whose identity had puzzled me for a moment. It seemed -incredible that this could be the Smiths’ Fanny, whom I had dandled -on my knee in old times,--and yet a second glance convinced me that -the young person was no unlikely realization of the promise of the -Fanny who had ranged our old neighborhood at “home” and appalled us, -even at five, by her direct and pointed utterances. If the child may -be mother to the woman, this was that identical Fanny. I should have -known it from the cool fashion in which she dominated the situation, -addressing the relieved waiter in his own tongue, with the result that -he fled precipitately in search of water--and ice, if any, indeed, were -obtainable--for the refreshment of these eccentric Americans. - -When I crossed to their table I found Smith still growling while he -tried to find his lost place in the New York stock market in his -London newspaper. My appearance was the occasion for a full recital -of his wrongs, in that amusing hyperbole which is so refreshing in -all the Smiths I know. He begged me to survey the table, that I might -enjoy his triumph in having been able to surmount local prejudice -and procure for himself what he called a breakfast of civilized food. -The continental breakfast was to him an odious thing: he announced -his intention of exposing it; he meant to publish its iniquity to the -world and drive it out of business. Mrs. Smith laughed nervously. She -appeared anxious and distraught and I was smitten with pity for her. -But there was a twinkle in Miss Smith’s eye, a smile about her pretty -lips, that discounted heavily the paternal fury. She communicated, with -a glance, a sense of her own attitude toward her father’s indignation: -it did not matter a particle; it was merely funny, that was all, that -her father, who demanded and commanded all things on his own soil, -should here be helpless to obtain a drop of cold water with which to -slake his thirst when every one knew that he could have bought the -hotel itself with a scratch of the pen. When Smith asked me to account -for the prevalence of hydrophobia in Europe it was really for the joy -of hearing his daughter laugh. And it is well worth anyone’s while to -evoke laughter from Fanny. For Fanny is one of the prettiest girls -in the world, one of the cleverest, one of the most interesting and -amusing. - - -II - -As we lingered at the table (water with ice having arrived and the -Stars and Stripes flying triumphantly over the pitcher), I was brought -up to date as to the recent history of the Smiths. As an old neighbor -from home they welcomed me to their confidence. The wife and daughter -had been abroad a year with Munich as their chief base. Smith’s -advent had been unexpected and disturbing. Rest and change having -been prescribed, he had jumped upon a steamer and the day before our -encounter had joined his wife and daughter in Berlin. They were waiting -now for a conference with a German neurologist to whom Smith had been -consigned--in desperation, I fancied--by his American doctor. Mrs. -Smith’s distress was as evident as his own irritation; Miss Fanny -alone seemed wholly tranquil. She ignored the apparent gravity of the -situation and assured me that her father had at last decided upon -a long vacation. She declared that if her father persisted in his -intention of sailing for New York three weeks later, she and her mother -would accompany him. - -While we talked a cablegram was brought to Smith; he read it and -frowned. Mrs. Smith met my eyes and shook her head; Fanny frugally -subtracted two thirds of the silver Smith was leaving on the tray as -a tip and slipped it into her purse. It was a handsome trinket, the -purse; Fanny’s appointments all testified to Smith’s prosperity and -generosity. I remembered these friends so well in old times, when they -lived next door to me in the Mid-Western town which Smith, ten years -before, had outgrown and abandoned. His income had in my observation -jumped from two to twenty thousand, and no one knew now to what -fabulous height it had climbed. He was one of the men to reckon with -in the larger affairs of “Big Business.” And here was the wife who -had shared his early struggles, and the child born of those contented -years, and here was Smith, with whom in the old days I had smoked my -after-breakfast cigar on the rear platform of a street car in our town, -that we then thought the “best town on earth,”--here were my old -neighbors in a plight that might well tax the renowned neurologist’s -best powers. - -What had happened to Smith? I asked myself; and the question was also -in his wife’s wondering eyes. And as we dallied, Smith fingered his -newspaper fretfully while I answered his wife’s questions about our -common acquaintances at “home” as she still called our provincial -capital. - -It was not my own perspicacity but Fanny’s which subsequently made -possible an absolute diagnosis of Smith’s case, somewhat before the -cautious German specialist had announced it. From data supplied by -Fanny I arrived at the conclusion that Smith is the “tired business -man,” and only one of a great number of American Smiths afflicted with -the same malady,--bruised, nerve-worn victims of our malignant gods of -success. The phrase, as I shall employ it here, connotes not merely the -type of iron-gray stock broker with whom we have been made familiar -by our American drama of business and politics, but his brother (also -prematurely gray and a trifle puffy under the eyes) found sedulously -burning incense before Mammon in every town of one hundred thousand -souls in America. I am not sure, on reflection, that he is not visible -in thriving towns of twenty-five thousand,--or wherever “collateral” -and “discount” are established in the local idiom and the cocktail is a -medium of commercial and social exchange. The phenomena presented by my -particular Smith are similar to those observed in those lesser Smiths -who are the restless and dissatisfied biggest frogs in smaller puddles. -Even the farmers are tired of contemplating their glowing harvests and -bursting barns and are moving to town to rest. - - -III - -Is it possible that tired men really wield a considerable power and -influence in these American States so lately wrested from savagery? -Confirmation of this reaches us through many channels. In politics we -are assured that the tired business man is a serious obstructionist -in the path of his less prosperous and less weary brethren engaged -upon the pursuit of happiness and capable of enjoying it in successes -that would seem contemptibly meagre to Smith. Thousands of Smiths -who have not yet ripened for the German specialists are nevertheless -tired enough to add to the difficulty of securing so simple a thing as -reputable municipal government. It is because of Smith’s weariness and -apathy that we are obliged to confess that no decent man will accept -the office of mayor in our American cities. - -In my early acquaintance with Smith--in those simple days when he had -time to loaf in my office and talk politics--an ardent patriotism -burned in him. He was proud of his ancestors who had not withheld their -hand all the way from Lexington to Yorktown, and he used to speak -with emotion of that dark winter at Valley Forge. He would look out -of the window upon Washington Street and declare, with a fine sweep -of the hand, that “We’ve got to keep all this; we’ve got to keep it -for these people and for our children.” He had not been above sitting -as delegate in city and state conventions, and he had once narrowly -escaped a nomination for the legislature. The industry he owned and -managed was a small affair and he knew all the employees by name. His -lucky purchase of a patent that had been kicked all over the United -States before the desperate inventor offered it to him had sent his -fortunes spinning into millions within ten years. Our cautious banker -who had vouchsafed Smith a reasonable guarded credit in the old days -had watched, with the mild cynical smile peculiar to conservative -bank presidents, the rapid enrollment of Smith’s name in the lists of -directors of some of the solidest corporations known to Wall Street. -It is a long way from Washington Street to Wall Street, and men who -began life with more capital than Smith never cease marveling at the -ease with which he effected the transition. Some who continue where -he left them in the hot furrows stare gloomily after him and exclaim -upon the good luck that some men have. Smith’s abrupt taking-off would -cause at least a momentary chill in a thousand safety-vault boxes. -Smith’s patriotism, which in the old days, when he liked to speak of -America as the republic of the poor, and when he knew most of the -“Commemoration Ode” and all of the “Gettysburg Address” by heart, is -far more concrete than it used to be. When Smith visits Washington -during the sessions of Congress the country is informed of it. It is -he who scrutinizes new senators and passes upon their trustworthiness. -And it was Smith who, after one of these inspections, said of a member -of our upper chamber that, “He’s all right; he speaks our language,” -meaning not the language of the “Commemoration Ode” or the “Gettysburg -Address,” but a recondite dialect understood only at the inner gate of -the money-changers. - - -IV - -No place was ever pleasanter in the old days than the sitting-room -of Smith’s house. It was the coziest of rooms and gave the lie to -those who have maintained that civilization is impossible around a -register. A happy, contented family life existed around that square -of perforated iron in the floor of the Smiths’ sitting-room. In the -midst of arguments on life, letters, the arts, politics, and what-not, -Smith would, as the air grew chill toward midnight, and when Mrs. -Smith went to forage for refreshments in the pantry, descend to the -cellar to renew the flagging fires of the furnace with his own hands. -The purchase of a new engraving, the capture of a rare print, was -an event to be celebrated by the neighbors. We went to the theatre -sometimes, and kept track of the affairs of the stage; and lectures -and concerts were not beneath us. Mrs. Smith played Chopin charmingly -on a piano Smith had given her for a Christmas present when Fanny -was three. They were not above belonging to our neighborhood book -and magazine club, and when they bought a book it was a good one. I -remember our discussions of George Meredith and Hardy and Howells, -and how we saved Stockton’s stories to enjoy reading them in company -around the register. A trip to New York was an event for the Smiths -in those days as well as for the rest of us, to be delayed until just -the right moment for seeing the best plays, and an opera, with an -afternoon carefully set apart for the Metropolitan Museum. We were glad -the Smiths could go, even if the rest of us couldn’t; for they told us -all so generously of their adventures when they came back! They kept a -“horse and buggy,” and Mrs. Smith used to drive to the factory with -Fanny perched beside her to bring Smith home at the end of his day’s -work. - -In those days the Smiths presented a picture before which one might be -pardoned for lingering in admiration. I shall resent any suggestions -that I am unconsciously writing them down as American _bourgeois_ with -the contemptuous insinuations that are conveyed by that term. Nor were -they Philistines, but sound, wholesome, cheerful Americans, who bought -their eggs direct from “the butterman” and kept a jug of buttermilk in -the ice-box. I assert that Smiths of their type were and are, wherever -they still exist, an encouragement and a hope to all who love their -America. They are the Americans to whom Lincoln became as one of -Plutarch’s men, and for whom Longfellow wrote “The Children’s Hour,” -and on whom Howells smiles quizzically and with complete understanding. -Thousands of us knew thousands of these Smiths only a few years ago, -all the way from Portland, Maine, to Portland, Oregon. I linger upon -them affectionately as I have known and loved them in the Ohio -Valley, but I have enjoyed glimpses of them in Kansas City and Omaha, -Minneapolis and Detroit, and know perfectly well that I should find -them realizing to the full life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness -in many other regions,--for example, with only slight differences of -background, in Richmond, Virginia, and Burlington, Vermont. And in -all these places some particular Smith is always moving to Chicago or -Boston or New York on his way to a sanatorium or Bad Neuheim and a -German specialist! Innumerable Smiths, not yet so prosperous as the old -friend I encountered in Berlin, are abandoning their flower-gardens -and the cozy verandas (sacred to neighborhood confidences on the long -summer evenings) and their gusty registers for compact and steam-heated -apartments with only the roof-garden overhead as a breathing-place. - -There seems to be no field in which the weary Smith is not exercising -a baneful influence. We have fallen into the habit of laying many of -our national sins at his door, and usually with reason. His hand is -hardly concealed as he thrusts it nervously through the curtains of -legislative chambers, state and national. He invades city halls and -corrupts municipal councils. Even the fine arts are degraded for his -pleasure. Smith, it seems, is too weary from his day’s work to care for -dramas - - “That bear a weighty and a serious brow, - Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe.” - -He is one of the loyalest patrons of that type of beguilement known -as the “musical comedy,” which in its most engaging form is a naughty -situation sprinkled with cologne water and set to waltz time. Still, -if he dines at the proper hour at a Fifth Avenue restaurant and eats -more and drinks more than he should (to further the hardening of his -arteries for the German specialist), he may arrive late and still -hear the tune every one on Broadway is whistling. The girl behind the -book-counter knows Smith a mile off, and hands him at once a novel that -has a lot of “go” to it, or one wherein “smart” people assembled in -house-parties for week-ends, amuse themselves by pinning pink ribbons -on the Seventh Commandment. If the illustrations are tinted and the -first page opens upon machine-gun dialogue, the sale is effected all -the more readily. Or, reluctant to tackle a book of any sort, he may -gather up a few of those magazines whose fiction jubilantly emphasizes -the least noble passions of man. And yet my Smith delighted, in those -old days around the register, in Howells’s clean, firm stroke; and we -were always quoting dear Stockton--“black stockings for sharks”--“put -your board money in the ginger jar.” What a lot of silly, happy, -comfortable geese we were! - -It seems only yesterday that the first trayful of cocktails jingled -into a parlor in my town as a prelude to dinner; and I recall the -scandalous reports of that innovation which passed up and down the -maple-arched thoroughfares that give so sober and cloistral an air to -our residential area. When that first tray appeared at our elbows, -just before that difficult moment when we gentlemen of the provinces, -rather conscious at all times of our dress-coats, are wondering whether -it is the right or left arm we should offer the lady we are about -to take in, we were startled, as though the Devil had invaded the -domestic sanctuary and perched himself on the upright piano. Nothing is -more depressing than the thought that all these Smiths, many of whose -fathers slept in the rain and munched hard-tack for a principle in -the sixties, are unable to muster an honest appetite, but must pucker -their stomachs with a tonic before they can swallow their daily bread. -Perhaps our era’s great historian will be a stomach specialist whose -pages, bristling with statistics and the philosophy thereof, will -illustrate the undermining and honeycombing of our institutions by gin -and bitters. - - -V - -The most appalling thing about us Americans is our complete -sophistication. The English are children. An Englishman is at no -moment so delightful as when he lifts his brows and says “Really!” The -Frenchman at his sidewalk table watches the world go by with unwearied -delight. At any moment Napoleon may appear; or he may hear great news -of a new drama, or the latest lion of the salon may stroll by. Awe and -wonder are still possible in the German, bred as he is upon sentiment -and fairy-lore: the Italian is beautifully credulous. On my first visit -to Paris, having arrived at midnight and been established in a hotel -room that hung above a courtyard which I felt confident had witnessed -the quick thrusts of Porthos, Athos, and Aramis, I wakened at an early -hour to the voice of a child singing in the area below. It has always -seemed to me that that artless song flung out upon the bright charmed -morning came from the very heart of France! France, after hundreds of -years of achievement, prodigious labor, and staggering defeat, is still -a child among the nations. - -Only the other day I attended a prize-fight in Paris. It was a gay -affair held in a huge amphitheatre and before a great throng of -spectators of whom a third were women. The match was for twenty rounds -between a Frenchman and an Australian negro. After ten rounds it was -pretty clear that the negro was the better man; and my lay opinion was -supported by the judgment of two American journalists, sounder critics -than I profess to be of the merits of such contests. The decision was, -of course, in favor of the Frenchman and the cheering was vociferous -and prolonged. And it struck me as a fine thing that that crowd could -cheer so lustily the wrong decision! It was that same spirit that -led France forth jauntily against Bismarck’s bayonets. I respect the -emotion with which a Frenchman assures me that one day French soldiers -will plant the tri-color on the Brandenburg Gate. He dreams of it as a -child dreams of to-morrow’s games. - -But we are at once the youngest and the oldest of the nations. We are -drawn to none but the “biggest” shows, and hardly cease yawning long -enough to be thrilled by the consummating leap of death across the -four rings where folly has already disproved all natural laws. The -old prayer, “Make me a child again just for to-night,” has vanished -with the belief in Santa Claus. No American really wants to be a child -again. It was with a distinct shock that I heard recently a child of -five telephoning for an automobile in a town that had been threatened -by hostile Indians not more than thirty years ago. Our children avail -themselves with the coolest condescension of all the apparatus of our -complex modern life: they are a thousand years old the day they are -born. - -The farmer who once welcomed the lightning-rod salesman as a friend of -mankind is moving to town now and languidly supervising the tilling -of his acres from an automobile. One of these vicarious husbandmen, -established in an Indiana county seat, found it difficult to employ -his newly acquired leisure. The automobile had not proved itself a toy -of unalloyed delight, and the feet that had followed unwearied the hay -rake and plow faltered upon the treads of the mechanical piano. He -began to alternate motor flights with more deliberate drives behind a -handsome team of blacks. The eyes of the town undertaker fell in mortal -envy upon that team and he sought to buy it. The tired husbandman -felt that here, indeed, was an opportunity to find light gentlemanly -occupation, while at the same time enjoying the felicities of urban -life, so he consented to the use of his horses, but with the distinct -understanding that he should be permitted to drive the hearse! - - -VI - -If we are not, after all, a happy people, in the full enjoyment of -life and liberty, what is this sickness that troubleth our Israel? -Why huddle so many captains within the walls of the city, impotently -whining beside their spears? Why seek so many for rest while this our -Israel is young among the nations? “Thou hast multiplied the nation and -not increased the joy; they joy before thee according to the joy in -harvest and as men rejoice when they divide the spoil.” Weariness fell -upon Judah, and despite the warnings of noble and eloquent prophets she -perished. It is now a good many years since Mr. Arnold cited Isaiah -and Plato for our benefit to illustrate his belief that with us, as -with Judah and Athens, the majority are unsound. And yet from his essay -on Numbers--an essay for which Lowell’s “Democracy” is an excellent -antidote--we may turn with a feeling of confidence and security to that -untired and unwearying majority which Arnold believed to be unsound. -Many instances of the soundness of our majority have been afforded -since Mr. Arnold’s death, and it is a reasonable expectation that, in -spite of the apparent ease with which the majority may be stampeded, it -nevertheless pauses with a safe margin between it and the precipice. -Illustrations of failure abound in history, but the very rise and -development of our nation has discredited History as a prophet. In -the multiplication of big and little Smiths lies our only serious -danger. The disposition of the sick Smiths to deplore as unhealthy and -unsound such a radical movement as began in 1896, and still sweeps -merrily on in 1912, never seriously arrests the onward march of -those who sincerely believe that we were meant to be a great refuge -for mankind. If I must choose, I prefer to take my chances with the -earnest, healthy, patriotic millions rather than with an oligarchy of -tired Smiths. Our impatience of the bounds of law set by men who died -before the Republic was born does not justify the whimpering of those -Smiths who wrap themselves in the grave-clothes of old precedents, -and who love the Constitution only when they fly to it for shelter. -Tired business men, weary professional men, bored farmers, timorous -statesmen are not of the vigorous stuff of those - - “Who founded us and spread from sea to sea - A thousand leagues the zone of liberty, - And gave to man this refuge from his past, - Unkinged, unchurched, unsoldiered.” - -Our country’s only enemies are the sick men, the tired men, who have -exhausted themselves in the vain pursuit of vain things; who forget -that democracy like Christianity is essentially social, and who -constitute a sick remnant from whom it is devoutly to be hoped the -benign powers may forever protect us. - - -VII - -It was a year ago that I met my old friend Smith, irritable, depressed, -anxious, in the German capital. This morning we tramped five miles, -here among the Vermont hills where he has established himself. Sound -in wind and limb is my old neighbor, and his outlook on life is sane -and reasonable. I have even heard him referring, with something of -his old emotion, to that dark winter at Valley Forge, but with a new -hopefulness, a wider vision. He does not think the American Republic -will perish, even as Nineveh and Tyre, any more than I do. He has -come to a realization of his own errors and he is interested in the -contemplation of his own responsibilities. And it is not the German -specialist he has to thank for curing his weariness half so much as -Fanny. - -Fanny! Fanny is the wisest, the most capable, the healthiest-minded -girl in the world. Fanny is adorable! As we trudged along the road, -Smith suddenly paused and lifted his eyes to a rough pasture slightly -above and beyond us. I knew from the sudden light in his face that -Fanny was in the landscape. She leaped upon a wall and waved to us. A -cool breeze rose from the valley and swept round her. As she poised -for a moment before running down to join us in the road, there was -about her something of the grace and vigor of the Winged Victory as -it challenges the eye at the head of the staircase in the Louvre. She -lifted her hand to brush back her hair,--that golden crown so loved by -light! And as she ran we knew she would neither stumble nor fall on -that rock-strewn pasture. When she reached the brook she took it at a -bound, and burst upon us radiant. - -It had been Fanny’s idea to come here, and poor, tired, broken, -disconsolate Smith, driven desperate by the restrictions imposed upon -him by the German doctors, and only harassed by his wife’s fears, -had yielded to Fanny’s importunities. I had been so drawn into their -affairs that I knew all the steps by which Fanny had effected his -redemption. She had broken through the lines of the Philistines and -brought him a cup of water from that unquenchable well by the gate for -which David pined and for which we all long when the evil days come. -The youth of a world that never grows old is in Fanny’s heart. She is -to Smith as a Goddess of Liberty in short skirt and sweater, come down -from her pedestal to lead the way to green pastures beside waters of -comfort. She has become to him not merely the spirit of youth but of -life, and his dependence upon her is complete. It was she who saved him -from himself when to his tired eyes it seemed that - - “All one’s work is vain, - And life goes stretching on, a waste gray plain, - With even the short mirage of morning gone, - No cool breath anywhere, no shadow nigh - Where a weary man might lay him down and die.” - -Later, as we sat on Smith’s veranda watching the silver trumpet of the -young moon beyond the pine-crowned crest, with the herd a dark blur -in the intervening meadows, and sweet clean airs blowing out of the -valley, it somehow occurred to me that Fanny of the adorable head, -Fanny gentle of heart, quick of wit, and ready of hand, is the fine -essence of all that is worthiest and noblest in this America of ours. -In such as she there is both inspiration to do and the wisdom of peace -and rest. As she sits brooding with calm brows, a quiet hand against -her tanned cheek, I see in her the likeness of a goddess sprung of -loftier lineage than Olympus knew, for in her abides the spirit of that -old and new America that labors in the sun and whose faith is in the -stars. - - - - - The Spirit of Mischief: - A Dialogue - - - - -The Spirit of Mischief: A Dialogue - - If I could find a higher tree - Farther and farther I should see, - To where the grown-up river slips - Into the sea among the ships. - - To where the roads on either hand - Lead onward into fairyland, - Where all the children dine at five, - And all the playthings come alive. - - R. L. S. - - -JESSAMINE and I had been out sailing. We came back to find the house -deserted, and after foraging in the pantry, we made ourselves at home -in the long unceiled living-room, which is one of the pleasantest -lounging-places in the world. A few pine-knots were smouldering in the -fireplace, and, as I have reached an age when it is pleasant to watch -the flames, I poked a little life into the embers and sat down to -contemplate them from the easiest chair the camp afforded. Jessamine -wearily cast herself upon the couch near by without taking off her coat. - -Jessamine is five and does as she likes, and does it perversely, -arbitrarily, and gracefully, in the way of maids of five. In the pantry -she had found her way to marmalade with an ease and certainty that -amazed me; and she had, with malice aforethought, made me _particeps -criminis_ by teaching me how to coax reluctant, tight-fitting olives -from an impossible bottle with an oyster-fork. - -Jessamine is difficult. I thought of it now with a pang, as her brown -curls lay soft against a red cushion and she crunched a biscuit, -heavily stuccoed with marmalade, with her little popcorn teeth. -I have wooed her with bonbons; I have bribed her with pennies; -but indifference and disdain are still my portion. To-day was my -opportunity. The rest of the household had gone to explore the village -bazaars, and we were left alone. It was not that she loved me more, -but the new nurse less; and, as sailing had usually been denied her, -she derived from our few hours in my catboat the joy of a clandestine -adventure. We had never been so much together before. I wondered how -long the spell of our sail would last. Probably, I reflected, until the -wanderers came back from town to afford a new diversion; or until her -nurse came to carry her away to tea. For the moment, however, I felt -secure. The fire snapped; the clock ticked insistently; my face burned -from its recent contact with a sharp west wind, which had brought white -caps to the surface of the lake and a pleasant splash to the beach at -our front door. Jessamine folded her arms, rested her head upon them, -and regarded me lazily. She was slim and lean of limb, and the lines -she made on the couch were long. I tried to remember whether I had ever -seen her still before. - -“You may read, if you like,” she said. - -“Thank you; but I’d rather have you tell me things,” I answered. - -I wished to be conciliatory. At any moment, I knew she might rise and -vanish. My tricks of detention had proved futile a thousand times; -I was always losing her. She was a master opportunist. She had, I -calculated, a mood a minute, and the mood of inaction was not often one -of them. - -“There are many, many things I’d like to have you tell me, Mischief,” I -said. “What do you think of when you’re all alone; what do you think of -me?” - -“Oh! I never think of you when I’m all alone.” - -“Thank you, Mischief. But I wonder whether you are quite frank. You -must think of me sometimes. For example,--where were you when you -thought of knotting my neckties all together, no longer ago than -yesterday?” - -“Oh!” (It is thus she begins many sentences. Her “Ohs” are delightfully -equivocal.) - -“Perhaps you’d rather not tell. Of course, I don’t mind about the ties.” - -“It was nice of you--not to mind.” - -Suddenly her blue eyes ceased to be. They are little pools of blue, -like mountain lakes. I was aware that the dark lashes had stolen down -upon her brown cheek. She opened her eyes again instantly. - -“I wish I hadn’t found your ties. Finding them made a lot of trouble -for me. I was looking for your funny little scissors to open the door -of my doll-house that was stuck, and I saw the ties. Then I remembered -that I needed a rope to tie Adolphus--that’s the woolly dog you bought -for my birthday--to my bed at night; and neckties make very good ropes.” - -“I’m glad to hear it, Mischief.” - -“There’s a prayer they say in church about mischief--” she began -sleepily. - -“‘From all evil and mischief; from sin; from the crafts and assaults of -the Devil?’” I quoted. - -“That is it! and there’s something in it, too, about everlasting -damnation, that always sends shivers down my back.” - -She frowned in a puzzled way. I remembered that once, when Jessamine -and I went to church together, she had, during the reading of the -litany, so moved a silk hat on the next seat that its owner crushed it -hideously when he rose from his knees. - -The black lashes hid the blue eyes once more, and she settled her head -snugly into her folded arms. - -“Why,” she murmured, “do you call me Mischief? I’m not Mischief; I’m -Jessamine.” - -“You are the Spirit of Mischief,” I answered; and she made no reply. - -The water of the lake beat the shore stormily. - -“The Spirit of Mischief.” - -Jessamine repeated the words sleepily. I had never thought of them -seriously before, and had applied them to her thoughtlessly. Is there, -I asked myself, a whimsical spirit that possesses the heart of a -child,--something that is too swift for the slow pace of adult minds; -and if there be such, where is its abiding-place? - -“I’m the Spirit of Mischief!” - -There, with her back to the fire, stood Jessamine, but with a -difference. Her fists were thrust deep down into the pockets of her -coat. There was a smile on her face that I did not remember to have -seen before. The wind had blown her hair into a sorry tangle, and -it was my fault--I should have made her wear her tam-o’-shanter in -the catboat! An uncle may mean well, but, after all, he is no fit -substitute for a parent. - -“So you admit it, do you? It is unlike you to make concessions.” - -“You use long words. Uncles _always_ use long words. It is one of the -most foolish things they do.” - -“I’m sorry. I wish very much not to be foolish or naughty.” - -“I have wished that many times,” she returned gravely. “But naughtiness -and mischief are not the same thing.” - -“I believe that is so,” I answered. “But if you are really the Spirit -of Mischief,--and far be it from me to doubt your word,--where is your -abiding-place? Spirits must have abiding-places.” - -“There are many of them, and they are a long way off. One is where the -four winds meet.” - -“But that--that isn’t telling. Nobody knows where that is.” - -“Everybody doesn’t,” said the Spirit of Mischief gently, as one who -would deal forbearingly with dullness. - -“Tell me something easier,” I begged. - -“Well, I’ll try again,” she said. “Sometimes when I’m not where four -winds meet, I’m at the end of all the rainbows. Do you know that place?” - -“I never heard of it. Is it very far away?” - -“It’s farther than anything--farther even than the place where the -winds meet.” - -“And what do you do there? You must have bags and bags of gold, O -Spirit.” - -“Yes. Of course. I practice hiding things with them. That is why no one -ever found a bag of gold at the end of a rainbow. I have put countless -ones in the cave of lost treasure. There are a great many things there -besides the bags of gold,--things that parents, and uncles, and aunts -lose,--and never find any more.” - -“I wish I could visit the place,” I said with a sigh. “It would be -pleasant to see a storehouse like that. It would have, I may say, -a strong personal interest. Only yesterday I contributed a valued -scarf-pin through the agency of a certain mischievous niece; and I -shall be long in recovering from the loss of that miraculous putter -that made me a terror on the links. My golf can never be the same -again.” - -“But you never can see the place,” she declared. “A time comes when you -can’t find it any more, the cave of lost treasure--or the place where -four winds meet--or the end of all the rainbows.” - -“I suppose I have lost my chance,” I said. - -“Oh, long ago!” exclaimed the Spirit disdainfully. “It never lasts -beyond six!” - -“That has a wise sound. Pray tell me more! Tell me, I beg, how you have -endured this harsh world so long.” - -This, I thought, was a poser; but she answered readily enough. - -“I suppose, because I am kindred of so many, many things that live on -forever. There are the colors on water when the sun strikes it through -clouds. It can be green and gold and blue and silver all at once; and -then there is the foam of the white caps. It is foam for a moment and -then it is just water again. And there is the moonlight on rippling -water, that goes away and never comes any more--not just the same. The -mirth in the heart of a child is like all these things; and the heart -of a child is the place I love best.” - -“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure it is better than the place where all the -winds meet, or that other rainbow-place that you told me about.” - -“And then,” she began again, “you know that children say things -sometimes just in fun, but no one ever seems to understand that.” - -“To be sure,” I said feelingly, remembering how Jessamine loved to -tease and plague me. - -“But there isn’t any harm in it--any more than--” - -“Yes?” a little impatiently. - -“Than in the things the pines say when the wind runs over the top -of them. They are not--not important, exactly,--but they are always -different. That is the best thing about being a child--the being -different part. You have a grown-up word that means always just the -same.” - -“Consistent?” I asked. - -“That is it. A child that is consistent is wrong some way. But I don’t -remember having seen any of that kind.” - -A smile that was not the smile of Jessamine stole into the Spirit’s -face. It disconcerted me. I could not, for the life of me, decide how -much of the figure before me was Jessamine and how much was really the -Spirit of Mischief, or whether they were both the same. - -“Being ignorant, you don’t know what the mirth in a child is--you” -(scornfully) “who pretend to measure all people by their sense of -humor. It’s akin to the bubbling music of the fountain of youth, and -you do the child and the world a wrong when you stifle it. A child’s -glee is as natural as sunshine, and carries no burden of knowledge; and -that is the precious thing about it.” - -“I’m sure that is true,” I said; but the Spirit did not heed me. She -went on, in a voice that suggested Jessamine, but was not hers. - -“Many people talk solemnly about the imagination of children, as -though it were a thing that could be taught from books or prepared in -laboratories. But children’s mischief, that is so often complained of, -is the imaginations’ finest flower.” - -“The idea pleases me. I shall make a note of it.” - -“The very day,” continued the Spirit, “that you sat at table and talked -learnedly about the minds of children and how to promote in them a -love of the beautiful, your Jessamine had known a moment of joy. She -had lain in the meadow and watched the thistledown take flight,--a -myriad of those flimsy argosies. And she had fashioned a story about -them, that they rise skyward to become the stuff that white clouds are -made of. And the same day she asked you to tell her what it is the -robins are so sorry about when they sing in the evening after the other -birds have gone. Now the same small head that thought of those things -contrived also the happy idea of cooking a doll’s dinner in the chafing -dish,--an experiment that resulted, as you may remember, in a visit -from both the doctor and the fire-insurance adjuster.” - -My heart was wrung as I recalled the bandages on Jessamine’s slender -brown arms. - -“Yes, O Spirit!” I said. “I’m learning much. Pray tell me more!” - -“We like very much for science to let us alone--” - -“But hygiene--and all those life-saving things--” - -“Oh, yes,” she said patronizingly; “they’re all very well in their -way. It’s better for science to kill bugs than for the bugs to kill -children. But I mean other kinds of sciences that are not nearly so -useful--pedagogical and the like, that are trying to kill the microbe -of play. Leave us, oh, leave us that!” - -“That is a new way of putting it. We oldsters soon forget how to play, -alackaday!” - -She went on calmly. “Work that you really love isn’t work any -more--it’s play.” - -“That’s a little deep for me--” - -“It’s true, though, so you’d better try to understand. If you paint -a picture and work at it,--slave over it and are not happy doing -it,--then your picture is only so many pennies’ worth of paint. The -cruelest thing people can say of a book or a picture is, ‘Well, he -worked hard at it!’ The spirit of mischief is only the spirit of play; -and the spirit of play is really the spirit of the work we love. - -“It’s too bad that you are not always patient with us,” the Spirit -continued. (I noted the plural. Clearly Jessamine and the Spirit were -one!) - -“I’m sorry, too,” I answered contritely. - -“The laws of the foolish world do not apply to childhood at all. -Children are born into a condition of ideality. They view everything -with wonder and awe, and you and all the rest of the grown-up world -are busy spoiling their illusions. How happy you would be if you could -have gone on blowing bubbles all your days!” - -“True, alas, too true!” - -The face of the Spirit grew suddenly very old. - -“Life,” she said, “consists largely in having to accept the fact that -we cannot do the things we want to do. But in the blessed days of -mischief we blow bubbles in forbidden soap and water with contraband -pipes--and do not know that they are bubbles!” - -“That is the fine thing about it, O Spirit--the sweet ignorance of it! -I hope I understand that.” - -“I see that you are really wiser than you have always seemed,” she -said, with her baffling smile. “Mischief, as you are prone to call so -many things that children do, is as wholesome and sweet as a field -of clover. I, the Spirit of Mischief, have a serious business in the -world, which I’ll tell you about, as you are old and know so little. -I’m here to combat and confuse the evil spirits that seek to stifle the -good cheer of childhood. These little children that always go to bed -without a fuss and say good night very sweetly in French, and never -know bread and butter and jam by their real names--you really do not -like them half as well as you like natural children. You remember that -you laughed when Jessamine’s French governess came, and left the second -day because the black cat got into her trunk. There was really no harm -in that!” - -The Spirit of Mischief laughed. She grew very small, and I watched -her curiously, wondering whether she was really a creature of this -work-a-day world. Then suddenly she grew to life-size again, and -laughed gleefully, standing with her hands thrust deep into her coat -pockets. - -“Jessamine!” I exclaimed. “I thought you were asleep.” - -“I was, a little bit; but you--you snored awfully,” she said, “and -waked me up.” - -She still watched me, laughing; and looking down I saw that she had -been busy while I slept. A barricade of books had been built around -me,--a carefully wrought bit of masonry, as high as my knees. - -“You’re the wicked giant,” declared Jessamine, quite in her own manner, -and with no hint of the half-real, elfish spirit of my dream. “And I’m -the good little Princess that has caught you at last. And I’ll never -let you out of the tower--Oh they’re coming! They’re coming!” - -She flashed to the door and out upon the veranda where steps had -sounded, leaving me to deliver myself from the tower of the Spirit of -Mischief with the ignorant hands of Age. - - - - -Confessions of a “Best-Seller” - - - - -Confessions of a “Best-Seller” - - -THAT my name has adorned best-selling lists is more of a joke than my -harshest critics can imagine. I had dallied awhile at the law; I had -given ten full years to journalism; I had written criticism, and not a -little verse; two or three short stories of the slightest had been my -only adventure in fiction; and I had spent a year writing an essay in -history, which, from the publisher’s reports, no one but my neighbor -and my neighbor’s wife ever read. My frugal output of poems had pleased -no one half so much as myself; and having reached years of discretion I -carefully analyzed samples of the ore that remained in my bins, decided -that I had exhausted my poetical vein, and thereupon turned rather -soberly to the field of fiction. - -In order to qualify myself to speak to my text, I will say that in -a period of six years, that closed in January, 1909, my titles were -included fifteen times in the “Bookman” list of best-selling books. -Two of my titles appeared five times each; one of them headed the list -three months successively. I do not presume to speak for others with -whom I have crossed swords in the best-selling lists, but I beg to -express my strong conviction that the compilation of such statistics -is quite as injurious as it is helpful to authors. When the “six -best-selling” phrase was new the monthly statement of winners may have -carried some weight; but for several years it has really had little -significance. Critical purchasers are likely to be wary of books so -listed. It is my impression, based on talks with retail dealers in many -parts of the country, that they often report as “best-sellers” books of -which they may have made large advance purchases, but which are selling -slowly. Their aim is, of course, to force the book into the list, and -thereby create a false impression of its popularity. - -I think that most publishers, and many authors who, like myself, -have profited by the making of these lists, would gladly see them -discontinued. The fact remains, however, that the best novels by the -best English and American writers have generally been included in these -lists. Mrs. Wharton, Mrs. Ward, Mr. Winston Churchill, Mr. Wister, -“Kate Douglas Wiggin,” Miss Johnston, and Mr. William de Morgan have, -for example, shared with inferior writers the ignominy of popular -success. I do not believe that my American fellow citizens prefer trash -to sound literature. There are not enough novels of the first order, -not enough books of the style and solidity of “The House of Mirth” -and “Joseph Vance,” to satisfy the popular demand for fiction; and -while the people wait, they take inferior books, like several bearing -my own name, which have no aim but to amuse. I know of nothing more -encouraging to those who wish to see the American novel go high and -far than the immediate acceptance among us of the writings of Mr. -William de Morgan, who makes no concession, not even of brevity, to the -ever-increasing demand for fiction. - -I spent the greater part of two years on my first novel, which dealt -with aspects of life in an urban community which interested me; and -the gravest fault of the book, if I am entitled to an opinion, is -its self-consciousness,--I was too anxious, too painstaking, with the -result that those pages seem frightfully stiff to me now. The book was -launched auspiciously; my publisher advertised it generously, and it -landed safely among the “six best-sellers.” The critical reception of -the book was cordial and friendly, not only in the newspaper press, -but in the more cautious weekly journals. My severest critic dealt far -more amiably with my book than I should have done myself, if I had -sat in judgment upon it. I have been surprised to find the book still -remembered, and its quality has been flung in my face by critics who -have deplored my later performances. - -I now wrote another novel, to which I gave even greater care, and -into it I put, I think, the best characterizations I have ever done; -but the _soupçon_ of melodrama with which I flavored the first novel -was lacking in the second, and it went dead a little short of fifteen -thousand--the poorest sale any of my books has had. - -A number of my friends were, at this time, rather annoyingly directing -my attention to the great popular successes of several other American -writers, whose tales were, I felt, the most contemptible _pastiche_, -without the slightest pretense to originality, and having neither form -nor style. It was in some bitterness of spirit that I resolved to try -my hand at a story that should be a story and nothing else. Nor should -I storm the capitals of imaginary kingdoms, but set the scene on my own -soil. Most, it was clear, could grow the flowers of Zenda when once the -seed had been scattered by Mr. Hawkins. Whether Mr. Hawkins got his -inspiration from the flora of Prince Otto’s gardens, and whether the -Prince was indebted in his turn to Harry Richmond, is not my affair. I -am, no doubt, indebted to all three of these creations; but I set my -scene in an American commonwealth, a spot that derived nothing from -historical association, and sent my hero on his adventures armed with -nothing more deadly than a suit-case and an umbrella. The idea is not -original with me that you can make anything interesting if you know -how. It was Stevenson, I believe, who said that a kitchen table is a -fair enough subject for any writer who knows his trade. I do not cite -myself as a person capable of proving this; but I am satisfied that -the chief fun of story-telling lies in trying, by all the means in a -writer’s power, to make plausible the seemingly impossible. And here, -of course, I am referring to the story for the story’s sake,--not to -the novel of life and manners. - -My two earliest books were clearly too deliberate. They were deficient -in incident, and I was prone to wander into blind alleys, and not -always ingenious enough to emerge again upon the main thoroughfare. I -felt that, while I might fail in my attempt to produce a romantic yarn, -the experience might help me to a better understanding of the mechanics -of the novel,--that I might gain directness, movement, and ease. - -For my third venture I hit upon a device that took strong hold upon -my imagination. The idea of laying a trap for the reader tickled me; -and when once I had written the first chapter and outlined the last, -I yielded myself to the story and bade it run its own course. I was -never more honestly astonished in my life than to find my half-dozen -characters taking matters into their own hands, and leaving me the -merest spectator and reporter. I had made notes for the story, but in -looking them over to-day, I find that I made practically no use of -them. I never expect to experience again the delight of the winter I -spent over that tale. The sight of white paper had no terrors for me. -The hero, constantly cornered, had always in his pocket the key to his -successive dilemmas; the heroine, misunderstood and misjudged, was -struck at proper intervals by the spot-light that revealed her charm -and reëstablished faith in her honorable motives. No other girl in my -little gallery of heroines exerts upon me the spell of that young lady, -who, on the day I began the story, as I waited for the ink to thaw in -my workshop, passed under my window, by one of those kindly orderings -of Providence that keep alive the superstition of inspiration in the -hearts of all fiction-writers. She never came my way again--but she -need not! She was the bright particular star of my stage--its _dea ex -machina_. She is of the sisterhood of radiant goddesses who are visible -from any window, even though its prospect be only a commonplace city -street. Always, and everywhere, the essential woman for any tale is -passing by with grave mien, if the tale be sober; with upturned chin -and a saucy twinkle in the eye, if such be the seeker’s need! - -I think I must have begun every morning’s work with a grin on my face, -for it was all fun, and I entered with zest into all the changes -and chances of the story. I was embarrassed, not by any paucity of -incident, but by my own fecundity and dexterity. The audacity of my -project used sometimes to give me pause; it was almost too bold a thing -to carry through; but my curiosity as to just how the ultimate goal -would be reached kept my interest keyed high. At times, feeling that I -was going too fast, I used to halt and write a purple patch or two for -my own satisfaction,--a harmless diversion to which I am prone, and -which no one could be cruel enough to deny me. There are pages in that -book over which I dallied for a week, and in looking at them now I find -that I still think them--as Mr. James would say--“rather nice.” And -once, while thus amusing myself, a phrase slipped from the pen which -I saw at once had been, from all time, ordained to be the title of my -book. - -When I had completed the first draft, I began retouching. I liked my -tale so much that I was reluctant to part with it; I enjoyed playing -with it, and I think I rewrote the most of it three times. Contumelious -critics have spoken of me as one of the typewriter school of -fictionists, picturing me as lightly flinging off a few chapters before -breakfast, and spending the rest of the day on the golf-links; but I -have never in my life written in a first draft more than a thousand -words a day, and I have frequently thrown away a day’s work when I -came to look it over. I have refused enough offers for short stories, -serials, and book rights, to have kept half a dozen typewriters busy, -and my output has not been large, considering that writing has been, -for nearly ten years, my only occupation. I can say, with my hand on -my heart, that I have written for my own pleasure first and last, and -that those of my books that have enjoyed the greatest popularity were -written really in a spirit of play, without any illusions as to their -importance or their quick and final passing into the void. - -When I had finished my story, I still had a few incidents and scenes -in my ink-pot; but I could not for the life of me get the curtain up, -once it was down. My little drama had put itself together as tight as -wax, and even when I had written an additional incident that pleased me -particularly, I could find no place to thrust it in. I was interested -chiefly in amusing myself, and I never troubled myself in the least as -to whether anyone else would care for the story. I was astonished by -its sale, which exceeded a quarter of a million copies in this country; -it has been translated into French, Italian, German, Danish, Swedish, -and Norwegian. I have heard of it all the way from Tokyo to Teheran. -It was dramatized, and an actor of distinction appeared in the stage -version; and stock companies have lately presented the play in Boston -and San Francisco. It was subsequently serialized by newspapers, and -later appeared in “patent” supplements. The title was paraphrased -by advertisers, several of whom continue to pay me this flattering -tribute. - -I have speculated a good deal as to the success of this book. The -title had, no doubt, much to do with it; clever advertising helped -it further; the cover was a lure to the eye. The name of a popular -illustrator may have helped, but it is certain that his pictures did -not! I think I am safe in saying that the book received no helpful -reviews in any newspapers of the first class, and I may add that I -am skeptical as to the value of favorable notices in stimulating -the sale of such books. Serious novels are undoubtedly helped by -favorable reviews; stories of the kind I describe depend primarily upon -persistent and ingenious advertising, in which a single striking line -from the “Gem City Evening Gazette” is just as valuable as the opinion -of the most scholarly review. Nor am I unmindful of the publisher’s -labors and risks,--the courage, confidence, and genius essential to a -successful campaign with a book from a new hand, with no prestige of -established reputation to command instant recognition. The self-selling -book may become a “best-seller”; it may appear mysteriously, a “dark -horse” in the eternal battle of the books; but miracles are as rare -in the book trade as in other lines of commerce. The man behind the -counter is another important factor. The retail dealer, when he finds -the publisher supporting him with advertising, can do much to prolong a -sale. A publisher of long experience in promoting large sales has told -me that advertising is valuable chiefly for its moral effect on the -retailer, who, feeling that the publisher is strongly backing a book, -bends his own energies toward keeping it alive. - -It would be absurd for me to pretend that the leap from a mild _succès -d’estime_ with sales of forty and fourteen thousand, to a delirious -gallop into six figures is not without its effect on an author, unless -he be much less human than I am. Those gentle friends who had intimated -that I could not do it once, were equally sanguine that I could not -do it again. The temptation to try a second throw of the dice after a -success is strong, but I debated long whether I should try my hand at -a second romance. I resolved finally to do a better book in the same -kind, and with even more labor I produced a yarn whose title--and the -gods have several times favored me in the matter of titles--adorned -the best-selling lists for an even longer period, though the total -sales aggregated less. - -The second romance was, I think, better than the first, and its -dramatic situations were more picturesque. The reviews averaged better -in better places, and may have aroused the prejudices of those who shun -books that are countenanced or praised by the literary “high brows.” It -sold largely; it enjoyed the glory and the shame of a “best-seller”; -but here, I pondered, was the time to quit. Not to shock my “audience,” -to use the term of the trade, I resolved to try for more solid ground -by paying more attention to characterizations, and cutting down the -allowance of blood and thunder. I expected to lose heavily with the -public, and I was not disappointed. I crept into the best-selling list, -but my sojourn there was brief. It is manifest that people who like -shots in the dark will not tamely acquiesce in the mild placing of the -villain’s hand upon his hip pocket on the moon-washed terrace. The -difference between the actual shot and the mere menace, I could, from -personal knowledge, compute in the coin of the Republic. - -When your name on the bill-board suggests battle, murder, and sudden -death, “hair-breadth’scapes, i’ th’ imminent deadly breach,” and -that sort of thing, you need not be chagrined if, once inside, the -eager throng resents bitterly your perfidy in offering nothing more -blood-curdling than the heroine’s demand (the scene being set for -five o’clock tea) for another lump of sugar. You may, if you please, -leave Hamlet out of his own play; but do not, on peril of your fame, -cut out your ghost, or neglect to provide some one to stick a sword -into Polonius behind the arras. I can take up that particular book now -and prove to any fair-minded man how prettily I could, by injecting a -little paprika into my villains, have quadrupled its sale. - -Having, I hope, some sense of humor, I resolved to bid farewell to -cloak and pistols in a farce-comedy, which should be a take-off on my -own popular performances. Humor being something that no one should -tamper with who is not ready for the gibbet, I was not surprised that -many hasty samplers of the book should entirely miss the joke, or that -a number of joyless critics should have dismissed it hastily as merely -another machine-made romance written for boarding-school girls and the -weary commercial traveler yawning in the smoking-car. Yet this book -also has been a “best-seller”! I have seen it, within a few weeks, -prominently displayed in bookshop windows in half a dozen cities. - -It was, I think, Mr. Clyde Fitch who first voiced the complaint that -our drama is seriously affected by the demand of “the tired business -man” to be amused at the theatre. The same may be said of fiction. -A very considerable number of our toiling millions sit down wearily -at night, and if the evening paper does not fully satisfy or social -diversion offer, a story that will hold the attention without too great -a tax upon the mind is welcomed. I should be happy to think that our -ninety millions trim the lamp every evening with zest for “improving” -literature; but the tired brain follows the line of least resistance, -which unfortunately does not lead to alcoves where the one hundred -best books wear their purple in solemn pomp. Even in my present mood -of contrition, I am not sneering at that considerable body of my -countrymen who have laid one dollar and eighteen cents upon the counter -and borne home my little fictions. They took grave chances of my boring -them; and when they rapped a second time on the counter and murmured -another of my titles, they were expressing a confidence in me which I -strove hard never to betray. - -No one will, I am sure, deny me the satisfaction I have in the -reflection that I put a good deal of sincere work into those -stories,--for they are stories, not novels, and were written frankly -to entertain; that they are not wholly ill-written; that they contain -pages that are not without their grace; or that there is nothing -prurient or morbid in any of them. And no matter how jejune stories of -the popular romantic type may be,--a fact, O haughty critic, of which -I am well aware,--I take some satisfaction as a good American in the -knowledge that, in spite of their worthlessness as literature, they -are essentially clean. The heroes may be too handsome, and too sure -of themselves; the heroines too adorable in their sweet distress, as -they wave the white handkerchief from the grated window of the ivied -tower,--but their adventures are, in the very nature of things, _in -usum Delphini_. - -Some of my friends of the writing guild boast that they never read -criticisms of their work. I have read and filed all the notices of my -stories that bore any marks of honesty or intelligence. Having served -my own day as reviewer for a newspaper, I know the dreary drudgery -of such work. I recall, with shame, having averaged a dozen books an -afternoon; and some of my critics have clearly averaged two dozen, -with my poor candidates for oblivion at the bottom of the heap! Much -American criticism is stupid or ignorant; but the most depressing, from -my standpoint, is the flippant sort of thing which many newspapers -print habitually. The stage, also, suffers like treatment, even in some -of the more reputable metropolitan journals. Unless your book affords a -text for a cynical newspaper “story,” it is quite likely to be ignored. - -I cannot imagine that any writer who takes his calling seriously ever -resents a sincere, intelligent, adverse notice. I have never written -a book in less than a year, devoting all my time to it; and I resent -being dismissed in a line, and called a writer of drivel, by some -one who did not take the trouble to say why. A newspaper which is -particularly jealous of its good name once pointed out with elaborate -care that an incident, described in one of my stories as occurring -in broad daylight, could not have been observed in moonlight by one -of the characters at the distance I had indicated. The same reviewer -transferred the scene of this story half-way across the continent, in -order to make another point against its plausibility. If the aim of -criticism be to aid the public in its choice of books, then the press -should deal fairly with both author and public. And if the critics wish -to point out to authors their failures and weaknesses, then it should -be done in a spirit of justice. The best-selling of my books caused -a number of critics to remark that it had clearly been inspired by a -number of old romances--which I had not only never read, but of several -of them I had never even heard. - -A Boston newspaper which I greatly admire once published an editorial -in which I was pilloried as a type of writer who basely commercializes -his talent. It was a cruel stab; for, unlike my heroes, I do not wear -a mail-shirt under my dress-coat. Once, wandering into a church in my -own city, at a time when a dramatized version of one of my stories was -offered at a local theatre, I listened to a sermon that dealt in the -harshest terms with such fiction and drama. - -Extravagant or ignorant praise is, to most of us, as disheartening -as stupid and unjust criticism. The common practice of invoking -great names to praise some new arrival at the portal of fame cannot -fail to depress the subject of it. When my first venture in fiction -was flatteringly spoken of by a journal which takes its criticisms -seriously as evidencing the qualities that distinguish Mr. Howells, I -shuddered at the hideous injustice to a gentleman for whom I have the -greatest love and reverence; and when, in my subsequent experiments, -a critic somewhere gravely (it seemed, at least, to be in a spirit of -sobriety!) asked whether a fold of Stevenson’s mantle had not wrapped -itself about me, the awfulness of the thing made me ill, and I fled -from felicity until my publisher had dropped the heart-breaking phrase -from his advertisements. For I may be the worst living author, and at -times I am convinced of it; but I hope I am not an immitigable and -irreclaimable ass. - -American book reviewers, I am convinced from a study of my returns -from the clipping bureaus for ten years, dealing with my offerings -in two kinds of fiction, are a solid phalanx of realists where they -are anything at all. This attitude is due, I imagine, to the fact -that journalism deals, or is supposed to deal, with facts. Realism is -certainly more favorably received than romance. I cheerfully subscribe -to the doctrine that fiction that lays strong hands upon aspects of -life as we are living it is a nobler achievement than tales that -provide merely an evening’s entertainment. Mr. James has, however, -simplified this whole question. He says, “The only classification of -the novel that I can understand is into that which has life, and that -which has it not”; and if we must reduce this matter of fiction to -law, his dictum might well be accepted as the first and last canon. And -in this connection I should like to record my increasing admiration -for all that Mr. James has written of novels and novelists. In one -place and another he has expressed himself fully and confidently on -fiction as a department of literature. The lecture on Balzac that he -gave in this country a few years ago is a masterly and authoritative -document on the novel in general. His “Partial Portraits” is a rich -mine of ripe observation on the distinguishing qualities of a number -of his contemporaries, and the same volume contains a suggestive and -stimulating essay on fiction as an art. With these in mind it seems to -me a matter for tears that Mr. James, with his splendid equipment and -beautiful genius, should have devoted himself so sedulously, in his own -performances in fiction, to the contemplation of cramped foreign vistas -and exotic types, when all this wide, surging, eager, laboring America -lay ready to his hand. - -I will say of myself that I value style beyond most things; and that -if I could command it, I should be glad to write for so small an -audience, the “fit though few,” that the best-selling lists should -never know me again; for with style go many of the requisites of -great fiction,--fineness and sureness of feeling, and a power over -language by which characters cease to be bobbing marionettes and become -veritable beings, no matter whether they are Beatrix Esmonds, or -strutting D’Artagnans, or rascally Bartley Hubbards, or luckless Lily -Barts. To toss a ball into the air, and keep it there, as Stevenson -did so charmingly in such pieces as “Providence and the Guitar,”--this -is a respectable achievement; to mount Roy Richmond as an equestrian -statue,--that, too, is something we would not have had Mr. Meredith -leave undone. Mr. Rassendyll, an English gentleman playing at being -king, thrills the surviving drop of mediævalism that is in all of us. -“The tired business man” yields himself to the belief that the staccato -of hoofs on the asphalt street, which steals in to him faintly at his -fireside, is really an accompaniment to the hero’s mad ride to save the -king. Ah, the joy in kings dies hard in us! - -Given a sprightly tale with a lost message to recover, throw in a fight -on the stair, scatter here and there pretty dialogues between the lover -and the princess he serves, and we are all, as we breathlessly follow, -the rankest royalists. Tales of real Americans, kodaked “in the sun’s -hot eye,” much as they refresh me,--I speak of myself now, not as a -writer or critic, but as the man in the street,--never so completely -detach the weary spirit from mundane things as tales of events that -never were on sea or land. Why should I read of Silas Lapham to-night, -when only an hour ago I was his competitor in the mineral-paint -business? The greatest fiction must be a criticism of life; but there -are times when we crave forgetfulness, and lift our eyes trustfully to -the flag of Zenda. - -But the creator of Zenda, it is whispered, is not an author of the -first or even of the second rank, and the adventure story, at its -best, is only for the second table. I am quite aware of this. But -pause a moment, O cheerless one! Surely Homer is respectable; and the -Iliad, the most strenuous, the most glorious and sublime of fictions, -with the very gods drawn into the moving scenes, has, by reason of -its tremendous energy and its tumultuous drama, not less than for -its majesty as literature, established its right to be called the -longest-selling fiction of the ages. - -All the world loves a story; the regret is that the great -novelists--great in penetration and sincerity and style--do not always -have the story-telling knack. Mr. Marion Crawford was, I should say, -a far better story-teller than Mr. James or Mr. Howells; but I should -by no means call him a better novelist. A lady of my acquaintance -makes a point of bestowing copies of Mr. Meredith’s novels upon young -working-women whom she seeks to uplift. I am myself the most ardent -of Meredithians, and yet I must confess to a lack of sympathy with -this lady’s high purpose. I will not press the point, but a tired -working-girl would, I think, be much happier with one of my own -beribboned confections than with even Diana the delectable. - -Pleasant it is, I must confess, to hear your wares cried by the -train-boy; to bend a sympathetic ear to his recital of your merits, -as he appraises them; and to watch him beguile your fellow travelers -with the promise of felicity contained between the covers of the book -which you yourself have devised, pondered, and committed to paper. -The train-boy’s ideas of the essentials of entertaining fiction are -radically unacademic, but he is apt in hitting off the commercial -requirements. A good book, one of the guild told me, should always -begin with “talking.” He was particularly contemptuous of novels that -open upon landscape and moonlight,--these, in the bright lexicon of -his youthful experience, are well-nigh unsalable. And he was equally -scornful of the unhappy ending. The sale of a book that did not, -as he put it, “come out right,” that is, with the merry jingle of -wedding-bells, was no less than a fraud upon the purchaser. On one -well-remembered occasion my vanity was gorged by the sight of many -copies of my latest offering in the hands of my fellow travelers, as -I sped from Washington to New York. A poster, announcing my new tale, -greeted me at the station as I took flight; four copies of my book -were within comfortable range of my eye in the chair-car. Before the -train started, I was given every opportunity to add my own book to my -impedimenta. - -The sensation awakened by the sight of utter strangers taking up your -story, tasting it warily, clinging to it if it be to their liking, or -dropping it wearily or contemptuously if it fail to please, is one of -the most interesting of the experiences of authorship. On the journey -mentioned, one man slept sweetly through what I judged to be the most -intense passage in the book; others paid me the tribute of absorbed -attention. On the ferry-boat at Jersey City, several copies of the book -were interposed between seemingly enchanted readers and the towers and -spires of the metropolis. No one, I am sure, will deny to such a poor -worm as I the petty joys of popular recognition. To see one’s tale -on many counters, to hear one’s name and titles recited on boats and -trains, to find in mid-ocean that your works go with you down to the -sea in ships, to see the familiar cover smiling welcome on the table -of an obscure foreign inn,--surely the most grudging critic would not -deprive a writer of these rewards and delights. - -There is also that considerable army of readers who write to an -author in various keys of condemnation or praise. I have found -my correspondence considerably augmented by the large sales of a -book. There are persons who rejoice to hold before your eyes your -inconsistences; or who test you, to your detriment, in the relentless -scale of fact. Some one in the Connecticut hills once criticized -severely my use of “that” and “which,”--a case where an effort at -precision was the offense,--and I was involved, before I knew it, in a -long correspondence. I have several times been taken severely to task -by foes of tobacco for permitting my characters to smoke. Wine, I have -found, should be administered to one’s characters sparingly, and one’s -hero must never produce a flask except for restorative uses,--after, -let us say, a wild gallop, by night, in the teeth of a storm to relieve -a beleaguered citadel, or when the heroine has been rescued at great -peril from the clutch of the multitudinous sea. Those strange spirits -who pour out their souls in anonymous letters have not ignored me. I -salute them with much courtesy, and wish them well of the gods. Young -ladies whose names I have inadvertently applied to my heroines have -usually dealt with me in agreeable fashion. The impression that authors -have an unlimited supply of their own wares to give away is responsible -for the importunity of managers of church fairs, philanthropic -institutions, and the like, who assail one cheerfully through the -mails. Before autograph-hunters I have always been humble; I have felt -myself honored by their attentions; and in spite of their dread phrase, -“Thanking you in advance,”--which might be the shibboleth of their -fraternity, from its prevalence,--I greet them joyfully, and never -filch their stamps. - -Now, after all, could anything be less harmful than my tales? The -casual meeting of my hero and heroine in the first chapter has always -been marked by the gravest circumspection. My melodrama has never been -offensively gory,--in fact, I have been ridiculed for my bloodless -combats. My villains have been the sort that anyone with any kind -of decent bringing-up would hiss. A girl in white, walking beside a -lake, with a blue parasol swinging back of her head, need offend no -one. That the young man emerging from the neighboring wood should not -recognize her at once as the young woman ordained in his grandfather’s -will as the person he must marry to secure the estate, seems utterly -banal, I confess; but it is the business of romance to maintain -illusions. Realism, with the same agreed state of facts, recognizes -the girl immediately--and spoils the story. Or I might put it thus: -in realism, much or all is obvious in the first act; in romance, -nothing is quite clear until the third. This is why romance is more -popular than realism, for we are all children and want to be surprised. -Why villains should always be so stupid, and why heroines should so -perversely misunderstand the noble motives of heroes, are questions I -cannot answer. Likewise before dear old Mistaken Identity--the most -venerable impostor in the novelist’s cabinet--I stand dumbly grateful. - -On the stage, where a plot is most severely tested, but where the -audience must, we are told, always be in the secret, we see constantly -how flimsy a mask the true prince need wear. And the reason for this -lies in the primal and--let us hope--eternal childlikeness of the -race. The Zeitgeist will not grind us underfoot so long as we are -capable of joy in make-believe, and can renew our youth in the frolics -of Peter Pan. - -You, sir, who re-read “The Newcomes” every year, and you, madam, -reverently dusting your Jane Austen,--I am sadder than you can be -that my talent is so slender; but is it not a fact that you have -watched me at my little tricks on the mimic stage, and been just a -little astonished when the sparrow, and not the dove, emerged from the -handkerchief? But you prefer the old writers; and so, dear friends, do -I! - -Having, as I have confessed, deliberately tried my hand at romance -merely to see whether I could swim the moat under a cloud of -the enemy’s arrows, and to gain experience in the mechanism of -story-writing, I now declare (though with no illusion as to the -importance of the statement) that I have hung my sword over the -fireplace; that I shall not again thunder upon the tavern door at -midnight; that not much fine gold could tempt me to seek, by means -however praiseworthy, to bring that girl with the blue parasol to a -proper appreciation of the young gentleman with the suit-case, who even -now is pursuing her through the wood to restore her lost handkerchief. -It has been pleasant to follow the bright guidon of romance; even now, -from the window of the tall office-building in which I close these -reflections, I can hear the bugles blowing and look upon - - “Strangest skies and unbeholden seas.” - -But I feel reasonably safe from temptation. Little that men do is, -I hope, alien to me; and the life that surges round me, and whose -sounds rise from the asphalt below, or the hurrying feet on the tiles -in my own corridor of this steel-boned tower,--the faint tinkle of -telephones, the click of elevator doors,--these things, and the things -they stand for, speak with deep and thrilling eloquence; and he who -would serve best the literature of his time and country will not ignore -them. - - -THE END - - - - - The Riverside Press - - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS - U . S . A - - - - -FOOTNOTE: - - -[1] “Heckling the Church,” _The Atlantic Monthly_, December, 1911. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND -OTHER PAPERS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The provincial American and other papers</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Meredith Nicholson</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 14, 2022 [eBook #68318]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was created from images of public domain material made available by the University of Toronto Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND OTHER PAPERS ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="ph1"><span class="antiqua">By Meredith Nicholson</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<p>THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND OTHER -PAPERS.</p> - -<p>A HOOSIER CHRONICLE. With illustrations.</p> - -<p>THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS. With -illustrations.</p> - - - -<p class="center"> -HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smcap">Boston and New York</span></p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1>The Provincial American</h1> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p class="ph2">The Provincial American<br /> - -<small>And Other Papers</small></p> - -<p><span class="large">By<br /> -Meredith Nicholson</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p><span class="antiqua"><span class="large">London</span></span><br /> -<span class="large">CONSTABLE & CO. <span class="smcap">Limited</span></span><br /> -BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> -<span class="large">HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</span><br /> -1913</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON<br /> -<br /> -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"><span class="large">To<br /> - -George Edward Woodberry</span><br /> -<br /> -Guide, Counselor<br /> -And the most inspiring of Friends<br /> -This Volume is Dedicated<br /> -With grateful and affectionate<br /> -Regard</p> - -<p> </p> -<p class="center"><span class="floatleft"><i>Indianapolis, September 1912.</i></span></p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">Contents</h2> -</div> - -<table> - - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Provincial American</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edward Eggleston</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_33"> 33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Provincial Capital</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_55"> 55</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Experience and the Calendar</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89"> 89</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Should Smith go to Church?</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_115"> 115</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Tired Business Man</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_159"> 159</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Spirit of Mischief: A Dialogue</span>     </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_187"> 187</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Confessions of a “Best-Seller”</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_205"> 205</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>These papers, with one exception, have appeared in the <i>Atlantic -Monthly</i>. A part of “Experience and the Calendar,” under -another title, was published in the <i>Reader Magazine</i>.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> -<p class="ph2">The Provincial American<br /> -<small>And Other Papers</small></p> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">The Provincial American</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"> -<i>Viola.</i> What country, friends, is this?</div> -<div class="verse"><i>Captain.</i><span class="gap">This is Illyria, lady.</span></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Viola.</i> And what should I do in Illyria?</div> -<div class="indent3">My brother he is in Elysium.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><i>Twelfth Night.</i></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">I  AM a provincial American. My forebears -were farmers or country-town folk. They -followed the long trail over the mountains out -of Virginia and North Carolina, with brief sojourns -in western Pennsylvania and Kentucky. -My parents were born, the one in Kentucky, -the other in Indiana, within two and four hours -of the spot where I pen these reflections, and I -had voted before I saw the sea or any Eastern -city.</p> - -<p>In attempting to illustrate the provincial -point of view out of my own experiences I am -moved by no wish to celebrate either the -Hoosier commonwealth—which has not lacked -nobler advertisement—or myself; but by the -hope that I may cheer many who, flung by fate -upon the world’s byways, shuffle and shrink<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> -under the reproach of their metropolitan -brethren.</p> - -<p>Mr. George Ade has said, speaking of our -fresh-water colleges, that Purdue University, his -own <i>alma mater</i>, offers everything that Harvard -provides except the sound of <i>a</i> as in “father.” -I have been told that I speak our <i>lingua rustica</i> -only slightly corrupted by urban contacts. -Anywhere east of Buffalo I should be known as -a Westerner; I could not disguise myself if I -would. I find that I am most comfortable in a -town whose population does not exceed a fifth -of a million,—a place in which men may relinquish -their seats in the street car to women -without having their motives questioned, and -where one calls the stamp-clerk at the post-office -by his first name.</p> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>Across a hill-slope that knew my childhood, a -bugle’s grieving melody used to float often -through the summer twilight. A highway lay -hidden in the little vale below, and beyond it the -unknown musician was quite concealed, and -was never visible to the world I knew. Those<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> -trumpetings have lingered always in my memory, -and color my recollections of all that was -near and dear in those days. Men who had left -camp and field for the soberer routine of civil -life were not yet fully domesticated. My bugler -was merely solacing himself for lost joys by -recurring to the vocabulary of the trumpet. I -am confident that he enjoyed himself; and I am -equally sure that his trumpetings peopled the -dusk for me with great captains and mighty -armies, and touched with a certain militancy all -my youthful dreaming.</p> - -<p>No American boy born during or immediately -after the Civil War can have escaped in -those years the vivid impressions derived from -the sight and speech of men who had fought its -battles, or women who had known its terror and -grief. Chief among my playthings on that -peaceful hillside was the sword my father had -borne at Shiloh and on to the sea; and I remember, -too, his uniform coat and sash and epaulets -and the tattered guidon of his battery, that, -falling to my lot as toys, yet imparted to my -childish consciousness a sense of what war had -been. The young imagination was kindled in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -those days by many and great names. Lincoln, -Grant, and Sherman were among the first lispings -of Northern children of my generation; and -in the little town where I was born lived men -who had spoken with them face to face. I did -not know, until I sought them later for myself, -the fairy-tales that are every child’s birthright; -and I imagine that children of my generation -heard less of</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent2">“old, unhappy, far-off things,</div> -<div class="verse">And battles long ago,”—</div> -</div></div> - -<p>and more of the men and incidents of contemporaneous -history. Great spirits still on earth -were sojourning. I saw several times, in his last -years, the iron-willed Hoosier War Governor, -Oliver P. Morton. By the time I was ten, a -broader field of observation opening through -my parents’ removal to the state capital, I had -myself beheld Grant and Sherman; and every -day I passed in the street men who had been -partners with them in the great, heroic, sad, -splendid struggle. These things I set down as -a background for the observations that follow,—less -as text than as point of departure; yet I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -believe that bugler, sounding “charge” and -“retreat” and “taps” in the dusk, and those -trappings of war beneath whose weight I strutted -upon that hillside, did much toward establishing -in me a certain habit of mind. From that hillside -I have since ineluctably viewed my country and my -countrymen and the larger world.</p> - -<p>Emerson records Thoreau’s belief that “the -flora of Massachusetts embraced almost all -the important plants of America,—most of -the oaks, most of the willows, the best pines, -the ash, the maple, the beech, the nuts. He -returned Kane’s ‘Arctic Voyage’ to a friend -of whom he had borrowed it, with the remark -that most of the phenomena noted might be -observed in Concord.”</p> - -<p>The complacency of the provincial mind is -due less, I believe, to stupidity and ignorance, -than to the fact that every American county is -in a sense complete, a political and social unit, -in which the sovereign rights of a free people are -expressed by the court-house and town hall, -spiritual freedom by the village church-spire, -and hope and aspiration in the school-house. -Every reader of American fiction, particularly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> -in the realm of the short story, must have observed -the great variety of quaint and racy -characters disclosed. These are the <i>dramatis -personæ</i> of that great American novel which some -one has said is being written in installments. -Writers of fiction hear constantly of characters -who would be well worth their study. In reading -two recent novels that penetrate to the heart -of provincial life, Mr. White’s “A Certain Rich -Man” and Mrs. Watts’s “Nathan Burke,” I -felt that the characters depicted might, with -unimportant exceptions, have been found almost -anywhere in those American States that -shared the common history of Kansas and -Ohio. Mr. Winston Churchill, in his admirable -novels of New England, has shown how closely -the purely local is allied to the universal.</p> - -<p>When “David Harum” appeared, characters -similar to the hero of that novel were reported -in every part of the country. I rarely visit a -town that has not its cracker-barrel philosopher, -or a poet who would shine but for the callous -heart of the magazine editor, or an artist of supreme -though unrecognized talent, or a forensic -orator of wonderful powers, or a mechanical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -genius whose inventions are bound to revolutionize -the industrial world. In Maine, in the -back room of a shop whose windows looked -down upon a tidal river, I have listened to tariff -discussions in the dialect of Hosea Biglow; and -a few weeks later have heard farmers along the -un-salt Wabash debating the same questions -from a point of view that revealed no masted -ships or pine woods, with a new sense of the fine -tolerance and sanity and reasonableness of our -American people. Mr. James Whitcomb Riley, -one of our shrewdest students of provincial character, -introduced me one day to a friend of his -in a village near Indianapolis who bore a striking -resemblance to Abraham Lincoln, and who -had something of Lincoln’s gift for humorous -narration. This man kept a country store, and -his attitude toward his customers, and “trade” -in general, was delicious in its drollery. Men -said to be “like Lincoln” have not been rare in -the Mississippi Valley, and politicians have been -known to encourage belief in the resemblance.</p> - -<p>Colonel Higginson once said that in the Cambridge -of his youth any member of the Harvard -faculty could answer any question within the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -range of human knowledge; whereas in these -days of specialization some man can answer the -question, but it may take a week’s investigation -to find him. In “our town”—“a poor virgin, -sir, an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine own!”—I -dare say it was possible in that <i>post-bellum</i> era -to find men competent to deal with almost any -problem. These were mainly men of humble -beginnings and all essentially the product of our -American provinces. I should like to set down -briefly the ineffaceable impression some of -these characters left upon me. I am precluded -by a variety of considerations from extending -this recital. The rich field of education I ignore -altogether; and I may mention only those who -have gone. As it is beside my purpose to prove -that mine own people are other than typical of -those of most American communities, I check -my exuberance. Sad, indeed, the offending if I -should protest too much!</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>In the days when the bugle still mourned -across the vale, Lew Wallace was a citizen of -my native town of Crawfordsville. There he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -had amused himself, in the years immediately -before the civil conflict, in drilling a company of -“Algerian Zouaves” known as the “Montgomery -Guards,” of which my father was a -member, and this was the nucleus of the Eleventh -Indiana Regiment which Wallace commanded -in the early months of the war. It is -not, however, of Wallace’s military services -that I wish to speak now, nor of his writings, -but of the man himself as I knew him later -at the capital, at a time when, in the neighborhood -of the federal building at Indianapolis, any -boy might satisfy his longing for heroes with a -sight of many of our Hoosier Olympians. He was -of medium height, erect, dark to swarthiness, -with finely chiseled features and keen black eyes, -with manners the most courtly, and a voice -unusually musical and haunting. His appearance, -his tastes, his manner, were strikingly -Oriental.</p> - -<p>He had a strong theatric instinct, and his life -was filled with drama—with melodrama, even. -His curiosity led him into the study of many -subjects, most of them remote from the affairs -of his day. He was both dreamer and man of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> -action; he could be “idler than the idlest -flowers,” yet his occupations were many and -various. He was an aristocrat and a democrat; -he was wise and temperate, whimsical and injudicious -in a breath. As a youth he had seen -visions, and as an old man he dreamed dreams. -The mysticism in him was deep-planted, and -he was always a little aloof, a man apart. His -capacity for detachment was like that of Sir -Richard Burton, who, at a great company given -in his honor, was found alone poring over a puzzling -Arabic manuscript in an obscure corner of -the house. Wallace, like Burton, would have -reached Mecca, if chance had led him to that -adventure.</p> - -<p>Wallace dabbled in politics without ever -being a politician; and I might add that he -practiced law without ever being, by any high -standard, a lawyer. He once spoke of the law as -“that most detestable of human occupations.” -First and last he tried his hand at all the arts. -He painted a little; he moulded a little in clay; -he knew something of music and played the -violin; he made three essays in romance. As -boy and man he went soldiering; he was a civil<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -governor, and later a minister to Turkey. In -view of his sympathetic interest in Eastern life -and character, nothing could have been more -appropriate than his appointment to Constantinople. -The Sultan Abdul Hamid, harassed and -anxious, used to send for him at odd hours of -the night to come and talk to him, and offered -him on his retirement a number of positions in -the Turkish Government.</p> - -<p>With all this rich experience of the larger -world, he remained the simplest of natures. He -was as interested in a new fishing-tackle as in a -new book, and carried both to his houseboat on -the Kankakee, where, at odd moments, he retouched -a manuscript for the press, or discussed -politics with the natives. Here was a -man who could talk of the “Song of Roland” as -zestfully as though it had just been reported -from the telegraph-office.</p> - -<p>I frankly confess that I never met him without -a thrill, even in his last years and when the -ardor of my youthful hero-worship may be said -to have passed. He was an exotic, our Hoosier -Arab, our story-teller of the bazaars. When -I saw him in his last illness, it was as though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -I looked upon a gray sheik about to fare forth -unawed toward unmapped oases.</p> - -<p>No lesson of the Civil War was more striking -than that taught by the swift transitions of our -citizen soldiery from civil to military life, and -back again. This impressed me as a boy, and I -used to wonder, as I passed my heroes on their -peaceful errands in the street, why they had put -down the sword when there must still be work -somewhere for fighting men to do. The judge -of the federal court at this time was Walter Q. -Gresham, brevetted brigadier-general, who was -destined later to adorn the Cabinets of Presidents -of two political parties. He was cordial -and magnetic; his were the handsomest and -friendliest of brown eyes, and a noble gravity -spoke in them. Among the lawyers who practiced -before him were Benjamin Harrison and -Thomas A. Hendricks, who became respectively -President and Vice-President.</p> - -<p>Those Hoosiers who admired Gresham ardently -were often less devotedly attached to -Harrison, who lacked Gresham’s warmth and -charm. General Harrison was akin to the -Covenanters who bore both Bible and sword<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -into battle. His eminence in the law was due to -his deep learning in its history and philosophy. -Short of stature, and without grace of person,—with -a voice pitched rather high,—he was a -remarkably interesting and persuasive speaker. -If I may so put it, his political speeches were -addressed as to a trial judge rather than to a -jury, his appeal being to reason and not to passion -or prejudice. He could, in rapid flights of -campaigning, speak to many audiences in a day -without repeating himself. He was measured -and urbane; his discourses abounded in apt -illustrations; he was never dull. He never -stooped to pietistic clap-trap, or chanted the -jaunty chauvinism that has so often caused the -Hoosier stars to blink.</p> - -<p>Among the Democratic leaders of that period, -Hendricks was one of the ablest, and a -man of many attractive qualities. His dignity -was always impressive, and his appearance suggested -the statesman of an earlier time. It is -one of immortality’s harsh ironies that a man -who was a gentleman, and who stood moreover -pretty squarely for the policies that it pleased -him to defend, should be published to the world<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -in a bronze effigy in his own city as a bandy-legged -and tottering tramp, in a frock coat that -never was on sea or land.</p> - -<p>Joseph E. McDonald, a Senator in Congress, -was held in affectionate regard by a wide constituency. -He was an independent and vigorous -character who never lost a certain raciness and -tang. On my first timid venture into the fabled -East I rode with him in a day-coach from -Washington to New York on a slow train. At -some point he saw a peddler of fried oysters on a -station platform, alighted to make a purchase, -and ate his luncheon quite democratically from -the paper parcel in his car seat. He convoyed -me across the ferry, asked where I expected to -stop, and explained that he did not care for -the European plan himself; he liked, he said, -to have “full swing at a bill of fare.”</p> - -<p>I used often to look upon the towering form -of Daniel W. Voorhees, whom Sulgrove, an -Indiana journalist with a gift for translating -Macaulay into Hoosierese, had named “The -Tall Sycamore of the Wabash.” In a crowded -hotel lobby I can still see him, cloaked and silk-hatted, -the centre of the throng, and my strict<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -upbringing in the antagonistic political faith did -not diminish my admiration for his eloquence.</p> - -<p>Such were some of the characters who came -and went in the streets of our provincial capital -in those days.</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>In discussions under captions similar to mine -it is often maintained that railways, telegraphs, -telephones, and newspapers are so knitting us -together, that soon we shall all be keyed to a -metropolitan pitch. The proof adduced in support -of this is the most trivial, but it strikes -me as wholly undesirable that we should all be -ironed out and conventionalized. In the matter -of dress, for example, the women of our town -used to take their fashions from “Godey’s” and -“Peterson’s” <i>via</i> Cincinnati; but now that we -are only eighteen hours from New York, with -a well-traveled path from the Wabash to Paris, -my counselors among the elders declare that -the tone of our society—if I may use so perilous -a word—has changed little from our good -old black alpaca days. The hobble skirt receives -prompt consideration in the “Main” -street of any town, and is viewed with frank<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -curiosity, but it is only a one day’s wonder. A -lively runaway or the barbaric yawp of a new -street fakir may dethrone it at any time.</p> - -<p>New York and Boston tailors solicit custom -among us semi-annually, but nothing is so stubborn -as our provincial distrust of fine raiment. I -looked with awe, in my boyhood, upon a pair of -mammoth blue-jeans trousers that were flung -high from a flagstaff in the centre of Indianapolis, -in derision of a Democratic candidate for -governor, James D. Williams, who was addicted -to the wearing of jeans. The Democrats sagaciously -accepted the challenge, made “honest -blue jeans” the battle-cry, and defeated Benjamin -Harrison, the “kid-glove” candidate of -the Republicans. Harmless demagoguery this, -or bad judgment on the part of the Republicans; -and yet I dare say that if the sartorial -issue should again become acute in our politics -the banner of bifurcated jeans would triumph -now as then. A Hoosier statesman who to-day -occupies high office once explained to me his -refusal of sugar for his coffee by remarking that -he didn’t like to waste sugar that way; he -wanted to keep it for his lettuce! I do not urge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -sugared lettuce as symbolizing our higher -provincialism, but mayonnaise may be poison -to men who are nevertheless competent to -construe and administer law.</p> - -<p>It is much more significant that we are all -thinking about the same things at the same -time, than that Farnam Street, Omaha, and -Fifth Avenue, New York, should vibrate to the -same shade of necktie. The distribution of -periodicals is so managed that California and -Maine cut the leaves of their magazines on the -same day. Rural free delivery has hitched the -farmer’s wagon to the telegraph-office, and you -can’t buy his wife’s butter now until he has -scanned the produce market in his newspaper. -This immediacy of contact does not alter the -provincial point of view. New York and Texas, -Oregon and Florida will continue to see things -at different angles, and it is for the good of all of -us that this is so. We have no national political, -social, or intellectual centre. There is no “season” -in New York, as in London, during which -all persons distinguished in any of these particulars -meet on common ground. Washington is -our nearest approach to such a meeting-place,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -but it offers only short vistas. We of the country -visit Boston for the symphony, or New -York for the opera, or Washington to view the -government machine at work, but nowhere do -interesting people representative of all our -ninety millions ever assemble under one roof. -All our capitals are, as Lowell put it, “fractional,” -and we shall hardly have a centre while -our country is so nearly a continent.</p> - -<p>Nothing in our political system could be wiser -than our dispersion into provinces. Sweep from -the map the lines that divide the States and we -should huddle like sheep suddenly deprived of -the protection of known walls and flung upon -the open prairie. State lines and local pride are -in themselves a pledge of stability. The elasticity -of our system makes possible a variety of -governmental experiments by which the whole -country profits. We should all rejoice that the -parochial mind is so open, so eager, so earnest, -so tolerant. Even the most buckramed conservative -on the eastern coast-line, scornful of -the political follies of our far-lying provinces, -must view with some interest the dallyings of -Oregon with the Referendum, and of Des<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -Moines with the Commission System. If Milwaukee -wishes to try socialism, the rest of us -need not complain. Democracy will cease to be -democracy when all its problems are solved and -everybody votes the same ticket.</p> - -<p>States that produce the most cranks are -prodigal of the corn that pays the dividends on -the railroads the cranks despise. Indiana’s -amiable feeling toward New York is not altered -by her sister’s rejection or acceptance of the -direct primary, a benevolent device of noblest -intention, under which, not long ago, in my own -commonwealth, my fellow citizens expressed -their distrust of me with unmistakable emphasis. -It is no great matter, but in open convention -also I have perished by the sword. Nothing -can thwart the chastening hand of a -righteous people.</p> - -<p>All passes; humor alone is the touchstone of -democracy. I search the newspapers daily for -tidings of Kansas, and in the ways of Oklahoma -I find delight. The Emporia “Gazette” is quite -as patriotic as the Springfield “Republican” or -the New York “Post,” and to my own taste, -far less depressing. I subscribed for a year to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -the Charleston “News and Courier,” and was -saddened by the tameness of its sentiments; for -I remember (it must have been in 1883) the -shrinking horror with which I saw daily in the -Indiana Republican organ a quotation from -Wade Hampton to the effect that “these are -the same principles for which Lee and Jackson -fought four years on Virginia’s soil.” Most of -us are entertained when Colonel Watterson -rises to speak for Kentucky and invokes the -star-eyed goddess. When we call the roll of the -States, if Malvolio answer for any, let us suffer -him in patience and rejoice in his yellow stockings. -“God give them wisdom that have it; and -those that are fools, let them use their talents.”</p> - -<p>Every community has its dissenters, protestants, -kickers, cranks; the more the merrier. My -town has not lacked impressive examples, and -I early formed a high resolve to strive for membership -in their execrated company. George W. -Julian,—one of the noblest of Hoosiers,—who -had been the Free-Soil candidate for Vice-President -in 1852, a delegate to the first Republican -convention, five times a member of -Congress, a supporter of Greeley’s candidacy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -and a Democrat in the consulship of Cleveland, -was a familiar figure in our streets. In 1884 -I was dusting law-books in an office where mug-wumpery -flourished, and where the iniquities of -the tariff, Matthew Arnold’s theological opinions, -and the writings of Darwin, Spencer, and -Huxley were discussed at intervals in the days’ -business.</p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Many complain that we Americans give too -much time to politics, but there could be no -safer outlet for that “added drop of nervous -fluid” which Colonel Higginson found in us and -turned over to Matthew Arnold for further -analysis. No doubt many voices will cry in the -wilderness before we reach the promised land. -A people which has been fed on the Bible is -bound to hear the rumble of Pharaoh’s chariots. -It is in the blood to resent the oppressor’s wrong, -the proud man’s contumely. The winter evenings -are long on the prairies, and we must always -be fashioning a crown for Cæsar or rehearsing -his funeral rites. No great danger can ever seriously -menace the nation so long as the remotest -citizen clings to his faith that he is a part of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -governmental mechanism and can at any time -throw it out of adjustment if it doesn’t run to -suit him. He can go into the court-house and -see the men he helped to place in office; or if -they were chosen in spite of him, he pays his -taxes just the same and waits for another -chance to turn the rascals out.</p> - -<p>Mr. Bryce wrote: “This tendency to acquiescence -and submission; this sense of the -insignificance of individual effort, this belief -that the affairs of men are swayed by large -forces whose movement may be studied but -cannot be turned, I have ventured to call the -Fatalism of the Multitude.” It is, I should say, -one of the most encouraging phenomena of the -score of years that has elapsed since Mr. -Bryce’s “American Commonwealth” appeared, -that we have grown much less conscious of the -crushing weight of the mass. It has been with -something of a child’s surprise in his ultimate -successful manipulation of a toy whose mechanism -had baffled him that we have begun to realize -that, after all, the individual counts. The -pressure of the mass will yet be felt, but in spite -of its persistence there are abundant signs that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -the individual is asserting himself more and -more, and even the undeniable acceptance of -collectivist ideas in many quarters helps to -prove it. With all our faults and defaults of -understanding,—populism, free silver, Coxey’s -army, and the rest of it,—we of the West -have not done so badly. Be not impatient with -the young man Absalom; the mule knows his -way to the oak tree!</p> - -<p>Blaine lost Indiana in 1884; Bryan failed -thrice to carry it. The campaign of 1910 in -Indiana was remarkable for the stubbornness -of “silent” voters, who listened respectfully to -the orators but left the managers of both parties -in the air as to their intentions. In the Indiana -Democratic State Convention of 1910 a -gentleman was furiously hissed for ten minutes -amid a scene of wildest tumult; but the cause -he advocated won, and the ticket nominated in -that memorable convention succeeded in November. -Within fifty years Ohio, Indiana, and -Illinois have sent to Washington seven Presidents, -elected for ten terms. Without discussing -the value of their public services it may be -said that it has been an important demonstration<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -to our Mid-Western people of the closeness -of their ties with the nation, that so many men -of their own soil have been chosen to the seat of -the Presidents; and it is creditable to Maine -and California that they have cheerfully acquiesced. -In Lincoln the provincial American -most nobly asserted himself, and any discussion -of the value of provincial life and character in -our politics may well begin and end in him. We -have seen verily that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Fishers and choppers and ploughmen</div> -<div class="verse">Shall constitute a state.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Whitman, addressing Grant on his return -from his world’s tour, declared that it was not -that the hero had walked “with kings with even -pace the round world’s promenade”;—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“But that in foreign lands, in all thy walks with kings,</div> -<div class="verse">Those prairie sovereigns of the West, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois,</div> -<div class="verse">Ohio’s, Indiana’s millions, comrades, farmers, soldiers, all to the front,</div> -<div class="verse">Invisibly with thee walking with kings with even pace the round world’s promenade,</div> -<div class="verse">Were all so justified.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>What we miss and what we lack who live in -the provinces seem to me of little weight in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -scale against our compensations. We slouch,—we -are deficient in the graces,—we are prone -to boast,—and we lack in those fine reticences -that mark the cultivated citizen of the metropolis. -We like to talk, and we talk our problems -out to a finish. Our commonwealths rose in the -ashes of the hunter’s camp-fires, and we are all -a great neighborhood, united in a common understanding -of what democracy is, and animated -by ideals of what we want it to be. That -saving humor which is a philosophy of life -flourishes amid the tall corn. We are old enough -now—we of the West—to have built up in -ourselves a species of wisdom, founded upon -experience, which is a part of the continuing, -unwritten law of democracy. We are less likely -these days to “wobble right” than we are to -stand fast or march forward like an army with -banners.</p> - -<p>We provincials are immensely curious. Art, -music, literature, politics—nothing that is of -contemporaneous human interest is alien to us. -If these things don’t come to us, we go to them. -We are more truly representative of the American -ideal than our metropolitan cousins, because<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -(here I lay my head upon the block) we -know more about, oh, so many things! We -know vastly more about the United States, for -one thing. We know what New York is thinking -before New York herself knows it, because -we visit the metropolis to find out. Sleeping-cars -have no terrors for us, and a man who has -never been west of Philadelphia seems to us a -singularly benighted being. Those of our Western -school-teachers who don’t see Europe for -three hundred dollars every summer get at least -as far East as Concord, to be photographed -“by the rude bridge that arched the flood.”</p> - -<p>That fine austerity which the voluble Westerner -finds so smothering on the Boston and -New York express is lost utterly at Pittsburg. -From gentlemen cruising in day-coaches—dull -wights who advertise their personal sanitation -and literacy by the toothbrush and fountain-pen -planted sturdily in their upper left-hand -waistcoat pockets—one may learn the most -prodigious facts and the philosophy thereof. -“Sit over, brother; there’s hell to pay in the -Balkans,” remarks the gentleman who boarded -the interurban at Peru or Connersville, and who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -would just as lief discuss the Papacy or child labor, -if revolutions are not to your liking.</p> - -<p>In Boston a lady once expressed her surprise -that I should be hastening home for Thanksgiving -Day. This, she thought, was a New -England festival. More recently I was asked -by a Bostonian if I had ever heard of Paul -Revere. Nothing is more delightful in us, I -think, than our meekness before instruction. -We strive to please; all we ask is “to be shown.”</p> - -<p>Our greatest gain is in leisure and the opportunity -to ponder and brood. In all these thousands -of country towns live alert and shrewd -students of affairs. Where your New Yorker -scans headlines as he “commutes” homeward, -the villager reaches his own fireside without -being shot through a tube, and sits down and -reads his newspaper thoroughly. When he repairs -to the drug-store to abuse or praise the -powers that be, his wife reads the paper, too. A -United States Senator from a Middle Western -State, making a campaign for renomination -preliminary to the primaries, warned the people -in rural communities against the newspaper -and periodical press with its scandals and heresies.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -“Wait quietly by your firesides, undisturbed -by these false teachings,” he said in effect; -“then go to your primaries and vote as -you have always voted.” His opponent won by -thirty thousand,—the amiable answer of the -little red school-house.</p> - - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>A few days ago I visited again my native -town. On the slope where I played as a child I -listened in vain for the mourning bugle; but on -the college campus a bronze tablet commemorative -of those sons of Wabash who had fought -in the mighty war quickened the old impressions. -The college buildings wear a look of age -in the gathering dusk.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Coldly, sadly descends</div> -<div class="verse">The autumn evening. The field</div> -<div class="verse">Strewn with its dank yellow drifts</div> -<div class="verse">Of withered leaves, and the elms,</div> -<div class="verse">Fade into dimness apace,</div> -<div class="verse">Silent; hardly a shout</div> -<div class="verse">From a few boys late at their play!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Brave airs of cityhood are apparent in the -town, with its paved streets, fine hall and library; -and everywhere are wholesome life, comfort,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -and peace. The train is soon hurrying -through gray fields and dark woodlands. Farmhouses -are disclosed by glowing panes; lanterns -flash fitfully where farmers are making all fast -for the night. The city is reached as great factories -are discharging their laborers, and I pass -from the station into a hurrying throng homeward -bound. Against the sky looms the dome -of the capitol; the tall shaft of the soldiers’ -monument rises ahead of me down the long -street and vanishes starward. Here where forests -stood seventy-five years ago, in a State that -has not yet attained its centenary, is realized -much that man has sought through all the ages,—order, -justice, and mercy, kindliness and -good cheer. What we lack we seek, and what -we strive for we shall gain. And of such is the -kingdom of democracy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">Edward Eggleston</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> -<p class="ph3">Edward Eggleston</p> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THE safest appeal of the defender of realism -in fiction continues to be to geography. -The old inquiry for the great American -novel ignored the persistent expansion by which -the American States were multiplying. If the -question had not ceased to be a burning issue, -the earnest seeker might now be given pause by -the recent appearance upon our maps of far-lying -islands which must, in due course, add to -the perplexity of any who wish to view American -life steadily or whole. If we should suddenly -vanish, leaving only a solitary Homer to -chant us, we might possibly be celebrated adequately -in a single epic, but as long as we continue -malleable and flexible we shall hardly be -“begun, continued, and ended” in a single novel, -drama, or poem. He were a much-enduring -Ulysses who could touch once at all our ports. -Even Walt Whitman, from the top of his omnibus, -could not see across the palms of Hawaii or -the roofs of Manila; and yet we shall doubtless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -receive, in due course, bulletins from the Dialect -Society with notes on colonial influences in -American speech. Thus it is fair to assume that -in the nature of things we shall rely more and -more on realistic fiction for a federation of the -scattered States of this decentralized and diverse -land of ours in a literature which shall become -our most vivid social history. We cannot -be condensed into one or a dozen finished panoramas; -he who would know us hereafter must -read us in the flashes of the kinetoscope.</p> - -<p>Important testimony to the efficacy of an -honest and trustworthy realism has passed into -the record in the work of Edward Eggleston, -our pioneer provincial realist. Eggleston saw -early the value of a local literature, and demonstrated -that where it may be referred to general -judgments, where it interprets the universal -heart and conscience, an attentive audience -may be found for it. It was his unusual fortune -to have combined a personal experience at once -varied and novel with a self-acquired education -to which he gave the range and breadth of true -cultivation, and, in special directions, the precision -of scholarship. The primary facts of life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -as he knew them in the Indiana of his boyhood -took deep hold upon his imagination, and the -experiences of that period did much to shape -his career. He knew the life of the Ohio Valley -at an interesting period of transition. He was -not merely a spectator of striking social phenomena; -but he might have said, with a degree -of truth, <i>quorum pars magna fui</i>; for he was a -representative of the saving remnant which -stood for enlightenment in a dark day in a new -land. Literature had not lacked servants in the -years of his youth in the Ohio Valley. Many -knew in those days the laurel madness; but they -went “searching with song the whole world -through” with no appreciation of the material -that lay ready to their hands at home. Their -work drew no strength from the Western soil, -but was the savorless fungus of a flabby sentimentalism. -It was left for Eggleston, with -characteristic independence, to abandon fancy -for reality. He never became a great novelist, -and yet his homely stories of the early Hoosiers, -preserving as they do the acrid bite of the persimmon -and the mellow flavor of the pawpaw, -strengthen the whole case for a discerning and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -faithful treatment of local life. What he saw -will not be seen again, and when “The Hoosier -Schoolmaster” and “Roxy” cease to entertain -as fiction they will teach as history.</p> - -<p>The assumption in many quarters that “The -Hoosier Schoolmaster” was in some measure -autobiographical was always very distasteful to -Dr. Eggleston, and he entered his denial forcibly -whenever occasion offered. His own life was -sheltered, and he experienced none of the traditional -hardships of the self-made man. He -knew at once the companionship of cultivated -people and good books. His father, Joseph -Cary Eggleston, who removed to Vevay, Indiana, -from Virginia in 1832, was an alumnus of -William and Mary College, and his mother’s -family, the Craigs, were well known in southern -Indiana, where they were established as early -as 1799. Joseph Cary Eggleston served in both -houses of the Indiana Legislature, and was defeated -for Congress in the election of 1844. His -cousin, Miles Cary Eggleston, was a prominent -Indiana lawyer, and a judge in the early days, -riding the long Whitewater circuit, which then -extended through eastern Indiana from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -Ohio to the Michigan border. Edward Eggleston -was born at Vevay, December 10, 1837. -His boyhood horizons were widened by the removal -of his family to New Albany and Madison, -by a sojourn in the backwoods of Decatur -County, and by thirteen months spent in -Amelia County, Virginia, his father’s former -home. There he saw slavery practiced, and -he ever afterward held anti-slavery opinions. -There was much to interest an intelligent boy -in the Ohio Valley of those years. Reminiscences -of the frontiersmen who had redeemed -the valley from savagery seasoned fireside talk -with the spice of adventure; Clark’s conquest -had enrolled Vincennes in the list of battles of -the Revolution; the battle of Tippecanoe was -recent history; and the long rifle was still the -inevitable accompaniment of the axe throughout -a vast area of Hoosier wilderness. There -was, however, in all the towns—Vevay, -Brookville, Madison, Vincennes—a cultivated -society, and before Edward Eggleston was born -a remarkable group of scholars and adventurers -had gathered about Robert Owen at New -Harmony, in the lower Wabash, and while their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -experiment in socialism was a dismal failure, -they left nevertheless an impression which is -still plainly traceable in that region. Abraham -Lincoln lived for fourteen years (1816-30) in -Spencer County, Indiana, and witnessed there -the same procession of the Ohio’s argosies -which Eggleston watched later in Switzerland -County.</p> - -<p>Edward Eggleston attended school for not -more than eighteen months after his tenth year, -and owing to ill health he never entered college, -though his father, who died at thirty-four, had -provided a scholarship for him. But he knew in -his youth a woman of unusual gifts, Mrs. Julia -Dumont, who conducted a dame school at -Vevay. Mrs. Dumont is the most charming figure -in early Indiana history, and Dr. Eggleston’s -own portrait of her is at once a tribute -and an acknowledgment. She wrote much in -prose and verse, so that young Eggleston, besides -the stimulating atmosphere of his own -home, had before him in his formative years a -writer of somewhat more than local reputation -for his intimate counselor and teacher. His -schooling continued to be desultory, but his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -curiosity was insatiable, and there was, indeed, -no period in which he was not an eager student. -His life was rich in those minor felicities of fortune -which disclose pure gold to seeing eyes in -any soil. He wrote once of the happy chance -which brought him to a copy of Milton in a little -house where he lodged for a night on the St. -Croix River. His account of his first reading of -“L’Allegro” is characteristic: “I read it in -the freshness of the early morning, and in the -freshness of early manhood, sitting by a window -embowered with honeysuckles dripping -with dew, and overlooking the deep trap-rock -dalles through which the dark, pine-stained -waters of the St. Croix River run swiftly. Just -abreast of the little village the river opened for -a space, and there were islands; and a raft, -manned by two or three red-shirted men, was -emerging from the gorge into the open water. -Alternately reading ‘L’Allegro’ and looking off -at the poetic landscape, I was lifted out of the -sordid world into a region of imagination and -creation. When, two or three hours later, I -galloped along the road, here and there overlooking -the dalles and river, the glory of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -nature above nature penetrated my being; and -Milton’s song of joy reverberated still in my -thoughts.” He was, it may be said, a natural -etymologist, and by the time he reached manhood -he had acquired a reading knowledge of -half a dozen languages. We have glimpses of -him as chain-bearer for a surveying party in -Minnesota; as walking across country toward -Kansas, with an ambition to take a hand in the -border troubles; and then once more in Indiana, -in his nineteenth year, as an itinerant Methodist -minister. He rode a four-week circuit with -ten preaching places along the Ohio, his theological -training being described by his statement -that in those days “Methodist preachers -were educated by the old ones telling the young -ones all they knew.” He turned again to Minnesota -to escape malaria, preaching in remote -villages to frontiersmen and Indians, and later -he ministered to churches in St. Paul and elsewhere. -He held, first at Chicago and later at -New York, a number of editorial positions, and -he occasionally contributed to juvenile periodicals; -but these early writings were in no sense -remarkable.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>“The Hoosier Schoolmaster” appeared serially -in “Hearth and Home” in 1871. It was -written in intervals of editorial work and was -a <i>tour de force</i> for which the author expected -so little publicity that he gave his characters -the names of persons then living in Switzerland -and Decatur counties, Indiana, with no -thought that the story would ever penetrate -to its habitat. But the homely little tale, with -all its crudities and imperfections, made a wide -appeal. It was pirated at once in England; it -was translated into French by “Madame -Blanc,” and was published in condensed form -in the “Revue des Deux Mondes”; and later, -with one of Mr. Aldrich’s tales and other stories -by Eggleston, in book form. It was translated -into German and Danish also. “Le Maître -d’Ecole de Flat Creek” was the title as set over -into French, and the Hoosier dialect suffered a -sea-change into something rich and strange by -its cruise into French waters. The story depicts -Indiana in its darkest days. The State’s illiteracy -as shown by the census of 1830 was 14.32 -per cent as against 5.54 in the neighboring -State of Ohio. The “no lickin’, no learnin’”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -period which Eggleston describes is thus a matter -of statistics; but even before he wrote the -old order had changed and Caleb Mills, an -alumnus of Dartmouth, had come from New -England to lead the Hoosier out of darkness -into the light of free schools. The story escaped -the oblivion which overtakes most books for -the young by reason of its freshness and novelty. -It was, indeed, something more than a story for -boys, though, like “Tom Sawyer” and “The -Story of a Bad Boy,” it is listed among books of -permanent interest to youth. It shows no unusual -gift of invention; its incidents are simple -and commonplace; but it daringly essayed a record -of local life in a new field, with the aid of a -dialect of the people described, and thus became -a humble but important pioneer in the development -of American fiction. It is true that Bret -Harte and Mark Twain had already widened -the borders of our literary domain westward; -and others, like Longstreet, had turned a few -spadefuls of the rich Southern soil; but Harte -was of the order of romancers, and Mark Twain -was a humorist, while Longstreet, in his “Georgia -Scenes,” gives only the eccentric and fantastic.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -Eggleston introduced the Hoosier at the -bar of American literature in advance of the -Creole of Mr. Cable or the negro of Mr. Page -or Mr. Harris, or the mountaineer of Miss -Murfree, or the delightful shore-folk of Miss -Jewett’s Maine.</p> - -<p>Several of Eggleston’s later Hoosier stories -are a valuable testimony to the spiritual unrest -of the Ohio Valley pioneers. The early Hoosiers -were a peculiarly isolated people, shut in by great -woodlands. The news of the world reached -them tardily; but they were thrilled by new -versions of the Gospel brought to them by adventurous -evangelists, whose eloquence made -Jerusalem seem much nearer than their own -national capital. Heated discussions between -the sects supplied in those days an intellectual -stimulus greater than that of politics. Questions -shook the land which were unknown at Westminster -and Rome; they are now well-nigh -forgotten in the valley where they were once debated -so fiercely. The Rev. Mr. Bosaw and his -monotonously sung sermon in “The Hoosier -Schoolmaster” are vouched for, and preaching -of the same sort has been heard in Indiana at a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -much later period than that of which Eggleston -wrote. “The End of the World” (1872) describes -vividly the extravagant belief of the Millerites, -who, in 1842-43, found positive proof in the Book -of Daniel that the world’s doom was at hand. -This tale shows little if any gain in constructive -power over the first Hoosier story, and the same -must be said of “The Circuit Rider,” which -portrays the devotion and sacrifice of the hardy -evangelists of the Southwest among whom -Eggleston had served. “Roxy” (1878) marks -an advance; the story flows more easily, and the -scrutiny of life is steadier. The scene is Vevay, -and he contrasts pleasantly the Swiss and -Hoosier villagers, and touches intimately the -currents of local religious and political life. -Eggleston shows here for the first time a capacity -for handling a long story. The characters -are of firmer fibre; the note of human passion -is deeper, and he communicates to his pages -charmingly the atmosphere of his native village,—its -quiet streets and pretty gardens, the -sunny hills and the broad-flowing river. Vevay -is again the scene in “The Hoosier Schoolboy” -(1883), which is, however, no worthy successor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -to “The Schoolmaster.” The workmanship is -infinitely superior to that of his first Hoosier -tale, but he had lost touch, either with the soil -(he had been away from Indiana for more than -a decade), or with youth, or with both, and the -story is flat and tame. After another long absence -he returned to the Western field in which -he had been a pioneer, and wrote “The Graysons” -(1888), a capital story of Illinois, in -which Lincoln is a character. Here and in “The -Faith Doctor,” a novel of metropolitan life -which followed three years later, the surer -stroke of maturity is perceptible; and the short -stories collected in “Duffles” include “Sister -Tabea,” a thoroughly artistic bit of work, which -he once spoke of as being among the most satisfactory -things he had written.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A fault of all of Eggleston’s earlier stories is -their too serious insistence on the moral they -carried—a resort to the Dickens method of -including Divine Providence among the <i>dramatis -personæ</i>; but this is not surprising in one in -whom there was, by his own confession, a life-long -struggle “between the lover of literary art<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -and the religionist, the reformer, the philanthropist, -the man with a mission.” There is -little humor in these tales,—there was doubtless -little in the life itself,—but there is abundant -good nature. In all he maintains consistently -the point of view of the realist, his lapses -being chiefly where the moralist has betrayed -him. There are many pictures which denote his -understanding of the illuminative value of -homely incident in the life he then knew best; -there are the spelling-school, the stirring religious -debates, the barbecue, the charivari, the -infare, glimpses of “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,” -and the “Hard Cider” campaign. Those times -rapidly receded; Indiana is one of the older -States now, and but for Eggleston’s tales there -would be no trustworthy record of the period -he describes.</p> - -<p>Lowell had made American dialect respectable, -and had used it as the vehicle for his political -gospel; but Eggleston invoked the Hoosier -<i>lingua rustica</i> to aid in the portrayal of a type. -He did not, however, employ dialect with the -minuteness of subsequent writers, notably Mr. -James Whitcomb Riley; but the Southwestern<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -idiom impressed him, and his preface and notes -in the later edition of “The Schoolmaster” are -invaluable to the student. Dialect remains in -Indiana, as elsewhere, largely a matter of observation -and opinion. There has never been a uniform -folk-speech peculiar to the people living -within the borders of the State. The Hoosier -dialect, so called, consisting more of elisions and -vulgarized pronunciations than of true idiom, -is spoken wherever the Scotch-Irish influence is -perceptible in the West Central States, notably -in the southern counties of Ohio, Indiana, and -Illinois. It is not to be confounded with the -cruder speech of the “poor-whitey,” whose wild -strain in the Hoosier blood was believed by -Eggleston to be an inheritance of the English -bond-slave. There were many vague and baffling -elements in the Ohio Valley speech, but -they passed before the specialists of the Dialect -Society could note them. Mr. Riley’s Hoosier -is more sophisticated than Eggleston’s, and -thirty years of change lie between them,—years -which wholly transformed the State, physically -and socially. It is diverting to have Eggleston’s -own statement that the Hoosiers he knew in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -youth were wary of New England provincialisms, -and that his Virginia father threatened to -inflict corporal punishment on his children “if -they should ever give the peculiar vowel sound -heard in some parts of New England in such -words as ‘roof’ and ‘root.’”</p> - -<p>While Eggleston grew to manhood on a frontier -which had been a great battle-ground, the -mere adventurous aspects of this life did not -attract him when he sought subjects for his -pen; but the culture-history of the people -among whom his life fell interested him greatly, -and he viewed events habitually with a critical -eye. He found, however, that the evolution -of society could not be treated satisfactorily -in fiction, so he began, in 1880, while abroad, -the researches in history which were to occupy -him thereafter to the end of his life. His training -as a student of social forces had been superior -to any that he could have obtained in the -colleges accessible to him, for he had seen life in -the raw; he had known, on the one hand, the -vanishing frontiersmen who founded commonwealths -around the hunters’ camp-fires; and he -had, on the other, witnessed the dawn of a new<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -era which brought order and enlightenment. -He thus became a delver in libraries only after -he had scratched under the crust of life itself. -While he turned first to the old seaboard colonies -in pursuit of his new purpose, he brought -to his research an actual knowledge of the beginnings -of new States which he had gained in -the open. He planned a history of life in the -United States on new lines, his main idea being -to trace conditions and movements to remotest -sources. He collected and studied his -material for sixteen years before he published -any result of his labors beyond a few magazine -papers. “The Beginnings of a Nation” (1896) -and “The Transit of Civilization” (1901) are -only part of the scheme as originally outlined, -but they are complete as far as they go, and are -of permanent interest and value. History was -not to him a dusty lumber room, but a sunny -street where people came and went in their habits -as they lived; and thus, in a sense, he applied -to history the realism of fiction. He pursued his -task with scientific ardor and accuracy, but -without fussiness or dullness. His occupations -as novelist and editor had been a preparation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -for his later work, for it was the story quality -that he sought in history, and he wrote with an -editorial eye to what is salient and interesting. -It is doubtful whether equal care has ever been -given to the preparation of any other historical -work in this country. The plan of the books is -in itself admirable, and the exhaustive character -of his researches is emphasized by copious -notes, which are hardly less attractive than -the text they amplify and strengthen. He expressed -himself with simple adequacy, without -flourish, and with a nice economy of words; -but he could, when he chose, throw grace and -charm into his writing. He was, in the best -sense, a humanist. He knew the use of books, -but he vitalized them from a broad knowledge -of life. He had been a minister, preaching a -simple gospel, for he was never a theologian as -the term is understood, but he enlisted zealously -in movements for the bettering of mankind, -and his influence was unfailingly wholesome -and stimulating.</p> - -<p>His robust spirit was held in thrall by an invalid -body, and throughout his life his work was -constantly interrupted by serious illnesses; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -there was about him a certain blitheness; his -outlook on life was cheerful and sanguine. He -was tremendously in earnest in all his undertakings -and accomplished first and last an immense -amount of work,—preacher, author, -editor, and laborious student, his industry was -ceaseless. His tall figure, his fine head with -its shock of white hair, caught the attention -in any gathering. He was one of the most -charming of talkers, leading lightly on from one -topic to another. No one who ever heard his -voice can forget its depth and resonance. Nothing -in our American annals is more interesting -or more remarkable than the rise of such men, -who appear without warning in all manner of -out-of-the-way places and succeed in precisely -those fields which environment and opportunity -seemingly conspire to fortify most strongly -against them. Eggleston possessed in marked -degree that self-reliance which Higginson calls -the first requisite of a new literature, and -through it he earned for himself a place of -dignity and honor in American letters.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">A Provincial Capital</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -<p class="ph3">A Provincial Capital</p> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THE Hoosier is not so deeply wounded by -the assumption in Eastern quarters that -he is a wild man of the woods as by the amiable -condescension of acquaintances at the seaboard, -who tell him, when he mildly remonstrates, -that his abnormal sensitiveness is -provincial. This is, indeed, the hardest lot, to -be called a “mudsill” and then rebuked for -talking back! There are, however, several -special insults to which the citizen of Indianapolis -is subjected, and these he resents with all -the strength of his being. First among them is -the proneness of many to confuse Indianapolis -and Minneapolis. To the citizen of the Hoosier -capital, Minneapolis seems a remote place, that -can be reached only by passing through Chicago. -Still another source of intense annoyance -is the persistent fallacy that Indianapolis is -situated on the Wabash River. There seems to -be something funny about the name of this -pleasant stream,—immortalized in late years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -by a tuneful balladist,—which a large percentage -of the people of Indianapolis have -never seen except from a car window. East of -Pittsburg the wanderer from Hoosierdom expects -to be asked how things are on the Waybosh,—a -pronunciation which, by the way, is -never heard at home. Still another grievance -that has embittered the lives of Indianapolitans -is the annoying mispronunciation of the -name of their town by benighted outsiders. -Rural Hoosiers, in fact, offend the ears of their -city cousins with Indianopolis; but it is left -usually for the Yankee visitor to say <i>Injun</i>apolis, -with a stress on <i>Injun</i> which points -rather unnecessarily to the day of the war-whoop -and scalp-dance.</p> - -<p>Indianapolis—like Jerusalem, “a city at -unity with itself,” where the tribes assemble, -and where the seat of judgment is established—is -in every sense the capital of all the Hoosiers. -With the exception of Boston, it is the -largest state capital in the country; and no -other American city without water communication -is so large. It is distinguished primarily -by the essentially American character of its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -people. A considerable body of Germans contributed -much first and last to its substantial -growth, not only by the example of their familiar -industry and frugality, but in later -years through their intelligent interest in all -manner of civic improvement, in general education, -and in music and art. Only in the past -decade has there been any perceptible drift of -undesirable immigrants from southeastern -Europe to our city and the problems they -create have been met promptly by wise agencies -of social service. There was an influx of -negroes at the close of the war, and the colored -voters (about seventy-five hundred in 1912) add -considerably to our political perplexities.</p> - -<p>Indiana was admitted as a State in 1816, and -the General Assembly, sitting at Corydon in -1821, designated Indianapolis, then a settlement -of struggling cabins, as the state capital. -The name of the new town was not adopted -without a struggle, Tecumseh, Suwarro, and -Concord being proposed and supported, while -the name finally chosen aroused the hostility of -those who declared it unmelodious and etymologically -abominable. It is of record that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -first mention of the name Indianapolis in the -legislature caused great merriment. The town -was laid out in broad streets, which were -quickly adorned with shade trees that are an -abiding testimony to the foresight of the founders. -Alexander Ralston, one of the engineers -employed in the first survey, had served in a -similar capacity at Washington, and the diagonal -avenues and the generous breadth of the -streets are suggestive of the national capital. -The urban landscape lacks variety: the town is -perfectly flat, and in old times the mud was intolerable, -but the trees are a continuing glory.</p> - -<p>Central Indiana was not, in 1820, when the -first cabin was built, a region of unalloyed delight. -The land was rich, but it was covered -with heavy woods, and much of it was under -water. Indians still roamed the forests, and the -builder of the first cabin was killed by them. -There were no roads, and White River, on -whose eastern shore the town was built, was -navigable only by the smallest craft. Mrs. -Beecher, in “From Dawn to Daylight,” described -the region as it appeared in the forties: -“It is a level stretch of land as far as the eye<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -can reach, looking as if one good, thorough rain -would transform it into an impassable morass. -How the inhabitants contrive to get about in -rainy weather, I can’t imagine, unless they use -stilts. The city itself has been redeemed from -this slough, and presents quite a thriving appearance, -being very prettily laid out, with a -number of fine buildings.” Dr. Eggleston, -writing in his novel “Roxy” of the same period, -lays stress on the saffron hue of the community, -the yellow mud seeming to cover all -things animate and inanimate.</p> - -<p>But the founders possessed faith, courage, -and hardihood, and “the capital in the woods” -grew steadily. The pioneers were patriotic and -religious; their patriotism was, indeed, touched -with the zeal of their religion. For many years -before the Civil War a parade of the Sunday-school -children of the city was the chief feature -of every Fourth of July celebration. The founders -labored from the first in the interest of -morality and enlightenment. The young capital -was a converging point for a slender stream -of population that bore in from New England, -and a broader current that swept westward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -from the Middle and Southeastern States. -There was no sectional feeling in those days. -Many of the prominent settlers from Kentucky -were Whigs, but a newcomer’s church -affiliation was of far more importance than his -political belief. Membership in a church was a -social recommendation in old times, but the -importance of religion seemed to diminish as -the town passed the two-hundred-thousand -mark. Perhaps two hundred thousand is the -dead-line—I hope no one will press me too -hard to defend this suggestion—beyond which -a community loses its pristine sensitiveness to -benignant influences; but there was indubitably -in the history of our capital a moment at -which we became disagreeably conscious that -we were no longer a few simple and well-meaning -folk who made no social engagements -that would interfere with Thursday night -prayer-meeting, but a corporation of which -we were only unconsidered and unimportant -members.</p> - -<p>The effect of the Civil War upon Indianapolis -was immediate and far-reaching. It emphasized, -through the centralizing there of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -State’s military energy, the fact that it was the -capital city,—a fact which until that time -had been accepted languidly by the average -Hoosier countryman. The presence within the -State of an aggressive body of sympathizers -with Southern ideas directed attention throughout -the country to the energy and resourcefulness -of Morton, the War Governor, who pursued -the Hoosier Copperheads relentlessly, while -raising a great army to send to the seat of war. -Again, the intense political bitterness engendered -by the war did not end with peace, or with -the restoration of good feeling in neighboring -States, but continued for twenty-five years -more to be a source of political irritation, and, -markedly at Indianapolis, a cause of social differentiation. -In the minds of many, a Democrat -was a Copperhead, and a Copperhead was an -evil and odious thing. Referring to the slow -death of this feeling, a veteran observer of affairs -who had, moreover, supported Mr. Cleveland’s -candidacy twice, recently said that he -had never been able wholly to free himself from -this prejudice. But the end really came in 1884, -with the reaction against Blaine, which was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -nowhere more significant of the flowering of -independence than at Indianapolis.</p> - -<p>Following the formative period, which may -be said to have ended with the Civil War, came -an era of prosperity in business, and even of -splendor in social matters. Some handsome -habitations had been built in the <i>ante-bellum</i> -days, but they were at once surpassed by the -homes which many citizens reared for themselves -in the seventies. These remain, as a -group, the handsomest residences that have -been built at any period in the history of the -city. Life had been earnest in the early days, -but it now became picturesque. The terms -“aristocrats” and “first families” were heard -in the community, and something of traditional -Southern ampleness and generosity crept -into the way of life. No one said <i>nouveau riche</i> -in those days; the first families were the real -thing. No one denied it, and misfortune could -not shake or destroy them.</p> - -<p>A panic is a stern teacher of humility, and -the financial depression that fell upon the -country in 1873 drove the lesson home remorselessly -at Indianapolis. There had been nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -equivocal about the boom. Western speculators -had not always had a fifty-year-old town to -operate in,—the capital of a State, a natural -railway centre,—no arid village in a hot -prairie, but a real forest city that thundered -mightily in the prospectus. There was no sudden -collapse; a brave effort was made to ward -off the day of reckoning; but this only prolonged -the agony. Among the victims there -was little whimpering. A thoroughbred has not -proved his mettle until he has held up his head -in defeat, and the Hoosier aristocrat went down -with his flag flying. Those that had suffered -the proud man’s contumely then came forth to -sneer. An old-fashioned butternut Democrat -remarked, of a banker who failed, that “no -wonder Blank busted when he drove to business -in a carriage behind a nigger in uniform.” -The memory of the hard times lingered long at -home and abroad. A town where credit could -be so shaken was not, the Eastern insurance -companies declared, a safe place for further -investments; and in many quarters Indianapolis -was not forgiven until an honest, -substantial growth had carried the lines of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -the city beyond the <i>terra incognita</i> of the -boom’s outer rim.</p> - -<p>Many of the striking characteristics of the -true Indianapolitan are attributable to those -days, when the city’s bounds were moved far -countryward, to the end that the greatest possible -number of investors might enjoy the -ownership of town lots. The signal effect of -this dark time was to stimulate thrift and -bring a new era of caution and conservatism; -for there is a good deal of Scotch-Irish in the -Hoosier, and he cannot be fooled twice with -the same bait. During the period of depression -the town lost its zest for gayety. It took its -pleasures a little soberly; it was notorious as a -town that welcomed theatrical attractions -grudgingly, though this attitude must be referred -back also to the religious prejudices of -the early comers. Your Indianapolitan who -has personal knowledge of the panic, or who -had listened to the story of it from one who -weathered the storm, has never forgotten -the discipline of the seventies: though he has -reached the promised land, he still remembers -the hot sun in the tyrant’s brickyards. So conservatism<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -became the city’s rule of life. The -panic of 1893 caused scarcely a ripple, and the -typical Indianapolis business man to this day -is one who minds his barometer carefully.</p> - -<p>Indianapolis became a city rather against -its will. It liked its own way, and its way -was slow; but when the calamity could no -longer be averted, it had its trousers creased -and its shoes polished, and accepted with -good grace the fact that its population had -reached two hundred thousand, and that it -had crept to a place comfortably near the top -in the list of bank clearances. A man who left -Indianapolis in 1885, returned in 1912—the -Indianapolitan, like the cat in the ballad, always -comes back; he cannot successfully be -transplanted—to find himself a stranger in a -strange city. Once he knew all the people who -rode in chaises; but on his return he found new -people flying about in automobiles that cost -more than any but the most prosperous citizen -earned in the horse-car days; once he had been -able to discuss current topics with a passing -friend in the middle of Washington Street; -now he must duck and dive, and keep an eye<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -on the policeman if he would make a safe -crossing. He is asked to luncheon at a club; in -the old days there were no clubs, or they were -looked on as iniquitous things; he is carried -off to inspect factories which are the largest -of their kind in the world. At the railroad yards -he watches the loading of machinery for shipment -to Russia and Chili, and he is driven -over asphalt streets to parks that had not -been dreamed of before his term of exile.</p> - -<p>Manufacturing is the great business of the -city, still sootily advertised on the local countenance -in spite of heroic efforts to enforce -smoke-abatement ordinances. There are nearly -two thousand establishments within its limits -where manufacturing in some form is carried -on. Many of these rose in the day of natural -gas, and it was predicted that when the gas had -been exhausted the city would lose them; but -the number has increased steadily despite the -failure of the gas supply. There are abundant -coal-fields within the State, so that the question -of fuel will not soon be troublesome. The -city enjoys, also, the benefits to be derived -from the numerous manufactories in other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -towns of central Indiana, many of which maintain -administrative offices there. It is not only -a good place in which to make things, but a -point from which many things may be sold to -advantage. Jobbing flourished even before -manufacturing attained its present proportions. -The jobbers have given the city an enviable -reputation for enterprise and fair dealing. -When you ask an Indianapolis jobber whether -the propinquity of St. Louis, Cincinnati, Chicago, -and Cleveland is not against him, he -answers that he meets his competitors daily in -every part of the country and is not afraid of -them.</p> - -<p>Indianapolis was long a place of industry, -thrift, and comfort, where the simple life was -not only possible but necessary. Its social entertainments -were of the tamest sort, and the -change in this respect has come only within a -few years,—with the great wave of growth -and prosperity that has wrought a new Indianapolis -from the old. If left to itself, the old -Indianapolis would never have known a horse -show or a carnival,—would never have strewn -itself with confetti, or boasted the greatest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -automobile speedway in the world; but the -invading time-spirit has rapidly destroyed the -walls of the city of tradition. Business men no -longer go home to dinner at twelve o’clock and -take a nap before returning to work; and the -old amiable habit of visiting for an hour in an -office where ten minutes of business was to be -transacted has passed. A town is at last a city -when sociability has been squeezed out of -business and appointments are arranged a day -in advance by telephone.</p> - -<p>The distinguishing quality of Indianapolis -continues, however, to be its simple domesticity. -The people are home-loving and home-keeping. -In the early days, when the town was -a rude capital in the wilderness, the citizens -stayed at home perforce; and when the railroad -reached them they did not take readily to -travel. A trip to New York is still a much more -serious event, considered from Indianapolis, -than from Denver or Kansas City. It was an -Omaha young man who was so little appalled -by distance that, having an express frank, he -formed the habit of sending his laundry work -to New York, to assure a certain finish to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -linen that was unattainable at home. The more -the Hoosier travels, the more he likes his own -town. Only a little while ago an Indianapolis -man who had been in New York for a week -went to the theatre and saw there a fellow-townsman -who had just arrived. He hurried -around to greet him at the end of the first act. -“Tell me,” he exclaimed, “how is everything -in old Indianapolis?”</p> - -<p>The Hoosiers assemble at Indianapolis in -great throngs with slight excuse. In addition -to the steam railroads that radiate in every -direction interurban traction lines have lately -knit new communities into sympathetic relationship -with the capital. One may see the -real Hoosier in the traction station,—and an -ironed-out, brushed and combed Hoosier he is -found to be. You may read the names of all the -surrounding towns on the big interurban cars -that mingle with the local traction traffic. -They bring men whose errand is to buy or sell, -or who come to play golf on the free course at -Riverside Park, or on the private grounds of -the Country Club. The country women join -their sisters of the city in attacks upon the bargain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -counters. These cars disfigure the streets, -but no one has made serious protest, for are -not the Hoosiers welcome to their capital, no -matter how or when they visit it; and is not -this free intercourse, as the phrase has it, “a -good thing for Indianapolis”? This contact -between town and country tends to stimulate -a state feeling, and as the capital grows this -intimacy will have an increasing value.</p> - -<p>There is something neighborly and cozy -about Indianapolis. The man across the street -or next door will share any good thing he has -with you, whether it be a cure for rheumatism, -a new book, or the garden hose. It is a town -where doing as one likes is not a mere possibility, -but an inherent right. The woman of Indianapolis -is not afraid to venture abroad with -her market-basket, albeit she may carry it in -an automobile. The public market at Indianapolis -is an ancient and honorable institution, -and there is no shame but much honor in being -seen there in conversation with the farmer -and the gardener or the seller of herbs, in the -early hours of the morning. The market is so -thoroughly established in public affection that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -the society reporter walks its aisles in pursuit -of news. The true Indianapolis housewife goes -to market; the mere resident of the city orders -by telephone, and meekly accepts what the -grocer has to offer; and herein lies a difference -that is not half so superficial as it may -sound, for at heart the people who are related -to the history and tradition of Indianapolis -are simple and frugal, and if they read Emerson -and Browning by the evening lamp, they know -no reason why they should not distinguish, -the next morning, between the yellow-legged -chicken offered by the farmer’s wife at the -market and frozen fowls of doubtful authenticity -that have been held for a season in cold storage.</p> - -<p>The narrow margin between the great parties -in Indiana has made the capital a centre of -incessant political activity. The geographical -position of the city has also contributed to this, -the state leaders and managers being constant -visitors. Every second man you meet is a -statesman; every third man is an orator. The -largest social club in Indiana exacts a promise -of fidelity to the Republican party,—or did, -until insurgency made the close scrutiny of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -members’ partisanship impolite if not impolitic!—and -within its portals chances and -changes of men and measures are discussed -tirelessly. And the pilgrim is not bored with -local affairs; not a bit of it! Municipal dangers -do not trouble the Indianapolitan; his eye is -on the White House, not the town hall. The -presence in the city through many years of -men of national prominence—Morton, Harrison, -Hendricks, McDonald, English, Gresham, -Turpie, of the old order, and Fairbanks, Kern, -Beveridge, and Marshall in recent years—has -kept Indianapolis to the fore as a political -centre. Geography is an important factor in -the distribution of favors by state conventions. -Rivalry between the smaller towns is -not so marked as their united stand against -the capital, though this feeling seems to be -abating. The city has had, at least twice, -both United States Senators; but governors -have usually been summoned from the country. -Harrison was defeated for governor by a -farmer (1876), in a heated campaign, in which -“Kid-Gloved Harrison” was held up to derision -by the adherents of “Blue-Jeans Williams.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -And again, in 1880, a similar situation -was presented in the contest for the same office -between Albert G. Porter and Franklin Landers, -both of Indianapolis, though Landers stood -ruggedly for the “blue jeans” idea.</p> - -<p>The high tide of political interest was -reached in the summer and fall of 1888, when -Harrison made his campaign for the presidency, -largely from his own doorstep. Marion County, -of which Indianapolis is the seat, was for many -years Republican; but neither county nor city -has lately been “safely” Democratic or Republican. -At the city election held in October, -1904, a Democrat was elected mayor over a -Republican candidate who had been renominated -in a “snap” convention, in the face of -aggressive opposition within his party. The -issue was tautly drawn between corruption -and vice on the one hand and law and order -on the other. An independent candidate, who -had also the Prohibition support, received -over five thousand votes.</p> - -<p>The difficulties in the way of securing intelligent -and honest city government have, -however, multiplied with the growth of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -city. The American municipal problem is -as acutely presented in Indianapolis as elsewhere. -The more prosperous a city the less -time have the beneficiaries of its prosperity for -self-government. It is much simpler to allow -politicians of gross incapacity and leagued with -vice to levy taxes and expend the income according -to the devices and desires of their own -hearts and pockets than to find reputable and -patriotic citizens to administer the business. -Here as elsewhere the party system is indubitably -at the root of the evil. It happens, indeed, -that Indianapolis is even more the victim of -partisanship than other cities of approximately -the same size for the reason that both -the old political organizations feel that the loss -of the city at a municipal election jeopardizes -the chances of success in general elections. -Just what effect the tariff and other national -issues have upon street cleaning and the policing -of a city has never been explained. It is -interesting to note that the park board, whose -members serve without pay, has been, since -the adoption of the city charter, a commission -of high intelligence and unassailable integrity.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -The standard having been so established no -mayor is likely soon to venture to consign this -board’s important and responsible functions to -the common type of city hall hangers-on.</p> - -<p>It is one of the most maddening of the anomalies -of American life that municipal pride -should exhaust its energy in the exploitation -of factory sites and the strident advertisement -of the number of freight cars handled in railroad -yards, while the municipal corporation -itself is turned over to any band of charlatans -and buccaneers that may seek to capture it. In -1911-12 the municipal government had reached -the lowest ebb in the city’s history. It had become -so preposterous and improvement was so -imperatively demanded that many citizens, -both as individuals and in organizations, began -to interest themselves in plans for reform. The -hope here as elsewhere seems to be in the young -men, particularly of the college type, who find -in local government a fine exercise for their -talents and zeal.</p> - -<p>In this connection it may be said that the -Indianapolis public schools owe their marked -excellence and efficiency to their complete divorcement<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -from political influence. This has -not only assured the public an intelligent and -honest expenditure of school funds, but it has -created a corps spirit among the city’s teachers, -admirable in itself, and tending to cumulative -benefits not yet realized. The superintendent -of schools has absolute power of -appointment, and he is accountable only to the -commissioners, and they in turn are entirely -independent of the mayor and other city officers. -Positions on the school board are not -sought by politicians. The incumbents serve -without pay, and the public evince a disposition -to find good men and to keep them in office.</p> - -<p>The soldiers’ monument at Indianapolis is -a testimony to the deep impression made by -the Civil War on the people of the State. The -monument is to Indianapolis what the Washington -Monument is to the national capital. -The incoming traveler beholds it afar, and -within the city it is almost an inescapable -thing, though with the advent of the sky-scraper -it is rapidly losing its fine dignity as -the chief incident of the skyline. It stands in a -circular plaza that was originally a park known<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -as the “Governor’s Circle.” This was long ago -abandoned as a site for the governor’s mansion, -but it offered an ideal spot for a monument to -Indiana soldiers, when, in 1887, the General -Assembly authorized its construction. The -height of the monument from the street level -is two hundred and eighty-four feet and it -stands on a stone terrace one hundred and ten -feet in diameter. The shaft is crowned by a -statue of Victory thirty-eight feet high. It is -built throughout of Indiana limestone. The -fountains at the base, the heroic sculptured -groups “War” and “Peace,” and the bronze -astragals representing the army and navy, are -admirable in design and execution. The whole -effect is one of poetic beauty and power. -There is nothing cheap, tawdry, or commonplace -in this magnificent tribute of Indiana to -her soldiers. The monument is a memorial of -the soldiers of all the wars in which Indiana has -participated. The veterans of the Civil War -protested against this, and the controversy -was long and bitter; but the capture of Vincennes -from the British in 1779 is made to link -Indiana to the war of the Revolution; and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -battle of Tippecanoe, to the war of 1812. The -war with Mexico, and seven thousand four -hundred men enlisted for the Spanish War are -likewise remembered. It is, however, the war -of the Rebellion, whose effect on the social and -political life of Indiana was so tremendous, -that gives the monument its great cause for -being. The white male population of Indiana -in 1860 was 693,348; the total enlistment of -soldiers during the ensuing years of war was -210,497! The names of these men lie safe for -posterity in the base of the gray shaft.</p> - -<p>The newspaper paragrapher has in recent -years amused himself at the expense of Indiana -as a literary centre, but Indianapolis as a -village boasted writers of at least local reputation, -and Coggeshall’s “Poets and Poetry -of the West” (1867) attributes half a dozen -poets to the Hoosier capital. The Indianapolis -press has from the beginning been distinguished -by enterprise and decency, and in several instances -by vigorous independence. The literary -quality of the city’s newspapers was high, even -in the early days, and the standard has not been -lowered. Poets with cloaks and canes were, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -the eighties, pretty prevalent in Market Street -near the post-office, the habitat then of most -of the newspapers. The poets read their verses -to one another and cursed the magazines. A -reporter for one of the papers, who had scored -the triumph of a poem in the “Atlantic,” was -a man of mark among the guild for years. The -local wits stabbed the fledgeling bards with -their gentle ironies. A young woman of social -prominence printed some verses in an Indianapolis -newspaper, and one of her acquaintances, -when asked for his opinion of them, -said they were creditable and ought to be set -to music—and played as an instrumental -piece! The wide popularity attained by Mr. -James Whitcomb Riley quickened the literary -impulse, and the fame of his elders and predecessors -suffered severely from the fact that -he did not belong to the cloaked brigade. -General Lew Wallace never lived at Indianapolis -save for a few years in boyhood, while -his father was governor, though toward the -end of his life he spent his winters there. -Maurice Thompson’s muse scorned “paven -ground,” and he was little known at the capital<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -even during his term of office as state geologist, -when he came to town frequently from his home -in Crawfordsville. Mr. Booth Tarkington, the -most cosmopolitan of Hoosiers, has lifted the -banner anew for a younger generation through -his successful essays in fiction and the drama.</p> - -<p>If you do not in this provincial capital meet -an author at every corner, you are at least never -safe from men and women who read books. In -many Missouri River towns a stranger must -still listen to the old wail against the railroads; -at Indianapolis he must listen to politics, and -possibly some one will ask his opinion of a sonnet, -just as though it were a cigar. A judge of -the United States Court sitting at Indianapolis, -was in the habit of locking the door of his -private office and reading Horace to visiting -attorneys. There was, indeed, a time—<i>consule -Planco</i>—when most of the federal officeholders -at Indianapolis were bookish men. Three successive -clerks of the federal courts were scholars; -the pension agent was an enthusiastic -Shakespearean; the district attorney was a -poet; and the master of chancery a man of -varied learning, who was so excellent a talker<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -that, when he met Lord Chief Justice Coleridge -abroad, the English jurist took the Hoosier -with him on circuit, and wrote to the justice of -the American Supreme Court who had introduced -them, to “send me another man as -good.”</p> - -<p>It is possible for a community which may -otherwise lack a true local spirit to be unified -through the possession of a sense of humor; and -even in periods of financial depression the town -has always enjoyed the saving grace of a cheerful, -centralized intelligence. The first tavern -philosophers stood for this, and the courts of -the early times were enlivened by it,—as witness -all Western chronicles. The Middle Western -people are preëminently humorous, particularly -those of the Southern strain from which -Lincoln sprang. During all the years that the -Hoosier suffered the reproach of the outside -world, the citizen of the capital never failed to -appreciate the joke when it was on himself; and -looking forth from the wicket of the city gate, -he was still more keenly appreciative when it -was “on” his neighbors. The Hoosier is a -natural story-teller; he relishes a joke, and to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -talk is his ideal of social enjoyment. This was -true of the early Hoosier, and it is true to-day -of his successor at the capital. The Monday -night meetings of the Indianapolis Literary -Club—organized in 1877 and with a continuous -existence to this time—have been marked -by racy talk. The original members are nearly -all gone; but the sayings of a group of them—the -stiletto thrusts of Fishback, the lawyer; the -droll inadvertences of Livingston Howland, the -judge; and the inimitable anecdotes of Myron -Reed, soldier and preacher—crept beyond the -club’s walls and became town property. This -club is old and well seasoned. It is exclusive—so -much so that one of its luminaries remarked -that if all of its members should be expelled for -any reason, none could hope to be readmitted. -It has entertained but four pilgrims from the -outer world,—Matthew Arnold, Dean Farrar, -Joseph Parker, and John Fiske.</p> - -<p>The Hoosier capital has always been susceptible -to the charms of oratory. Most of the -great lecturers in the golden age of the American -lyceum were welcomed cordially at Indianapolis. -The Indianapolis pulpit has been served<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -by many able men, and great store is still set by -preaching. When Henry Ward Beecher ministered -to the congregation of the Second Presbyterian -Church (1838-46), his superior talents -were recognized and appreciated. He gave a -series of seven lectures to the young men of the -city during the winter of 1843-44, on such subjects -as “Industry,” “Gamblers and Gambling,” -“Popular Amusements,” etc., which -were published at Indianapolis immediately, in -response to an urgent request signed by thirteen -prominent citizens.</p> - -<p>The women of Indianapolis have aided -greatly in fashioning the city into an enlightened -community. The wives and daughters of -the founders were often women of cultivation, -and much in the character of the city to-day is -plainly traceable to their work and example. -During the Civil War they did valiant service in -caring for the Indiana soldier. They built for -themselves in 1888 a building—the Propylæum—where -many clubs meet; and they were -long the mainstay of the Indianapolis Art Association, -which, by a generous and unexpected -bequest a few years ago, now boasts a permanent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -museum and school. It is worth remembering -that the first woman’s club—in the -West, at least—was organized on Hoosier soil—at -Robert Owen’s New Harmony—in 1859. -The women of the Hoosier capital have addressed -themselves zealously in many organizations -to the study of all subjects related to good -government. The apathy bred of commercial -success that has dulled the civic consciousness -of their fathers and husbands and brothers has -had the effect of stimulating their curiosity and -quickening their energies along lines of political -and social development.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I have been retouching here and there this -paper as it was written ten years ago. In the -intervening decade the population of Indianapolis -has increased 38.1 per cent, jumping from -169,161 to 233,650, and passing both Providence -and Louisville. Something of the Southern -languor that once seemed so charming—something -of what the plodding citizens of the -mule-car days liked to call “atmosphere”—has -passed. And yet the changes are, after all, -chiefly such as address the eye rather than the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -spirit. There are more people, but there are -more good people! The coming of the army -post has widened our political and social horizons. -The building of the Homeric speedway -that has caused us to be written large on the -world’s pink sporting pages, and the invasion of -foreigners, have not seriously disturbed the old -neighborliness, kindliness, and homely cheer. -Elsewhere in these pages I mention the passing -of the church as the bulwark behind which -this community had entrenched itself; and yet -much the same spirituality that was once observable -endures, though known by new names.</p> - -<p>The old virtues must still be dominant, for -visitors sensitive to such impressions seem to be -conscious of their existence. Only to-day Mr. -Arnold Bennett, discoursing of America in -“Harper’s Magazine,” finds here exactly the -things whose passing it is the local fashion to -deplore. In our maple-lined streets he was -struck by the number of detached houses, each -with its own garden. He found in these homes -“the expression of a race incapable of looking -foolish, of being giddy, of running to extremes.” -And I am cheered by his declaration of a belief<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -that in some of the comfortable parlors of our -quiet thoroughfares there are “minor millionaires -who wonder whether, outsoaring the ambition -of a bit of property, they would be justified -in creeping downtown and buying a cheap -automobile!” And I had been afraid that every -man among us with anything tangible enough -to mortgage had undertaken the task of advertising -one of our chief industries by modernizing -Ezekiel’s vision of the wheels!</p> - -<p>It is cheering to know that this pilgrim from -the Five Towns thought us worthy of a place in -his odyssey, and that his snapshots reveal so -much of what my accustomed eyes sometimes -fail to see. I am glad to be reëstablished by so -penetrating an observer in my old faith that -there are planted here on the West Fork of -White River some of the roots of “essential -America.” If we are not typical Americans -we offer the nearest approach to it that I, in -my incurable provincialism, know where to lay -hands on.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Experience and the Calendar</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -<p class="ph3">Experience and the Calendar</p> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">“USELESS, quite useless, young man,” said -the doctor, pursing his lips; and as he has -a nice feeling for climax, he slapped the reins on -Dobbin’s broad back and placidly drove away.</p> - -<p>Beneath that flapping gray hat his wrinkled -face was unusually severe. His eyes really -seemed to flash resentment through his green -spectacles. The doctor’s remark related to my -manipulation of a new rose-sprayer which I had -purchased this morning at the village hardware -store, and was directing against the pests on -my crimson ramblers when he paused to tell me -that he had tried that identical device last year -and found it worthless. As his shabby old phaeton -rounded the corner, I turned the sprayer -over to my young undergraduate friend Septimus, -and hurried in to set down a few truths -about the doctor.</p> - -<p>He is, as you may already have guessed, the -venerable Doctor Experience, of the well-known -university that bears his name. He is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -a person of quality and distinction, and the -most quoted of all the authorities on life and -conduct. How empty the day would be in -which we did not hear some one say, “Experience -has taught me—” In the University of -Experience the Doctor fills all the chairs; and -all his utterances, one may say, are <i>ex cathedra</i>.</p> - -<p>He is as respectable for purposes of quotation -as Thomas à Kempis or Benjamin Franklin. -We really imagine—we who are alumni of the -old doctor’s ivy-mantled knowledge-house, and -who recall the austerity of his curriculum and -the frugality of Sunday evening tea at his -table—that his own courses were immensely -profitable to us. We remember well how he -warned us against yielding to the persuasions -of the world, the flesh, and the devil, illustrating -his points with anecdotes from his own long and -honorable career. He used to weep over us, too, -in a fashion somewhat dispiriting; but we loved -him, and sometimes as we sit in the winter twilight -thinking of the days that are no more, we -recall him in a mood of affection and regret, and -do not mind at all that cheerless motto in the -seal of the university corporation, “<i>Experientia<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -docet stultos</i>,” to which he invariably calls attention -after morning prayers.</p> - -<p>“My young friends,” he says, “I hope and -trust that my words may be the means of saving -you from much of the heartache and sorrow of -this world. When I was young—”</p> - -<p>This phrase is the widely accepted signal for -shuffling the feet and looking bored. We turn -away from the benign doctor at his reading-desk, -fumbling at that oft-repeated lecture -which our fathers and grandfathers remember -and quote,—we turn our gaze to the open windows -and the sunlight. The philosophy of life -is in process of making out there,—a new philosophy -for every hour, with infinite spirit and -color, and anon we hear bugles crying across the -hills of our dreams. “When I was young!” If -we were not the politest imaginable body of -students,—we who take Doctor Experience’s -course because it is (I blush at the confession) -a “snap,”—we should all be out of the window -and over the hills and far away.</p> - -<p>The great weakness of Experience as a -teacher lies in the fact that truth is so alterable. -We have hardly realized how utterly the snows<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -and roses of yesteryear vanish before the amiable -book agent points out to us the obsolete character -of our most prized encyclopædia. All books -should be purchased with a view to their utility -in lifting the baby’s chin a proper distance -above the breakfast table; for, quite likely, this -will soon become their sole office in the household. -Within a fifteen-minute walk of the window -by which I write lives a man who rejects -utterly the idea that the world is round, and he -is by no means a fool. He is a far more interesting -person, I dare say, than Copernicus or -Galileo ever was; and his strawberries are the -earliest and the best produced in our township. -Truth, let us say, is a continuing matter, and -hope springeth eternal. This is where I parted -company with the revered doctor long ago. His -inability to catch bass in the creek isn’t going -to keep me at home to-morrow morning. For -all I care, he may sit on his veranda and talk -himself hoarse to his old friend, Professor Killjoy, -whose gum shoes and ear-muffs are a feature -of our village landscape.</p> - -<p>When you and I, my brother, are called on to -address the young, how blithely we congratulate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -our hearers upon being the inheritors of the -wisdom of all the ages. This is one of the greatest -of fallacies. The twentieth century dawned -upon American States that were bored by the -very thought of the Constitution, and willing -to forget that venerable document at least long -enough to experiment with the Initiative, the -Referendum, and the Recall. What some Lord -Chief Justice announced as sound law a hundred -years ago means nothing to commonwealths -that have risen since the motor-car -began honking in the highway. On a starry -night in the spring of 1912 a veteran sea-captain, -with wireless warnings buttoned under his -pea-jacket, sent the finest ship in the world -smashing into an iceberg. All the safety devices -known to railroading cannot prevent some -engineer from occasionally trying the experiment -of running two trains on a single track. -With the full weight of the experience of a -thousand years against him the teller begins to -transfer the bank’s money to his own pocket, -knowing well the hazard and the penalty.</p> - -<p>We pretend to invoke dear old Experience as -though he were a god, fondly imagining that an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -honest impulse demands that we appeal to him -as an arbiter. But when we have submitted our -case and listened to his verdict, we express our -thanks and go away and do exactly as we please. -We all carry our troubles to the friends whose -sympathy we know outweighs their wisdom. -We want them to pat us on the back and tell -us that we are doing exactly right. If by any -chance they are bold enough to give us an -honest judgment based on real convictions, we -depart with a grievance, our confidence shaken. -We lean upon our friends, to be sure; but we -rely upon them to bail us out after the forts of -folly have crashed about our ears and we pine -in the donjon, rather than on their advice that -might possibly have preserved us on the right -side of the barricade. And I may note here, -that of all the offices that man may undertake, -that of the frank friend is the most thankless. -The frank friend! It is he who told you yesterday -that you were looking wretchedly ill. Doctor -Experience had warned <i>him</i>; and he felt -it to be his duty to stop <i>you</i> in your headlong -plunge. To-morrow he will drop in to tell you -in gentle terms that your latest poem is—well,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -he hates to say it—but he fears it isn’t -up to your old mark! The frank friend, you -may remember, is Doctor Experience’s favorite -pupil.</p> - -<p>We are all trying to square wisdom with our -own aims and errors. Professional men, whose -business is the giving of advice, are fully aware -of this. Death is the only arbiter who can -enforce his own writs, and it is not for man -to speak a final word on any matter.</p> - -<p>I was brought up to have an immense respect—reverence, -even—for law. It seemed to me -in my youth to embody a tremendous philosophy. -Here, I used to say, as I pondered opinion -and precedent,—here is the very flower -and fruit of the wisdom of the ages. I little -dreamed that both sides of every case may be -supported by authorities of equal dignity. -Imagine my bewilderment when I found that a -case which is likely to prove weak before one -infallible judge may be shifted with little -trouble to another, equally infallible, but with -views known to be friendly to the cause in -question. I sojourned for a time in a judicial -circuit where there was considerable traveling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -to be done by the court and bar. The lawyer -who was most enterprising in securing a -sleeping-car stateroom wherein to play poker—discreetly -and not too successfully—with -the judge, was commonly supposed to have the -best chance of winning his cases.</p> - -<p>Our neighbors’ failures are really of no use to -us. “No Admittance” and “Paint” are not -accepted by the curious world as warnings, but -as invitations.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“A sign once caught the casual eye,</div> -<div class="indent">And it said, ‘Paint’;</div> -<div class="verse">And every one who passed it by,</div> -<div class="indent">Sinner or saint,</div> -<div class="verse">Into the fresh green color must</div> -<div class="indent">Make it his biz</div> -<div class="verse">A doubting finger-point to thrust,</div> -<div class="verse">That he, accepting naught on trust,</div> -<div class="indent">Might say, ‘It is, it is!’”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Cynic, do I hear? The term is not one of opprobrium. -A cynic is the alert and discerning man -who declines to cut the cotton-filled pie or pick -up the decoy purse on All Fools’ Day.</p> - -<p>We are bound to test for ourselves the identical -heating apparatus which the man next -door cast away as rubbish last spring. We know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -why its heat units were unsatisfactory to him,—it -was because his chimneys were too small; -and though our own are as like them as two -peas we proceed to our own experiment with -our eyes wide open. Mrs. B telephones to Mrs. -A and asks touching the merits, habits, and previous -condition of servitude of the cook Mrs. A -discharged this morning. Mrs. A, who holds an -honorary degree bestowed upon her by the good -Doctor Experience, leans upon the telephone -and explains with conscientious detail the deficiencies -of Mary Ann. She does as she would -be done by and does it thoroughly. But what is -her astonishment to learn the next day that -Mary Ann’s trunk has been transferred to Mrs. -B’s third story; that Mary Ann’s impossible -bread and deadly cake are upon Mrs. B’s table! -Mrs. B, too, took a course of lectures under -Doctor Experience, and she admires him -greatly; but what do these facts avail her when -guests are alighting at the door and Mary Ann -is the only cook visible in the urban landscape? -Moreover, Mrs. A <i>always was</i> (delectable -colloquialism!) a hard mistress, and -Mrs. B must, she feels, judge of these matters<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -for herself. And so—so—say we all of -us!</p> - -<p>Men who have done post-graduate work in -the good doctor’s school are no better fortified -against error than the rest of us who may never -have got beyond his kindergarten. The results -might be different if it were not that Mistress -Vanity by her arts and graces demoralizes the -doctor’s students, whose eyes wander to the -windows as she flits across the campus. Conservative -bankers, sage lawyers, and wise legislators -have been the frequent and easy prey of -the gold-brick operator. The police announce -a new crop of “suckers” every spring,—which -seems to indicate that Mistress Vanity -wields a greater influence than Doctor Experience. -These words stare at me oddly in type; -they are the symbols of a disagreeable truth,—and -yet we may as well face it. The eternal ego -will not bow to any dingy doctor whose lectures -only illustrate his own inability to get on -in the world.</p> - -<p>The best skating is always on thin ice,—we -like to feel it crack and yield under our feet; -there is a deadly fascination in the thought of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -the twenty or forty feet of cold water beneath. -Last year’s mortality list cuts (dare I do it?) no -ice with us; we must make our own experiments, -while the doctor screams himself hoarse from -his bonfire on the bank. He has held many an -inquest on this darkling shore of the river of -time, and he will undoubtedly live to hold many -another; but thus far we have not been the subjects; -and when it comes to the mistakes of -others we are all delighted to serve on the -coroner’s jury.</p> - -<p>It isn’t well for us to be saved from too many -blunders; we need the discipline of failure. It is -better to fail than never to try, and the man -who can contemplate the graveyard of his own -hopes without bitterness will not always be -ignored by the gods of success.</p> - -<p>Septimus had a narrow escape yesterday. He -was reading “Tom Jones” in the college library, -when the doctor stole close behind him and -Septimus’s nervous system experienced a terrible -shock. But it was the doctor’s opportunity. -“Read biography, young man; biographies -of the good and great are veritable textbooks -in this school!” So you may observe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -Septimus to-day sprawled under the noblest -elm on the campus, with his eyes bulging out -as he follows Napoleon on the retreat from Russia. -He has firmly resolved to profit by the -failure of “the darkly-gifted Corsican.” To-morrow -evening, when he tries to hitch the -doctor’s good old Dobbin to the chapel bell, and -falls from the belfry into the arms of the village -constable, he is far more tolerant of Napoleon’s -mistakes. An interesting biography is -no more valuable than a good novel. If life -were an agreed state of facts and not a joyful -experiment, then we might lean upon biography -as final; but in this and in all matters, let us deal -squarely with Youth. Boswell’s “Johnson” is -only gossip raised to the highest power; the -reading of it will make Septimus cheerfuler, but -it will not keep him from wearing a dinner coat -to a five o’clock tea or teach him how to earn -more than four dollars a week.</p> - -<p>We have brought existence to an ideal state -when at every breakfast table we face a new -world with no more use for yesterday than for -the grounds of yesterday’s coffee. The wisdom -behind us is a high wall which we cannot scale if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -we would. Its very height is tempting, but -there is no rose-garden beyond it—only a -bleak plain with the sea of time gnawing its -dreary shores.</p> - -<p>To be old and to know ten thousand things—there -is something august and majestic in the -thought; but to be young and ignorant, to see -yesterday pass, a shining ripple on the flood of -oblivion, and then to buckle down to the day’s -business,—there’s a better thing than being -old and wise! We are forever praising the unconscious -ease of great literature; and that ease—typical -of the life and time reflected—was -a thing of the day, with no yesterdays’ dead -weight dragging it down. Whitman’s charm for -those of us who like him lies in the fact that he -doesn’t invite us to a rummage sale of cast-off -raiment, but offers fabrics that are fresh and in -new patterns. We have all known that same -impatience of the past that he voices so stridently. -The world is as new to him as it was -to Isaiah or Homer.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“When I heard the learned astronomer,</div> -<div class="verse">When the proofs and figures were ranged in columns before me,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -<div class="verse">When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;</div> -<div class="verse">When I, sitting, heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture room,</div> -<div class="verse">How soon, unaccountably, I became tired and sick,</div> -<div class="verse">Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,</div> -<div class="verse">In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time</div> -<div class="verse">Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The old doctor can name all the stars without -a telescope, but he does not know that in -joy they “perform their shining.” The real -note in life is experiment and quest, and we -are detached far more than we realize from -what was and concerned with what is and -may be.</p> - -<p>There is a delightful comedy,—long popular -in England and known in America, in which a -Martian appears on earth to teach Dickens-like -lessons of unselfishness to men. Since witnessing -it, I have often indulged in speculations as -to the sensations of a pilgrim who might wing -his way from another star to this earth, losing in -the transition all knowledge of his own past—and -come freshly upon our world and its -achievements, beholding man at his best and -worst without any knowledge whatever of our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> -history or of the evolution through which we -have become what we are. There you would -have a critic who could view our world with -fresh eyes. What we were yesterday would -mean nothing to him, and what we are to-day -he might judge honestly from a standpoint of -utility or beauty. Not what was old or new, -but what was good, would interest him—not -whether our morals are better than those of -our ancestors, but whether they are of any use -at all. The croaking plaint of Not-What-It-Used-To-Be, -the sanguine It-Will-Come-In-Time, -would have no meaning for such a -judge.</p> - -<p>“And not only so, but we glory in tribulations -also; knowing that tribulation worketh -patience; and patience, experience; and experience, -hope.”</p> - -<p>The conjunction of these last words is happy. -Verily in experience lies our hope. In learning -what to do and what not to do, in stumbling, -falling to rise again and faring ever upward and -onward. Yes, in and through experience lies -our hope, but not, O brother, a wisdom gained -vicariously,—not yours for me nor mine for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> -you,—nor from enduring books, charm they -never so wisely,—but every one of us, old and -young, for himself.</p> - -<p>Literature is rich in advice that is utterly -worthless. Life’s “Book of Don’ts” is only read -for the footnotes that explain why particular -“don’ts” failed,—it has become in reality the -“Book of Don’ts that Did.” It is pleasant to -remember that the gentle Autocrat, a man of -science as well as of letters, did not allow professional -courtesy to stand in the way of a characteristic -fling at Doctor Experience. He goes, -in his contempt, to the stupid creatures of the -barnyard, and points in high disdain to “that -solemn fowl, Experience, who, according to my -observation, cackles oftener than she drops real -live eggs.”</p> - -<p>If the old doctor were to be taken at his own -valuation and we should be disposed to profit -by his teachings, our lives would be a dreary -round; and youth, particularly, would find the -ginger savorless in the jar and the ale stale in -the pot. I saw my venerable friend walking -abroad the other day in the flowered dressing-gown -which he so much affects, wearing his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -familiar classroom smile. I heard him warning -a boy, who was hammering a boat together out -of wretchedly flimsy material, that his argosy -would never float; but the next day I saw the -young Columbus faring forth, with his coat for -sail, and saw him turn the bend in the creek -safely and steer beyond “the gray Azores” of -his dreams.</p> - -<p>The young admiral cannot escape the perils -of the deep, and like St. Paul he will know -shipwreck before his marine career is ended; -but why discourage him? Not the doctor’s -hapless adventures, but the lad’s own are going -to make a man of him. I know a town where, -thirty years ago, an afternoon newspaper failed -about once every six months. There was, so -the wiseacres affirmed, no manner of use in -trying it again. But a tow-headed boy put his -small patrimony into a venture, reinforced it -with vigorous independence and integrity, and -made it a source of profit to himself and a -valued agent in the community. In twenty -years the property sold for a million dollars. -Greatness, I assure Septimus, consists in achieving -the impossible.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,</div> -<div class="verse">Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,</div> -<div class="verse">And marching single in an endless file,</div> -<div class="verse">Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.</div> -<div class="verse">To each they offer gifts after his will,</div> -<div class="verse">Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.</div> -<div class="verse">I, in my pleachèd garden, watched the pomp,</div> -<div class="verse">Forgot my morning wishes, hastily</div> -<div class="verse">Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day</div> -<div class="verse">Turned and departed silent. I, too late,</div> -<div class="verse">Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The season is at hand when Time throws his -annual challenge in our teeth. The bell tinkles -peremptorily and a calendar is thrust upon us. -November is still young when we are dragged -upon the threshold of another year. The leisurely -dismissal of the old year is no longer possible; -we may indulge in no lingering good-bye, -but the old fellow hustles out in haste, with -apologetic, shrinking step and we slam the door -upon him. It is off with the old love and on with -the new, whether we will or no. I solemnly protest -against the invasion of the calendar. In an -age that boasts of freedom, I rebel against a -tyrant who comes merely to warn us of the -fugitive character of Time; for that sharp elbow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> -in the ribs has prodded many a noble soul to his -death. These pretty devices that we are asked -to hang upon our walls are the seductive advertisements -of an insinuating and implacable foe. -We are asked to be <i>particeps criminis</i> in his -hideous trade, for must I not tear off and cast -as rubbish to the void a day, a week, a month, -that I may not have done with at all? Why, -may I ask, should I throw my yesterdays into -the waste-basket? Yet if I fail, falling only a -few leaves behind, is not my shameless inefficiency -and heedlessness paraded before the -world? How often have I delivered myself up -to my enemies by suffering April to laugh her -girlish laughter through torrid July? I know -well the insinuating smile of the friend who, -dropping in on a peaceful morning, when Time, -as far as I am concerned, has paused in the hay-field -to dream upon his scythe handle, walks -coolly to the calendar and brings me up to date -with a fine air of rebuke, as though he were -conferring the greatest favor in the world. I am -sure that I should have no standing with my -neighbors if they knew that I rarely wind my -watch and that the clocks in my house, save<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -one or two that are kept going merely to -avoid explanations, are never wound.</p> - -<p>There is a gentle irony in the fact that the -most insolent dispensers of calendars are the -life insurance companies. It is a legitimate part -of their nefarious game: you and I are their -natural prey, and if they can accent for us the -mortality of the flesh by holding up before us, -in compact form, the slight round of the year, -they are doing much to impress upon us the -appalling brevity of our most reasonable expectancy. -How weak we are to suffer the intimidation -of these soulless corporations, who -thrust their wares upon us as much as to say, -“Here’s a new year, and you’d better make -the most of it, for there’s no saying when you -will get another.” You, my friend, with your -combined calendar and memorandum always -before you, may pledge all your to-morrows if -you will; but as for me the Hypocritic Days, -the Barefoot Dervishes, may ring my bell until -they exhaust the battery without gaining a -single hour as my grudging alms.</p> - -<p>We are all prone to be cowards, and to bend -before the tyrant whose banner is spread victoriously<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -on all our walls. Poets and philosophers -aid and abet him; the preachers are forever -telling us what a dreadful fellow he is, and -warning us that if we don’t get on the good side -of him we are lost forever,—mere wreckage on -a grim, inhospitable shore. Hypocrisy and false -oaths are born of such teaching. Januarius, let -us remember, was two-faced, and it has come -about naturally that New Year’s oaths carry a -reserve. They are not, in fact, serious obligations. -It is a poor soul that sets apart a certain -number of days for rectitude, and I can’t -for the life of me see anything noble in making -a constable of the calendar. I find with joy that -I am freeing myself of the tyrant’s thrall. I am -never quite sure of the day of the week; I date -my letters yesterday or to-morrow with equal -indifference. June usually thrusts her roses -into my windows before I change the year in -dating my letters. The magazines seem leagued -with the calendar for man’s undoing. I sometimes -rush home from an inspection of a magazine -counter in mad haste to get where Oblivion -cannot stretch forth a long, lean arm -and pluck me into the eternal shades; for I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -decline with all the strength of my crude Western -nature, to countenance the manufacture of -yesterdays, no matter how cheerful they may -be, out of my confident to-morrows. A March -magazine flung into the teeth of a February -blizzard does not fool the daffodils a particle. -This stamping of months that have not arrived -upon our current literature is nothing more or -less than counterfeiting;—or rather, the issuing -of false currency by the old Tyrant who -stands behind the counter of the Bank of Time. -And there is the railway time-table,—the unconscious -comic utterance of the <i>Zeitgeist</i>! If -the 12.59 is one minute or one hour late, who -cares, I wonder? Who am I, pray, that I should -stuff my pocket with calendars and time-tables? -Why not throw the charts to the fishes -and let the winds have their will with us awhile! -Let us, I beg, leave some little margin in our -lives for the shock of surprise!</p> - -<p>The Daughters of Time are charming young -persons, and they may offer me all the bread, -kingdoms, stars they like; but they must cheer -up or keep out of my front yard! No shuffling -around, like Barefoot Dervishes; but in golden<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -sandals let them come, and I will kindle a fire of -next year’s calendars in their honor. When the -snows weigh heavily upon the hills, let us not -mourn for yesterday or waste time in idle speculations -at the fireside, but address ourselves -manfully to the hour’s business. And as some of -the phrases of Horace’s ode to Thaliarchus rap -for attention in an old file box at the back of my -head, I set down a pleasant rendering of them -by Mr. Charles Edmund Merrill, Jr.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“To-morrow? Shall the fleeting years</div> -<div class="indent">Abide our questioning? They go</div> -<div class="verse">All heedless of our hopes and fears.</div> -<div class="verse">To-morrow? ’Tis not ours to know</div> -<div class="indent">That we again shall see the flowers.</div> -<div class="verse">To-morrow is the gods’, but oh,</div> -<div class="indent">To-day is ours.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>We all salute heartily and sincerely the -“grandeur and exquisiteness” of old age. It is -not because Doctor Experience is old that we -distrust his judgment; it is not his judgment -that we distrust half so much as his facts. They -are good, as facts go, but we are all foreordained -and predestined to reap our own crop. He need -not take the trouble to nail his sign, “No<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -thoroughfare,” on the highways that have -perplexed him, for we, too, must stray into the -brambles and stumble at the ford. It is decreed -that we sail without those old charts of his, and -we drop our signal-books and barometer overboard -without a qualm. The reefs change with -every tide, adding zest to our adventure; and -while the gulfs may wash us down, there’s -always the chance that, in our own way and -after much anxious and stupid sailing, we -may ground our barnacled hulks on the golden -sands of the Happy Isles. Our blood cries for -the open sea or the long white road, and</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Rare the moment and exceeding fleet</div> -<div class="indent">When the spring sunlight, tremulous and thin,</div> -<div class="verse">Makes glad the pulses with tumultuous beat</div> -<div class="indent">For meadows never won nor wandered in.”</div> -</div></div> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">Should Smith go to Church?</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -<p class="ph3">Should Smith go to Church?</p> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">I  THINK he should. Moreover, I think I -should set Smith an example by placing myself -on Sunday morning in a pew from which he -may observe me at my devotions. Smith and I -attended the same Sunday school when we -were boys, and remained for church afterwards -as a matter of course. Smith now spends his -Sunday mornings golfing, or pottering about his -garden, or in his club or office, and after the -midday meal he takes a nap and loads his family -into a motor for a flight countryward. It -must be understood that I do not offer myself -as a pattern for Smith. While I resent being -classified with the lost sheep, I am, nevertheless, -a restless member of the flock, prone to -leap the wall and wander. Smith is the best of -fellows,—an average twentieth-century American, -diligent in business, a kind husband and -father, and in politics anxious to vote for what -he believes to be the best interests of the -country.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>In the community where we were reared it -was not respectable not to go to church. I remember -distinctly that in my boyhood people -who were not affiliated with some church were -looked upon as lawless pariahs. An infidel was -a marked man: one used to be visible in the -streets I frequented, and I never passed him -without a thrill of horror. Our city was long -known as “a poor theatre town,” where only -Booth in <i>Hamlet</i> and Jefferson in <i>Rip</i> might be -patronized by church-going people who valued -their reputations. Yet in the same community -no reproach attaches to-day to the non-church-going -citizen. A majority of the men I know -best, in cities large and small, do not go to -church. Most of them are in nowise antagonistic -to religion; they are merely indifferent. -Clearly, there must be some reason for this -change. It is inconceivable that men would -lightly put from them the faith of their fathers -through which they are promised redemption -from sin and everlasting life.</p> - -<p>Now and then I hear it asserted that the -church is not losing its hold upon the people. -Many clergymen and laymen resent the oft-repeated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -statement that we Americans are not -as deeply swayed by religion as in other times; -but this seems to me a case of whistling through -a graveyard on a dark night.</p> - -<p>A recent essayist,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> writing defensively of the -church, cries, in effect, that it is moving toward -the light; don’t shoot! He declares that no one -who has not contributed something toward the -solution of the church’s problem has earned the -right to criticize. I am unable to sympathize -with this reasoning. The church is either the -repository of the Christian religion on earth, -the divinely inspired and blessed tabernacle of -the faith of Christ, or it is a stupendous fraud. -There is no sound reason why the church should -not be required to give an account of its stewardship. -If it no longer attracts men and -women in our strenuous and impatient America, -then it is manifestly unjust to deny to outsiders -the right of criticism. Smith is far from -being a fool, and if by his test of “What’s in it -for me?” he finds the church wanting, it is, as -he would say, “up to the church” to expend<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -some of its energy in proving that there is a good -deal in it for him. It is unfair to say to Smith, -who has utterly lost touch with the church, -that before he is qualified to criticize the ways -and the manners of churches he must renew -an allegiance which he was far too intelligent -and conscientious to sever without cause.</p> - -<p>Nor can I justly be denied the right of criticism -because my own ardor is diminished, and -I am frequently conscious of a distinct lukewarmness. -I confess to a persistent need in my -own life for the support, the stimulus, the hope, -that is inherent in the teachings of Christianity; -nevertheless the church—that is to say, the -Protestantism with which I am familiar—has -seemed to me increasingly a wholly inadequate -medium for communicating to men such as -Smith and myself the help and inspiration of -the vision of Christ. There are far too many -Smiths who do not care particularly whether -the churches prosper or die. And I urge that -Smith is worthy of the church’s best consideration. -Even if the ninety-and-nine were snugly -housed in the fold, Smith’s soul is still worth -the saving.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“I don’t want to go no furder</div> -<div class="verse">Than my Testyment fer that.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Yet Smith doesn’t care a farthing about the -state of his soul. Nothing, in fact, interests him -less. Smith’s wife had been “brought up in the -church,” but after her marriage she displayed -Smith to the eyes of the congregation for a few -Easter Sundays and then gave him up. However, -their children attend Sunday school of a -denomination other than that in which the -Smiths were reared, and Smith gives money to -several churches; he declares that he believes -churches are a good thing, and he will do almost -anything for a church but attend its services. -What he really means to say is that he thinks -the church is a good thing for Jones and me, but -that, as for himself, he gets on comfortably -without it.</p> - -<p>And the great danger both to the church and -to Smith lies in the fact that he does apparently -get on so comfortably without it!</p> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>My personal experiences of religion and of -churches have been rather varied, and while<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -they present nothing unusual, I shall refer to -them as my justification for venturing to speak -to my text at all. I was baptized in the Episcopal -Church in infancy, but in about my tenth -year I began to gain some knowledge of other -Protestant churches. One of my grandfathers -had been in turn Methodist and Presbyterian, -and I “joined” the latter church in my youth. -Becoming later a communicant of the Episcopal -Church, I was at intervals a vestryman and -a delegate to councils, and for twenty years -attended services with a regularity that strikes -me as rather admirable in the retrospect.</p> - -<p>As a boy I was taken to many “revivals” -under a variety of denominational auspices, and -later, as a newspaper reporter, I was frequently -assigned to conferences and evangelistic meetings. -I made my first “hit” as a reporter -by my vivacious accounts of the performances -of a “trance” revivalist, who operated in -a skating-rink in my town. There was something -indescribably “woozy” in those cataleptic -manifestations in the bare, ill-lighted hall. -I even recall vividly the bump of the mourners’ -heads as they struck the floor, while the evangelist<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -moved among the benches haranguing -the crowd. Somewhat earlier I used to delight -in the calisthenic performances of a “boy -preacher” who ranged my part of the world. -His physical activities were as astonishing as his -volubility. At the high moment of his discourse -he would take a flying leap from the platform to -the covered marble baptismal font. He wore -pumps for greater ease in these flights, and -would run the length of the church with astonishing -nimbleness, across the backs of the seats -over the heads of the kneeling congregation. I -often listened with delicious horripilations to -the most startling of this evangelist’s perorations, -in which he described the coming of -the Pale Rider. It was a shuddersome thing. -The horror of it, and the wailing and crying -it evoked, come back to me after thirty -years.</p> - -<p>The visit of an evangelist used to be an important -event in my town; converts were objects -of awed attention, particularly in the case -of notorious hardened sinners whose repentance -awakened the greatest public interest and sympathy. -Now that we have passed the quarter-million<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -mark, revivals cause less stir, for evangelists -of the more militant, spectacular type -seem to avoid the larger cities. Those who have -never observed the effect of a religious revival -upon a community not too large or too callous -to be shaken by it have no idea of the power -exerted by the popular evangelist. It is commonly -said that these visits only temporarily -arrest the march of sin; that after a brief experience -of godly life the converts quickly relapse; -but I believe that these strident trumpetings of -the ram’s horn are not without their salutary -effect. The saloons, for a time at least, find -fewer customers; the forces of decency are -strengthened, and the churches usually gain in -membership. Most of us prefer our religion -without taint of melodrama, but it is far from -my purpose to asperse any method or agency -that may win men to better ways of life.</p> - -<p>At one time and another I seem to have read -a good deal on various aspects of religion. Newman -and the Tractarians interested me immensely. -I purchased all of Newman’s writings, -and made a collection of his photographs, several -of which gaze at me, a little mournfully and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -rebukingly, as I write; for presently I took a -cold plunge into Matthew Arnold, and Rome -ceased to call me. Arnold’s writings on religious -subjects have been obscured by the growing -reputation of his poetry; but it was only yesterday -that “Literature and Dogma” and “God -and the Bible” enjoyed great vogue. He translated -continental criticism into terms that made -it accessible to laymen, and encouraged liberal -thought. He undoubtedly helped many to a -new orientation in matters of faith.</p> - -<p>My reading in church history, dogma, and -criticism has been about that of the average -layman. I have enjoyed following the experiments -of the psychical researchers, and have -been a diligent student of the proceedings of -heresy trials. The Andover case and the Briggs -controversy once seemed important, and they -doubtless were, but they established nothing of -value. The churches are warier of heresy trials -than they were; and in this connection I hold -that a clergyman who entertains an honest -doubt as to the virgin birth or the resurrection -may still be a faithful servant of Jesus Christ. -To unfrock him merely arouses controversy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -and draws attention to questions that can never -be absolutely determined by any additional -evidence likely to be adduced. The continuance -in the ministry of a doubter on such points -becomes a question of taste which I admit to be -debatable; but where, as has happened once in -late years, the culprit was an earnest and sincere -doer of Christianity’s appointed tasks, his -conviction served no purpose beyond arousing a -species of cynical enjoyment in the bosom of -Smith, and of smug satisfaction in those who -righteously flung a well-meaning man to the -lions.</p> - -<p>Far more serious are the difficulties of those -ministers of every shade of faith who find themselves -curbed and more or less openly threatened -for courageously attacking evils they find -at their own doors by those responsible for the -conditions they assail. Only recently two or -three cases have come to my attention of -clergymen who had awakened hostility in their -congregations by their zeal in social service. -The loyal support of such men by their fellows -seems to me far nobler than the pursuit of -heretics. The Smiths of our country have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -learned to admire courage in their politics, and -there is no reason for believing that they will -not rally to a religion that practices it undauntedly. -Christ, of all things, was no coward.</p> - -<p>There is, I believe, nowhere manifest at this -time, within the larger Protestant bodies at -least, any disposition to defend the inerrancy -of the Bible, and this is fortunate in that it -leaves the churches free to deal with more vital -matters. It seems fair to assume that criticism -has spent its force, and done its worst. The -spirit of the Bible has not been harmed by it. -The reliance of the Hebrews on the beneficence -of Jehovah, the testimony of Jesus to the enduring -worth of charity, mercy, and love, have in -nowise been injured by textual criticism. The -Old Testament, fancifully imagined as the -Word of God given by dictation to specially -chosen amanuenses, appeals to me no more -strongly than a Bible recognized as the vision -of brooding spirits, who, in a time when the -world was young, and earth was nearer heaven -than now, were conscious of longings and -dreams that were wonderfully realized in their -own hearts and lives. And the essentials of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -Christ’s teachings have lost nothing by criticism.</p> - -<p>The Smiths who have drifted away from the -churches will hardly be brought back to the -pews by even the most scholarly discussion of -doubtful texts. Smith is not interested in the -authenticity of lines or chapters, nor do nice -points of dogma touch the affairs of his life or -the needs of his soul. The fact that certain -gentlemen in session at Nicæa in <span class="allsmcap">A.D.</span> 325 issued -a statement of faith for his guidance strikes -him as negligible; it does not square with any -need of which he is conscious in his own breast.</p> - -<p>A church that would regain the lost Smiths -will do well to satisfy that large company of the -estranged and the indifferent that one need not -believe all that is contained between the lids of -the Bible to be a Christian. Much of the Bible -is vulnerable, but Jesus explained himself in -terms whose clarity has in nowise been clouded -by criticism. Smith has no time, even if he had -the scholarship, to pass upon the merits of the -Book of Daniel; but give him Christ’s own -words without elucidation and he is at once on -secure ground. There only lately came into my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -hands a New Testament in which every utterance -of Jesus is given the emphasis of black-face -type, with the effect of throwing his sayings into -high relief; and no one reading his precepts thus -presented can fail to be impressed by the exactness -with which He formulated his “secret” -into a working platform for the guidance of -men. Verily there could be no greater testimony -to the divine authority of the Carpenter -of Nazareth than the persistence with which his -ideal flowers upon the ever-mounting mass of -literature produced to explain Him.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Smith will not be won back to the church -through appeals to theology, or stubborn reaffirmations -of creeds and dogmas. I believe it -may safely be said that the great body of ministers -individually recognize this. A few cling to -a superstition that there is inherent in religion -itself a power which by some sort of magic, -independently of man, will make the faith of -Christ triumphant in the world. I do not believe -so; Smith could not be made to think so. -And Smith’s trouble is, if I understand him, not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> -with faith after all, but with works. The church -does not impress him as being an efficient -machine that yields adequate returns upon the -investment. If Smith can be brought to works -through faith, well enough; but he is far more -critical of works than of faith. Works are -within the range of his experience; he admires -achievement: show him a foundation of works -and interest him in strengthening that foundation -and in building upon it, and his faith will -take care of itself.</p> - -<p>The word we encounter oftenest in the business -world nowadays is “efficiency”; the thing -of which Smith must first be convinced is that -the church may be made efficient. And on that -ground he must be met honestly, for Smith is a -practical being, who surveys religion, as everything -else, with an eye of calculation. At a time -when the ethical spirit in America is more -healthy and vigorous than ever before, Smith -does not connect the movements of which he is -aware in business and politics with religion. -Religion seems to him to be a poor starved side -issue, not a source and guiding spirit in the -phenomena he observes and respects.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>The economic waste represented in church -investment and administration does not impress -Smith favorably, nor does it awaken admiration -in Jones or in me. Smith knows that -two groceries on opposite sides of the street are -usually one too many. We used to be told that -denominational rivalry aroused zeal, but this -cannot longer be more than an absurd pretense. -This idea that competition is essential to the -successful extension of Christianity continues -to bring into being many crippled and dying -churches, as Smith well knows. And he has -witnessed, too, a deterioration of the church’s -power through its abandonment of philanthropic -work to secular agencies, while churches -of the familiar type, locked up tight all the week -save for a prayer-meeting and choir-practice, -have nothing to do. What strikes Smith is their -utter wastefulness and futility.</p> - -<p>The lack of harmony in individual churches—and -there is a good deal of it—is not reassuring -to the outsider. The cynical attitude of -a good many non-church-going Smiths is due to -the strifes, often contemptibly petty, prevailing -within church walls. It seems difficult for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -Christians to dwell together in peace and concord. -In almost every congregation there appears -to be a party favorable to the minister -and one antagonistic to him. A minister who -seemed to me to fill more fully the Christian -ideal than any man I have known was harassed -in the most brutal fashion by a congregation incapable -of appreciating the fidelity and self-sacrifice -that marked his ministry. I recall -with delight the fighting qualities of another -clergyman who was an exceptionally brilliant -pulpit orator. He was a Methodist who had -fallen to the lot of a church that had not lately -been distinguished for able preaching. This -man filled his church twice every Sunday, and -it was the one sought oftenest by strangers -within the city’s gates; yet about half his own -membership hated him cordially. Though I was -never of his flock, I enjoyed his sermons; and -knowing something of his relations with the opposition -party in his congregation, I recall with -keenest pleasure how he fought back. Now and -then an arrow grazed his ear; but he was unheedful -of warnings that he would be pilloried -for heresy. He landed finally in his old age in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -an obscure church, where he died, still fighting -with his back to the wall. Though the shepherd’s -crook as a weapon is going out of style, I -have an idea that clergymen who stand sturdily -for their own ideals receive far kindlier consideration -than those who meekly bow to vestries, -trustees, deacons, elders, and bishops.</p> - -<p>Music has long been notoriously a provoker -of discord. Once in my news-hunting days I -suffered the ignominy of a “scoop” on a choir-rumpus, -and I thereupon formed the habit of -lending an anxious ear to rumors of trouble in -choir-lofts. The average ladder-like <i>Te Deum</i>, -built up for the display of the soprano’s vocal -prowess, has always struck me as an unholy -thing. I even believe that the horrors of highly -embellished offertories have done much to -tighten purse-strings and deaden generous impulses. -The presence behind the pulpit of a -languid quartette praising God on behalf of the -bored sinners in the pews has always seemed to -me the profanest of anomalies. Nor has long -contemplation of vested choirs in Episcopal -churches shaken my belief that church music -should be an affair of the congregation.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>There seems to exist inevitably, even in the -smallest congregation, “a certain rich man” -whose opinions must be respected by the pulpit. -The minister of a large congregation confessed -to me despairingly, not long ago, that the courage -had been taken out of him by the protests -evoked whenever he touched even remotely -upon social topics like child labor, or shorter -hours for workingmen. There were manufacturers -in that church who would not “stand for -it.” Ministers are warned that they must attend -to their own business, which is preaching -the Word of God not so concretely or practically -as to offend the “pillars.”</p> - -<p>Just what is it, I wonder, that a minister may -preach without hazarding his job? It is said -persistently that the trouble with the church -at the present day is that the ministers no -longer preach the Word of God; that if Christian -Truth were again taught with the old -vigor, people would hear it gladly. This is, I -believe, an enormous fallacy. I know churches -where strict orthodoxy has been preached uninterruptedly -for years, and which have steadily -declined in spite of it—or because of it. Not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -long ago, in a great assembly of one of the -strongest denominations, when that cry for a -return to the “Old Bible Truth” was raised, one -minister rose and attacked the plea, declaring -that he had never faltered in his devotion -to ancient dogma, and yet his church was dying. -And even so, many churches whose walls -echo uninterruptedly an absolutely impeccable -orthodoxy are failing. We shall not easily persuade -Smith to forego the golf-links on Sunday -morning to hear the “Old Gospel Truth” -preached in out-worn, meaningless phrases. -Those old coins have the gold in them, but they -must be recast in new moulds if they are again -to pass current.</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>The difficulties of the clergy are greatly multiplied -in these days. The pulpit has lost its old -authority. It no longer necessarily follows that -the ministers are the men of greatest cultivation -in their community. The Monday morning -newspapers formerly printed, in my town, -pretty full excerpts of sermons. I recall the -case of one popular minister whose sermons<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -continued to be printed long after he had removed -to another city. Nowadays nothing -from the pulpit that is not sensational is -considered worth printing. And the parson -has lost his social importance, moving back -slowly toward his old place below the salt. He -used to be “asked,” even if he was not sincerely -“expected” at the functions given by his parishioners; -but this has changed now that fewer -families have any parson to invite.</p> - -<p>A minister’s is indubitably the hardest -imaginable lot. Every one criticizes him. He is -abused for illiberality, or, seeking to be all -things to all men, he is abused for consorting -with sinners. His door-bell tinkles hourly, and -he must answer the behest of people he does not -know, to marry or bury people he never heard -of. He is expected to preach eloquently, to -augment his flock, to keep a hand on the Sunday -school, to sit on platforms in the interest -of all good causes, and to bear himself with discretion -amid the tortuous mazes of church and -secular politics. There seem to be, in churches -of all kinds, ambitious pontiffs—lay popes—possessed -of an ambition to hold both their fellow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -laymen and their meek, long-suffering minister -in subjection. Why anyone should wish to -be a church boss I do not know; and yet the supremacy -is sometimes won after a struggle that -has afforded the keenest delight to the cynical -Smiths on the outside. One must view these -internecine wars more in sorrow than in anger. -They certainly contribute not a little to popular -distrust of the church as a conservator of love -and peace.</p> - -<p>There are men in the ministry who can have -had no clear vocation to the clerical life; but -there are misfits and failures in all professions. -Some of these, through bigotry or stupidity, do -much to justify Smith’s favorite dictum that -there is as much Christianity outside the church -as within it. Now and then I find a Smith -whose distrust of religion is based upon some -disagreeable adventure with a clergyman, and I -can’t deny that my own experiences with the -cloth have been, on one or two occasions, disturbing. -As to the more serious of these I may -not speak, but I shall mention two incidents, -for the reason that they are such trifles as affect -Smith with joy. Once in a parish-meeting I saw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -a bishop grossly humiliated for having undertaken -to rebuke a young minister for wearing a -chasuble, or not wearing it, or for removing it -in the pulpit, or the other way round,—at any -rate, it was some such momentous point in -ecclesiastical millinery that had loosened a -frightful fury of recrimination. The very sight -or suggestion of chasubles has ever since awakened -in me the most unchristian resentment. -While we fought over the chasuble I suppose -people actually died within bow-shot of the -church without knowing that “if any man sin -we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus -Christ the Righteous.”</p> - -<p>And speaking of bishops, I venture the interpolation -that that office, believed by many to -be the softest berth in Zion as it exists in the -Episcopal Church, is in fact the most vexatious -and thankless to which any man can aspire; nor -have I in mind the laborious lives of adventurous -spirits like Whipple, Hare, and Rowe, but -others who carry the burdens of established -dioceses, where the troubles of one minister are -multiplied upon the apostolic head by the -number of parishes in his jurisdiction.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>Again, at a summer resort on our North -Atlantic Coast once familiar to me, there stood, -within reach of fierce seas, one of the most -charming of churches. It was sought daily by -visitors, and many women, walking the shore, -used to pause there to rest, for prayer, or out of -sheer curiosity. And yet it appeared that no -woman might venture into this edifice hatless. -The <i>locum tenens</i>, recalling St. Paul’s question -whether it is “comely that a woman pray unto -God uncovered,” was so outraged by the visits -of hatless women to the church that he tacked a -notice on the door setting forth in severe terms -that, whereas men should enter the church -bareheaded, women should not desecrate the -temple by entering uncovered. I remember -that when I had read that warning, duly signed -with the clergyman’s name, I sat down on the -rocks and looked at the ocean for a long time, -marveling that a sworn servant of God, consecrated -in his service by the apostles’ successors, -able to spend a couple of months at one of the -pleasantest summer resorts in America, should -have been horror-struck at the unholy intrusion -of a hatless girl in his church, when people in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -the hot city he had fled suffered and died, -ignorant of the very name of Christ.</p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>“My church home” is an old phrase one still -hears in communities whose social life is not -yet wholly divorced from the church. There is -something pleasant and reassuring in the sound -of it; and I do not believe we shall ever have in -America an adequate substitute for that tranquility -and peace which are still observable in -towns where the church retains its hold upon -the larger part of the community, and where it -exercises a degree of compulsion upon men and -women who find in its life a faith and hope that -have proved not the least strong of the bulwarks -of democracy. In wholly strange towns I -have experienced the sense of this in a way I am -reluctant to think wholly sentimental. Where, -on crisp winter evenings, the young people -come trooping happily in from the meetings of -their own auxiliary societies, where vim and -energy are apparent in the gathering congregation, -and where one sees with half an eye that -the pastor is a true leader and shepherd of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -flock—in such a picture there must be, for -many of us, something that lays deep hold upon -the heart. They are not concerned in such -gatherings with higher criticism, but with -cleanness and wholesomeness of life, and with -that faith, never to be too closely scrutinized or -analyzed, that “singeth low in every heart.”</p> - -<p>One might weep to think how rare those -pictures must become—one might weep if -there were not the great problems now forced -upon us, of chance and change, that drive home -to all thinking men and women the great need -of infusing the life of the spirit into our industrial -and political struggles. If, in the end, our -great experiment in self-government fail, it -will be through the loss of those spiritual forces -which from the beginning have guided and -ruled us. It is only lately that we have begun -to hear of Christian socialism, and a plausible -phrase it is; but true democracy seems to me -essentially Christian. When we shall have -thoroughly christianized our democracy, and -democratized our Christianity, we shall not -longer yield to moods of despair, or hearken -to prophets of woe.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>The Smith for whom I presume to speak is -not indifferent to the call of revitalized democracy. -He has confessed to me his belief that the -world is a kindlier place, and that more agencies -of helpfulness are at work, than ever before; -and to restore the recalcitrant Smith to -the church it is necessary first of all to convince -him that the church honestly seeks to be the -chief of such agencies. The Young Men’s -Christian Association, the Charity Organization -Society, and the Settlement House all -afford outlets for Smith’s generous benevolences. -And it was a dark day for the church -when she allowed these multiplying philanthropies -to slip away from her. Smith points to -them with a flourish, and says that he prefers -to give his money where it is put to practical -use. To him the church is an economic parasite, -doing business on one day of the week, immune -from taxation, and the last of his neighbors to -scrape the snow from her sidewalks! The fact -that there are within fifteen minutes’ walk of -his house half a dozen churches, all struggling -to maintain themselves, and making no appreciable -impression upon the community, is not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -lost upon Smith,—the practical, unemotional, -busy Smith. Smith speaks to me with sincere -admiration of his friend, the Salvation Army -major, to whom he opens his purse ungrudgingly; -but the church over the way—that -grim expensive pile of stone, closed for all but -five or six hours of the week!—Smith shakes -his head ruefully when you suggest it. It is to -him a bad investment that ought to be turned -over to a receiver for liquidation.</p> - -<p>Smith’s wife has derived bodily and spiritual -help from Christian Science, and Smith speaks -with respect of that cult. He is half persuaded -that there must be something in it. A great -many of the Smiths who never had a church tie, -or who gave up church-going, have allied themselves -with Christian Science,—what many of -Mrs. Eddy’s followers in familiar talk abbreviate -as “Science,” as though Science were the -more important half of it. This proves at least -that the Smiths are not averse to some sort of -spiritual food, or quite clearly demonstrates a -dissatisfaction with the food they had formerly -received. It proves also that the old childlike -faith in miracles is still possible even in our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -generation. Christian Science struts in robes of -prosperity in my bailiwick, and its followers -pain and annoy me only by their cheerful assumption -that they have just discovered God.</p> - -<p>Smith’s plight becomes, then, more serious -the more we ponder his case; but the plight of -the church is not less grave to those who, feeling -that Christianity has still its greatest work to -do, are anxious for its rejuvenation. As to -whether the church should go to Smith, or -Smith should seek the church, there can be no -debate. Smith will not seek the church; it must -be on the church’s initiative that he is restored -to it. The Layman’s Forward Movement testifies -to the awakened interest of the churches in -Smith. As I pen these pages I pick up a New -York newspaper and find on the pages devoted -to sports an advertisement signed by the Men -and Religion Forward Movement, calling attention -to the eight hundred and eighty churches, -Protestant and Catholic, and the one hundred -and seven synagogues in the metropolis,—the -beginning, I believe, of a campaign of advertising -on sporting pages. I repeat, that I wish to -belittle no honest effort in any quarter or under<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -any auspices to interest men in the spiritual life; -but I cannot forbear mentioning that Smith has -already smiled disagreeably at this effort to -catch his attention. Still, if Smith, looking for -the baseball score, is reminded that the church -is interested in his welfare, I am not one to sit -in the scorner’s seat.</p> - - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>A panacea for the ills of the church is something -no one expects to find; and those who are -satisfied with the church as it stands, and believe -it to be unmenaced by danger,—who see -the Will of God manifested even in Smith’s -disaffection, will not be interested in my opinion -that, of all the suggestions that have been made -for the renewal of the church’s life, church -union, upon the broadest lines, directed to the -increase of the church’s efficiency in spiritual -and social service, is the one most likely to bring -Smith back to the fold. Moreover, I believe -that Smith’s aid should be invoked in the business -of unification, for the reason that on patriotic -grounds, if no other, he is vitally concerned -in the welding of Christianity and democracy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -more firmly together. Church union -has long been the despair and the hope of -many sincere, able, and devoted men, who -have at heart the best interests of Christendom, -and it is impossible that any great number of -Protestants except the most bigoted reactionaries -can distrust the results of union.</p> - -<p>The present crisis—for it is not less than -that—calls for more immediate action by all -concerned than seems imminent. We have -heard for many years that “in God’s own time” -union would be effected; and yet union is far -from being realized. The difficulty of operating -through councils and conventions is manifest. -These bodies move necessarily and properly -with great deliberation. Before the great -branches of Protestantism have reconciled their -differences, and agreed upon a <i>modus vivendi</i>, it -is quite possible that another ten or twenty -years may pass; and in the present state of the -churches, time is of the essence of preservation -and security.</p> - -<p>While we await action by the proposed World -Conference for the consideration of questions -touching “faith and order,” much can be done<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -toward crystallizing sentiment favorable to -union. A letter has been issued to its clergy by -the Episcopal Church, urging such profitable -use of the interval of waiting; and I dare say the -same spirit prevails in other communions. A -purely sentimental union will not suffice, nor is -the question primarily one for theologians or -denominational partisans, but for those who -believe that there is inherent in the method and -secret of Jesus something very precious that is -now seriously jeopardized, and that the time is -at hand for saving it, and broadening and -deepening the channel through which it reaches -mankind.</p> - - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>In the end, unity, if it ever take practical -form, must become a local question. This is -certainly true in so far as the urban field is concerned, -and I may say in parenthesis that, in -my own state, the country churches are already -practicing a kind of unification, in regions where -the automobile and the interurban railway -make it possible for farm and village folk to run -into town to church. Many rural churches have -been abandoned and boarded up, their congregations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -in this way forming new religious and -social units. I suggest that in towns and cities -where the weaknesses resulting from denominational -rivalry are most apparent, the problems -of unification be taken up in a purely local way. -I propose the appointment of local commissions, -representative of all Protestant bodies, to -study the question and devise plans for increasing -the efficiency of existing churches, and to -consider ways and means of bringing the church -into vital touch with the particular community -under scrutiny. This should be done in a spirit -of absolute honesty, without envy, hatred, or -malice. The test of service should be applied -relentlessly, and every religious society should -make an honest showing of its conditions and -needs.</p> - -<p>Upon the trial-balance thus struck there -should be, wherever needed, an entirely new -redistribution of church property, based wholly -upon local and neighborhood needs. For example, -the familiar, badly housed, struggling -mission in an industrial centre would be able -at once to anticipate the fruits of years of -labor, through the elimination of unnecessary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -churches in quarters already over-supplied. -Not only should body and soul be cared for in -the vigorous institutional church, the church of -the future, but there is no reason why the programme -should not include theatrical entertainments, -concerts, and dances. Many signs -encourage the belief that the drama has a -great future in America, and the reorganized, -redistributed churches might well seize upon it -as a powerful auxiliary and ally. Scores of -motion-picture shows in every city testify to -the growing demand for amusement, and they -conceal much mischief; and the public dance-house -is a notorious breeder of vice.</p> - -<p>Let us consider that millions of dollars are -invested in American churches, which are, in -the main, open only once or twice a week, and -that fear of defiling the temple is hardly justification -for the small amount of actual service -performed by the greater number of churches -of the old type. By introducing amusements, -the institutional church—the “department -church,” if you like—would not only meet a -need, but it would thus eliminate many elements -of competition. The people living about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> -a strong institutional church would find it, in a -new sense, “a church home.” The doors should -stand open seven days in the week to “all such -as have erred and are deceived”; and men and -women should be waiting at the portals “to -comfort and help the weak-hearted; and to -raise up those who fall.”</p> - -<p>If in a dozen American cities having from -fifty thousand to two or three hundred thousand -inhabitants, this practical local approach -toward union should be begun in the way indicated, -the data adduced would at least be of -importance to the convocations that must ultimately -pass upon the question. Just such facts -and figures as could be collected by local commissions -would naturally be required, finally, in -any event; and much time would be saved by -anticipating the call for such reports.</p> - -<p>I am familiar with the argument that many -sorts of social service are better performed by -non-sectarian societies, and we have all witnessed -the splendid increase of secular effort in -lines feebly attacked and relinquished, as -though with a grateful sigh, by the churches. -When the Salvation Army’s trumpet and drum<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -first sounded in the market-place, we were told -that that valiant organization could do a work -impossible for the churches; when the Settlement -House began to appear in American cities, -that, too, was undertaking something better left -to the sociologist. Those prosperous organizations -of Christian young men and women, -whose investment in property in our American -cities is now very great, are, also, we are assured, -performing a service which the church -could not properly have undertaken. Charity -long ago moved out of the churches, and established -headquarters in an office with typewriter -and telephone.</p> - -<p>If it is true that the service here indicated is -better performed by secular organizations, why -is it that the power of the church has steadily -waned ever since these losses began? Certainly -there is little in the present state of American -Protestantism to afford comfort to those who -believe that a one-day-a-week church, whose apparatus -is limited to a pulpit in the auditorium, -and a map of the Holy Land in the Sunday-school -room, is presenting a veritable, living -Christ to the hearts and imaginations of men.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>And on the bright side of the picture it should -be said that nothing in the whole field of Christian -endeavor is more encouraging or inspiring -than an examination of the immense social service -performed under the auspices of various -religious organizations in New York City. This -has been particularly marked in the Episcopal -Church. The late Bishop Potter, and his successor -in the metropolitan diocese, early gave -great impetus to social work, and those who -contend that the church’s sole business is to -preach the Word of God will find a new revelation -of the significance of that Word by a study -of the labors of half a dozen parishes that exemplify -every hour of every day the possibilities -of efficient Christian democracy.</p> - -<p>The church has lost ground that perhaps -never can be recovered. Those who have established -secular settlements for the poor, or those -who have created homes for homeless young -men and women, can hardly be asked to “pool” -and divide their property with the churches. -But, verily, even with all the many agencies -now at work to ameliorate distress and uplift -the fallen, the fields continue white already to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -the harvest, and the laborers are few. With the -church revitalized, and imbued with the spirit -of utility and efficiency so potent in our time, it -may plant its wavering banner securely on new -heights. It may show that all these organizations -that have sapped its strength, and diminished -the force of its testimony before men, -have derived their inspiration from Him who -came out of Nazareth to lighten all the world.</p> - - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>The reorganization of the churches along the -line I have indicated would work hardship on -many ministers. It would not only mean that -many clergymen would find themselves seriously -disturbed in positions long held under the -old order, but that preparation for the ministry -would necessarily be conducted along new -lines. The training that now fits a student to be -the pastor of a one-day-a-week church would be -worthless in a unified and socialized church.</p> - -<p>“There are diversities of gifts”; but “it is the -same God which worketh all in all.” In the -departmental church, with its chapel or temple -fitly adorned, the preaching of Christ’s message<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -would not be done by a weary minister worn by -the thousand vexatious demands upon a minister’s -time, but by one specially endowed with -the preaching gift. In this way the prosperous -congregation would not enjoy a monopoly of -good preaching. Men gifted in pastoral work -would specialize in that, and the relationship -between the church and the home, which has -lost its old fineness and sweetness, would be -restored. Men trained in that field would direct -the undertakings frankly devised to provide -recreation and amusement. Already the school-house -in our cities is being put to social use; in -the branch libraries given by Mr. Carnegie to -my city, assembly-rooms and kitchens are provided -to encourage social gatherings; and here -is another opportunity still open to the church -if it hearken to the call of the hour.</p> - -<p>In this unified and rehabilitated church of -which I speak,—the every-day-in-the-week -church, open to all sorts and conditions of men,—what -would become of the creeds and the -old theology? I answer this first of all by saying -that coalition in itself would be a supreme demonstration -of the enduring power and glory of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -Christianity. Those who are jealous for the -integrity of the ancient faith would manifestly -have less to defend, for the church would be -speaking for herself in terms understood of all -men. The seven-day church, being built upon -efficiency and aiming at definite results, could -afford to suffer men to think as they liked on -the virgin birth, the miracles, and the resurrection -of the body, if they faithfully practiced the -precepts of Jesus.</p> - -<p>This busy, helpful, institutional church, welcoming -under one roof men of all degrees, to -broaden, sweeten, and enlighten their lives, need -ask no more of those who accept its service -than that they believe in a God who ever lives -and loves, and in Christ, who appeared on earth -in His name to preach justice, mercy, charity, -and kindness. I should not debate metaphysics -through a barred wicket with men who needed -the spiritual or physical help of the church, any -more than my neighbor, Smith, that prince of -good fellows, would ask a hungry tramp to saw -a cord of wood before he gave him his breakfast.</p> - -<p>Questions of liturgy can hardly be a bar, nor -can the validity of Christian orders in one body<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -or another weigh heavily with any who are sincerely -concerned for the life of the church and -the widening of its influence. “And other sheep -I have, which are not of this fold: them also I -must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and -they shall become one flock, one shepherd.” I -have watched ministers in practically every -Christian church take bread and break it, and -bless the cup, and offer it in the name of Jesus, -and I have never been able to feel that the sacrament -was not as efficacious when received -reverently from one as from another.</p> - -<p>If wisdom and goodness are God, then foolish, -indeed, is he who would “misdefine these -till God knows them no more.” The unified -seven-day church would neglect none of “the -weightier matters of the law, justice and mercy -and faith,” in the collecting of tithe of mint and -anise and cummin. It would not deny its benefits -to those of us who are unblest with deep -spiritual perception, for it is by the grace of -God that we are what we are. “I will pray with -the spirit, and I will pray with the understanding -also: I will sing with the spirit and I will -sing with the understanding also. Else if thou<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -bless with the spirit, how shall he that filleth -the place of the unlearned say the Amen at thy -giving of thanks, seeing he knoweth not what -thou sayest?”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Hath man no second life?—<i>Pitch this one high!</i></div> -<div class="indent">Sits there no judge in Heaven our sins to see?—</div> -<div class="verse"><i>More strictly, then, the inward judge obey!</i></div> -<div class="verse">Was Christ a man like us? <i>Ah, let us try</i></div> -<div class="indent"><i>If we, then, too, can be such men as he!</i>”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Somewhere there is a poem that relates the -experience of a certain humble priest, who -climbed the steeple of his church to commune -more nearly with God. And, as he prayed, he -heard the Voice answering, and asked, “Where -art thou, Lord?” and the Lord replied, “Down -here, among my people!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">The Tired Business Man</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -<p class="ph3">The Tired Business Man</p> -</div> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="drop-cap">SMITH flashed upon me unexpectedly in -Berlin. It was nearly a year ago, just before -the summer invasion of tourists, and I was -reading the letters of a belated mail over my -coffee, when I was aroused by an unmistakable -American voice demanding water. I turned -and beheld, in a sunny alcove at the end of the -restaurant, my old friend Smith who had -dropped his newspaper for the purpose of arraigning -a frightened and obtuse waiter for his -inability to grasp the idea that persons in ordinary -health, and reasonably sane, do, at times, -use water as a beverage. It was not merely the -alarmed waiter and all his tribe that Smith -execrated: he swept Prussia and the German -Empire into the limbo of lost nations. Mrs. -Smith begged him to be calm, offering the plausible -suggestion that the waiter couldn’t understand -a word of English. She appealed to a -third member of the breakfast party, a young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> -lady, whose identity had puzzled me for a -moment. It seemed incredible that this could -be the Smiths’ Fanny, whom I had dandled -on my knee in old times,—and yet a second -glance convinced me that the young person was -no unlikely realization of the promise of the -Fanny who had ranged our old neighborhood at -“home” and appalled us, even at five, by her -direct and pointed utterances. If the child may -be mother to the woman, this was that identical -Fanny. I should have known it from the cool -fashion in which she dominated the situation, -addressing the relieved waiter in his own -tongue, with the result that he fled precipitately -in search of water—and ice, if any, indeed, -were obtainable—for the refreshment of these -eccentric Americans.</p> - -<p>When I crossed to their table I found Smith -still growling while he tried to find his lost place -in the New York stock market in his London -newspaper. My appearance was the occasion -for a full recital of his wrongs, in that amusing -hyperbole which is so refreshing in all the -Smiths I know. He begged me to survey the -table, that I might enjoy his triumph in having<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> -been able to surmount local prejudice and procure -for himself what he called a breakfast of -civilized food. The continental breakfast was -to him an odious thing: he announced his intention -of exposing it; he meant to publish its -iniquity to the world and drive it out of business. -Mrs. Smith laughed nervously. She appeared -anxious and distraught and I was smitten -with pity for her. But there was a twinkle -in Miss Smith’s eye, a smile about her pretty -lips, that discounted heavily the paternal fury. -She communicated, with a glance, a sense of her -own attitude toward her father’s indignation: -it did not matter a particle; it was merely -funny, that was all, that her father, who demanded -and commanded all things on his own -soil, should here be helpless to obtain a drop of -cold water with which to slake his thirst when -every one knew that he could have bought the -hotel itself with a scratch of the pen. When -Smith asked me to account for the prevalence of -hydrophobia in Europe it was really for the joy -of hearing his daughter laugh. And it is well -worth anyone’s while to evoke laughter from -Fanny. For Fanny is one of the prettiest girls<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> -in the world, one of the cleverest, one of the -most interesting and amusing.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>As we lingered at the table (water with ice -having arrived and the Stars and Stripes flying -triumphantly over the pitcher), I was brought -up to date as to the recent history of the -Smiths. As an old neighbor from home they -welcomed me to their confidence. The wife and -daughter had been abroad a year with Munich -as their chief base. Smith’s advent had been -unexpected and disturbing. Rest and change -having been prescribed, he had jumped upon a -steamer and the day before our encounter had -joined his wife and daughter in Berlin. They -were waiting now for a conference with a German -neurologist to whom Smith had been consigned—in -desperation, I fancied—by his -American doctor. Mrs. Smith’s distress was as -evident as his own irritation; Miss Fanny alone -seemed wholly tranquil. She ignored the apparent -gravity of the situation and assured me -that her father had at last decided upon a long -vacation. She declared that if her father persisted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -in his intention of sailing for New York -three weeks later, she and her mother would -accompany him.</p> - -<p>While we talked a cablegram was brought to -Smith; he read it and frowned. Mrs. Smith met -my eyes and shook her head; Fanny frugally -subtracted two thirds of the silver Smith was -leaving on the tray as a tip and slipped it into -her purse. It was a handsome trinket, the -purse; Fanny’s appointments all testified to -Smith’s prosperity and generosity. I remembered -these friends so well in old times, when -they lived next door to me in the Mid-Western -town which Smith, ten years before, had outgrown -and abandoned. His income had in my -observation jumped from two to twenty thousand, -and no one knew now to what fabulous -height it had climbed. He was one of the men -to reckon with in the larger affairs of “Big -Business.” And here was the wife who had -shared his early struggles, and the child born of -those contented years, and here was Smith, -with whom in the old days I had smoked my -after-breakfast cigar on the rear platform of a -street car in our town, that we then thought the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -“best town on earth,”—here were my old -neighbors in a plight that might well tax the -renowned neurologist’s best powers.</p> - -<p>What had happened to Smith? I asked myself; -and the question was also in his wife’s -wondering eyes. And as we dallied, Smith -fingered his newspaper fretfully while I answered -his wife’s questions about our common -acquaintances at “home” as she still called our -provincial capital.</p> - -<p>It was not my own perspicacity but Fanny’s -which subsequently made possible an absolute -diagnosis of Smith’s case, somewhat before the -cautious German specialist had announced it. -From data supplied by Fanny I arrived at the -conclusion that Smith is the “tired business -man,” and only one of a great number of American -Smiths afflicted with the same malady,—bruised, -nerve-worn victims of our malignant -gods of success. The phrase, as I shall employ -it here, connotes not merely the type of iron-gray -stock broker with whom we have been -made familiar by our American drama of business -and politics, but his brother (also prematurely -gray and a trifle puffy under the eyes)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -found sedulously burning incense before Mammon -in every town of one hundred thousand -souls in America. I am not sure, on reflection, -that he is not visible in thriving towns of -twenty-five thousand,—or wherever “collateral” -and “discount” are established in the -local idiom and the cocktail is a medium of -commercial and social exchange. The phenomena -presented by my particular Smith are -similar to those observed in those lesser Smiths -who are the restless and dissatisfied biggest -frogs in smaller puddles. Even the farmers are -tired of contemplating their glowing harvests -and bursting barns and are moving to town to -rest.</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Is it possible that tired men really wield a -considerable power and influence in these American -States so lately wrested from savagery? -Confirmation of this reaches us through many -channels. In politics we are assured that the -tired business man is a serious obstructionist in -the path of his less prosperous and less weary -brethren engaged upon the pursuit of happiness -and capable of enjoying it in successes that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -would seem contemptibly meagre to Smith. -Thousands of Smiths who have not yet ripened -for the German specialists are nevertheless -tired enough to add to the difficulty of securing -so simple a thing as reputable municipal government. -It is because of Smith’s weariness -and apathy that we are obliged to confess that -no decent man will accept the office of mayor -in our American cities.</p> - -<p>In my early acquaintance with Smith—in -those simple days when he had time to loaf in -my office and talk politics—an ardent patriotism -burned in him. He was proud of his ancestors -who had not withheld their hand all the -way from Lexington to Yorktown, and he used -to speak with emotion of that dark winter at -Valley Forge. He would look out of the window -upon Washington Street and declare, with a -fine sweep of the hand, that “We’ve got to keep -all this; we’ve got to keep it for these people -and for our children.” He had not been above -sitting as delegate in city and state conventions, -and he had once narrowly escaped a nomination -for the legislature. The industry he owned and -managed was a small affair and he knew all the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -employees by name. His lucky purchase of a -patent that had been kicked all over the United -States before the desperate inventor offered it -to him had sent his fortunes spinning into millions -within ten years. Our cautious banker -who had vouchsafed Smith a reasonable -guarded credit in the old days had watched, -with the mild cynical smile peculiar to conservative -bank presidents, the rapid enrollment of -Smith’s name in the lists of directors of some of -the solidest corporations known to Wall Street. -It is a long way from Washington Street to -Wall Street, and men who began life with more -capital than Smith never cease marveling at -the ease with which he effected the transition. -Some who continue where he left them in the -hot furrows stare gloomily after him and exclaim -upon the good luck that some men have. -Smith’s abrupt taking-off would cause at least a -momentary chill in a thousand safety-vault -boxes. Smith’s patriotism, which in the old -days, when he liked to speak of America as the -republic of the poor, and when he knew most of -the “Commemoration Ode” and all of the -“Gettysburg Address” by heart, is far more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -concrete than it used to be. When Smith visits -Washington during the sessions of Congress the -country is informed of it. It is he who scrutinizes -new senators and passes upon their trustworthiness. -And it was Smith who, after one of -these inspections, said of a member of our upper -chamber that, “He’s all right; he speaks our -language,” meaning not the language of the -“Commemoration Ode” or the “Gettysburg -Address,” but a recondite dialect understood -only at the inner gate of the money-changers.</p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>No place was ever pleasanter in the old days -than the sitting-room of Smith’s house. It was -the coziest of rooms and gave the lie to those -who have maintained that civilization is impossible -around a register. A happy, contented -family life existed around that square of perforated -iron in the floor of the Smiths’ sitting-room. -In the midst of arguments on life, letters, -the arts, politics, and what-not, Smith would, -as the air grew chill toward midnight, and -when Mrs. Smith went to forage for refreshments -in the pantry, descend to the cellar to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -renew the flagging fires of the furnace with his -own hands. The purchase of a new engraving, -the capture of a rare print, was an event to be -celebrated by the neighbors. We went to the -theatre sometimes, and kept track of the affairs -of the stage; and lectures and concerts were not -beneath us. Mrs. Smith played Chopin charmingly -on a piano Smith had given her for a -Christmas present when Fanny was three. -They were not above belonging to our neighborhood -book and magazine club, and when -they bought a book it was a good one. I remember -our discussions of George Meredith -and Hardy and Howells, and how we saved -Stockton’s stories to enjoy reading them in -company around the register. A trip to New -York was an event for the Smiths in those days -as well as for the rest of us, to be delayed until -just the right moment for seeing the best -plays, and an opera, with an afternoon carefully -set apart for the Metropolitan Museum. -We were glad the Smiths could go, even if the -rest of us couldn’t; for they told us all so generously -of their adventures when they came -back! They kept a “horse and buggy,” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -Mrs. Smith used to drive to the factory with -Fanny perched beside her to bring Smith home -at the end of his day’s work.</p> - -<p>In those days the Smiths presented a picture -before which one might be pardoned for lingering -in admiration. I shall resent any suggestions -that I am unconsciously writing them -down as American <i>bourgeois</i> with the contemptuous -insinuations that are conveyed by -that term. Nor were they Philistines, but -sound, wholesome, cheerful Americans, who -bought their eggs direct from “the butterman” -and kept a jug of buttermilk in the ice-box. -I assert that Smiths of their type were and -are, wherever they still exist, an encouragement -and a hope to all who love their America. -They are the Americans to whom Lincoln became -as one of Plutarch’s men, and for whom -Longfellow wrote “The Children’s Hour,” -and on whom Howells smiles quizzically and -with complete understanding. Thousands of -us knew thousands of these Smiths only a few -years ago, all the way from Portland, Maine, to -Portland, Oregon. I linger upon them affectionately -as I have known and loved them in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -the Ohio Valley, but I have enjoyed glimpses -of them in Kansas City and Omaha, Minneapolis -and Detroit, and know perfectly well that -I should find them realizing to the full life, liberty, -and the pursuit of happiness in many -other regions,—for example, with only slight -differences of background, in Richmond, Virginia, -and Burlington, Vermont. And in all -these places some particular Smith is always -moving to Chicago or Boston or New York on -his way to a sanatorium or Bad Neuheim and a -German specialist! Innumerable Smiths, not -yet so prosperous as the old friend I encountered -in Berlin, are abandoning their flower-gardens -and the cozy verandas (sacred to -neighborhood confidences on the long summer -evenings) and their gusty registers for compact -and steam-heated apartments with only the -roof-garden overhead as a breathing-place.</p> - -<p>There seems to be no field in which the weary -Smith is not exercising a baneful influence. We -have fallen into the habit of laying many of our -national sins at his door, and usually with reason. -His hand is hardly concealed as he thrusts -it nervously through the curtains of legislative<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -chambers, state and national. He invades city -halls and corrupts municipal councils. Even the -fine arts are degraded for his pleasure. Smith, it -seems, is too weary from his day’s work to care -for dramas</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“That bear a weighty and a serious brow,</div> -<div class="verse">Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>He is one of the loyalest patrons of that type of -beguilement known as the “musical comedy,” -which in its most engaging form is a naughty -situation sprinkled with cologne water and set -to waltz time. Still, if he dines at the proper -hour at a Fifth Avenue restaurant and eats -more and drinks more than he should (to further -the hardening of his arteries for the German -specialist), he may arrive late and still -hear the tune every one on Broadway is whistling. -The girl behind the book-counter knows -Smith a mile off, and hands him at once a novel -that has a lot of “go” to it, or one wherein -“smart” people assembled in house-parties for -week-ends, amuse themselves by pinning pink -ribbons on the Seventh Commandment. If the -illustrations are tinted and the first page opens<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> -upon machine-gun dialogue, the sale is effected -all the more readily. Or, reluctant to tackle a -book of any sort, he may gather up a few of -those magazines whose fiction jubilantly emphasizes -the least noble passions of man. And -yet my Smith delighted, in those old days -around the register, in Howells’s clean, firm -stroke; and we were always quoting dear Stockton—“black -stockings for sharks”—“put -your board money in the ginger jar.” What -a lot of silly, happy, comfortable geese we -were!</p> - -<p>It seems only yesterday that the first trayful -of cocktails jingled into a parlor in my town as -a prelude to dinner; and I recall the scandalous -reports of that innovation which passed up and -down the maple-arched thoroughfares that give -so sober and cloistral an air to our residential -area. When that first tray appeared at our -elbows, just before that difficult moment when -we gentlemen of the provinces, rather conscious -at all times of our dress-coats, are wondering -whether it is the right or left arm we -should offer the lady we are about to take in, -we were startled, as though the Devil had invaded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> -the domestic sanctuary and perched -himself on the upright piano. Nothing is more -depressing than the thought that all these -Smiths, many of whose fathers slept in the -rain and munched hard-tack for a principle in -the sixties, are unable to muster an honest -appetite, but must pucker their stomachs with -a tonic before they can swallow their daily -bread. Perhaps our era’s great historian will -be a stomach specialist whose pages, bristling -with statistics and the philosophy thereof, will -illustrate the undermining and honeycombing -of our institutions by gin and bitters.</p> - - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>The most appalling thing about us Americans -is our complete sophistication. The English are -children. An Englishman is at no moment so -delightful as when he lifts his brows and says -“Really!” The Frenchman at his sidewalk -table watches the world go by with unwearied -delight. At any moment Napoleon may appear; -or he may hear great news of a new drama, or -the latest lion of the salon may stroll by. Awe -and wonder are still possible in the German,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> -bred as he is upon sentiment and fairy-lore: the -Italian is beautifully credulous. On my first -visit to Paris, having arrived at midnight and -been established in a hotel room that hung -above a courtyard which I felt confident had -witnessed the quick thrusts of Porthos, Athos, -and Aramis, I wakened at an early hour to the -voice of a child singing in the area below. It has -always seemed to me that that artless song flung -out upon the bright charmed morning came -from the very heart of France! France, after -hundreds of years of achievement, prodigious -labor, and staggering defeat, is still a child -among the nations.</p> - -<p>Only the other day I attended a prize-fight in -Paris. It was a gay affair held in a huge amphitheatre -and before a great throng of spectators -of whom a third were women. The match was -for twenty rounds between a Frenchman and an -Australian negro. After ten rounds it was -pretty clear that the negro was the better man; -and my lay opinion was supported by the judgment -of two American journalists, sounder -critics than I profess to be of the merits of such -contests. The decision was, of course, in favor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -of the Frenchman and the cheering was vociferous -and prolonged. And it struck me as a fine -thing that that crowd could cheer so lustily the -wrong decision! It was that same spirit that -led France forth jauntily against Bismarck’s -bayonets. I respect the emotion with which a -Frenchman assures me that one day French -soldiers will plant the tri-color on the Brandenburg -Gate. He dreams of it as a child dreams -of to-morrow’s games.</p> - -<p>But we are at once the youngest and the oldest -of the nations. We are drawn to none but -the “biggest” shows, and hardly cease yawning -long enough to be thrilled by the consummating -leap of death across the four rings where folly -has already disproved all natural laws. The old -prayer, “Make me a child again just for to-night,” -has vanished with the belief in Santa -Claus. No American really wants to be a child -again. It was with a distinct shock that I heard -recently a child of five telephoning for an automobile -in a town that had been threatened by -hostile Indians not more than thirty years ago. -Our children avail themselves with the coolest -condescension of all the apparatus of our complex<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -modern life: they are a thousand years old -the day they are born.</p> - -<p>The farmer who once welcomed the lightning-rod -salesman as a friend of mankind is moving -to town now and languidly supervising the tilling -of his acres from an automobile. One of these -vicarious husbandmen, established in an Indiana -county seat, found it difficult to employ his -newly acquired leisure. The automobile had -not proved itself a toy of unalloyed delight, and -the feet that had followed unwearied the hay -rake and plow faltered upon the treads of the -mechanical piano. He began to alternate motor -flights with more deliberate drives behind a -handsome team of blacks. The eyes of the town -undertaker fell in mortal envy upon that team -and he sought to buy it. The tired husbandman -felt that here, indeed, was an opportunity to -find light gentlemanly occupation, while at the -same time enjoying the felicities of urban life, so -he consented to the use of his horses, but with -the distinct understanding that he should be -permitted to drive the hearse!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span></p> - - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>If we are not, after all, a happy people, in the -full enjoyment of life and liberty, what is this -sickness that troubleth our Israel? Why huddle -so many captains within the walls of the city, -impotently whining beside their spears? Why -seek so many for rest while this our Israel is -young among the nations? “Thou hast multiplied -the nation and not increased the joy; -they joy before thee according to the joy in -harvest and as men rejoice when they divide -the spoil.” Weariness fell upon Judah, and -despite the warnings of noble and eloquent -prophets she perished. It is now a good many -years since Mr. Arnold cited Isaiah and Plato -for our benefit to illustrate his belief that with -us, as with Judah and Athens, the majority are -unsound. And yet from his essay on Numbers—an -essay for which Lowell’s “Democracy” -is an excellent antidote—we may turn with a -feeling of confidence and security to that untired -and unwearying majority which Arnold -believed to be unsound. Many instances of the -soundness of our majority have been afforded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -since Mr. Arnold’s death, and it is a reasonable -expectation that, in spite of the apparent -ease with which the majority may be stampeded, -it nevertheless pauses with a safe margin -between it and the precipice. Illustrations -of failure abound in history, but the very rise -and development of our nation has discredited -History as a prophet. In the multiplication of -big and little Smiths lies our only serious danger. -The disposition of the sick Smiths to deplore -as unhealthy and unsound such a radical -movement as began in 1896, and still sweeps -merrily on in 1912, never seriously arrests the -onward march of those who sincerely believe -that we were meant to be a great refuge for -mankind. If I must choose, I prefer to take -my chances with the earnest, healthy, patriotic -millions rather than with an oligarchy of -tired Smiths. Our impatience of the bounds -of law set by men who died before the Republic -was born does not justify the whimpering of -those Smiths who wrap themselves in the grave-clothes -of old precedents, and who love the -Constitution only when they fly to it for -shelter. Tired business men, weary professional<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -men, bored farmers, timorous statesmen are -not of the vigorous stuff of those</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Who founded us and spread from sea to sea</div> -<div class="indent">A thousand leagues the zone of liberty,</div> -<div class="verse">And gave to man this refuge from his past,</div> -<div class="indent">Unkinged, unchurched, unsoldiered.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Our country’s only enemies are the sick men, -the tired men, who have exhausted themselves -in the vain pursuit of vain things; who forget -that democracy like Christianity is essentially -social, and who constitute a sick remnant from -whom it is devoutly to be hoped the benign -powers may forever protect us.</p> - - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>It was a year ago that I met my old friend -Smith, irritable, depressed, anxious, in the German -capital. This morning we tramped five -miles, here among the Vermont hills where he -has established himself. Sound in wind and -limb is my old neighbor, and his outlook on life -is sane and reasonable. I have even heard him -referring, with something of his old emotion, to -that dark winter at Valley Forge, but with a -new hopefulness, a wider vision. He does not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -think the American Republic will perish, even -as Nineveh and Tyre, any more than I do. He -has come to a realization of his own errors and -he is interested in the contemplation of his own -responsibilities. And it is not the German specialist -he has to thank for curing his weariness -half so much as Fanny.</p> - -<p>Fanny! Fanny is the wisest, the most capable, -the healthiest-minded girl in the world. -Fanny is adorable! As we trudged along the -road, Smith suddenly paused and lifted his eyes -to a rough pasture slightly above and beyond -us. I knew from the sudden light in his face -that Fanny was in the landscape. She leaped -upon a wall and waved to us. A cool breeze rose -from the valley and swept round her. As she -poised for a moment before running down to -join us in the road, there was about her something -of the grace and vigor of the Winged Victory -as it challenges the eye at the head of the -staircase in the Louvre. She lifted her hand to -brush back her hair,—that golden crown so -loved by light! And as she ran we knew she -would neither stumble nor fall on that rock-strewn -pasture. When she reached the brook<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> -she took it at a bound, and burst upon us -radiant.</p> - -<p>It had been Fanny’s idea to come here, and -poor, tired, broken, disconsolate Smith, driven -desperate by the restrictions imposed upon him -by the German doctors, and only harassed by -his wife’s fears, had yielded to Fanny’s importunities. -I had been so drawn into their affairs -that I knew all the steps by which Fanny had -effected his redemption. She had broken -through the lines of the Philistines and brought -him a cup of water from that unquenchable well -by the gate for which David pined and for -which we all long when the evil days come. The -youth of a world that never grows old is in -Fanny’s heart. She is to Smith as a Goddess of -Liberty in short skirt and sweater, come down -from her pedestal to lead the way to green pastures -beside waters of comfort. She has become -to him not merely the spirit of youth but of life, -and his dependence upon her is complete. It -was she who saved him from himself when to -his tired eyes it seemed that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent9">“All one’s work is vain,</div> -<div class="verse">And life goes stretching on, a waste gray plain,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -<div class="verse">With even the short mirage of morning gone,</div> -<div class="verse">No cool breath anywhere, no shadow nigh</div> -<div class="verse">Where a weary man might lay him down and die.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Later, as we sat on Smith’s veranda watching -the silver trumpet of the young moon beyond -the pine-crowned crest, with the herd a -dark blur in the intervening meadows, and -sweet clean airs blowing out of the valley, it -somehow occurred to me that Fanny of the -adorable head, Fanny gentle of heart, quick -of wit, and ready of hand, is the fine essence -of all that is worthiest and noblest in this -America of ours. In such as she there is both -inspiration to do and the wisdom of peace and -rest. As she sits brooding with calm brows, a -quiet hand against her tanned cheek, I see in -her the likeness of a goddess sprung of loftier -lineage than Olympus knew, for in her abides -the spirit of that old and new America that -labors in the sun and whose faith is in the stars.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">The Spirit of Mischief:<br /> -A Dialogue</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> - -<p class="ph3">The Spirit of Mischief:<br /> -A Dialogue</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">If I could find a higher tree</div> -<div class="verse">Farther and farther I should see,</div> -<div class="verse">To where the grown-up river slips</div> -<div class="verse">Into the sea among the ships.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">To where the roads on either hand</div> -<div class="verse">Lead onward into fairyland,</div> -<div class="verse">Where all the children dine at five,</div> -<div class="verse">And all the playthings come alive.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright">R. L. S.</div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">JESSAMINE and I had been out sailing. We -came back to find the house deserted, -and after foraging in the pantry, we made -ourselves at home in the long unceiled living-room, -which is one of the pleasantest lounging-places -in the world. A few pine-knots were -smouldering in the fireplace, and, as I have -reached an age when it is pleasant to watch -the flames, I poked a little life into the embers -and sat down to contemplate them from the -easiest chair the camp afforded. Jessamine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> -wearily cast herself upon the couch near by -without taking off her coat.</p> - -<p>Jessamine is five and does as she likes, and -does it perversely, arbitrarily, and gracefully, -in the way of maids of five. In the pantry she -had found her way to marmalade with an ease -and certainty that amazed me; and she had, -with malice aforethought, made me <i>particeps -criminis</i> by teaching me how to coax reluctant, -tight-fitting olives from an impossible bottle -with an oyster-fork.</p> - -<p>Jessamine is difficult. I thought of it now -with a pang, as her brown curls lay soft against -a red cushion and she crunched a biscuit, heavily -stuccoed with marmalade, with her little -popcorn teeth. I have wooed her with bonbons; -I have bribed her with pennies; but indifference -and disdain are still my portion. To-day was -my opportunity. The rest of the household had -gone to explore the village bazaars, and we were -left alone. It was not that she loved me more, -but the new nurse less; and, as sailing had usually -been denied her, she derived from our few -hours in my catboat the joy of a clandestine -adventure. We had never been so much together<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -before. I wondered how long the spell of -our sail would last. Probably, I reflected, until -the wanderers came back from town to afford a -new diversion; or until her nurse came to carry -her away to tea. For the moment, however, I -felt secure. The fire snapped; the clock ticked -insistently; my face burned from its recent -contact with a sharp west wind, which had -brought white caps to the surface of the lake -and a pleasant splash to the beach at our front -door. Jessamine folded her arms, rested her -head upon them, and regarded me lazily. She -was slim and lean of limb, and the lines she -made on the couch were long. I tried to remember -whether I had ever seen her still before.</p> - -<p>“You may read, if you like,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Thank you; but I’d rather have you tell me -things,” I answered.</p> - -<p>I wished to be conciliatory. At any moment, -I knew she might rise and vanish. My tricks of -detention had proved futile a thousand times; I -was always losing her. She was a master opportunist. -She had, I calculated, a mood a minute, -and the mood of inaction was not often one of -them.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>“There are many, many things I’d like to -have you tell me, Mischief,” I said. “What -do you think of when you’re all alone; what do -you think of me?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I never think of you when I’m all -alone.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mischief. But I wonder -whether you are quite frank. You must think of -me sometimes. For example,—where were -you when you thought of knotting my neckties -all together, no longer ago than yesterday?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” (It is thus she begins many sentences. -Her “Ohs” are delightfully equivocal.)</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you’d rather not tell. Of course, -I don’t mind about the ties.”</p> - -<p>“It was nice of you—not to mind.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly her blue eyes ceased to be. They -are little pools of blue, like mountain lakes. I -was aware that the dark lashes had stolen down -upon her brown cheek. She opened her eyes -again instantly.</p> - -<p>“I wish I hadn’t found your ties. Finding -them made a lot of trouble for me. I was looking -for your funny little scissors to open the -door of my doll-house that was stuck, and I saw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -the ties. Then I remembered that I needed a -rope to tie Adolphus—that’s the woolly dog -you bought for my birthday—to my bed at -night; and neckties make very good ropes.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad to hear it, Mischief.”</p> - -<p>“There’s a prayer they say in church about -mischief—” she began sleepily.</p> - -<p>“‘From all evil and mischief; from sin; from -the crafts and assaults of the Devil?’” I quoted.</p> - -<p>“That is it! and there’s something in it, too, -about everlasting damnation, that always sends -shivers down my back.”</p> - -<p>She frowned in a puzzled way. I remembered -that once, when Jessamine and I went to church -together, she had, during the reading of the -litany, so moved a silk hat on the next seat that -its owner crushed it hideously when he rose -from his knees.</p> - -<p>The black lashes hid the blue eyes once more, -and she settled her head snugly into her folded -arms.</p> - -<p>“Why,” she murmured, “do you call me -Mischief? I’m not Mischief; I’m Jessamine.”</p> - -<p>“You are the Spirit of Mischief,” I answered; -and she made no reply.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>The water of the lake beat the shore stormily.</p> - -<p>“The Spirit of Mischief.”</p> - -<p>Jessamine repeated the words sleepily. I had -never thought of them seriously before, and had -applied them to her thoughtlessly. Is there, I -asked myself, a whimsical spirit that possesses -the heart of a child,—something that is too -swift for the slow pace of adult minds; and if -there be such, where is its abiding-place?</p> - -<p>“I’m the Spirit of Mischief!”</p> - -<p>There, with her back to the fire, stood Jessamine, -but with a difference. Her fists were -thrust deep down into the pockets of her coat. -There was a smile on her face that I did not -remember to have seen before. The wind had -blown her hair into a sorry tangle, and it was -my fault—I should have made her wear her -tam-o’-shanter in the catboat! An uncle may -mean well, but, after all, he is no fit substitute -for a parent.</p> - -<p>“So you admit it, do you? It is unlike you to -make concessions.”</p> - -<p>“You use long words. Uncles <i>always</i> use long -words. It is one of the most foolish things they -do.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>“I’m sorry. I wish very much not to be -foolish or naughty.”</p> - -<p>“I have wished that many times,” she returned -gravely. “But naughtiness and mischief -are not the same thing.”</p> - -<p>“I believe that is so,” I answered. “But if -you are really the Spirit of Mischief,—and far -be it from me to doubt your word,—where is -your abiding-place? Spirits must have abiding-places.”</p> - -<p>“There are many of them, and they are a long -way off. One is where the four winds meet.”</p> - -<p>“But that—that isn’t telling. Nobody -knows where that is.”</p> - -<p>“Everybody doesn’t,” said the Spirit of -Mischief gently, as one who would deal forbearingly -with dullness.</p> - -<p>“Tell me something easier,” I begged.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll try again,” she said. “Sometimes -when I’m not where four winds meet, I’m at -the end of all the rainbows. Do you know that -place?”</p> - -<p>“I never heard of it. Is it very far away?”</p> - -<p>“It’s farther than anything—farther even -than the place where the winds meet.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>“And what do you do there? You must have -bags and bags of gold, O Spirit.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Of course. I practice hiding things -with them. That is why no one ever found a -bag of gold at the end of a rainbow. I have put -countless ones in the cave of lost treasure. -There are a great many things there besides -the bags of gold,—things that parents, and -uncles, and aunts lose,—and never find any -more.”</p> - -<p>“I wish I could visit the place,” I said with a -sigh. “It would be pleasant to see a storehouse -like that. It would have, I may say, a strong -personal interest. Only yesterday I contributed -a valued scarf-pin through the agency of a -certain mischievous niece; and I shall be long -in recovering from the loss of that miraculous -putter that made me a terror on the links. My -golf can never be the same again.”</p> - -<p>“But you never can see the place,” she declared. -“A time comes when you can’t find it -any more, the cave of lost treasure—or the -place where four winds meet—or the end of all -the rainbows.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose I have lost my chance,” I said.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>“Oh, long ago!” exclaimed the Spirit disdainfully. -“It never lasts beyond six!”</p> - -<p>“That has a wise sound. Pray tell me more! -Tell me, I beg, how you have endured this -harsh world so long.”</p> - -<p>This, I thought, was a poser; but she answered -readily enough.</p> - -<p>“I suppose, because I am kindred of so many, -many things that live on forever. There are the -colors on water when the sun strikes it through -clouds. It can be green and gold and blue and -silver all at once; and then there is the foam of -the white caps. It is foam for a moment and -then it is just water again. And there is the -moonlight on rippling water, that goes away -and never comes any more—not just the same. -The mirth in the heart of a child is like all these -things; and the heart of a child is the place I -love best.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure it is better than the -place where all the winds meet, or that other -rainbow-place that you told me about.”</p> - -<p>“And then,” she began again, “you know -that children say things sometimes just in fun, -but no one ever seems to understand that.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>“To be sure,” I said feelingly, remembering -how Jessamine loved to tease and plague -me.</p> - -<p>“But there isn’t any harm in it—any more -than—”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” a little impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Than in the things the pines say when the -wind runs over the top of them. They are not—not -important, exactly,—but they are always -different. That is the best thing about -being a child—the being different part. You -have a grown-up word that means always just -the same.”</p> - -<p>“Consistent?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“That is it. A child that is consistent is -wrong some way. But I don’t remember having -seen any of that kind.”</p> - -<p>A smile that was not the smile of Jessamine -stole into the Spirit’s face. It disconcerted me. -I could not, for the life of me, decide how much -of the figure before me was Jessamine and how -much was really the Spirit of Mischief, or -whether they were both the same.</p> - -<p>“Being ignorant, you don’t know what the -mirth in a child is—you” (scornfully) “who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -pretend to measure all people by their sense of -humor. It’s akin to the bubbling music of the -fountain of youth, and you do the child and the -world a wrong when you stifle it. A child’s glee -is as natural as sunshine, and carries no burden -of knowledge; and that is the precious thing -about it.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure that is true,” I said; but the Spirit -did not heed me. She went on, in a voice that -suggested Jessamine, but was not hers.</p> - -<p>“Many people talk solemnly about the imagination -of children, as though it were a thing -that could be taught from books or prepared in -laboratories. But children’s mischief, that is so -often complained of, is the imaginations’ finest -flower.”</p> - -<p>“The idea pleases me. I shall make a note -of it.”</p> - -<p>“The very day,” continued the Spirit, “that -you sat at table and talked learnedly about the -minds of children and how to promote in them -a love of the beautiful, your Jessamine had -known a moment of joy. She had lain in the -meadow and watched the thistledown take -flight,—a myriad of those flimsy argosies.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -And she had fashioned a story about them, that -they rise skyward to become the stuff that -white clouds are made of. And the same day -she asked you to tell her what it is the robins -are so sorry about when they sing in the evening -after the other birds have gone. Now the same -small head that thought of those things contrived -also the happy idea of cooking a doll’s -dinner in the chafing dish,—an experiment -that resulted, as you may remember, in a visit -from both the doctor and the fire-insurance -adjuster.”</p> - -<p>My heart was wrung as I recalled the bandages -on Jessamine’s slender brown arms.</p> - -<p>“Yes, O Spirit!” I said. “I’m learning -much. Pray tell me more!”</p> - -<p>“We like very much for science to let us -alone—”</p> - -<p>“But hygiene—and all those life-saving -things—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” she said patronizingly; “they’re -all very well in their way. It’s better for science -to kill bugs than for the bugs to kill children. -But I mean other kinds of sciences that are not -nearly so useful—pedagogical and the like,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -that are trying to kill the microbe of play. -Leave us, oh, leave us that!”</p> - -<p>“That is a new way of putting it. We oldsters -soon forget how to play, alackaday!”</p> - -<p>She went on calmly. “Work that you really -love isn’t work any more—it’s play.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a little deep for me—”</p> - -<p>“It’s true, though, so you’d better try to -understand. If you paint a picture and work at -it,—slave over it and are not happy doing it,—then -your picture is only so many pennies’ -worth of paint. The cruelest thing people can -say of a book or a picture is, ‘Well, he worked -hard at it!’ The spirit of mischief is only the -spirit of play; and the spirit of play is really the -spirit of the work we love.</p> - -<p>“It’s too bad that you are not always patient -with us,” the Spirit continued. (I noted the -plural. Clearly Jessamine and the Spirit were -one!)</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, too,” I answered contritely.</p> - -<p>“The laws of the foolish world do not apply -to childhood at all. Children are born into a -condition of ideality. They view everything -with wonder and awe, and you and all the rest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> -of the grown-up world are busy spoiling their -illusions. How happy you would be if you could -have gone on blowing bubbles all your days!”</p> - -<p>“True, alas, too true!”</p> - -<p>The face of the Spirit grew suddenly very old.</p> - -<p>“Life,” she said, “consists largely in having -to accept the fact that we cannot do the things -we want to do. But in the blessed days of mischief -we blow bubbles in forbidden soap and -water with contraband pipes—and do not -know that they are bubbles!”</p> - -<p>“That is the fine thing about it, O Spirit—the -sweet ignorance of it! I hope I understand -that.”</p> - -<p>“I see that you are really wiser than you have -always seemed,” she said, with her baffling -smile. “Mischief, as you are prone to call so -many things that children do, is as wholesome -and sweet as a field of clover. I, the Spirit of -Mischief, have a serious business in the world, -which I’ll tell you about, as you are old and -know so little. I’m here to combat and confuse -the evil spirits that seek to stifle the good cheer -of childhood. These little children that always -go to bed without a fuss and say good night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -very sweetly in French, and never know bread -and butter and jam by their real names—you -really do not like them half as well as you like -natural children. You remember that you -laughed when Jessamine’s French governess -came, and left the second day because the black -cat got into her trunk. There was really no -harm in that!”</p> - -<p>The Spirit of Mischief laughed. She grew -very small, and I watched her curiously, wondering -whether she was really a creature of this -work-a-day world. Then suddenly she grew to -life-size again, and laughed gleefully, standing -with her hands thrust deep into her coat pockets.</p> - -<p>“Jessamine!” I exclaimed. “I thought you -were asleep.”</p> - -<p>“I was, a little bit; but you—you snored -awfully,” she said, “and waked me up.”</p> - -<p>She still watched me, laughing; and looking -down I saw that she had been busy while I -slept. A barricade of books had been built -around me,—a carefully wrought bit of masonry, -as high as my knees.</p> - -<p>“You’re the wicked giant,” declared Jessamine, -quite in her own manner, and with no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -hint of the half-real, elfish spirit of my dream. -“And I’m the good little Princess that has -caught you at last. And I’ll never let you out -of the tower—Oh they’re coming! They’re -coming!”</p> - -<p>She flashed to the door and out upon the -veranda where steps had sounded, leaving me -to deliver myself from the tower of the Spirit -of Mischief with the ignorant hands of Age.</p> - - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">Confessions of a “Best-Seller”</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> -<p class="ph3">Confessions of a “Best-Seller”</p> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THAT my name has adorned best-selling -lists is more of a joke than my harshest -critics can imagine. I had dallied awhile at the -law; I had given ten full years to journalism; -I had written criticism, and not a little verse; -two or three short stories of the slightest had -been my only adventure in fiction; and I had -spent a year writing an essay in history, which, -from the publisher’s reports, no one but my -neighbor and my neighbor’s wife ever read. My -frugal output of poems had pleased no one half -so much as myself; and having reached years of -discretion I carefully analyzed samples of the -ore that remained in my bins, decided that I -had exhausted my poetical vein, and thereupon -turned rather soberly to the field of fiction.</p> - -<p>In order to qualify myself to speak to my -text, I will say that in a period of six years, that -closed in January, 1909, my titles were included<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -fifteen times in the “Bookman” list of best-selling -books. Two of my titles appeared five -times each; one of them headed the list three -months successively. I do not presume to speak -for others with whom I have crossed swords in -the best-selling lists, but I beg to express my -strong conviction that the compilation of such -statistics is quite as injurious as it is helpful to -authors. When the “six best-selling” phrase -was new the monthly statement of winners -may have carried some weight; but for several -years it has really had little significance. Critical -purchasers are likely to be wary of books -so listed. It is my impression, based on talks -with retail dealers in many parts of the country, -that they often report as “best-sellers” -books of which they may have made large advance -purchases, but which are selling slowly. -Their aim is, of course, to force the book into -the list, and thereby create a false impression -of its popularity.</p> - -<p>I think that most publishers, and many -authors who, like myself, have profited by the -making of these lists, would gladly see them -discontinued. The fact remains, however, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> -the best novels by the best English and American -writers have generally been included in -these lists. Mrs. Wharton, Mrs. Ward, Mr. -Winston Churchill, Mr. Wister, “Kate Douglas -Wiggin,” Miss Johnston, and Mr. William de -Morgan have, for example, shared with inferior -writers the ignominy of popular success. -I do not believe that my American fellow citizens -prefer trash to sound literature. There are -not enough novels of the first order, not enough -books of the style and solidity of “The House -of Mirth” and “Joseph Vance,” to satisfy the -popular demand for fiction; and while the people -wait, they take inferior books, like several -bearing my own name, which have no aim but -to amuse. I know of nothing more encouraging -to those who wish to see the American novel go -high and far than the immediate acceptance -among us of the writings of Mr. William de -Morgan, who makes no concession, not even of -brevity, to the ever-increasing demand for -fiction.</p> - -<p>I spent the greater part of two years on my -first novel, which dealt with aspects of life in an -urban community which interested me; and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -gravest fault of the book, if I am entitled to an -opinion, is its self-consciousness,—I was too -anxious, too painstaking, with the result that -those pages seem frightfully stiff to me now. -The book was launched auspiciously; my publisher -advertised it generously, and it landed -safely among the “six best-sellers.” The critical -reception of the book was cordial and friendly, -not only in the newspaper press, but in the -more cautious weekly journals. My severest -critic dealt far more amiably with my book than -I should have done myself, if I had sat in judgment -upon it. I have been surprised to find the -book still remembered, and its quality has been -flung in my face by critics who have deplored -my later performances.</p> - -<p>I now wrote another novel, to which I gave -even greater care, and into it I put, I think, -the best characterizations I have ever done; -but the <i>soupçon</i> of melodrama with which I -flavored the first novel was lacking in the second, -and it went dead a little short of fifteen -thousand—the poorest sale any of my books -has had.</p> - -<p>A number of my friends were, at this time,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> -rather annoyingly directing my attention to the -great popular successes of several other American -writers, whose tales were, I felt, the most -contemptible <i>pastiche</i>, without the slightest -pretense to originality, and having neither form -nor style. It was in some bitterness of spirit -that I resolved to try my hand at a story that -should be a story and nothing else. Nor should -I storm the capitals of imaginary kingdoms, but -set the scene on my own soil. Most, it was clear, -could grow the flowers of Zenda when once the -seed had been scattered by Mr. Hawkins. -Whether Mr. Hawkins got his inspiration from -the flora of Prince Otto’s gardens, and whether -the Prince was indebted in his turn to Harry -Richmond, is not my affair. I am, no doubt, -indebted to all three of these creations; but -I set my scene in an American commonwealth, -a spot that derived nothing from historical association, -and sent my hero on his adventures -armed with nothing more deadly than a suit-case -and an umbrella. The idea is not original -with me that you can make anything interesting -if you know how. It was Stevenson, I believe, -who said that a kitchen table is a fair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -enough subject for any writer who knows his -trade. I do not cite myself as a person capable -of proving this; but I am satisfied that the chief -fun of story-telling lies in trying, by all the -means in a writer’s power, to make plausible the -seemingly impossible. And here, of course, I -am referring to the story for the story’s sake,—not -to the novel of life and manners.</p> - -<p>My two earliest books were clearly too deliberate. -They were deficient in incident, and -I was prone to wander into blind alleys, and not -always ingenious enough to emerge again upon -the main thoroughfare. I felt that, while I -might fail in my attempt to produce a romantic -yarn, the experience might help me to a better -understanding of the mechanics of the novel,—that -I might gain directness, movement, and -ease.</p> - -<p>For my third venture I hit upon a device -that took strong hold upon my imagination. -The idea of laying a trap for the reader tickled -me; and when once I had written the first chapter -and outlined the last, I yielded myself to the -story and bade it run its own course. I was -never more honestly astonished in my life than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> -to find my half-dozen characters taking matters -into their own hands, and leaving me the merest -spectator and reporter. I had made notes for -the story, but in looking them over to-day, I -find that I made practically no use of them. I -never expect to experience again the delight of -the winter I spent over that tale. The sight of -white paper had no terrors for me. The hero, -constantly cornered, had always in his pocket -the key to his successive dilemmas; the heroine, -misunderstood and misjudged, was struck at -proper intervals by the spot-light that revealed -her charm and reëstablished faith in her honorable -motives. No other girl in my little gallery -of heroines exerts upon me the spell of that -young lady, who, on the day I began the story, -as I waited for the ink to thaw in my workshop, -passed under my window, by one of those -kindly orderings of Providence that keep alive -the superstition of inspiration in the hearts -of all fiction-writers. She never came my way -again—but she need not! She was the bright -particular star of my stage—its <i>dea ex machina</i>. -She is of the sisterhood of radiant goddesses -who are visible from any window, even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> -though its prospect be only a commonplace city -street. Always, and everywhere, the essential -woman for any tale is passing by with grave -mien, if the tale be sober; with upturned chin -and a saucy twinkle in the eye, if such be the -seeker’s need!</p> - -<p>I think I must have begun every morning’s -work with a grin on my face, for it was all fun, -and I entered with zest into all the changes and -chances of the story. I was embarrassed, not -by any paucity of incident, but by my own -fecundity and dexterity. The audacity of my -project used sometimes to give me pause; it was -almost too bold a thing to carry through; but -my curiosity as to just how the ultimate goal -would be reached kept my interest keyed high. -At times, feeling that I was going too fast, I -used to halt and write a purple patch or two -for my own satisfaction,—a harmless diversion -to which I am prone, and which no one -could be cruel enough to deny me. There are -pages in that book over which I dallied for a -week, and in looking at them now I find that -I still think them—as Mr. James would say—“rather -nice.” And once, while thus amusing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -myself, a phrase slipped from the pen which -I saw at once had been, from all time, ordained -to be the title of my book.</p> - -<p>When I had completed the first draft, I began -retouching. I liked my tale so much that I was -reluctant to part with it; I enjoyed playing -with it, and I think I rewrote the most of it -three times. Contumelious critics have spoken -of me as one of the typewriter school of fictionists, -picturing me as lightly flinging off a few -chapters before breakfast, and spending the -rest of the day on the golf-links; but I have -never in my life written in a first draft more -than a thousand words a day, and I have frequently -thrown away a day’s work when I -came to look it over. I have refused enough -offers for short stories, serials, and book rights, -to have kept half a dozen typewriters busy, and -my output has not been large, considering that -writing has been, for nearly ten years, my only -occupation. I can say, with my hand on my -heart, that I have written for my own pleasure -first and last, and that those of my books that -have enjoyed the greatest popularity were -written really in a spirit of play, without any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> -illusions as to their importance or their quick -and final passing into the void.</p> - -<p>When I had finished my story, I still had a -few incidents and scenes in my ink-pot; but I -could not for the life of me get the curtain up, -once it was down. My little drama had put itself -together as tight as wax, and even when I -had written an additional incident that pleased -me particularly, I could find no place to thrust -it in. I was interested chiefly in amusing myself, -and I never troubled myself in the least as -to whether anyone else would care for the story. -I was astonished by its sale, which exceeded a -quarter of a million copies in this country; it -has been translated into French, Italian, German, -Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian. I have -heard of it all the way from Tokyo to Teheran. -It was dramatized, and an actor of distinction -appeared in the stage version; and stock companies -have lately presented the play in Boston -and San Francisco. It was subsequently serialized -by newspapers, and later appeared in -“patent” supplements. The title was paraphrased -by advertisers, several of whom continue -to pay me this flattering tribute.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>I have speculated a good deal as to the success -of this book. The title had, no doubt, -much to do with it; clever advertising helped it -further; the cover was a lure to the eye. The -name of a popular illustrator may have helped, -but it is certain that his pictures did not! I -think I am safe in saying that the book received -no helpful reviews in any newspapers of the -first class, and I may add that I am skeptical as -to the value of favorable notices in stimulating -the sale of such books. Serious novels are undoubtedly -helped by favorable reviews; stories -of the kind I describe depend primarily upon -persistent and ingenious advertising, in which -a single striking line from the “Gem City -Evening Gazette” is just as valuable as the -opinion of the most scholarly review. Nor am I -unmindful of the publisher’s labors and risks,—the -courage, confidence, and genius essential to -a successful campaign with a book from a new -hand, with no prestige of established reputation -to command instant recognition. The self-selling -book may become a “best-seller”; it -may appear mysteriously, a “dark horse” in -the eternal battle of the books; but miracles are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> -as rare in the book trade as in other lines of -commerce. The man behind the counter is -another important factor. The retail dealer, -when he finds the publisher supporting him -with advertising, can do much to prolong a sale. -A publisher of long experience in promoting -large sales has told me that advertising is valuable -chiefly for its moral effect on the retailer, -who, feeling that the publisher is strongly backing -a book, bends his own energies toward -keeping it alive.</p> - -<p>It would be absurd for me to pretend that the -leap from a mild <i>succès d’estime</i> with sales of -forty and fourteen thousand, to a delirious -gallop into six figures is not without its effect on -an author, unless he be much less human than -I am. Those gentle friends who had intimated -that I could not do it once, were equally sanguine -that I could not do it again. The temptation -to try a second throw of the dice after a -success is strong, but I debated long whether -I should try my hand at a second romance. I -resolved finally to do a better book in the same -kind, and with even more labor I produced a -yarn whose title—and the gods have several<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -times favored me in the matter of titles—adorned -the best-selling lists for an even -longer period, though the total sales aggregated -less.</p> - -<p>The second romance was, I think, better than -the first, and its dramatic situations were more -picturesque. The reviews averaged better in -better places, and may have aroused the prejudices -of those who shun books that are countenanced -or praised by the literary “high brows.” -It sold largely; it enjoyed the glory and the -shame of a “best-seller”; but here, I pondered, -was the time to quit. Not to shock my -“audience,” to use the term of the trade, I -resolved to try for more solid ground by paying -more attention to characterizations, and cutting -down the allowance of blood and thunder. -I expected to lose heavily with the public, and -I was not disappointed. I crept into the best-selling -list, but my sojourn there was brief. It -is manifest that people who like shots in the -dark will not tamely acquiesce in the mild placing -of the villain’s hand upon his hip pocket on -the moon-washed terrace. The difference between -the actual shot and the mere menace, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> -could, from personal knowledge, compute in the -coin of the Republic.</p> - -<p>When your name on the bill-board suggests -battle, murder, and sudden death, “hair-breadth’scapes, -i’ th’ imminent deadly breach,” -and that sort of thing, you need not be chagrined -if, once inside, the eager throng resents -bitterly your perfidy in offering nothing more -blood-curdling than the heroine’s demand (the -scene being set for five o’clock tea) for another -lump of sugar. You may, if you please, leave -Hamlet out of his own play; but do not, on -peril of your fame, cut out your ghost, or neglect -to provide some one to stick a sword into -Polonius behind the arras. I can take up that -particular book now and prove to any fair-minded -man how prettily I could, by injecting -a little paprika into my villains, have quadrupled -its sale.</p> - -<p>Having, I hope, some sense of humor, I resolved -to bid farewell to cloak and pistols in a -farce-comedy, which should be a take-off on my -own popular performances. Humor being something -that no one should tamper with who is -not ready for the gibbet, I was not surprised<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> -that many hasty samplers of the book should -entirely miss the joke, or that a number of joyless -critics should have dismissed it hastily as -merely another machine-made romance written -for boarding-school girls and the weary commercial -traveler yawning in the smoking-car. -Yet this book also has been a “best-seller”! I -have seen it, within a few weeks, prominently -displayed in bookshop windows in half a dozen -cities.</p> - -<p>It was, I think, Mr. Clyde Fitch who first -voiced the complaint that our drama is seriously -affected by the demand of “the tired -business man” to be amused at the theatre. -The same may be said of fiction. A very considerable -number of our toiling millions sit -down wearily at night, and if the evening paper -does not fully satisfy or social diversion offer, a -story that will hold the attention without too -great a tax upon the mind is welcomed. I -should be happy to think that our ninety millions -trim the lamp every evening with zest -for “improving” literature; but the tired brain -follows the line of least resistance, which unfortunately -does not lead to alcoves where the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> -one hundred best books wear their purple in -solemn pomp. Even in my present mood of -contrition, I am not sneering at that considerable -body of my countrymen who have laid -one dollar and eighteen cents upon the counter -and borne home my little fictions. They took -grave chances of my boring them; and when -they rapped a second time on the counter and -murmured another of my titles, they were expressing -a confidence in me which I strove -hard never to betray.</p> - -<p>No one will, I am sure, deny me the satisfaction -I have in the reflection that I put a good -deal of sincere work into those stories,—for -they are stories, not novels, and were written -frankly to entertain; that they are not wholly -ill-written; that they contain pages that are not -without their grace; or that there is nothing -prurient or morbid in any of them. And no -matter how jejune stories of the popular romantic -type may be,—a fact, O haughty -critic, of which I am well aware,—I take some -satisfaction as a good American in the knowledge -that, in spite of their worthlessness as -literature, they are essentially clean. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> -heroes may be too handsome, and too sure of -themselves; the heroines too adorable in their -sweet distress, as they wave the white handkerchief -from the grated window of the ivied tower,—but -their adventures are, in the very nature -of things, <i>in usum Delphini</i>.</p> - -<p>Some of my friends of the writing guild boast -that they never read criticisms of their work. I -have read and filed all the notices of my stories -that bore any marks of honesty or intelligence. -Having served my own day as reviewer for a -newspaper, I know the dreary drudgery of such -work. I recall, with shame, having averaged a -dozen books an afternoon; and some of my -critics have clearly averaged two dozen, with -my poor candidates for oblivion at the bottom -of the heap! Much American criticism is stupid -or ignorant; but the most depressing, from my -standpoint, is the flippant sort of thing which -many newspapers print habitually. The stage, -also, suffers like treatment, even in some of the -more reputable metropolitan journals. Unless -your book affords a text for a cynical newspaper -“story,” it is quite likely to be ignored.</p> - -<p>I cannot imagine that any writer who takes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -his calling seriously ever resents a sincere, intelligent, -adverse notice. I have never written a -book in less than a year, devoting all my time to -it; and I resent being dismissed in a line, and -called a writer of drivel, by some one who did -not take the trouble to say why. A newspaper -which is particularly jealous of its good name -once pointed out with elaborate care that an -incident, described in one of my stories as occurring -in broad daylight, could not have been -observed in moonlight by one of the characters -at the distance I had indicated. The same reviewer -transferred the scene of this story half-way -across the continent, in order to make another -point against its plausibility. If the aim -of criticism be to aid the public in its choice of -books, then the press should deal fairly with -both author and public. And if the critics wish -to point out to authors their failures and weaknesses, -then it should be done in a spirit of -justice. The best-selling of my books caused a -number of critics to remark that it had clearly -been inspired by a number of old romances—which -I had not only never read, but of several -of them I had never even heard.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>A Boston newspaper which I greatly admire -once published an editorial in which I was pilloried -as a type of writer who basely commercializes -his talent. It was a cruel stab; for, -unlike my heroes, I do not wear a mail-shirt -under my dress-coat. Once, wandering into a -church in my own city, at a time when a dramatized -version of one of my stories was offered -at a local theatre, I listened to a sermon that -dealt in the harshest terms with such fiction -and drama.</p> - -<p>Extravagant or ignorant praise is, to most of -us, as disheartening as stupid and unjust criticism. -The common practice of invoking great -names to praise some new arrival at the portal -of fame cannot fail to depress the subject of it. -When my first venture in fiction was flatteringly -spoken of by a journal which takes its -criticisms seriously as evidencing the qualities -that distinguish Mr. Howells, I shuddered at -the hideous injustice to a gentleman for whom -I have the greatest love and reverence; and -when, in my subsequent experiments, a critic -somewhere gravely (it seemed, at least, to be in -a spirit of sobriety!) asked whether a fold of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> -Stevenson’s mantle had not wrapped itself -about me, the awfulness of the thing made me -ill, and I fled from felicity until my publisher -had dropped the heart-breaking phrase from -his advertisements. For I may be the worst -living author, and at times I am convinced of -it; but I hope I am not an immitigable and -irreclaimable ass.</p> - -<p>American book reviewers, I am convinced -from a study of my returns from the clipping -bureaus for ten years, dealing with my offerings -in two kinds of fiction, are a solid phalanx of -realists where they are anything at all. This -attitude is due, I imagine, to the fact that journalism -deals, or is supposed to deal, with facts. -Realism is certainly more favorably received -than romance. I cheerfully subscribe to the -doctrine that fiction that lays strong hands -upon aspects of life as we are living it is a nobler -achievement than tales that provide merely an -evening’s entertainment. Mr. James has, however, -simplified this whole question. He says, -“The only classification of the novel that I can -understand is into that which has life, and that -which has it not”; and if we must reduce this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -matter of fiction to law, his dictum might well -be accepted as the first and last canon. And -in this connection I should like to record my -increasing admiration for all that Mr. James -has written of novels and novelists. In one -place and another he has expressed himself -fully and confidently on fiction as a department -of literature. The lecture on Balzac that -he gave in this country a few years ago is a -masterly and authoritative document on the -novel in general. His “Partial Portraits” is a -rich mine of ripe observation on the distinguishing -qualities of a number of his contemporaries, -and the same volume contains a -suggestive and stimulating essay on fiction as -an art. With these in mind it seems to me a -matter for tears that Mr. James, with his -splendid equipment and beautiful genius, -should have devoted himself so sedulously, in -his own performances in fiction, to the contemplation -of cramped foreign vistas and -exotic types, when all this wide, surging, -eager, laboring America lay ready to his hand.</p> - -<p>I will say of myself that I value style beyond -most things; and that if I could command<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> -it, I should be glad to write for so small an -audience, the “fit though few,” that the best-selling -lists should never know me again; for -with style go many of the requisites of great -fiction,—fineness and sureness of feeling, and a -power over language by which characters cease -to be bobbing marionettes and become veritable -beings, no matter whether they are Beatrix -Esmonds, or strutting D’Artagnans, or rascally -Bartley Hubbards, or luckless Lily Barts. To -toss a ball into the air, and keep it there, as -Stevenson did so charmingly in such pieces as -“Providence and the Guitar,”—this is a -respectable achievement; to mount Roy Richmond -as an equestrian statue,—that, too, is -something we would not have had Mr. Meredith -leave undone. Mr. Rassendyll, an English -gentleman playing at being king, thrills the -surviving drop of mediævalism that is in all of -us. “The tired business man” yields himself to -the belief that the staccato of hoofs on the -asphalt street, which steals in to him faintly at -his fireside, is really an accompaniment to the -hero’s mad ride to save the king. Ah, the joy -in kings dies hard in us!</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>Given a sprightly tale with a lost message to -recover, throw in a fight on the stair, scatter -here and there pretty dialogues between the -lover and the princess he serves, and we are all, -as we breathlessly follow, the rankest royalists. -Tales of real Americans, kodaked “in the sun’s -hot eye,” much as they refresh me,—I speak -of myself now, not as a writer or critic, but as -the man in the street,—never so completely -detach the weary spirit from mundane things -as tales of events that never were on sea or land. -Why should I read of Silas Lapham to-night, -when only an hour ago I was his competitor in -the mineral-paint business? The greatest fiction -must be a criticism of life; but there are -times when we crave forgetfulness, and lift our -eyes trustfully to the flag of Zenda.</p> - -<p>But the creator of Zenda, it is whispered, is -not an author of the first or even of the second -rank, and the adventure story, at its best, is -only for the second table. I am quite aware of -this. But pause a moment, O cheerless one! -Surely Homer is respectable; and the Iliad, the -most strenuous, the most glorious and sublime -of fictions, with the very gods drawn into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -moving scenes, has, by reason of its tremendous -energy and its tumultuous drama, not less than -for its majesty as literature, established its -right to be called the longest-selling fiction of -the ages.</p> - -<p>All the world loves a story; the regret is that -the great novelists—great in penetration and -sincerity and style—do not always have the -story-telling knack. Mr. Marion Crawford -was, I should say, a far better story-teller than -Mr. James or Mr. Howells; but I should by no -means call him a better novelist. A lady of my -acquaintance makes a point of bestowing copies -of Mr. Meredith’s novels upon young working-women -whom she seeks to uplift. I am myself -the most ardent of Meredithians, and yet I -must confess to a lack of sympathy with this -lady’s high purpose. I will not press the point, -but a tired working-girl would, I think, be much -happier with one of my own beribboned confections -than with even Diana the delectable.</p> - -<p>Pleasant it is, I must confess, to hear your -wares cried by the train-boy; to bend a sympathetic -ear to his recital of your merits, as he -appraises them; and to watch him beguile your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -fellow travelers with the promise of felicity -contained between the covers of the book which -you yourself have devised, pondered, and committed -to paper. The train-boy’s ideas of the -essentials of entertaining fiction are radically -unacademic, but he is apt in hitting off the -commercial requirements. A good book, one of -the guild told me, should always begin with -“talking.” He was particularly contemptuous -of novels that open upon landscape and moonlight,—these, -in the bright lexicon of his -youthful experience, are well-nigh unsalable. -And he was equally scornful of the unhappy -ending. The sale of a book that did not, as he -put it, “come out right,” that is, with the -merry jingle of wedding-bells, was no less than a -fraud upon the purchaser. On one well-remembered -occasion my vanity was gorged by the -sight of many copies of my latest offering in -the hands of my fellow travelers, as I sped -from Washington to New York. A poster, -announcing my new tale, greeted me at the -station as I took flight; four copies of my book -were within comfortable range of my eye in -the chair-car. Before the train started, I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -given every opportunity to add my own book -to my impedimenta.</p> - -<p>The sensation awakened by the sight of utter -strangers taking up your story, tasting it warily, -clinging to it if it be to their liking, or dropping -it wearily or contemptuously if it fail to -please, is one of the most interesting of the experiences -of authorship. On the journey mentioned, -one man slept sweetly through what I -judged to be the most intense passage in the -book; others paid me the tribute of absorbed -attention. On the ferry-boat at Jersey City, -several copies of the book were interposed between -seemingly enchanted readers and the -towers and spires of the metropolis. No one, -I am sure, will deny to such a poor worm as I -the petty joys of popular recognition. To see -one’s tale on many counters, to hear one’s -name and titles recited on boats and trains, -to find in mid-ocean that your works go with -you down to the sea in ships, to see the familiar -cover smiling welcome on the table of an obscure -foreign inn,—surely the most grudging -critic would not deprive a writer of these rewards -and delights.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>There is also that considerable army of readers -who write to an author in various keys of -condemnation or praise. I have found my correspondence -considerably augmented by the -large sales of a book. There are persons who -rejoice to hold before your eyes your inconsistences; -or who test you, to your detriment, in -the relentless scale of fact. Some one in the -Connecticut hills once criticized severely my -use of “that” and “which,”—a case where an -effort at precision was the offense,—and I was -involved, before I knew it, in a long correspondence. -I have several times been taken -severely to task by foes of tobacco for permitting -my characters to smoke. Wine, I have -found, should be administered to one’s characters -sparingly, and one’s hero must never produce -a flask except for restorative uses,—after, -let us say, a wild gallop, by night, in the -teeth of a storm to relieve a beleaguered citadel, -or when the heroine has been rescued at great -peril from the clutch of the multitudinous sea. -Those strange spirits who pour out their souls -in anonymous letters have not ignored me. I -salute them with much courtesy, and wish them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> -well of the gods. Young ladies whose names I -have inadvertently applied to my heroines -have usually dealt with me in agreeable fashion. -The impression that authors have an unlimited -supply of their own wares to give away is responsible -for the importunity of managers of -church fairs, philanthropic institutions, and the -like, who assail one cheerfully through the -mails. Before autograph-hunters I have always -been humble; I have felt myself honored by -their attentions; and in spite of their dread -phrase, “Thanking you in advance,”—which -might be the shibboleth of their fraternity, from -its prevalence,—I greet them joyfully, and -never filch their stamps.</p> - -<p>Now, after all, could anything be less harmful -than my tales? The casual meeting of my hero -and heroine in the first chapter has always been -marked by the gravest circumspection. My -melodrama has never been offensively gory,—in -fact, I have been ridiculed for my bloodless -combats. My villains have been the sort that -anyone with any kind of decent bringing-up -would hiss. A girl in white, walking beside a -lake, with a blue parasol swinging back of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -head, need offend no one. That the young man -emerging from the neighboring wood should -not recognize her at once as the young woman -ordained in his grandfather’s will as the person -he must marry to secure the estate, seems -utterly banal, I confess; but it is the business of -romance to maintain illusions. Realism, with -the same agreed state of facts, recognizes the -girl immediately—and spoils the story. Or I -might put it thus: in realism, much or all is -obvious in the first act; in romance, nothing is -quite clear until the third. This is why romance -is more popular than realism, for we are all -children and want to be surprised. Why villains -should always be so stupid, and why heroines -should so perversely misunderstand the -noble motives of heroes, are questions I cannot -answer. Likewise before dear old Mistaken -Identity—the most venerable impostor in the -novelist’s cabinet—I stand dumbly grateful.</p> - -<p>On the stage, where a plot is most severely -tested, but where the audience must, we are -told, always be in the secret, we see constantly -how flimsy a mask the true prince need wear. -And the reason for this lies in the primal and—let<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -us hope—eternal childlikeness of the race. -The Zeitgeist will not grind us underfoot so long -as we are capable of joy in make-believe, and -can renew our youth in the frolics of Peter -Pan.</p> - -<p>You, sir, who re-read “The Newcomes” -every year, and you, madam, reverently dusting -your Jane Austen,—I am sadder than you -can be that my talent is so slender; but is it not -a fact that you have watched me at my little -tricks on the mimic stage, and been just a little -astonished when the sparrow, and not the dove, -emerged from the handkerchief? But you prefer -the old writers; and so, dear friends, do I!</p> - -<p>Having, as I have confessed, deliberately -tried my hand at romance merely to see whether -I could swim the moat under a cloud of the -enemy’s arrows, and to gain experience in the -mechanism of story-writing, I now declare -(though with no illusion as to the importance -of the statement) that I have hung my sword -over the fireplace; that I shall not again thunder -upon the tavern door at midnight; that not -much fine gold could tempt me to seek, by -means however praiseworthy, to bring that girl<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> -with the blue parasol to a proper appreciation -of the young gentleman with the suit-case, who -even now is pursuing her through the wood to -restore her lost handkerchief. It has been pleasant -to follow the bright guidon of romance; -even now, from the window of the tall office-building -in which I close these reflections, I -can hear the bugles blowing and look upon</p> - -<p class="center">“Strangest skies and unbeholden seas.”</p> - -<p>But I feel reasonably safe from temptation. -Little that men do is, I hope, alien to me; and -the life that surges round me, and whose sounds -rise from the asphalt below, or the hurrying -feet on the tiles in my own corridor of this steel-boned -tower,—the faint tinkle of telephones, -the click of elevator doors,—these things, and -the things they stand for, speak with deep and -thrilling eloquence; and he who would serve -best the literature of his time and country will -not ignore them.</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - - - -<p class="center"> -<span class="antiqua">The Riverside Press</span><br /> -CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br /> -U . S . A</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1">FOOTNOTE:</p> -</div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> “Heckling the Church,” <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i>, December, -1911.</p> - -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - - - - - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> -</div></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND OTHER PAPERS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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