witti e sourneys
to THE HOMEs of EMINENT ARtists
- -
A B B E Y !--
vol. xi. November, rooa. No. 5 | By Elbert HuBBARD
&
. . .”
- *º. - .






;i;::'.{.k•
, , ; 2. LEONARDO tº 8. CORREGGIO - . . . .
the LittíE journeys for rooa w
Shop, which is at E
5 GAINSBorough 11 ABBEY
one booklet a month will be issued as usual, begin-
ning January 1st. . . . . . . . .
with silk.
The price—25 cents each, or $3.oo for the year.
* Sº . . . . . .
* . . . . .” - ".
ºur 1 ERS at Their . . .









ALLURING COFFEE.
Nearly Killed the Nurse.
*
When one of the family is sick, Mother seems to
be the only person who can tenderly nurse the pa-
tient back to health. But we forget sometimes that it
is pretty hard on Mother.
Mrs. Propst of Albany, Ore., says:—“About twen-
ty-seven months ago, Father suffered with a stroke of
paralysis, confining him to his bed for months, and as
he wished Mother with him constantly, his care in
a great measure fell to her lot. She was seventy-
four years old, and through constant attendance upon
my father, lost both sleep and rest, and began drinking
coffee in quantities until finally she became very weak,
nervous and ill herself. *
By her physician's order, she began giving Father
both Postum Food Coffee and Grape-Nuts, and in
that way began using both herself. The effect was very
noticeable. Father improved rapidly, and Mother re-
gained her strength and health, and now both are well
and strong. Mother says it is all due to the continued
use of both Postum and Grape-Nuts.”
40
H 37
v, -.
a yº / , §

NO COMPETITION: There
are two ways to get away from
competition. One is to make a
cheaper article and undersell
the other fellow; and the other
is to make a better article than
the other fellow does or can.
The public is not slow to rec-
ognize genuine merit, and has
always been willing to reward
the man who can serve it best.
H. J. Heinz Co. make fifty-seven
varieties of table delicacies. All ||
these articles are sightly, pala-
table, nutritious and hygienic.
In their preparation science and
| art have combined, and the re-
sult is NO COMPETITION. I.
Little Journey
By ELBERT HUBBARD
ºgº
Wolumes WI, WII, WIII, IX, X and XI — New Series
QEUition TYC Lute
VOL. SIX—Morris, Browning, Tennyson, Burns, Mil-
ton, Johnson. - -
VOL. SEVEN-Macaulay, Byron, Addison, Southey,
Coleridge, Disraeli.
VOL. EIGHT — Wagner, Paganini, Chopin, Mozart,
Bach, Mendelssohn. -
VOL. NINE–Liszt, Beethoven, Handel, Verdi, Schu-
mann, Brahms. -
VOL. TEN–Raphael, Leonardo, Botticelli, Thorwald-
sen, Gainsborough, Velasquez.
VOL. ELEVEN–Corot, Correggio, Gian Bellini, Cel-
lini, Abbey, Whistler.
Frontispiece Portraits of each subject, text
on Roycroft water-mark, hand-made paper,
initials and title-page hand-illumined, bound
in limp chamois—silk lined, gilt top. Price
of volumes is Three Dollars each. l
A few specially bound in boards, leather
back and corners, at Five Dollars each.
The Roycrofters, East Aurora, N. Y.
S





Published Monthly. Written by Elbert Hubbard.
Circulation per month 60,000. Full page advertisement $100 º
One-half or one-quarter page at the same rate.
HE LITTLE JOURNEYS circulate as text books in thousands of
schools, colleges and clubs, and are now more than ever recog-
nized as most readable and instructive essays. Nine-tenths of §
º: them are bound (covers, advertisements and all) and remain per-
ń manently in the libraries of the owners. à
tº People who desire to read and know of the world's famous people, and ſ
§ to have their lives pictured in such a manner as to give them such an
§ acquaintance as they can remember are quick to discard the numerous
iſ bulky and uninteresting histories and biographies and read LITTLE ºf
9: JOURNEYS.
§ They are keyed a bit different from THE PHILISTINE, but are none the §
§ less enjoyable to the hosts of Philistia and their friends.
§ Little or no advertising has heretofore been accepted for LITTLE Jour- tº
§ NEYS and but little is wanted, and that only of the highest and best ſº
tº class. The circulation at present is 60,000 copies monthly, and contracts ºf
ºf can be made now at the rate of $100 per page—which is at the rate of º
§ one dollar and sixty-six cents per page per thousand—about one-sixth ſº
§ of the cost of printing and addressing ordinary postal cards. §
§ If you have anything to sell to reading, thinking people, a better or º
º, more permanent method of placing yourself before them than an adver- ſº
§ tisement in LITTLE Journeys cannot be found. V--
º Think it over, and let us have your contract before the rates are ad- tº
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& º × =-& º - º - a º Šºšººs. sº
Sole owner of all advertising space in Hubbard’s “Roycroft” Publications,
Build Chicago, Illinois

Abbey


A B B E Y
Edwin A. Abbey seems the perfect type of a man who by doing his
work well, with no vaulting ambitions, has placed himself right in
the line of Evolution. And there is no doubt but that the artist, now
in the fullness of his power, in perfect health, in love with life, sees
before him work of such vast worth that all that lies behind seems
but a preparation.
Io9
DVVIN A. ABBEY was born in Phila-
delphia (not of his own choosing) in the
year 1852. His parents were blessed in
that they had neither poverty nor riches.
Their ambition for Edwin was that he
should enter one of the so-called Learned
Professions; but this was not to the boy’s
taste. I fear me he was a heretic through
prenatal influences, for they do say that
he was a child of his mother. This
mother’s mind was tinted with her
Quaker associations until she doubted
the five points of Calvinism and had
small faith in the Forty-Nine Articles.
She was able to think for herself and act
for herself; and as she perceived that
the preachers were making a guess, so
she discovered that doctors with bushy
eyebrows, who wore dog-skin gloves in
summer and who coughed when you
asked them a question—gaining time to
formulate a reply—did n’t know much
more about measles, mumps, chicken-
pox and whooping-cough than she did
* herself. Philadelphia has always had a
plethora of Medical Journals and dog-
matic doctors. Living in Philadelphia
and having had a little experience with
doctors, Mrs. Abbey let them severely

I IO A B B E Y
alone and prescribed the pedaluvia, hop-tea, sulphur
and molasses and a roll-up in warm blankets for every-
thing—and with great success. Beyond this she filled
the day with work and kept everybody else at work.
The moral of Old Deacon Buffum, “Blessed is the man
who has found someone to do his work,” had no place
in her creed. To her, every one had his work that no
other could do, and every day had its work which
could not be done any other day, and success and
health and happiness lay in doing well whatever you
attempted.
Having eliminated two of the Learned Professions
from her ambitions for her boy, the Law was left as
the only choice.
To be a Philadelphia lawyer is a proud and vaulting
ambition. Philadelphia lawyers are exceedingly astute,
and are able to confuse the simplest propositions,
thus hopelessly befogging judge and jury. On the
banks of the Schuylkill all jurors are provided with
dice so as to decide the cases with perfect justice—
small dice for little cases and large dice for big ones.
Philadelphia lawyers carry green bags, full of briefs,
remarkable for everything but brevity; also statutes,
recognizances, tenures, double-vouchers, fines, recov-
eries, indentures, not to mention quiddities, quillets,
quirks and quips. Philadelphia lawyers have high
foreheads and many clients. Lawyers are educated
men, looked up to and respected by all—-this was the
Abbey idea. Of course, it will be observed that it was
A B B E Y III
an idea that could only be held by people who had
viewed lawyers from a safe distance.
Fortunately for the Abbeys, they had really no more
use for the lawyers than they had for the two other
Learned Professions. Their idea of a lawyer was
gained from seeing one pass their house every morn-
ing at nine forty-five, for ten years. He wore a high
hat, carried a gold-headed cane in one hand and a
green bag in the other. He lived on Walnut street,
below Ninth, in a three story house with white mar-
ble steps and white shutters, tied with black strips
of bombazine in token of the death of a brother who
passed out in infancy.
Edwin should be a lawyer, and be an honor to the
family name.
But alas ! Edwin was small and had a low forehead
and squint eyes. He did n’t care for books—all he
would do was to draw pictures. Now all children
make pictures—before they can read, they draw.
And before they draw they get the family shears and
cut the pictures out of Harper’s Weekly. This boy
cut pictures out of Harper’s Weekly when he wore
dresses, and when George William Curtis first filled
the Easy Chair. Edwin cut out the pictures, not be-
cause they were especially bad, but because he, like
all children, was an artist in the germ; and the artist
instinct is to detach the thing, lift it out, set it apart,
and then give it away.
All children draw pictures, I said, and this is true,
II2 A B B E Y
but most children can be cured of the habit by patience
and an occasional box on the ear, judiciously admin-
istered. All children are sculptors too, that is to say,
they want to make things out of mud or dough or
wax or putty; but no mother who sets her heart on
clean guimpes and pinafores can afford for a moment
to indulge in such inclinations. To give children dough,
putty and the shears would keep your house in a
pretty litter—lawksadaisy'
Mrs. Abbey hid the shears, put the “Harper’s” on a
high shelf and took the boy’s pencils away, and threw
the putty out into Fourth Street, below Vine. Then
the boy had tantrums, and as a compromise got all
his playthings back.
Yes, this squat, beetle-browed, and bow-legged boy
had his way. Beetle-browed, bow-legged folks usually
do. Caesar and Cromwell had bow legs, so had Napo-
leon, and so has Pierpont Morgan and James J. Hill.
Charles the First was knock-kneed. Knock-knees are
a deformity; bow legs an accident. Bull dogs have
bow legs, hounds are knock-kneed. Bow legs mean
will plus—a determination to do—the child insists on
walking before the cartilage has turned to bone. Spirit
is stronger than matter—hence the Greek curve.
Little Edwin Abbey ran the Abbey household and
drew because he wanted to—on sidewalks, white
steps, kitchen wall, or the fly-leaves in books.
Rumor has it that Edwin Abbey did not get along well
at school—instead of getting his lessons he drew pic-
AEE EY II3
tures, and thirty years ago such conduct was proof of
total depravity. Like the amateur blacksmith who
started to make a horseshoe and finally contented
himself with a fizzle, the Abbeys gave up theology
and law, and decided that if Edwin became a good
printer it would be enough. And then how often print-
ers become writers—then editors and finally proprie-
tors! Edwin might yet own the “Ledger’’ and have a
collection of four hundred and seventy-two clocks.
Through a common friend Mr. Childs was interviewed
and Edwin was set to work in the typesetting depart-
ment of the “Ledger.” Evenings and an hour three
times a week he sketched in the free class at the
Academy of Art.
How long he remained in the newspaper work, I do
not know, but there came a day when Mr. Childs and
his minions, having no use for Edwin, gave him a
letter of recommendation to the Art Department of
Harper’s Weekly.
That George W. Childs had a really firm friendship
for young Abbey, there is no doubt. He followed his
career with fatherly interest and was the first man, so
far as I know, who had the prophetic vision to see
that he would become a great artist. George W.
Childs was a many-sided man. He had a clear head
for business, was a judge of human nature, a patron
of the arts, a collector of rare and curious things, and
wrote with clearness, force and elegance. Men of such
strong personality have decided likings, and they also
II4 A B B E Y
have decided aversions. The pet aversion of Childs
was tobacco. All through the “Ledger” office were
startling signs, “No smoking!” It was never, “Please
do not smoke,” or “Smoking interferes with Insur-
ance!” Not these, the order was imperative. And
the mutability of human affairs, as well as life’s
little ironies, is now shown in the fact that the name
and fame of George W. Childs is deathless through
a wonderful five cent cigar.
Whether the use of tobacco had anything to do with
young Abbey's breaking with his “Ledger” friends,
is a question. Tradition has it that Childs extracted
from the youth a promise on his going away, that he
would never use the weed. The Union Square records
fail us at times, but it is believed that Abbey kept his
promise for fully three weeks.

II5
DVVIN ABBEY learned to swim
by jumping into deep water,” says
Henry James. A young man in the
Art Department of an absurdly
punctual periodical, before the Era
of the Half-Tone, just had to draw,
and that was all there was about it.
CI Things were happening up town,
down town, over in Boston, and
out as far as Buffalo–and the young men in the Art
Department were sent to make pictures. The experi-
ence of a reporter develops facility—you have to do
the assignment. To write well and rapidly on any
subject, the position of reporter on an old time daily
approached the ideal. Even the drone became ani-
mated, when the copy must be in inside of two hours.
The way to learn to write is to write. But young men
will not write of their own free will: the literary first-
mate in way of Managing Editor with a loaded club
of expletives is necessary. Or, stay! there is another
way to stimulate the ganglionic cells and become dex-
terous in the cosmic potentiality—the Daily Theme
sent to a woman who thinks and feels. That is the
way that Goethe acquired his style. There were love
letters that crossed each other daily, and after years
of this practice—the sparks a-flying—Goethe found
himself the greatest stylist of his day. Love taught him.
CI.To write for a daily paper is a great drill, only you
must not keep at it too long or you will find yourself

II6 A B B E Y
bound to the wheel, a part of the roaring machinery.
CI Combine the daily paper with the daily love letter
and you have the ideal condition for forming a literary
style, and should you drop out one, why, cleave to
the second, would be the advice of a theorist. f
To draw pictures is simply one way of telling a story.
Abbey told the story and there was soon evidence in
better work that he was telling it for Some One. Get
a complete file of Harper's Weekly, say from 1872 to
1890, and you can trace the Evolution of The Art of
Edwin Abbey. If any of the Abbey pictures have been
removed, the books are chiefly valuable as junk, but if
the set can be advertised, as I saw one yesterday,
“with all of Abbey's drawings, warranted intact,” the
set of books commands a price. People are now wisely
collecting “Harper’s” simply because Abbey was
once a part of the Art Department. And the value of
the books will increase with the years, for they trace
the gradual but sure evolution of a great and lofty soul.

117
DVVIN A B B E Y was nineteen
years old when he accepted a po-
sition—more properly, secured a
job—in the Art Department of
Harper's. The records of the office
show his salary was seven dollars
a week—but it did not stay at
that figure always. The young
man did not get along well at
school, and he was not a success as a printer; but he
could focus his force at the end of a pencil, and he
did. Transplantation often turns a weed into a flower.
It seems a hard saying and a grievous one, but the
salvation of many a soul turns on getting away from
one’s own family. They are wise parents that do not
prove a handicap to their children. “The good old
fashioned idea” was that parents were wholly respon-
sible for their children’s coming into the world, and
they, therefore, owned them body and soul until they
reached their majority—and even then the restraint
was little removed. “Well, and what are you going
to make of William P” and “To whom are you going
to marry Fanny ?” were once common questions. And
all the while the fact remains that the child is not
God’s gift to parents. Children are only God-given
tenants. Use them well if you would have them remain
with you as the joy of love and life and light. Give the
child love and then more love and then love and free-
dom to live his God-given life. Then all the precepts

II8 A B B E Y
you would give him for his own good, he will absorb
from you and you need not say a word. Trying to teach
a child by telling him is worthless and puts you in a
bad light. A child has not lost his heavenly vision and
sees you as you are, not minding what you say.
At Harper’s Abbey came into competition with strong
men. In the office was a young fellow by the name of
Reinhart and another by the name of Alexander—
they used to call him Alexander the Great, and he has
nearly proved his title.
A little later came Howard Pyle, Joseph Pennel and
Alfred Parsons. Young Abbey did his work with much
good cheer, and sought to place himself with the best.
For a time he drew just like Alexander, then like
Reinhart, next Parsons was his mentor. Finally he
drifted out on a sea of his own, and this seems to
have been in the year of the Centennial Exhibition.
Harper's sent the young man over to Philadelphia, or
perhaps he went of his own accord, anyway he haunted
the art rooms at the Exhibition, and got a lesson
there that spurred his genius as it had never been
spurred before.
He was then twenty-four years old. His salary had
been increased to ten dollars a week, fifteen, twenty-
five: if he wanted money for “expenses” he applied
to the cashier. There is more good honest velvet in
an Expense Account than in the Stock Exchange,
which true saying has nothing to do with Abbey.
At the “Centennial'' Abbey discovered the Arthurian
A B B E Y II9
Legend—fell over it, just as William Morris fell over
the Icelandic Sagas when past fifty. Abbey had been
called the “Stage-Coachman” at Harper's, because
he had developed a faculty for picturing old taverns
at that exciting moment when horses were being
changed and the driver, in a bell-crowned white hat
and wonderful waistcoat, tosses his lines to a fellow
in tight hair-cut and still tighter breeches, and a
woman in big hoops gets out of the stage with many
bandboxes and a bird cage. The way Abbey breathed
into the scene the breath of life was wonderful—just
a touch of comedy, without caricature “If it is in
1776, give it to Abbey,” said the Managing Editor,
with a growl—for Managing Editors, being beasts,
always growl.
Abbey and Parsons had walked to Philadelphia and
back, taking two weeks for the trip, sketching on the
way, stage-coaches, taverns, tall houses and old
wooden bridges all pinned together—just these and
nothing else, save Independence Hall. Later they
went to Boston and did Faneuil Hall, inside and out,
King’s Chapel and the State House and a house or
two out Quincy-way, including the Adams cottage
where lived two presidents and where now resides
one, William Queer, the only honorary male member
of the Daughters of the Revolution. Mr. Queer domi-
nates the artistic bailiwick and performs antique
antics for art’s sake: it was Mr. Queer who posed as
Tony Lumpkin for Mr. Abbey.
I2O A B B E Y
Abbey had done Washington Irving's Knickerbocker
tales and the various “Washington's Headquarters.”
He worked exclusively in black and white—crayon,
pencil or pen and ink. His hand had taken on a style
—powdered wigs, spit-curls, hoops, flaring sunbon-
nets, cocked hats and the tally-ho! These were his
properties. He worked from model plus imagination.
He had exhausted the antique in America—he thirsted
to refresh his imagination in England. The Centen-
nial Exhibition had done its deadly work—Abbey and
Parsons were dissatisfied—they wanted to see more.
Back of the stage-coach times lay the days of the
castle. Back of the musket was the blunderbuss, and
back of these were the portcullis, the moat, the spear
and coats of mail.
A de luxe edition of “Herrick” was proposed by the
Publishing Department: some say the Art Depart-
ment made the suggestion. Anyway, there was a con-
Sultation in the manager’s office and young Abbey
was to go to England to look up the scene and with
his pencil bring the past up to the present.
Abbey was going to England, that is just all there was
about it, and Harper & Brothers did not propose to
lose their hold upon him. Salary was waived, but ex-
penses were advanced and the understanding was
that Abbey was Harper's man. This was in 1878, with
Abbey’s twenty-sixth birthday yet to come. Abbey
had gone around and bidden everybody good-bye, in-
cluding his chum, Alfred Parsons. Parsons was going
A B B E Y X2I.
to the dock to see him off. “I wish you were going,
too,” said Edwin, huskily. “I believe I will,” said
Alfred, swallowing hard. And he did.
The Managing Editor growled furiously, but the Cunar-
der that bore the boys was then well toward the Banks.

I22 A B B E Y
T was an American that discov-
ered Stratford; and it is the Pe-
ter’s pence of American tourists
that now largely support the town.
At Stratford, Washington Irving
jostles the Master for the first
place, and when we drink at the
George W. Childs’s fountain we
piously pour a libation to all three.
QI Like all bookish and artistic Americans, when Ab-
bey and Parsons thought of England they thought of
Shakespeare’s England—the England that Washing-
ton Irving had made plain.
Washington Irving seemed very close to our young
men—London held them only a few days and then
they started for Stratford. They went afoot as became
men who carried crayons that scorned the steam-
horse. They took the road for Oxford and stopped at
the tavern where the gossips aver that the author of
“Love’s Labor Lost’’ made love to the landlord’s
wife—a thing I never would believe, e'en though I
knew 'twere true. From Oxford the young men
made their way to storied Warwick, where the port-
culis is raised—or lowered, I do not remember which
—every evening at sun-down to tap of drum. It is the
same old Warwick Castle that Shakespeare knew;
the same cedars of Lebanon that he saw; the same
screaming peacocks; the same circling rooks and daws,
and down across the lazy Avon over the meadows

A B B E Y I23
the same skylark vibrates the happy air. (IYoung
Abbey saw these things, just as Washington Irving
saw them, and he saw them just as the boy William
Shakespeare saw them.
Nine miles from Warwick lies Stratford. But at Strat-
ford the tourist is loosed; the picnicker is abroad; the
voice of the pedant is heard in the land, and the
Baconian is upon us. Abbey and Parsons stopped at
the Red Horse Inn and slept in the room that Wash-
ington Irving occupied, and they do say now that
Irving occupied every room in the house. Stratford
was not to the liking of our friends. They wanted to
be in the Shakespeare country for six months, that
was what the Managing Editor said—six months,
mind you. But they did not want to study the tourist.
They wanted to be just a little off the beaten track of
travel, away from the screech of the locomotive,
where they could listen and hear the echoes of a
tally-ho horn, the crack of the driver's whip and the
clatter of the coming stage-coach.
The village of Broadway is twelve miles from Strat-
ford, and five miles from the nearest railway station.
The worst thing about the place for a New Yorker is
the incongruity of the name.
In Broadway not a new house has been built for a
century, and several of the buildings date back four
hundred years. Abbey and Parsons found a house they
were told was built in 1563. The place was furnished
complete, done by those who had been dust a hundred
I24 A B B E Y
years. The rafters overhead were studded with hand-
made nails, where used to hang the flitches of bacon and
bunches of dried herbs; the cooking would have to be
performed in the fireplace, or the Dutch oven; funny
little cupboards were in the corners; and out behind
the cottage stretched a God’s half acre of the prettiest
flower garden ever seen, save the one at Bordentown
where lived Abbey’s lady-love.
The rent was ten pounds a year. They jumped at it—
and would have taken it just the same had it been
twice as much.
An old woman who lived across the street was hired
as housekeeper and straightway our artists threw
down their kits and said, like Lincoln, “We have
moved.”
The beauty and serene peace of middle England is
passing words. No wonder the young artists could
not paint for several weeks—they just drank it in.
(I Finally they settled down to work—seventeenth
century models were all around, and a look up the
single street would do for a picture. Parsons painted
what he saw; Abbey painted what he saw plus what
he imagined.
Six months went by, and the growls of the Managing
Editor back in New York, were quieted with a few
sketches. Parsons had tried water color with good re-
sults; and Abbey followed with an Arthurian sketch
—a local swain as model.
Several pictures had been sent down to London—
A B B E Y I25
which is up—and London approved. Abbey was elect-
ed a member of “The Aquarellists,” just as a little
later the Royal Academy was to open its doors,
unsolicited, for him.
Two years had gone, and new arrangements must be
made with the Harper's. Abbey returned to America
with a trunk full of sketches—enough good stuff to
illustrate several “Herricks.” He remained in New
York eight months, long enough to see the book safely
launched, and to close up his business affairs in Phil-
adelphia.
And the Shakespeare country has been his home ever
since ºf sºr
An artist’s work is his life—where he can work best
is his home. Patriotism is n’t quite so bad as old Ursa
Major said, but the word is not to be found in the
bright lexicon of Art. The artist knows no country.
His home is the world, and those who love the beau-
tiful are his brethren.
Abbey has remained in England, not that he loves
America less, nor England more, but because the
Shakespeare country has a flavor of antiquity about it
that fits his artistic mood—it is a good place to work.
GLAn artist’s work is his life.
At “Morgan Hall,” Fairford, only a few miles from
where Abbey first made his home in England, he now
lives and works. Near by lives Mary Anderson, excel-
lent and gentle woman, wife and mother, who used to
storm the one night stands most successfully. The
I26 A B B E Y
place is old, vine-clad, built in sections running over
a space of three hundred years. So lost is it amid the
great spreading beeches that you have to look twice
before you see the house from the road.
Happily married to a most worthy woman whose only
thought is to minister to her household, the days
pass. That Mrs. Abbey never doubts her liege is not
only the greatest artist, but the greatest man, in all
England, is a most pleasing fact. She believes in him,
and she gives him peace. The Kansas Contingent may
question whether a woman’s career is complete who
thus lives within her home, and for her household,
but to me the old fashioned virtues seem very hard to
improve upon. Industry, truth, trust and abiding loy-
alty—what a bulwark of defense for a man who has a
message for the world!
There is a goodly brood of little Abbeys—I dare not
say how many. I believe it was nine a year ago, with
an addition since. They run wild and free along the
hedgerows and under the beeches, and if it rains there
are the stables, kennels and the finest attic that ever
was 9% ºf
Back of the house and attached to it Mr. Abbey has
built a studio forty feet wide by seventy-five long, and
twenty feet high. It is more than a studio—it is a
royal workshop such as Michael Angelo might have
used for equestrian statues, or cartoons to decorate a
palace for the Pope. Dozens of pictures, large and
small are upon the easels. Arms, armor, furniture, are
A B B E Y 127
all about, while on the shelves are vases and old china
enough to fill the heart of a collector to surfeit. In
chests and wardrobes are velvets, brocades and an-
tique stuffs and costumes, all labeled, numbered and
catalogued, so as to be had when wanted.
This studio was built especially to accommodate the
paintings for the Boston Public Library. The commis-
sion was given in 1890, and the last of the decorations
has just been put in place—covering in all something
over a thousand square feet of space, and forming quite
the noblest specimen of mural decoration in America.
(LOrders were given to John S. Sargent and Puvis de
Chavannes at the same time that contracts were closed
with Abbey. Chavannes was the first man to get his
staging up and the first to get it down. He died two
years ago, so it is hardly meet to draw a moral about
the excellence of doing things with neatness and dis-
patch. Sargent's “Prophets” cover scarcely one-tenth
of the space assigned him, and the rest is bare white
walls, patiently awaiting his brush. Recently he was
asked when he would complete the task, and he replied
—“Never, unless I learn to paint better than I do
now—Abbey has discouraged me!”
I need not attempt to describe Abbey’s work in the
Boston Library—a full account of it can be found in
the first magazine you pick up. But it is a significant
fact that Abbey himself is not wholly pleased with it.
“Give me a little time,” he says, “and I'll do some-
thing worth while.” (I These words were spoken
I28 A B B E Y
half in jest, but there is no doubt but that the
artist, now in the fullness of his powers, in per-
fect health, in love with life, sees before him work
to do of such vast worth that all that lies behind
seems but a preparation for that which is yet to come.

I29
HE question is sometimes asked,
“What becomes of all the Vale-
dictorians and Class-Day Poets?”
I can give information as to two
parties for whom inquiry is made
—the Valedictorian of my Class
is now a worthy Floor-Walker in
Siegel, Cooper Company’s; and I
was the Class-Day Poet. Both of
us had our eyes on the Goal. We stood on the thresh-
old and looked out upon the World preparatory to
going forth, seizing it by the tail and snapping its head
off for our own delectation.
We had our eyes fixed on the Goal—it might better
have been the gaol.
It was a very absurd thing for us to fix our eyes on
the Goal. It strained our vision and took our attention
from our work.
To think of the Goal is to travel the distance over and
over in your mind and dwell on how awfully far off it
is. We have so little mind—doing business on such a
small capital of intellect—that to wear it threadbare
looking for a far off thing is to get hopelessly stranded
in Siegel, Cooper Company’s.
Siegel, Cooper Company is all right, too, but the point
is this—it was n’t the Goal!
A goodly dash of indifference is a requisite in the for-
mula for doing a great work.
Nobody knows what the Goal is—we are sailing under

I3O A B B E Y
sealed orders. Do your work today, doing it the best
you can, and live one day at a time. The man that
does this is conserving his God-given energy, and not
spinning it out into tenuous spider threads that Fate
will probably brush away.
To do your work well today, is the sure preparation
for something better tomorrow—the past has gone,
the future we cannot reach, the present only is ours.
Each day’s work is a preparation for the next.
Live in the present—the Day is here, the time is Now.
(I. Edwin A. Abbey seems the perfect type of a man,
who by doing all of his work well, with no vaulting
ambitions, has placed himself right in the line of Evo-
1ution. He is evolving into something better, strong-
er and nobler all the time. That is the only thing
worth praying for—to be in the line of Evolution.

So HERE ENDETH THE LITTLE JOURNEY To THE Hom E.
OF ABBEY, AS WRITTEN BY ELBERT HUBBARD, THE
TITLE PAGE, INITIALS AND ORNAMENTS BEING DE-
SIGNED BY SAMUEL WARNER, AND THE WHOLE DONE
INTO A Book BY THE ROYCROFTERS AT THEIR SHOP,
WHICH IS IN EAST AURORA, IN THE MONTH OF NOV-
EMBER, IN THE YEAR MCMII sºr sºr sºr sºy sºr sºr sºy sºr sºr
A N D H R O N S
This pair of Andirons, made Roycroftie by hand, $50. Others for less.
THE ROYCROFTERS, EAST AURORA, NEW YORK.

W E B IN D B O O K S
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EAST AURORA NEW YORK
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A Romance of the Rail
OST everybody has seen the new car cards
M. the Lackawanna Railroad has been putting out this
season. They tell a story in a series of bright little jingles
that belies the old saying about the course of true love, for in this
romance love runs smooth “on the Road of Anthracite ’’ and the
wedding feast is served in the dining car before the lovers leave the
train. The entire set of cards has been put into the form of a booklet
entitled “A Romance of the Rail.” It will be sent free to any one
y g •º - ºr. - & - 4 . .
who will send 2 cents in stamps to cover postage to
T. W. LEE, General Passenger Agent,
26 Exchange Place, New York City.
QI No finer find can be
annexed than a Membership in the American
Academy of Immortals. The advantages are
increased activity of all the secretions, deeper
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T H E PH I L IST IN E
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A LIFE MEMBERSHIP

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