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X002265250LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

PRESENTED BY

John C. Parker

x bes A i a i cee ace oh Benet passat Breet Fo

i.SL EN RP I Ne TE eeoe

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er

—
aeHICAGO, ILL.

EVELYN H. WALKER

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(ilustrated with Colored

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STURED AND SOLD B}
BOOK COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA, PA.

MANUFAC

MONARCH

TA |Ri chal hii eat \\ Nida ne cdiPREFACE

kind readers,
that they will not read my preface
until they have read the book, for
the last thi

as everybody knows is the case with

Vera, HAVE one favor to ask of my
VOR namely,
it was, OF
will be when it is finished, ng written,
all pret-

ith the
last page and read the whole b ok backwards
should like to

belongs, but the

aces. So you might as well begin w1

as to begin here. | put it at the

end, where it printers and
evervbody else would laugh at me, and nobody
would read either

book or preface; and there

would be one more disappol inted author in the world, to say n

1 - se i] “9 5 nA . -
ot the readers, who would nevel - know of their own disap pointn 1ent.
1

| fa nee 1
Besides, the word itself means something done ares and although

it was not done before, as I have been telling you, there seems to be no
tangle ul

sing that you have

way out of the itil somebody orows stronger minded.

T ” } +] » \ L- y ] ITA fA T)
Now, suppo read the book, you have found

oreat varieties of character between its two COVETS. | suppose you
oy + “

D “7r : tc hatureen an at Arc vho
have found more differences than likenesses between Joan of Arc, wh

(s thy an KTAI1N 6 yO hitsa --|
wielded a sword, and Clara Barton, who healed the wound the sword

1 2 a .
made, and peune ps between General Grant, who tought on o S1di
‘na great conflict, and General Lee, who oan .gainst him on the
other | , | , :

But after all, they were children of one family, tor th were al

f \W a ishin: oton,
L should a like to see

in love with an idea. What was the idea in the case
of Lincoln, of Grant, | he
vour list, with the idea, as it shapes itself in your

ist, | } |
I wonder how nearly any six people Ws ould

and the others?
mind, written
opposite each name.
agree about them all.

You remember the struggle that Rosa Bonheut
Others again h; 1d no great diff

had before she

c as culty of
found out what her idea was.

g » interesting LO) U J 1€ book
that kind. It would be interesting to go through tl

and note

ST ea8 PREFACE

carefully the history of this struggle in the lives of its twenty-two
people. But the outcome was the same in all cases—the idea was
found. Perhaps, after all, the secret of genius lies in finding oneselt
out, though I am aware that that is far from any dictionary definition
of the word. But when I think of Rosa Bonheur’s trouble with her-
self before she found out what the world had for her to do, it makes
me wonder what young painters, or poets, or statesmen, or philanthro-
pists among. my acquaintances are in danger of being lost to the
world because they are not getting acquainted with themselves and
their own possibilities.

Another thing; every one of these twenty-two people believed
tremendously that his or her idea was worth saving, worth fichting
for, worth dying for, or even living for, if necessary, and making petty
little sacrifices for, even if these sacrifices took away everything they
had or hoped to have—except the idea.

And the spirit of such lives is contagious. We can never
associate with courage, and truth, and cheer, and earnestness, without
catching it. Wecan not read the biographies of true and noble souls
without becoming ourselves a little more true and noble. even in spite
of ourselves. Let us live much with the great souls of history, until
we, too, are in love with an idea.

Ee. da WwW
CHICAGO, JULY 5TH, 1808,

$ a 4 te H : teste ae :
il i ae ak bias ee Sears sasnssT} or) yasCONFENRS:

GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE FATHER OF His CouNntTRY

Untysses S. GRANT, THE MAN oF SILENCE

ABRAHAM LINCOLN, THE RAIL-SPLITTER OF ILLINOIS .

VICTORIA, QUEEN OF ENGLAND

Henry W. LONGFELLOW, THE POET OF THE COMMON PEOPLE

Henry M. STANLEY, THE AFRICAN EXPLORER

Rosa BoNHEUR, THE PAINTER OF ANIMALS

Patrick HENRY, THE DEMOSTHENES OF AMERICA

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, STATESMAN, SCIENTIST, PHILOSOPHER

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, ENGLAND’S GREATEST WOMAN
PoET

Joan or Arc, THE DELIVERER OF FRANCE

Tuomas “Atva EpIsoNn, THE W1zaRD OF MENLO Park.

Wittiam Ewart GLADSTONE, THE GRAND OLD MAN oF ENGLAND

Friptior NANSEN, EXPLORER OF THE FarTHEST NORTH

CLARA BARTON, THE ANGEL OF THE BATTLEFIELD

Dwicut L. Moopy, THE EVANGELIS1

JOHN WANAMAKER, THE SUCCESSFUL Man oF BUSINESS

RoBERT E. LEE, THE HERO OF THE SOUTH

Susan B. ANTHONY, A CHAMPION OF WOMAN

FRANCES WILLARD, THE APOSTLE OF | EMPERANCE

GALILEO, THE STUDENT OF NATURE

WotrGanc AMADEUS Mozart, THE GREAT MUSICIAN

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE—IHE SACRIFICING SISTER

a
4
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:
PAGE
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61
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24 I fs
iyi
aL
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eno i
253
Js H
259 i
A i
2/ I tl
28] i
‘|
325) i
3 |
315 iTomb of Washington............----
George Washington and _ the
IS IGKREIOVEE Goa nano quoposbeboosecunauece
Washington’s
IMPOUND? soadaccsoscenshacemuennen sonode
Washington and His Men Hunt-
ing Indian Tracks........ ee
Martha Washington..............-..-
House where First Congress Met
The Tree under which Washing
ton took Command of the Army

Washington and His Men at Val

leva OL ies casein.
Surrender of Burgoyne..
Washington.at Valley Forge Read

shakes AL IWIN ooono pono
Mount Vernon
George Washington— Portrait

Grant’s Birthplace.........
Grant blowin. 00...
Grant Breaking a Horse
NWeSsteEoint..:.-....

General Scott.......

Artillery Going to the Front
General McClellan..
Recruits to the Front..

The Advance on Vicksburg
General William T. Sherman......
Battle of the Wilderness............
Battle of Shiloh......

Soldiers Marching to the Front
Capitol at Washington.......
Wes: Grant—Portrait....: 2-6. 0.0...
Abraham Lincoln Going to School
WINCONES BAD VNOOG cosescc. sss...

cn Cn Gn
SS =

JT
on

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Moving to Indiana........-.--
The Proud Possessor of a Log
Gabini ose eee

Too Poor to Adtord 2

Lincoln the Mother of Invention
Lincoln as an Orator ..

Lincolns Bio Heat: <2... iene
Lincoln as a Book Agent........-...
The Causes of the War.

Slaves on a Plantation......

Abraham Lincoln—Portrat

Queen Victoria—Portt

Childhood of Victoria

Hampton Court Ga dens Eng
lands =.

Windsor Castle.

I eeosvenesesaeen

Coronation Chair..

11 ay rn
Prince Albert:s Tomb:.::...-..

Young Stanley’s Daring Feat..
Almshouse Boys at Dinner
Stanley being Robbed

Stanley Finding Livingstone
Preparing for a Feast..

Rosa Bonheur’s Favorite Store....
Rosa Bonheur at Nineteen.........

BIOWIIS creccyccus ct eeeene ee tees

ab Eee ee ee . nae fs thes 3 3 ie 5 oe : “
es i Ba sae ene ik diss eee sda ie ee ee OTN aL DaTiee te = Nn
— t , >

— fed tl bel
>) N N) re —
mn Ww si =F

a
WN
»PAGE
The Overthrow....ssssseseereseenreets 135
The Horse Hair...--2eceseeerer 136
Patrick Henry—Portrait....4------- 140
Benjamin Franklin and His Elec-
trical Experiment....-----s:s200" 151
Benjamin Franklin when a Boy... 157
Mrs. Browning—Portrait....---++» 165
The Childhood of Joan Of Ace. WA:
A Fresco—Joan of Arc....--+++-2+ 180
Edison as a Newsboy..---.+++2:207" 183
Edison—Portrait....---+sss+2ssse00" 184
Thomas A. Edison and his Talk-
ing Machine......------serrssrter 193
William Ewart Gladstone.....------ 196
Gladstone when a Boy Debating.. 197
Gladstone’s AmncestOrs..-.-+rss.++" 198
Gladstone at Hton...----ssrrrr 199
Eton College cc.cccn sca 200
Christ Church Colleze—Oxford.. 202
Dining Hall, Christ Church Col-
feces nese ce eae ae 203
Broad Walk — Gardens of Christ
Church College.....-:sueecs 205
Hawarden Castle....-:.s-ssssss 209
The Old Castle at Hawarden...--- 211
Gladstone Introducing the Home
214

Rule Billeticccececrcs trace

PAGE.
Gladstone and Grandchild........--- 216
Nansen when a Child... --.-.----: 217

Fridtjof Nansen Portrait .....---: 218
Nansen’s First Snow Shoes....---+: 220
Nansen Hunting Polar Bears...--- 221
Mhe (O Braml yecesccsesen sce ccoruen ae
Farthest North.......25 --:ssssoeese" 227
Clara Barton’s Girlhood.....------- 23
Clara Barton—Portrait ...----.++++» 232
Clara Barton and Her Work in
Cuba... Seen eceeeess eceee e 2A
Dwight L. Moody—Portrait....--+- 244
Mother of Dwight L. Moody..---: 250
John Wanamaker....--:---:7es07" 252
Robert Lee on his Favorite Horse 259
Fitzhugh Lee —Portrait......-..229+ 260
Robert E. Lee— Portrait....---e+ 267
House where Lee Surrendered.... 269
Susan B. Anthony—Portrait....--- 272
A Reception. .....-.s 2.9 278
Frances E. Willard—Portrait....-. 280
Drinking Fountain.......-s2+ssr0" 290
Anna A. GordOnt-cecccre stnaaes 201
Galileo—Portrait ....eeeerrr 292

Wolfgang Mozart—Portrait when
eiiiesen G05

RE eT

ot EE

inesLb elo

$
a
a
At
|

TOMB OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON, WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

i ii a ini eeWASHINGTONGEORGE WASHINGTON
THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY

Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one
Who was all this and ours, and all men’s—-WASHINGTON.

—fowell.

OING down the Potomac river by steamer from Washington
to Norfolk, the most interesting sight by the way, if you
have a gleam of historical. imagination, is Mount Vernon,
associated as it 1s with so much that is tender and beautiful in the
domestic life of Washington, and hallowed as the place of his burial.
Though he spent many sorrowful years away from it in the service of
his country, this was the home to which his heart fondly turned through
all the years of his manhood.

A few miles below Mount Vernon you will begin to strain your
eyes for another spot, dear to every American, the place where
Washington was born. It is now more than a century and a half
since it ceased to be his home, and the house has entirely disap-
peared, but a few old-fashioned garden shrubs and one or two leafless
fig-trees suggest the spot where Washington was once a child and
enable us to rebuild in fancy the home in which the greatest of Amer-
icans found birth. The house was a low, one-story frame building
with four rooms below and an old-fashioned attic under the steep
roof. The site is marked by a small stone tablet.

Here George Washington was born, February 22, 1732, one
year before Georgia, the youngest of the thirteen colonies which he
was to unite into a nation, was settled,

17el ae ——— Af —

GEORGE WASHINGTON

.d his characteristic good judgment

Augustine Washington,

maiden name w:THE FATHER OF AIS COUNTRY.

When George was still a very young child, the Washington
family removed to an estate near Fredericksburg, on the Rappahan-
nock river. The house, like the one on the Potomac, has long since

tumbled to ruins.
eleven years old.

Here his father died when George was about
it is probable that the traming which he had given

his son had done much to start him in the right direction and make

him the great man
he came tobe. The
story of the cherry
tree and others of
its kind are not now
generally believed
by scholars. It
would be a great
pity to give them
up, but it would be
a still greater pity
to make sport of
them, as some pco-
ple are fond of
doing; for if they
are not literally
true, still they arc
true ina very high
and noble sense,
much as the para-
bles of the Bible
are true, although
the actual events

a
a Ve

pee - , 3
- Suid

GEORGE WASHINGTON AND THE HATCHET.

which they record may never have taken place. The story of
the cherry tree proves the belief of Augustine Washington's netwh-
bors that he was a man who placed a high regard upon truth and
truth-telling. It shows that, in the opinion of those who knew
him best, he trained his son to that high ideal, and that the son,

even at that tender a

training.

ge,

had begun to show the results of his

°%

Mary Ball had been a beauty and a belle in her girlhood. SheFs Te a aceieentinnl

GEORGE WASHINGTON

2,”
oo oe

became a woman fit to be trusted with the education of a boy whom
the country would need for high uses by and by.

Augustine Washington was a rich man, according to the ideas of
his time. He willed the farm on the Rappahannock to his son
George. Mount Vernon he left to his eldest son, Lawrence, who died
young, and, after the early death of his daughter, Mount Vernon
passed to George. The farm on the Rappahannock remained the
family home during all of George's boyhood,

It often seems as if it were an advantage to a boy to be born
poor. Many of our Presidents and cther famous men and women
have begun life under very hard circumstances and have had to fight
poverty through many weary years. This sometimes makes it seem
as if it required poverty and hardship to make a great man. This
advantage George Washington did not have, and it was given him to
prove that a nich boy as well as a poor one may misc to high places and
fill them nobly. «*A man away live nobly though in a palace,” said the
old Roman Emperer, Mareus Aurchus. Washington's opportunities
were of a very different kind from those of Lincoln, but no one can
find much fault with the result in either case. Perhaps any kind of
circumstances may be an advantage to a boy it he ts only the richt
kind of boy to begin with.

There were few schools in those early days in Virgimia, and the
Washineton children were taught mainly at home. We read of a
number of differcnt tuters whe had charge of George's education at
different times. He seems to have been careful and painstaking in
all his work, as is shown by his copybooks and other exercises, many
of which have heen preserved. When he was about thirteen he
wrote out a hundred and ten savings, which he called ‘‘ Rules of
Courtesy and Decent Behavior in Company and
Where he obtained these rules is not known. Many of them are
written in bovish languaze, and same have therefore thought them

Conversation. |

his own composition * but, on the other hand, othe rs seem over wise
and old tora lini at his uve. This, however, misrht have been duc
to the character of his T ading and companions. lis mother often
read to him from a serious and theuchtful book called « Contempla-
tions, Moral and Divine. by Sir Matthew Hale.” He spent a great

deal of his time with Lord Fairfax, a distant relative, a man ot fine

a EE CLT rtTHE FATHER OF LILS COWNBERIY 21
education, who wrote wel] and had been the friend of Addison,
ereat master of the Enelish lancuage. He was very fond of George
and took a deep interest

| st in his education. Perhaps it was from this

»
)

GOOD BYE MY SON, GOD BLESS YOU.

friend that Washington learned that exact use of Enelish which
enabled him in later life to express whatever he had in mind in the
clearest way. It seemsa little strange that he was not given the22 GEORGE WASHINGTON
advantages of a college training. He never became a man of great
learning. But he was thoroughly at home in the branches of a com-
mon English education, and read many of the best books.

It was early settled in the Washington family that George was
to make his own way in life just as if he had no property. Indeed,
neither he nor any one else seems ever to have thought of anything
different.

When he was about fourteen years of age he began to havea
longing for a sailor's life, and for a time his mother thought seriously
of permitting him to go tosea. There is a pretty story to the effect
that he was about to start, and that his trunk had been sent on board
ship, when, finding his mother in tears, he resolved to abandon his
plan and ordered his trunk recalled. The truth is that Mrs. Wash-
ington was advised by her brother against this course, and withdrew
her consent. This again does not destroy the tradition, but simply
gives it point. The story would never have been thought of in con-
nection with a boy who was not kind and obedient to his mother, and
it would not have been believed and repeated if it had not fitted the
character of the boy. Whenever in the interest of truth we
throw a story away, it will be worth while to look behind jt
if it does not mean something that is really worth savino

) \ oa \ 1

It was not more than a year after this that he became acquainted
with a young lady whom he called ‘‘ The Lowland Beauty,” to whom

he addressed some rather poor poetry. Here are some sample lines

chosen at random, and copied exactly, capitals and all -

‘“Oh, ye Gods why should my P

OOT I les

cesistless Heart
Stand to oppose thy might and Power
At Last surrender to cupid’s feather’d Dart.

And now lays Bleeding every Hour. ”

If you would like to see the rest of it, you will find it in Edward
Everett Hale’s Life of George Washine
about this time, and thoucht he

ght he should never be happy again. It is
surprising to find that he afterwards met several other young ladies
whom he greatly admired, and that he at a still later period bees
very much attached to another beautiful woman and 1 tes

! 1 married her.
But, of course, George Washington was different from other youne

ton. He was very wretched

my SUA area ead cet ia pee afi , ae rae

iTEE PALER OF TiS GOWN RA

nen. A young person of our day would never

blow. Besides, the poetry he Iped to make him less miserable. The

writing of poetry is a kind of hee

) g 9 , a harmless conductor of

emotions which might otherwise rend and torture the young soul. It
is not certa inly known who ‘‘The Lowland Beauty ” was, but it is
believed that she was the lady who afterwards married Richard
Henry Lee, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.
If this is true, she had the good fortune to become the mother of the
gallant and dashing ‘‘Light-Horse Harry,” of evolutionary fame,
and now still further famous as the father of General Robert E.
Lee.

Washington had still other resources in his trouble. hard work
and hard. fare, for he began soon after this to study and practic«
le learned his business so well that he

surveying. was made sur-
veyor of Culpepper County, Virginia, when

he was only seventeen
years old. He did his work of surveying the county so well that late1
surveyors have not had to do it over again.

\nd now we begin to come upon stirring time

The French and English both claimed the land west of the Alle-
shany mountains, and the French were beginning to build
the valley of the Ohio. The English regarded this as trespassing on
their Tee and Governor Dinwiddie, of Virginia, decided to

send a messenger to find out what the French intended to do. He

forts 1n

oe, the bravest and wisest man he could find for this expedition
He chose George Washington, then a youth of twenty-one years
who was afterwards spoken of by Thomas Carlyle in his ‘Life of
Frederick the Great,” as ‘‘a steady-going, considerate, close-mouthed
young gentleman, who came to great distinction in the end

Oo LiCl,

It was
a dangerous journey of eight or nine hundred miles, through a wilder-
ness full of hostile Indians, in the depth of winter. He started out
with seven companions, accomplished his mission and returned home
in safety after three months of terrible hardship. ‘‘FProm that
moment,” says Washington Irving, who has written a charming life
of Washington, ‘‘he was the rising boy of Virginia.”
The time had now come when the question whether the French
or the English were to rule this continent must be settled. It took
the ‘‘Seven Years’ War” todecideit. In this war George Washine-

recover from such a24 GEORGE i ASHING TON
ton gave the first command and fired the first bullet. In writing an
‘rmish in which he had been engaged, 1 said, The
This account reached England,

was like music. :
saving, ‘‘lf he had

account of a sk
whistle of bullets

and the king was inclined to make sport or 1t, ?
heard more
]

he would
not have

thought so. ”

i Years after,

: ‘ 7 when some-

ie ot 7 one asked

N gy, Jinn 1 Ine

f} YS had ever

; oy W ‘ made such
Cte | a Leman

i boas Washington

¢ % l L did? Sowa:

ae must have

, been when

Sa ena = [ was very
<a : young.”

an active

and honor-
able = paret
throughout

phen.
5

the entire

PRR)
ae

had met

WASHINGTON AND HIS MEN HUNTING INDIAN TRACKS. Mrs, Martha
Cus tits. aa
young Virginian widow of much beauty and many accomplishments,
and had engaged himself to marry her. Ihe marriage took place
as soon as peace was restored and the French had gone over the sea,

and Washington settled down at Mt. Vernon, which had now become

I ere eae Eee
5; ,
Heks THE

i i aed ee eka aa delineate cae eee co errei sats bee ae .LHZE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY. 25

on - rtr?7 a Sef “le :
his property, to the quiet life of a southern planter. This was to last |
until the next great war. But hisstate could not give up his services
entirely during those years of peace. Every year for fifteen vears

he was sent to the Virginia assembly to help make the laws. At the

Ser

SS s SS y
IN

iS ey

it;

N S |

VN i
Sv iy
Sg | I \ . i)
NY || L/S yf ON \S ie
S f hi \ iV
/ i

d L

47, j

Ye i
MARTHA WASHINGTON. a

first meeting of the assembly after peace had been made, Mr. Robin- "1

son, the Speaker of the House, made a speech in which he thanked
Washington for his services during the war. It was unexpected, and

the young soldier was embarrassed. He stammered and blushed, but26 GEORGE WASHINGTON

said nothing. ‘‘Sit down, Mr. Washington,” said the speaker.

| ‘(Your modesty 1s equal to your valor, and that surpasses the power

of any laneuae at | possess. ”’ |
ang lage that | possess. Lle was by nature a man of action
rather tl |

dren 7 - ro
, 18 ie ieTE PATTER OR US COUNTRY

Live De]
ed

and long betore the fifteen years of peace were over, he had become a
powertul speaker.

TREE UNDER WHICH WASHINGTON TOOK COMMAND OF THE ARMY.

Meantime, trouble was brewing between England and her colo-
nies. The second Continental Congress came together at Philadel-
phia in May, 1775, to provide ways and means of resisting tyranny.

Sone

——.o £ 2 ran
ae

years in Italy while he «: hung on the heights like .

28 GEORGE WASHINGTON

The battle of Lexington had already taken place. Many great
speeches were made. Washington said little, > came every day
and wore the uniform which he had cast aside sixteen years ago.

Perhaps that was the greatest war speech that was made. And when
they wanted a commander-in-chief, the choice of nearly everybody,
except two men who wanted the position themselves, was Washing-
ton. He received the trust with much modesty}

and a painful sense
of responsibility, saying in his speech of acceptance, ‘‘I beg it may
be remembered by every gentleman in this room that I this day de-
clare, with the utmost sincerity, I do not think myself equal to the

command I am honored with.” He took command of the army
under the famous elm at Cambridge. This tree is greatly treasured
by the people of Cambridge. It is believed that it is three hundred
years old. A stone tablet has been placed beneath it, bearing the

inscription: ‘Under this tree Washineton first took command of
the American army, ye

3, 1775. A year and a day from this event

LMR

ily
Congress adopted th . Decla ‘ation of Independence.

At Cambridge, ae ishington had his headquarters in the now
celebrated Craigie house, since then the home of the poet Longfellow
for many years, a now owned and occupied by his daughter, Miss
Alice Longfellow. . Washington came and spent the winter here,
doing much by her Loe presence and the social entertainments
which she provided to keep up the courage of General Washington
and his officers.

It is hard for us to imagine the difficulties 2 yainst which Wash-
ington had to strugele. The army which was given him at Cambridge
was small and ee and he had very little ammunition. It is
sald athat at one time he had but nine rounds for each of his men.
He had to send as far as to the Bahamas and Bermudas for powder,

and he was forced to do this secret]v because he did not wish either the

Americans or the British to know how little he had. The next
spring he drove the British out of Boston. but alter that he tried to
1s . R 1 1 1

Keep out of battle until he should be strong enough to meet the

enemy. For several years he did more planning than fighting. He
was so Cautious that he was called the American Fabi

lus, aiter that
Roman Fabius who led the Carthaginians hither and yon for fifteen

. thundercloud,”’LHE FATHER OF TITS; GOWUNBRY
avoiding battle but

>
tunity tO vet her LOrces toget the r for the oreat struge rle.

ran to find fault wi ith Wash
le

Chat was during the terrible ee ae
spent with his army at Valley Forge. His men were |
without sufficient « lothing. Some were bareheaded and bare

But SOIMEe OT the ] eople | ¢

p¢
this cautious policy.

oa Saat Se i
aby a it = ce}
eo. EG ue a
eg ay ‘ ao

. { N sphere Seosie ean Por ie
ates pepe acs it bt i ad re athe ee ss eee ya 4 coat cane eS

WASHINGTON AND HIS MEN AT VALLEY FORGE.

and made a path in the snow with their bleeding

oe the enemy and giving Rome an oppor-

ton for
eh he
lunery and
tooted

feet as they walked.
The paper money with which Congress was obliged to pay

the

soldiers was so nearly worthless that six months’ pay would scarcely

buy a soldier a pair of boots. There was a cabal, or ring, in

gress to remove Washington from command, and put General Gates,
an AN solk d man without the slightest milit: ary ability, in his place.

naGEORGE WASHINGTON

It was hard for Washington to see his men sta
cold and hardship. He sawa great many dar

winter, but he never doubted the right would win

z 4

= i

spain ,

ke Oe EE ee sooo ei 4 rE ee 7 j

SURRENDER OF BURGOYNI

[he next year, things began to look brighter. Already Bur-
gsoynes large army had been conquered at the battle of Saratoga, the
caer 4 ees ee f Jey ES a ~ a ] f 4 yi : E , ee
ereat battle of the war, and one of the greatest conflicts of history

oy ie a saunpeaskSynyy Scat iss Ya

eo)LITE PATER OF FUSIGON, IN TITER NY.

{

ment, 1!

LY ° 31 i
}

keeping another ereat British army 1rom going to the aid of Burgoyne |
. , - © © 5 Sey |

VO ,Ore thar YIAna ale . He z 4 : Ia) . 1 fie
he did Nore than anyone Else tO bring about ad DT1it1Ssn defeat. 3
Lhe Next year, in Consequence of the efforts of Benjamin ly
Franklin, France came to our aid. his brought great encourace- i
> 5 VUULASS {

not a great amout

t
nt of actual military assistance. After that }
there was no question which w: fee ie

1 : i}
and if King i

would

Ly events

turn,

:
Ce * * * ~ Ss 7
5 i 5
ft ae Agar, eee en. Aa {
‘ tig 3 ey y |
a, RES ie
ATH, | |
1 pee

WASHINGTON FORGE READING A LEI”

George III. had been a little wiser or his advisers a little stronger, the
war would have

was, the war lagged on until the siege of Yorktown, in 1781

/ 4 |)

3 Wa
and peace was not formally declared until 1783.

During the later years of the war, the public

Ele
‘he

confidence
Washington was completely restored. was now every where
regarded as the savior of his countrv. 1 wish was expressed by

ended then and many lives would have been saved.

in }

SN a a aes =| 32 GEORGE WASHINGTON

some that he should become king of the country he had freed trom

foreign control, but Washington indignantly rejected the idea.

As soon as possible he bade a kind farewell to his officers and
soldiers, and retired once more to Mount Vernon, which he had
visited but once in more than eight years.

Ba te
ee Lew
SS)

yh 3
WN eee Sein?
ga

PANY

He spent the next five years in managing his neglected estates
and enjoying the free life of the country, entertaining a great number
of guests with generous Southern hospitality. He hoped that he
might never have to leave his home again for public duties, but the
people could not spare him yet. :

In 1787 he was made President of the Convention which met in

Philadelphia, and drew u 3 . fa
I , and drew up the Constitution under which we now

eT Ss eta es te
an “ a on ae Coe ae 2 Sa PPL ar
iis) ad asad emer eee ONL Ser cir asst si hee SAVETHE FATHER We IEGHS (OU INTRY. 3 2
live. It was a trying place and he filled it with great wisdom. He
was twice elected President by the unanimous voice of the people,
and would have been chosen the third

time if he had consented. At
the close of his second term of office the love of the entire people
again followed him to Mount Vernon

Even this time he was not allowed a long quiet. Troubles arose
with rance and war was feared. «This was in 1795. _ Washington
was again made commander-in-chief of the armv. But this time the
war-cloud passed over, and he was saved the strain of another
campaign.

In the last month of the last year of the century, Washineton
was stricken with his last illness. He had been riding all day on his
estate. [he day was snowy and cold.

He reached home about
three o’clock in the afternoon. He

‘would not allow a servant to be
sent out on an errand, saying the day was too bad, but appeared to
take no notice of his own « xposure. The next day he found that he
had taken cold, but was able to walk out in the erounds in the after-
noon, Ele failed rapidly and

1799.

died the next day, December 14,

The story has been told that Mrs. Washington, or Lady Wash-
ington, as the people of her day loved to call |]
I

1er, shut herself up

with her grief and never left her room after her husband’s death. |

am glad to say that her diaries and account-books prove the story
untrue. She was a woman of too much good sense and conscience to

neglect her duties to the living in her

devotion to the dead. She
lived until 1802.

[he highest honors were paid to Washington, both in this

country and in Europe. Some of the greatest men in the nation

were called upon to deliver funeral orations. One ol

the most
remarkable of these

was the one given by General Henry Lee. It
was in this address that the expression was first used, now so familiar
to everyone, ‘‘ First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of
his countrymen. ”

Washineton was a man of fine appearance and commanding

presence. He was six feet high and had clear blue eyes and brown
hair. He was careful of his personal appearance, usually having his

clothes imported from England. He has been accused of being cold

sri ani
wo. i a ——7

34
The truth is that he never quite over-
been more genial and

and reserved to strangers.
ness. No one could have
his friends. He was fond

came his natural s
oracious in manner than he when among
ran) . c . ° : lS, y Ae, z ss aoe
particularly of his wiles children and his n¢ phews
I = r : ey

of young people,

and nieces. He had no children of his own.

He had a hot temper, but he kept it 1 nder strong control except
xpectedly and took him unawares. And in such

pes . = ~ oN f a O41 +77)
nse ol Justice SOON returned. An instance O! this occurred
that most of the barrels which
led with sand.

' f 7. 1 rr ] f{ et > <7 ro
LZINEe bi rore NlS allival 1U01 the sake

Bee
; j ; ] ls 1) AN) 1 , | , t , ; NV, +

of preventing the discouragement which would ha toll | had the

. 1 1] 1 1 peepee a a a nt ee a dot i
soldiers known how small was the actual suppty 0! munition. He

ee ea. Bo ee ; 7] ee

Cant Colonel! SnOVeEr to Vlarblenea D hen hye
, a \A ais { . a ad | wy xKTIth Q 17e

returned, (;eneral VVashnington let |} 1] W1UI | C1O] Have
1 a ] \ fe
Vou got tne powaer f CON: SIl; 5 l DUTSC
| Ingull V\ hy

itor tenible mace, and, alter a torrent ol width, IngQue

did vou come back, sir, without 11

< rs . 1 1
od kes Tey : ] | es | “ c el] ‘ r 1 4 the
powdel In Marble lead. Linie: Na lal Was Ed Nene, then
( eis my hand, i

reached out his hand, saying,
vou will take it and forgive me.
me forget what is due

Wa shineton was a OT'

know w
very much pro\
set a guard over NiimMse

control. Betore we Lb] ime him

8 ‘

escaped nim, we ougcnt to rememMvel th LI host GH C1m™M Wdas-
“acd 11 al ) ic [1] lrohtni WW | t } | .etT ro. Wnt 1

tered Lilve ( Ip I LS LJ bis | LiTLY LLiC il L Less) ct { | wo} § OVS wnen

: Stee [ews ~-y ee eas A ae es et ay ]

le 1S) LOOSE; NIE, WHEN IE IS NaArMEssed, CNS OUL CrranGds WKe all ODE.

dient servant. So that fiery s]
of Washineton’s life if he had not held it in che ck, was a part of

very strenetl

he was.

‘ 4 ea Ke ia ese ene
95 ee clea Sai BE EA Se E Baie! ie
= ie a él re a by wine AT BI bro ao) eee 2 aaa r
) pp te) eh ta hiss a dn sealed aeemrie bes Pitre see nt fog) —LHE FATHER OF HIS COUNDLRY: 35
There was one reason for hij
overlooking. He was always sure that his work, whatever it chanced
to be, was worth doing just as well as he could possibly do it.

Hewas
never atraid of

putting too much work into a task or too many hours
intoa day. And that was Just as true of him when he was surveying
in the backwoods of Virginia roasting his own potatoes in the ashes
and eatine them off of cl

chips as it was when he had risen to the

highest place in the nation. JI

am aware that a ereat many nice

young ladies and gentlemen who

are just starting out in life to KOs oS
make their fortunes, do not agree
with him on this point. At least

they think it would be entirely

out of place to ask them todo | a FS) Ao
their work as faithfully as he did | OA ak
his. And sono doubt it would | | as,
bes And that 1s one of the |
greatest differences between
them and Washington. But
they will never believe me until |
it is too lat | |
Hdward Everett Hale has ¢ Z
summed up so well the life and 7 i :
character of Washineton that ] v7
will do you the favor of quoting GEORGE WASHINGTON.

fiteen, would dare to say: ‘I will very early in life compel the gov-
ernment of this colony to make me commander of its toops| 7 1
will win everybody’s regard and admiration as I command them ;
| will inherit a large fortune, for which I shall not have to work
hard ; I will marry the woman I love; she shall be beautiful and
elegant, and she, also, shall have a large fortune. I will live in
the most beautiful place in America, and I will so carry on my estate
that it shall be the admiration of all men. I will be active in the

government of Virginia, and will lead it step by step to higher pros-

perity ; when the time comes I will be unanimously named as the

IS success which we are in danger of

SSSGEORGE W. 1SHING TON

: , Sa ;
Ol the armies ot NV country. iT)

| have created, anc W ,
| ; part La Ol TrEEeD

honored of all me!

1d We | ce
would have seemed ‘absurd enough, ¢ J
happened to this young Virginian.

”

ee ee

TE A EATS : -

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fA YA 4] 9, ‘ Li \ 4, LZ/
Jif f a My f- 5
SLMLLL YL YL: kL Uh, rae a4 j Mi / ;
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ay ry ~~
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b I ee © Oy a € ~
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at
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. fal (al gg mim Sj 61 224 § Am, *4 V8
a -- ~w S&T ./h eR FB 4 W\ET
ASS XG Mi f4 ENG
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“(jONE SIX TH
n\e Faw rn, ww " )
LAG |OFADOLLAR i
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1. VipEATE Toll |
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\ ‘

OUNTER FEIT|{

4
Be

Be vs a re is 2B:

=e ia <xhiX?ies

ULYSSES S. .GRAaNe

THE MAN OF SILENCE.

So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves be

hind him lies
7 i
Upon the paths of men.

—Longfellow.
EYSSES)S, GRAN@ ay
ican of the eighth

Led
as an Amer-

generation. a
His ances- Cigar a
tor, Matthew Grant, came
from Dorchester, Eneland,
in 1630, and settled in
Dorchester, Massachusetts.
The military training of
Ulysses began with his
great grandfather, Noah
Grant, who, with his
younger brother, was an
English officer in the
Hrench and: In¢ian’ war
Neither of the brothers
lived to see the victory of
Wolfe at Quebec. His grand-
father served in the War of the Rev- rh . ih
olution from Bunker Hill to Yorktown. In - |
his father, Jesse Grant, the martial spirit | i
rested for a generation, except as it found t

GRANT’S BIRTHPLACE. |
exercise in the rural debatine society and le

in the political discussions of his times. Jesse Grant married Hannah

Simpson in 1821. Of her ancestry little is known, except that they

2
Oo 4GEVSSES Ss: GRANT,

had lived in Pennsylvania for several generations. The Grant family
were strong Whigs and thought the only salvation of the nation lay
in Whig principles. The Simpsons were Democrats, and believed
the country ruined beyond hope when the Democrats went out of
office in 1860.

Ulvsses was born at Point Pleasant, Ohio, in 1822. Being the
frst child, the naming was considered a matter of great importance,
and all the relatives were finally called in to take part in the choice.
Ulysses was the preference of the father, who, although his opportu-
nities for education had been extremely limited, had yet read enough

into the classics to desire a classic name io! the boy who the fond

parents little dreamed —rash statement, for who may guess the
- z, 4. : ‘ 4} am 1 rT . xr At lay “\ sf y be - ~
visions that flood a mother’s heart’ — would live to add honot! and

1
|

renown to the noblest name that could be chosen. [he matter was
finally decided by ballot, a fter which ‘‘ Hiram” was prefixed to soothe
the grandfather, who was wounded at the ado] tion of the heathen
name, but sazd nothing, conquering by silence, lk the great
soldier, whose life was then just beginning. but ‘‘| liram = wased
name which would not stick to him, hall
ithe next year the family removed t Georgetown, Ohio,

which remained the home of Ulysses during all his boyhood.

FE: - ee se Se es fd L : Tl } J a . : 4 J ]

father was anxious that he should be educated and he attended

school recularlv. but the school of those days had not mucl

SCNOO regu aly, DUE EEC SCNOOIL | LrLOS¢ days Had NOt nucn to
. ° 1 “TI | 1 . 1 1 ]

sive to a wide-awake boy. The schoolmaster carried a long beech

switch in his hand, not for symbolic purposes, but tor switching, as

] ft _ B) ee ee ond a ] : ; af ] ]
the future President learned, to his discomfort. He also learned to

sav. ‘* A noun is the name of a thing, which he repeated, he says 1n

his Memoirs, until Ne nae EOome tO Delenv Le | WO WI1NTeTS he
‘ i PO et ay : \ 7 "17 r 1
spent at school away from home, one in Maysville, Kentucky, the

other at Ripley, Ohio. At both of these schools he ‘‘ ciphered
through ” the same old arithmetic which he had worn out in George-
fown,. whose rules he knew by heart and whose problems he had
solved so many times that he remembered the heures from one end
to the other and backwards. Here, too, he reviewed the interesting
fact that ‘‘a noun is the name of a thing.” And that was about as
far as his schoolbooks carried him until he began to prepare for

examination at West Point.

Se oY comes ee ee eae. :
‘ win Lchaeab Dba er ac uretee sean Nita a eS ee Sag Sin:
} ee at aida er aa a Tt Sarees PA Yok te
— u s

ofem ae

VTE MAN OF STLENGE. 39 |
3¢ |
) But if our young friend did not find ereat profit in the instruc- i
tion given by the somewhat crude teachers of his day, his education l
outside the schoolroom walls went on at a rapid rate. His father had ii
atannery anda farm. Ulysses disliked the tannery but liked to ram- \
ble about the farm. He was always tond of horses, and, at the ace
of five or six, began to ride and handle them fearlessly. At seven se i
eight, he began to haul the wood for use in the house and tannery.
Some won-
derful stories are !
told of his bare- a
back riding and %
other feats of 4
horsemanship t
about this time. Fi
At eleven, he be- We
gan to plow. ‘A
Atten thate as 4
long as he lived : i
at home, he was il
generally busy p )
most of the time SS & ‘ Net
about the farm, be ve Py ae |
except when in “ = es mene ;
school. He ad- ae : |
mits that he did | = ;
not like to work , i
in those days, eet i
Diilt ju d oinie A
trom all reports, GRANT PLOWING AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN YEARS. |
he accomplished cn
what was given him to do as faithfully as if it had been his one desire. |
He was never punished or scolded at home and was allowed more | i
freedom than was usually given to boys of his age. He had plenty |
of boyish sports, such as fishing, swimming and riding. He seems ee

to have been trusted to make bargains and do business to an extent nt
surprising to people who had not found out that what a boy needs is Hae

to be trusted and that giving him responsibilities 1s one of the best: ened cate Mae ete er

GASSES 5Se GRANT

40
) Saveto make @ man of him. An amusing story is told of one ol
| ae T te Ae P| :
his first business ventures. W hen he was about eight years old he

is f to allow him to go to a neighbor's and buy a colt
begged his father to allow him to go to a neighbor’s and bu:

which he very much admired. His tather consented, telling him

GRANT BREAKING A HORSE.

that the colt was not worth more than twenty dollars, and bidding
him offer that sum at first, afterwards increasing the price to twenty-
five dollars if he found it necessary. Arriving

<
=~

at the neighbor's
house he jumped at once into the business, without preliminaries

mb? TTs Spy , 7 . “ oe roe = fl Seco pe : :
7 iN Sor Sateen tina ae " SERS eee FS DUTT Mrs ins dadeac hahaa eee ee Se trepineni tose aae ae

THE MAN OF SILENCE. AI
‘Papa says, remarked the future President,

that | may offer you
twenty dollars for the colt, but if

you wont take that, I am to offer
twenty-two and a half, and if you won't take tl]

lat, to give you twenty-
five.”

Strange as it may seem, his customer preferred the last-men-
tioned price. General Grant says in his ‘‘ Memoirs ”
is nearly true. Ido not repeat it as
in the embryo President.

that the story
a proof of any unusual talent
[ once knew a very ordinary boy who went
about making a trade ina precisely similar manner, with exactly
€ was concerned. But his hair is
turning gray and he is not President yet.

similar results, so far as the trad

When Ulysses had reached the age of

seventeen, his father
obtained

an appointment for him at the United States Military
Academy at West Point. This was a fine opportunity, for, although
Jesse Grant was at that time in fairly good
Western farmer, he had five other ch
bills for all of them.

circumstances for a
dren and could not pay college
The West Point cadetship provided for all

expenses. When Mr. Grant told his son of the prospect, Ulysses
replied) ““But I wont oor

o “I think you will, said the father
And “he went. He had little cntiumeiaecs tor the academy, but h
confides to us in his ‘‘ Memoirs >
opportunity of going East and

Philadelphia.

e
that he was greatly attracted by the
seeing such cities as New York and

The news of his appointment made a great stir when it was
scattered among the thousand inhabitants of Georgetown. It is said

that a neighbor met Mr. Grant in the street one day and remarked,

ont. “Is that sora aavest
‘Well, that’s a nice job,” commented the polite but candid
neighbor. ‘Why didn’t they appoint a boy that would be a credit
to the district?”

Cl heat: Ulysses is appointed to West ]
Sie

He spent a few weeks in studying for his examinations, and then
started on what seemed to him a long journey. At his own home,
whatever emotion may have been felt on his departure was sternly
repressed. When a neighbor wept as she kissed him good-by, he
exclaimed in surprise, ‘Why, Mrs. Bailey, my own mother didn’t
Cry 4

And now came the first change in his name. His initials spelled
SO INI? BIS

©, he had frequently been reminded by mischiet-loving boys.hundred dollars of his own earnings. Forty-

: 4 1 1 ay 4 ‘A |B in f re 1c
+ dallars of this would be needed to deposit at West Foint to1 his

. 1
1 a4 ] 1 val ft ass his examinations. Lit
homew Ta 1p lest h should al t | :
Secuex
pice {
; |
Ete i
a |
: m6: es > |
4 é = : i ae |
es od
ar i ees
st It |
*; i i
eS ores:
. i
;
!
{

he had ever sec eu 4 EXCEDE the On r which | had pass d the
I
4. { A 1 . j
crest ot the Allechanies. For the rest of the journey he may tell his
own story: In traveling by the road from Harrisburg, I thought

the perfection of rapid transit had been reached. We traveled at
least eighteen miles an hour, when at full speed, and made the whole
distance averaging probably as much as twelve miles an hour. This

seemed like annihilating space. I stopped five days in Philadelphia,

OS sical te SIP SPAR NN, = rept slot 2 a

* y ARNEL AO EWES

iSeman tT ae yer ete aT

THE MAN OF SILENCE 43
saw about every street in the city, attended the theatre, visited
es + (2 \ e 1 s ‘ aa x 4 > - 5 7

Girard College (which was then in course of construction), and got
reprimand ~d from home afterwards for dally ing by the way so long.
My sojourn in New York was shorter, but long enough to enable me
to see the city very well. I reported at West Point on the 30th or
31st otf May, and about two weeks latet passed my examinations for
admission, without di tiiculty, very much to my surprise. ”

Then came the second ch: inge in name. The Ohio Representa-
tive who had eiven hi

im his appointment had made the mistake of
upposing that his mid sie name was Simpson,

and had so written it in
the official record. He was accordingly faced ;

it West Point by the

It was im possible to ch< unge it
and he was henceforth known by the name

United States.

And now the young cadet plunged into the new, strange life at
West Point. The first and most necessary thing to do was to study
the ‘‘ Book of Regulations,” for there are rules enough at West Point
to control an army. There were ‘‘marks of demerit,” or ‘black
marks,” for every offense, thinkable or unthinkable, but also
incoramittable, and two hundred marks a year meant dismissal.
“To show how easy one can get these,” wrote Ulysses

new name, Ulysses Simpson Grant.

given him by the

not

first letters to a cousin at home, ‘‘a man by fen

name of Grant, of
going to church. He was
also put cy arrest, so he cannot leave his room, perhaps for
month, all this for not going to church.”

this state, got eight of these marks for not
a
His studies the first year were algebra, higher mathematics and
French. He was good in mathematics, never more than moderately
good in language, and never quite reaching either end of the class in
anything, although he once wrote of his work in French, ‘‘If the
class had been turned around, I should have been near the head.”
James Longstreet, a fellow-student who afterwards became General
Longstreet and fought on the other side in our Civil War, testified of
Grant: ‘‘I never heard him utter a profane or vulgar word. He was
a boy of good native ability, though by no means.a hard student.”
Evidently he was no prig. He seems to have been as ready for
fun as anyone, in the right time and place. He was the best horse-

man inthe academy, says a room-mate who was intimate with him+

ae ies

LB VSSES: S) GRANT
A4 (ey

regard for truth. ~ Ele

at this time. ‘‘ He had the most scrupulous 3
never lield his word licht, He mever said an unt ‘uthful word even
He was a cheerful man, and yet he had these moments

in jest.
wonder-

when he seemed to feel some premon! ee of a great future
ing what he was to do and what he was to become. :

- In the early days at West Point he seems to have had no craving
for military life. As time went on, the magnificent presence of
General Scott, who now and then appeared and watched the reviews
of the academy, inspired a dim longing and almost a presentiment of
something not of the common sort. Yet when he lett school at the

end of four years, he went away dreaming of nothing more military
ind exciting than a professorship of mathematics in some quiet
yosition of

western town. Upon graduation he was offered the ?P
brevet-lieutenant in the infantry service, and it seem st to accept.
He received a leave of absence, which he spent in visiting his Ohio

friends. There was still enough of the boy left in the young military
craduate of twenty-one to realize a sense of disappointment over the
delay for several weeks of the arrival of his new unitorm. He wasa
little anxious to be seen in it by his old friends, particularly the girls,
as he confesses to us in his memoirs. It came at last, and, no
doubt, created plenty of admiration. His appearance at this time
is thus described by Hamlin Ga Jand, in McClures Magazine: ‘‘At

this time Grant was a small young fellow, a little over five feet seven
inches in height, and weighing but 117 pounds. His face was
strongly lined like his father’s, with fine straight nose and square

jaws. A pleasant and shrewd face it was, with a twinkle in the gray-
blue eyes when amused, and a comical twist in the long flexible lips
when smiling. Huis hair was a sandy brown, and his complexion still
inclined to freckles.”

He was next ordered to ae Barracks, near St. Louis,
where he remained from September, 1843, to May, 1844. During
this time he made frequent visits to a classmate residing a few miles
sister, Miss Julia
Dent. The young Lieutenant did not suspect that there was ‘‘any-
thing serious the matter with him,” as he says, ‘‘ until the Mexican

from St. Louis. This classmate had a charmin:

war broke out and his regiment was ordered to Louisiana. He made
the discovery promptly enough then, however, and started out to pay

Na a

Sete ss caactatte deinen pee ia “apohygtt ITS ib PN

feen eeaenaenas mee

THE MAN OF SILENCE.

y |
oi
| i
| ;
| Tt
i
| i
|
|
i
\
| ;
li

GENERAL SCOTT.

a farewell visit and make known his discovery to Miss Dent. On

the way he was obliged to ford a swollen river, whereby his handsomeiL VSSES: SY GRANT

“ip Be ie a ee Tan pe ea ae
uniform was completely soaked. [his was a sorry plight tor a young

man on such an errand, but he did not allow himself to be discour-

aved. The young lady had a brother, and the brother had an extra

suit of clothes. They could be borrowed, and although they did not

fit, they were far superior to wet ones. Havine begun the siege, the
; Ee | i

cc Se ear ve Fists een
officer, like the dauntless Grant at Ft. Donelson, would accept

ional surrender. — \\

—
=
=A
S
¢
a
—
~
~
=)
Cy
ct

1 him her promise to become his wile, a pleage

which was not fulfilled until the close of the war, when he came home

as Captain Grant, covered with military honors.

\N71 Ae (es i Pe i P| Rea ee fie.

When the first gun was fired at Falo Alt young Grant was

1 ] 7 if 24 ) 4- ; + + +r rT _ . 4 L ry

‘sorry he had enlisted. But his repentance seems not to have
1 1 x +}, | aN th ] 11917

Interrered WICH 11IS actions. AoaIn at the O Me Ol S LI

ISSO (

heart kept getting higher and higher until it d t is throat

[ would have given anything then to ha | 1b [llinois,

but I had not the moral courage to halt ai E to Go
I kept right on That was a good kind rao t to ha

enemy had gone But that was the aor < | lences 101
him He says he never felt trepidation afterwards, though he oft
as ae
felt much anxiety in beginning battle

Immediately after his marriage in 1848, h s stationed at
Sackett's “Harbor, New York, where he remained over tl not
The next two years were spent in Detroit, Michigan. At both those
places he had the company of his wife. But when he was o e(
to the Pacific coast she went to her father’s home near St. Louis.
His two years in the West were years of discouragement. Army
es 5

re seemed to mean lasting separation trom his family and scar

means Of support tor them. In 1854 he resigned and returned

| ret
St. Louis, where he spent the next four years on a farm given to
Mrs. Grant by her father. He worked hard early and late, but with
small success. In 1858 he sold his farming utensils and stock, and
went for a time into the real estate business. In the spring of

removed to Galena, Illincis, and went to wor]

ae ees AN poo al c . ;
ie SS NN TNT =
‘ J ee

i
ILE MAN OF STIL DBNGEBissfan Dea a ee

A8 GEVSSES Ss GRANT

Nothing could be tamer or more dispiriting than Grants career
up to this time. At the age of thirty-eight he » had little behind him
but disappointment, and, to all appearances, nothing betore him but
failure. He had not even succeeded in the most common-place of
attempts, that of providing com ifortably for his family.

To add to his humiliation, he was dependent upon his brother
for his new position in the tannery at Galena. He felt himself a
drawback to their success. When he left his home in St. Louis to
enter again upon the employment so hated in his boyhood, it was
with a crushing sense of discouragement

But the trying scenes of ‘61 to 65 were at hand, and Grant was
destined to be one of the chief actors. He was to command a mill-
ion men. He was to be an instrument in working out the salvation
of a race. He was probably the only man on the American con-

tinent who united the skill, the foresight and the nerve to accomplish
that tremendous work 1n the wilderness of Virginia. When the great
commander had again become a simple citizen, he was to be elected

}
to the highest office the country had to give. He was to receive the
highest h mors that the royalty of the world could bestow. And he
was to be followed to his grave by the loving memories of a grateful
people.

But even after the war had begun, his destiny seemed to halt,
and it was some time before he found a place where his talents could
make themselves felt.

In 1861 the Civil War broke out, and President Lincoln called
for seventy-five thousand volunteers. Captain Grant. though a
stranger, was called upon to preside at the first war meeting in
Galena. He was soon asked to fill a clerkship in the office of the
\djutant-General of Illinois fora time. In May following he wrote
to the Adjutant-General of the army, at Washington, offering his

services for the army. He never received an answer to his letter.
He made two attempts to see General McClellan, whom he had
known in Mexico, and who he hoped would ot r him a position in his
army. He was unable to find General] one , and so carried

home another disappointment.
It was a disappointment which led to success. When the Presi-
dent issued his next call for volunteers, the Governor of Illinois

Nad a ila ammmili Pel o ssa fteanh fa ee
if 7 rccrca

i
|Tes

THE MAN OF SILENCE.

at a ss sy
% Ort ou
etna
piss

3
ss
A

<
sags a

GENERAL MCCLELLAI

appointed Captain Grant colonel of the 21st regiment.
time on success awaited the man whom failure had followed like a
shadow since the close of the Mexican war. He

From this

was made.r-Genera

Drea \ ciaas
4 bi aa a ee ea ts eee nM Sa eee

at ae) thee hehehe seated Cees) hits meeay
: LE WER ————————
st > y# 7 Sip er

Rens
TLE

eet npr
ere

tay
I:
t
t
I

os
he

> etre
REC

ies

ae
Gane

ee ee si Nee Ve tan aaGRANT

GLEVS|STEES\ |S:

d oiten ‘‘swap _ stories with one another across the trenches

and the Union soldiers sometimes divided their rations with the

‘Well, Yank, when are you coming into town? the Con-
federates would ask. <‘‘ We will celebrate the Fourth of July there,
Johnny,” and they did. The Vicksburg paper, aiter quoting this
boast, added: ‘The best recipe for cooking a rabbit is, ‘first ketch

your rabbit.’” The morning paper of the Fourth of July, which was
printed on the plain side of wall-paper, admitted, ‘‘The Yankees
have caught the rabbit.” Five days later, Port Hudson surrendered,
and four hundred miles of the Mississippi river was set fre

In November of the same year, General Grant again led the
army to a brilliant success in the great battles of Missionary Ridge
and Lookout Mountain.

\ll this time the great Union army under General McClellan and
others in Virginia was accomplishing nothing. The nation began to
turn to Grant as its only resource. In March, 1864, President

Lincoln appointed him Lieutenant-General and made him practical]lv
5 I I

1 : Th8 P c as : : [ od eto wend Ail 4 yl
commander-in-chiet of all the armies. Heat once set about plan-
B A pe ae Se eee an IS Te ET 6 eee eae
ning the two great campaigns which ended the war. He was himself

1 ] 4 : - Veen aren a 1D aa mie fo
to lead the Army of the Potomac through Virginia to Richmond, the

Confederate capital. General Sherman was to ‘‘march through

ped
—
a
~~

ol
~~
ef J
_
~
—
—
c
~
co

Georgia to the sea and then northward t

We know how well that plan was carried out. On the ath of

Jiticl

May, General Grant started his army across the Rapidan toward

Kichmond, and, seated on a log, penciled a telegram to Sherman to

General Lee, with the worn-out and hunery but resolute Armv

Virginia, was ready to dispute every inch of the way to Richmond.
At the battle of the Wilderness the brave General Lee stopped the
Union army with terrible slaughter and thought General Grant would
turn back. Grant thought differently. He issued the order which
became famous during that campaign, ‘‘ Forward by the right flank,”
and moved on. At Spottsylvania Court House another terrible battle
was fought. The bullets flew so thick that a tree a foot and a half

in diameter was cut down by them. It was at this time that(Gramit

Mere Seep ee eae "
i A ie

cea abainidi ie a tn et Mosssartvert’ oS ae Sean

cesGENERAL

oe”
Seog

Rais
Bees

See
ue

Bed

WILLIAM

veo

LITE MAN OF SHEENGE.

eevee

oe aE
a

pls:

wee

SHERMAN.

{

i |

f {
Dilwva

1a ae

| }BATTLE

GRAN fenea |

“ ie
a A aneWLEVSSES Ss GRANDE

UNITE

battles foll Wwe

and before Genera

remnants of Lee’s army were ina pitiful co

terrible bloodshed, but it was the only wa
battle of Shiloh shows that Grant

:PE hs srporicsnerio? ie
TON.

<P
x

IIIS IIIS I es
oa S ¢

WASHIN(

Ast

Y
—
~
~
?
_
—
—_
~ACES,

‘

‘i
iy

WEMSSES 3S) GRANT

love fighting for its own sake. The night after the battle, a pouring
ain came down upon the army. General Grant was attempting t
sleep under a tree near the banks of the river. Some time after
midnight,” hé writes, ‘‘ growing restive under the storm and the con

tinuous rain, | moved back to the log-house under the | This
had been taken as a hospital, and all night in

brought in, their wounds dressed, a leg or an arm u as th
case might require, and everything being done to sa illeviate
suffering. The sight was more unendurable than en tering thi
enemy’ fire, and I returned to my tree in the rain. Yet this man
who was so sensitive to the sight of pain, had the c c » fight it
out to the end, because he believed the bloody ro: t on!

Way to peace.

On the 9th of April, the two Generals met at A tox Court
House and made arrangements for the surr« Southern
rm) The interview was courteous and kindly \fter
the agreement had been written out, General | sa had
forgotten to mention that most of his iI wn
horses. General Grant said at once that they : p them
for they would need them on their farm The = \
was out of food and General Grant ordered ft t
th mM

When the news of the surrender reached thi they
began firing guns to show their joy. This Gra1 ne
saying the Southern army had been alrea L l
The other Southern armies surrendered in a s t the wat

is soon ended) The next year ne for the
oreat commander and he was made General of t]

In 1868, and again in 1872, he was elected President of the
United States. He filled this position as he did all others, honestly
and nobly, though, perhaps, not wisely in all es, Elk IS SO
honest and simple-minded that he was sometimes dec d by in -
ous office-seekers.

In 1877 General Grant made a tour of th: th his family
and other friends, meeting everywhere with distinguis] ttention
as befitted the. brave, modest man who had ught so hi lly for
his kind. The crowned heads of Europe vied with o1 the

Pi A ranean eee cts Pers Doe ree
a has 5 a ee a
: & .

ieEames ft

ULYSSES S. GRANT.60 GYIDVISSES Ss (GRANT:

honoring themselves by paying honor to this plain, unassuming citizen-
soldier of the West.

On his return he bought a home in New York city, where he and
his family lived for the rest of his life, spending the summers generally
at Long Branch.

About this time General Grant invested everything he had saved
in a New York banking house, with one of his sons to look after the
business. Through the villainy of two of the partners, the business
failed in 1884 and the General was robbed of nearly everything he
possessed. During the same year a fatal cancerous trouble began to
develop in his throat, and he saw death at the door with his family
unprovided for. Up to this time he had refused several tempting
offers to do literary work. In February, 1885, he engaged to write
the two volumes of his Memoirs, from which we have several times
quoted in this little sketch. Again he seemed to be animated by the
same spirit of determination which had possessed him in the Wilder-
ness of Virginia. Hecompleted the work four days before his death,
which took place at Mt. McGregor, near Saratoga, New York, much
of it having been written under pressure of great pain, as he sat
propped up in bed or in a reclining chair. The sale of the book was
enormous and the proceeds made an abundant provision for Mrs.
Grant and her children. It was a simple, straight-forward story of
a modest, noble life. A few characteristic, and, let us hope, prophetic
lines from his last pages are fitting words to end this record: ‘‘I feel
that we are on the eve of a new era, when there is to be great har-
mony between the Federal and Confederate. I cannot stay to be a
living witness to the correctness of this prophecy ; but I feel it within
me that it is tobe so. The universally kind feeling expressed for me
at a time when it was supposed that each day would prove my last,
seemed to me the beginning of the answer to ‘Let us have peace: |

Be pring eich ren Se, Saar e ‘ met : Bote i é iF 5 r re 3
Gn Mae ag MO 5 pe Se pcreetas Tio Yopiammmain STTh e

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

THE ILLINOIS RAIL-SPLITTER. ’

;

Piss $

% ea |

| se Fr ‘
\ :

Our children shall behold his il

eye

fame, ;

The kindly-earnest, brave,

foreseeing man,

Sagacious, patient, dreading ee ty eu i |
poke EA et eerie
praise, not blame, Bcd seca eee eae

New birth of our new soil. the

first American. 3
James Russell Lowell. i; | ‘|
ee | i
OUNG people usually have a He r
merry time on the 14th day a Ue i
of February, celebrating the |
birthday of St. Valentine, who was born | i
across the water so many hundred years >
ago that we do not know much about his
good deeds, and scarcely anybody now 7
knows why he is called a saint. But Aas eee Het)
two days before, on the 12th of February, a. }
we do something even better. For now we have | i

i Ds aaa62 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

a newer saint than St. Valentine, whom some of us _ have
learned to call St. Lincoln, though his first name was Abraham and
he never thought of being a saint at all. But you know how every
year, when his birthday comes, we all, large and little, love to wave
flags and make speeches, speak pieces and sing songs because Lincoln
was born. And the most ignorant one amongst us ought to be

, able to tell why.
cSt. Lincolne be-
gan by being just
a common baby,
nota bit more cun-
ning than your own
little brothers and
sisters, and when

he lay in his wood-

ay n cradle, sucking
Pia his pink fist, he did
¢ 4 not look any more
ae }

gd like a President,

Se bp te mes
with a carriage and

Seer tour horses and a
Me he c iL iL
= procession behind
a
4 him than vou or |
re % se %

ve. Ae A ‘leh;
¢ E, EES I é €

py | L
first time h vok
- 1
up and ecnied, he

> 1

Was Iho a lithe ola
Le — “ | :
INCOLN S BABYHOOD. log Galbin= in lea

Rue County, Ken-

tucky. This century was just nine years old then, and I suppose
that fact a

1
|
I

ways helped him to remember how old he was. There

were wide cracks between the logs in the cabin, and the snow some-
times came sailing softly down through the ricke ty roof, so that he
did not have to read the morning paper or even look out of the
window to find out what the weather was. His father, Thomas

Lincoln, I am sorry to say, was rather a lazy, shiftless man. so much

so that his neighbors called him Tom, even when he was quite an

ee i i) ate hake ee se \ ake hi A ems Dee Seen Se Oh EY stssinctt arises ee
— + |terete S01) a

LTTE ILLINOIS RAIL-SPLITTER.

- oD 1 r m=) 4
old gentleman. But I hope he hustled around that cold day and cut
wood enough to keep the big fire-place blazing to keep the President

warm. His mother’s name was Nancy Hanks Lincoln. and he had
She died when she
Was nineteen years old and never knew what a proud sister she
might have been.

When Al

one little sister, who was older than he was.

raham was about seven vears of
ete Ae LJ i eee oa ie . j
CO school. ri€ did not Nave a nice new school

and a sailor collar.

age, he began to LO

suit with knee pants

He wore a buck-
skin jacket and a
pair of buckskin
trousers. He was
barefooted, but he
had a nice warm
raccoon skin cap
which his mother
had made for him.
His tather found
him an old arith-

Metre and he

started out. He %
SNe |

had to walk a mile ay

aAnG =a half to: his

log school-house, :

where he found a |

teacher -who did ih ke

not .know much segnan| a

more about books

VIOVING LO INDIANA,

went to two other

1 . ] Pes i s = Ae ees SAPS aon
schools, and it was not long before he knew more than his teachers.

He never went to school more than a year in all his life. Sut he did
not stop studying because there was no one to teach him. On the
contrary, he studied harder than ever.

When Abraham was about eight years old, his father made up

a aaa64 ABRAHAM LINCOLA

his mind to move away and try to find a better country for poor
people. He sold his farm and started for Indiana to find a new
home. When he had found a place in the woods where he thought
his family would like to live, he went back to get them. They did
not travel by steam cars, because the first train in this country was

Y : ol ‘ ] +L, , Plt
not going to start until about eleven years aiterwards and they did

not want to wait for it, and it was not going to Indiana anyway.

~ OTT 1

——
ea

Pa SOS 5
ek Pa! ey oh foe is
; ae rise Sag
' fae ;

Spee

THE PROUD POSSESSOR OF A LOG CABIN.

4 wee ve
[hey went on horseback, the mother and little Nancy riding on one

horse. They had to pack all their furniture, and after that was done

there was not much room for human freight. Mr. Lincoln walked a
eat deal of the way. [hey had to cross the Ohio river, because it
was nearer than it would have been to go around. Then this odd-

looking procession moved on through the woods, stopping by night
to sleep on a blanket under the stars.
When they reached their new grounds, there was no house there,

: 5 mn = ar aye oe
7 oN 1 a pie emo HS, Bi as an Te ees ts ieee) STs wd RTPID

VeSimei S11) ae

LHE ILLINOIS RAIL-SPLITTER. 65
and they had to live out of doors, gypsy-fashion, until Mr. Lincoln
could build a shanty. He cut down some young trees and built a
hey lived in this about a year, after which the

house of poles.

ambitious father was able to put up a regular log cabin. It had no
floor. What was the use of taking so much trouble to have boards
when the ground was there to walk on? There was no glass in the

windows, but oiled paper did pretty well in its place.

Mr. Lincoln
drove some poles into the wall, laid them on crotched sticks at the
other end, placed some boards across them, and the bedstead was
ready. Some dried leaves and blankets over the boards made a
glorious bed when one was tired enough to enjoy it. Then he carved
a table out of a big log and made some three-legged stools, and the

house-furnishing was complete.

What more could anyone wish?

d
If Abraham Lincoln’s father was not exactly the kind of man we

should have selected for the bringing up of such a boy, his mother

g
more than made it up to him. She was a faithful, hard-working
woman and, although she had not much education, she took great
pains to teach her son all that she knew herself. There were three
books in their library, the spelling book, the catechism and the Bible,
and these Abraham, with his mother’s help, learned pretty well in one
winter. But Mrs. Lincoln lived only about two years in the new home.

They could not have a funeral at the time she was buried,
because there was no minister in the country. But Abraham and
They thought of Mr. Elkin, a minister
whom they had known in Kentucky, and a few months later Abraham
wrote a letter to this preacher friend of the family and asked him to

come and preach a sermon at his mother’s grave.

his father were not satisfied.

It was nearly a
hundred miles, but the good preacher came through the woods on
horseback.

Notice had been given through all the country and people came
from twenty miles around, some on horseback, some in ox-carts with
wheels sawed out of the trunks of trees, and others still on foot.
Two hundred persons gathered under the forest trees to listen to
the last words of love and respect to the memory of Nancy Lin-
coln. . It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Now and then a bird
flew over, twittering its carol of hope, and the springing flowers
looked up and smiled in childlike faith, trusting that the powerABRAHAM LINCOLN

would still

COTTE

RA Resear ere TS Ra TI ey nen ia) Ver RSE AONE Bn ASABE
U e =Simm

LAE TELETNOIS RATIL-SPLITTER. 67

The service and the day sank deep into the
Abraham Lincoln and touched his |]
an added reverence.

Years after her death he

young soul of
ile with a new tenderness and

said to a friend. while the tears

HOW LINCOLN FOUND NECESSITY TO BE THE MOTHER OF INVENTION.

Started to his eyes, ‘‘All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my
angel mother—blessings on her memory!”

When Mrs. Lincoln had been dead a little more than a year,
Mr. Lincoln went back to Kentucky and brought home a second
wife, who became a wise and kind mother to the two lonely children.68

chia keine a area SE a hi nn as | ded

ABRAHAM LINCOLN
She taught them a great many things. In the winter evenings
Abraham would lie on the foor with his head on a log pillow and
read by the light of the great fire-place. And when his father sent
him to bed and he climbed up the row of wooden pins that stood 1

the wall for a ladder, he Se keep his step-brother awake by the
hour to tell him what he had read. He did not have a nice shelf-
full of pretty picture books such as many children of his age now
have about “Little Moonshine” and “ Lotty Simple” and their
mates, but he read all the good, sound, sensible books he could

hi as the Pilerim’s Progress and A#*sop's Fables

both of which he nearly learned by heart. A little before this he
learned to write, and he wrote a letter for his father, who could just
scribble his own name so badly that he always had to read it himself

because nobody else could.
]

When he wanted to write or cipher he did not ask his mother for
ten cents and run out to the corner to buy a tablet, then scribble a
into the waste-basket before Satur-

iis hands on, such

little on it and tear the rest of it
day, as you might have done when you were as young as he was then.
That would have proved that your father had a great deal of money
and that you could afford to waste as much as youpleased. He used
to write with charcoal on a wooden hate or the top of the table and
then shave the writing off and begin all over again. Fortunate, isn t
it, that you didnt have to learn seven-times-nin¢
have heard that he had one precious copy-book, which he used to
keep for the very finest things he came across. In this book he
poetry. Here are two lines which he must have

in that way? |

sometimes wrote
eee himself:
‘Abraham Lincoln, his hand and pen,
He will be good, but God knows when. ’’

Not very good poetry, was it, for a President to write? Besides this
he kept a scrap-book, in which he wrote down everything, his step-
mother said. This must have been convenient, for most of his books
were borrowed ones, and if he forgot any.of the good things he had
read, there they were in his scrap-book. But he took just as much
pains to keep things in his mind, always selecting the very best things,

remember. And although books were so scarce, his head grew to be

ee
De a ae ee Se Sh tS pire anny IPI

y,69

a oreat Scr

the ric ret thy fa 7 { 1\T ah
the richest things in the world. And that i
use to him when he became the ereatest man

scrap-book was oj OoTea}l

—,

LINCOLN WAS A GREAT’ ORATOR BECAUSE HE SPOKE FROM THE HEART. 8)
in the nation and needed all the world’s best wisdom to decide what Vea

Was best for the whole COUNTIVABRAHAM LINCOLN

One wav that he had of fixing things tight in his head when h
wished to remember them was to repeat them to his st p-brothers
when they were out in the field at work. Sometimes he would get
upon a stump on Monday and preach the sermon he had heard on

Sundav. And sometimes he would preach and make his own sermon

as he went along. One daysome boys were cruel to a turtle, just tor
fun. That made Abraham feel so bad that he preached a s

=
Jo
S
and
ear
I
ct
I

about it. He said that animals had fee
it was mean and cowardly to cause pain to dumb creatures that could
not help themselves.

I told you in the beginning that Abraham was just a common
baby. I want to apologize for that. Of course I meant as common
as they ever are. There never was a very common baby, you know

] nD j ] ] . lin aa ] : ] oA ae
And when he grew up to be a boy, he was so homely and h d

such long, awkward legs, always getting in his way, that | suppose
. 1 , 1 i | 1e ae send 1 . I
any one who judged him by his looks would have tl S {

a common boy. But people can not be cheated in that way a great
while, and they began to find out before many years that he was not
exactly common after all. I have heard that when he was a b

thought he would sometime be President, and that some of his neigh-
bors were quite sure of it. I do not know whether that was true or
not, but I think if he had known it, he would have gone on doing just
the same way to get ready, splitting rails and telling the truth an
learning all he could. Wecan not all be Presidents, but some of us
will have to be, and we might as well begin t
save hurrying b
can not do that, we can stay at home and
srowl about it, and behave ourselves and study, as Abraham Lincoln
did. Andif the country does not need us for Presidents, why, then

1 : 1

it will want us for something else.

When he was about nineteen years old, a man offered him eight
dollars a month to go down the Mississippi river to New Orleans on a
7 : = et on euien { : . 1 : 1 ;
flat-boat and take a Cargo Ol goods. He WaS pleas | LO think Oo}

getting somuch money. His father said he might go, and that gave

him his first glimpse of the wide world.

Soon after that, Mr. Lincoln began to hear about the fine prairie
lands in Illinois. He thought he would like to try again and see if hi

SPRL ae ae,
ra dy a AS eb AK teh a een} o_ eee ERP aes e ce
‘ A ppd 1h) x iS no BU ait TERA IE ak eh it iooi\\ Rede heed ahem sip cai! saute iaieenD eee = a ie Reaperepiaa ea oeSipe

TE TELINOLS RAM: SPE spr

71
could find a better home. So he loaded up all his goods on an ox-
wagon, and the Lincolns started with two other families for Illinois.
They were on the road fifteen day:

way. Ihey were nearly lost in the water, but Abraham could not be
drowned because he had to be President. When they were all safe
across the river, they looked back and saw on the other bank the

the way from home. He

S They had to cross a riveron the

poor homely dog that had followed them all

cl
]

was afraid he could
not swim across.
Abraham Lincoln
would not 90 on
and leave the poor
doe behind. He
rolled up his pan-
taloons and waded
back through the
icy water and car-
ried the poor little
fellow across. If
dogs could talk, |
would tell you what
he said. As it was,
he only wagged his
tail and barked. —

All this time a
our boy was grow-
ine up. When he
was twenty-one, he

LINCOLN’S HEART WAS ‘TOO BIG TO SEE EVEN
A DOG SUFFER.

thought it was time
to go to work for himself. He went to New Orleans again on an-
other flat-boat. This time he saw white people whipping negroes
and selling them in the market in New Orleans. He felt then just
as he did when the boys were cruel to the turtle. It made him hate
slavery. He said then, ‘‘If I ever get a chance, I'll hit it hard.”

After this he did a great many kinds of work. He was clerk in
a store in a little village called New Salem. Then he bought a store

and lost money in trading. But he paid every dollar ot his debt.nT A eee ee a al
thane a NS re ——— tm Ae tt eE

72 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

|incoln’s honesty did not wait until he was President before it began
There are a number of stories of the time when I
was a clerk in an Illinois store, which go to show how thoughtful he
|

was to do, not ‘‘about the right thing,’ but exactly the right thing.

to show itself.

One day a woman came in and bought some goods tor which she paid
him two dollars, six and a fourth cents. A
added the items again to make sure he had been right, and found
He had charged her just six and a fourth cents too

> -
]
|
}

>
noe

ter she had gone he

o
eld

he was wrong.
much. It wasevening. Heclosedthe store and walked to her house,
a distance of two or three miles, and returned the extra change
before he slept. At another time he sold a woman a half pound

of tea, as he supposed. The next morning he noticed a four-ounce

weight on the scales. He saw at once that he had made a mis-
7 : 1 1 - r
take and had innocently cheated his customer o f four ounces ct
Pe pe fy ral 7 La 4 z eel le le a 1] 7 ee oa Re ees
Cea. He closed Ene SEOLEG ane LOOK ad LOY LN b rOr' breaktast to
f - 41 4 i . 1 :
delivei Cii¢ tea. Lhe SCG ail Sm | NaS: 4 EG reat a ul
E; 1 = ‘ 2 C 4.1
about the character of the I
a Be oe
As soon as Abraham was old enough, he began to hire out by the
dav to the farmers about the country. H : Ye rker and
stronger than any other boys Of His age. CI WaS always willing CO
- “eA NC 171 { lz y |
run errands, write letters, roc} Dp on CV wav he
COoOUuL¢ Hi 5s SO full | OO \ S ( have
him ab Ul. [he loved S ¢ O J Gs =
thing new interesting to talk about nd of telling a
ocd yc Iya es | , :
COO( ST ali alwavs mMadé Nore LIS ] ] L ES) Elva ie
) | 144 Y7 | I] t | .4 7 ay
SECIIEC LO 1]O NlmMms¢ I r11S WI Lact Li | DeEETECLELVY SELEIOUS
=> | ] ] ]
Whoie his isteners were convulsed WIth Meryl [
This tra = hi 71 ] | << of
MIS tale HEVer Lele MI even during tne GarKest Nours OL tD
wal People sometimes blamed him tor 1oking 1n the midst of such
solemn times. It was not because he bore his burdens lightly, but
rane tty : ame one 1 Fe Deseo . | ] 1 J > :
be Cause they pressea on him so heavily that he nad to find SOME Wa\
to make them lighter.
mak thd : A oo; enol 3 re ee C too any 1 1° < :
About this time he enlisted in a war to fight the Indians. It was
wet li lies AA i lS . et. Joie i : 4
called the Black Hawk War, because the Indian leader was named
Black Hawk. [he men chose Lincoln for their Captain. He never

killed any Indians, but he saved the life of one of them, and that was

better. He next made up his mind to bea lawyer. He had to walk

< CUR raerpg eee Ye DOT ag VR orn 2 aT yy -——s sone BV
j € li liana ene ee eee

ioneonate ST ea!

LTE TELINOLS RAE SPEIER

73 a
twenty-two miles and back to borrow his first law books. He took |
the walk in one day and learned a lesson in law on his way home. his
He learned surveying so that he could earn some money to live on |
while he was studying law. In those days he wore linen pantaloons i
that just reached to the tops of his blue woolen stockings. Some- |
times he had only one suspender. He wore a calico shirt and a |
straw hat without a band around it. You would not have thought |

LINCOLN AS A BOOK AGENT.

i
him an elegant young man. Sometimes he lived on crackers and a
cheese, and other times he had to sleep on the counter in a store. ig
But it was not long before he was ready to practice law.

About this time he was married to Miss Mary Todd. He was
soon after this elected to go to the capital of Illinois and help make it
the laws. The capital was not Springfield then, but Vandalia. i

A/7 * on © ~ \ li r F =
After a few years he was sent to Washington to help make laws to1

the whole country. And now people began to think he was not a“4 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

common man. Hewas not afraid to say what he thought, and he
made some great speeches.

A few years later, some of the people wished to give Mr. Lincoln
a still higher office, that of United States Senator. Another party
wanted to elect Stephen A. Douglas to the same office. The two
men went about Illinois together making speeches. One would make
a speech and the other would answer it. Mr. Douglas was sometimes
called the <‘ Little Giant.” This was because his body was so small
and his mind was so great. He was elected to go to Washington and
Mr. Lincoln had to stay at home. But p ople remembered the
speeches he had made. And more than that, they remembered

that he wasan honest man. They began to call him ‘‘ Honest Abe.”

The next time our country needed a new President, a great
many people began to think about the ‘‘ Date Giant” and a great
many others thought of ‘‘ Honest Old Abe.” Mr. Lincoln’s friends
sot some of the rails that he had split on his father’s farm thirty

years before. I a trimmed them up with flags and bunting and
took them all over the country to let the people see them. They

called Mr. Lincoln the ‘‘ Rail-splitter.” They were not ashamed
that their candidate had once worked hard with his hands. Perhaps
he could now work all the better with his brains. Most of the Re-

publicans in the country voted for Mr. Lincoln, and most of the
northern Democrats for Mr. Douglas. But this time it was the
‘Little Giant” who had to stay at home, for Abraham Lincoln was
elected President of the United States.

Perhaps you think Mr. Lincoln's hard work was over now, and

that he was glad he had no more rails to split. he truth is that his
for ne after he was elected

hardest and saddest work had only begun
a long and terrible war broke out 1n our countr [his was in 1861.
Mr. Lincoln wanted the nation to be at peace a1 a4 worked hard all the
rest of his life to end the war.

One great reason for this war was the fact that the Northern and
Southern people were not acquainted with one another. It takes a
long time even now with our fast trains to go from one end of our
ereat country to the other. And in 1861 we had not nearly so many
railroads as we have now. Consequently travel was not so common
and the people of the North and South had fewer opportunities of

a es — eee
as NH a a ae Sew I RSE PIES fe ae sh a re Septet aShoel ES,

oLH TELINOLS RAMEE SPEIER

SRS

Sep:
os
Aeea Renee Obey eager - ' Se ee
eis mpi a a ae en ee SN Ore tines fk a

AO ABRAHAM LINCOLN

/
meeting. The natural result of this was that they misunderstood and
hated each other. The story is told of Charles Lamb, an English
writer, with a ready pen but a stammering tongue, that: in speaking

heh-hate ehiat

man How can
VOU hate him r ‘
sked the friend

1 | 4 -
LI) C=EN AE S Le Was
IE b S Te p | \

h- ite him if
-n-knew him?
| ~ imnern peco-#
De 1 GG that
North wanted
L L lI slave >
(ron the 1)
lout pay, and
th ple of the
\ h Uusht the
ec ] it d CO

J 1 iE
qestroy the nation,

have CVeChV-—
thine their own

v. There was

some truth in these

complaints, but

SLAVES ON A PLANTATION.

ey were not en-
tirely true. Yet, strange as it may seem, the more the people be-

lieved them, the truer hey came to be.

C
I have told you that Mr. Lincoln thought slavery was a great
wrong. Yet at first he thought-he had no right to interfere with it.

;LITE IELINOIS RATE-SPLITTER.

bey my

//
But the Southern people heard so m. iny false things

about him that
the »y believed he was their worst ene my. And

when he was elected

y . ie
iv ® jes Ag. M3 ;
- , ye “ons
a vr sre ay hye

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
President, a number of the states seceded and declared they would
have a nation of their own and rule it to suit themselves. They fired
on Ft. Sumter and the war began. Mr. Lincoln believed it was/

pf his duty to try to keep the Union

called for volunteers to put down the
to do this and cost the lives of

mally

sides; In 3, President Lincoln set

who wished it a chance to fight for th

Many of them made

President

anes OTE Ie]

arta |

BRED
J
ple

JOHN WILKES BOOT! were st

tused

had an interview sara Mr. Pre
made an example of, the army itself is

aes rie snatch i‘ ae aa te ee cee

TPR ;
4 is Gale

79 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

5
thousand Drave

Lincoln was often very sac

: Croub
ow 1] |
- Bs ADIE ST
é 4
é te
=

) pe T
1\¢
4 L\ i
pathneti
1
T 1,117
In Ty1i1t
| { Ot
LIL© POY
|
Ty é I ¢
L, -~
} iif i |
LU) Sct V ¢
\
\] LT]
a

from being broken up. He

took four years
men on both

those

= Ol tne 8} LL 1) CO be S \ i=
1 | ] eae ]
and kindly to everybody
: 1 ™ A :
itters the President had
of | death and many
1
Calni¢ L ] ATaGONS IO]
| -
qs i S LVS TeAaG\
| LL he POss1bD] e
1¢ iic< -}h 1 |] VW 1O
{DI i ( L L ( Cite Le
veel l COmMmMand
rour aesercters sen-
( rt to be shot
lI US U i €xXecuvion
4 ) et 4
t to the President He re-
4 \AJ 4 At ;
VEIVE ht V\ ishineton, and
len UHLSSS fHEeEse Men ave
- F

{

- ‘
Mercy to the few

are already

sorely,
SS ate eo) Nahas gus:
—" r meSan aaa TT a

TILE, TELENOTS RAW SPA OPT

PERE IIT

poe30 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

to be shot for desertion. A friend

case to the President. Well,

iL it

signed the parden while an odd smile lit up his sad, homely. face,

‘‘T think the boy can do us mort
eround.” A book could be filled with

people who were poor and helpless.

excuses for the sins of other people.

The bells were ringing and

the country when a very sad thing
4 theater in Washineton with his

half crazy man named John Wilk

President's box and shot him in th

Pi Sahil ha) pone one sa ar ay
x —_ t a i a) ee NS a hi SRY Mr AO erent EES SAP BRS ey SERN on eves)

Linco
fio) ihnldo) iweke

spoke again, but died the next mol
}

than under

See ete el ara :
his kindness to

could almost always find

JOY all OVer

In was at

1 ‘
r |

ends when a2

T_] i ae a
rie Neve!
; all turned

io had freed

Southern
best friend.

birth-

Dy o 7 pee

ifTS Nee

Her court was pure,
her life serene :
ner peace; hei
id reposed ;
yusand claims to rever-
ence closed

Wife, and

and

(sood

ountry was ush-

ys of intellectual

activity whicl

| us the first

Erie Canal.

In poor unhappy France, Kine
Louis XVIII. was vainly strugeling

to preserve some fragments of law

and order. In England, King

[. still sat om his throne.
is mind flickered in darkness in the

citadel of his brain. The poor old king

had long since been hopelessly insane,

olQUEEN VICTORIz

4 and George IV. as Prince Regent, was actual ruler of the land. It

was the 2ath of May, 1819, the year in which the first steamship

PORTRAIT OF QUEEN VICTORIA TAKEN AT THE TIME OF HER DIAMOND

tae crossed the Atlantic, that a little oir] was born in london who was

to become Oueen Victoria and ruler over a vast empire.
)

re es ay no
Be aia te Se ee ee TTT EAs; cs arpowsi re
\ a ¥ i —_

fSerpe TT ets ae

EMPRESS OF INDIA. — 83
ictorlas tather was Ed younger

ward, the Duke of Kent. a
an (2 o “yO T\7 .
brother of Geore: would himself have

LV. and Walliam 1V. Ele
been king of England if he had outlived William IV., who left no
children. [he Duke of Kent lived much of his life out of Eneland.
‘THe received a military education in Hanover. Germany. He was
stationed at Gibraltar for-a time. and afterwards spent some years in
Canada as commander-in-chief of the British army. He took ereat
interest in the people while there and was active in many kinds of
benevolent work. He is stil] very dear to the Canadian heart. One
of the great stone gates in Quebec is named for him and the people
of that city always speak of him with ereat tenderness. He
a living presence to-day in that quaint old city, and one finds it hard
to realize that he has been dead

century.

SCeIMs

more than three quarters of a

When he was about nity years of age he married Louisa
Victoria, Princess of Saxe-Coburg in Central Germany. She was
the widow of Prince Charles of Leiningen, and had two children,
Charles and Anna Feodora. She is said to have been ‘‘altogether
most charming and attractive.”

The Duke and Duchess were living in Kensineton Palace.
London, when the future queen was born. She was baptized in a
gold font by the Archbishop of Canterbury when she was a month
costly font added to her piety. Her

EMC L

old. I wonder how much the
uncle, George IV., named her Alexandrina, for the Emperor Alexan-
der'of Russia. It is said that her father wished to call her Elizabeth
because the Enelish like that name, but the Prince Kegent said if
she must have another name it should be her mother’s. Hi
ingly added the name Victoria, takine care to Say,
precede that of the Emperor.” As a little girl she was known as
‘Princess Drina,” but when she became Queen,
mother’s name and gave commands that she
Victoria.

The Duke of Kent had often said that he should live to be kine
of England, although there were several heirs between him and the
throne. But his health b:

his own life drawing near,

> ACCOrd-

‘but it must not

she chose her

should be called

can to fail. Then as he saw the end of
he would take the baby Victoria in his
arms and say, ‘‘ Take care of her for she will be queen of EnglandeepmeeniSdineetin sie cee

84 QUEEN VICTORIA

When she was six months old he went with his family to the
south coast ‘‘to cheat the winter” and try to piece out his fast
Bainomlives lt was of no use. wo months later he died. His

IV. became king of England.
The Duke of Kent, being a younger son, had never had a large

father, George III., outlived him just six days, and his brother George

income and had been of a generous nature. He had never econo-
1 . ; : g eel if J §
mized and therefore left large debts behind him when he died. One

of the first acts of the Duchess, Victorias mother, after his death,

was to give up all his property to his creditors.

This left her and her children dependent for the time being upon
her friends. Her brother, Prince Leopold, afterwards king of
Belgium, came to her aid in this trouble and generously provided her a
early income of 3,000 pounds, or about 15,000 dollars. He con-

\
tinued CO do this [Ol SOME years, OF until the Enelish cvovernment
made it unnecessary by providing sufficiently for Victoria and her

family. Prince Leopold lived tor some years at Kensington Palace

. 1 1 1 4 Se ce onl oA nas interect 4
with the Duchess and her children, and took a deep interest in the

iL iL.
eal ee Pa eae ples eae
education of the young princess Victoria. He had been the husband
of the dauchter of George IV., that Princess Charlotte whom the
Dest | 2 | le 1)
Enolish nation so tende! [he English | Ns ane
they Nad: 1OnGIv NODEaG CO St (CHNaniOLte On ENG JLENCusp EnVone one

day. But Sine di at twenty-one. When, shortly bi fore he Tr own
her infant son, she said; “1 am
orieved for myself, for the English people; but, oh, above all, I feel
it for my dear husband. When told she could not live, she said:
Tell it to my husband—tell it with caution and tenderness, and be
the happiest wife in
Eneland.” It was th ucht by some that Victoria resembled her.
Princess Victoria as a baby was ‘‘blue-eyed and plump as a
partridge.’ A number of portraits painted of her when quite a young

child are still preserved. One of the best likenesses is a bust done in

marble when she was two years old, and now kept in Windsor castle.

She is thus described by Jane Porter, the celebrated author of the

scottish Chiet

—
—_
~
St.

sribing the infancy of the princess I would
say she was a beautiful child, with a cherubic form of features,

clustered round by glossy fair ringlets. Her complexion was remark-

ae : ei os ee :
Sa a a a a ee A Nile aha ia ia ee IN mets Roa Fiireneh | Fe

fScrmmmm ST Try) we

EMPRESS OF INDIA. 85

ae transparent, with a soft but often heightening tinge of the sweet
tush-rose upon her cheeks, that imparted a peculiar brilliancy to her
clear blue eyes. Whenever she met anv strangers in her usual paths

she always seemed, by the quickness of her glance, to inquire who
and what they
were. Lhe in-
telligence of her
countenancewas
extraordinary at
ner very early
age, but might
easily be ac
counted tor on
a

perceiving the

g
extraordinary in-
telligence of her
Is

At Kensine-
ton Palace the
lnétle princess
was brought up
very simply and
naturally, quite
like a little girl Shy
in the ardinary
walks of life who
never thought of
wearing acrown.
Their way of liv-
Ine is thus de-

scribed: ‘‘Break-

CHILDHOOD OF VICTORIA.

fast at exoit

oclock, Princess Victoria having her bread and milk and fruit put on
a little table at her mother’s side. After breakfast there was a walk
or drive for an hour; and then, from ten to twelve, she was in-
structed by her mother, after which she would amuse herself run-
ning through the suite of rooms which extended round two sides of

pe a aAY) aS saa i ale

5 abe: Sea oe Se AR eye aAIELEDE
; cin

86 QUEEN VICTORIA
the palace. At two came a plain dinner, while the duchess took
her luncheon. . After this, lessons again till four, then a visit or drive;
and after that the princess would ride or walk, or sit out on the lawn
under the trees with the rest of the party. At the time of her

mother’s dinner she had her supper laid at her side; then, after play-
ine with her nurse (Mrs. Brock—‘dear, dear Boppy ), she would

join the party at dessert, and at nine go to her bed, which was placed
by the side of her moth« Sry

Like any common little girl, Victoria was fond of dolls, though,
unlike most little girls, she had enough to stock an orphan asylum.

The doll census

ea 4 : An 1

ac reported a hun-
} ie So 1% 4 1 sie
@eee dred and thirty-

two in hem mir
Sery. dhe learned

to sew exquisitely

- le > aun :
by making their
=" ] 7
clothes, but I can-
not believe that

san
=
banged
—
co
cr

_
Nw

eh Mae aa RSE aS ee’,

ainsi le i cnn —— ee eo ———— T 1
that she knew
CANAL AND GARDENS, HAMPTON COURT, ENGLAND. them all by then
In these Gardens is Located the Pages oval Be ACE in Great Britain \n Hour’s Rid name | 1 SUI
she I not L£C-
member all the names of everv one. if the doll princ
ail al . i CAV: io oY Jil . Li LIC i( Lt Prine SS "> CEC te)
> ] “4 > 7 San "- VAG - . + ] ; LT] HK]
well supplied with names as most young ladies of noble blood, even

if she had taken a course in Professor Loisette’s Memory System,
which of c ‘se she h: : : ]
which of course she had not, because she was unfortunate enough to

7 a r\t Ee « Le mae ] ]
live too soon for that. Butif they could not all be loved and put

LO bed and crooned to SiCep every NICHE as 1S En« rlgnt oO} Lt COM:
- nN next ies bata ] ] 1 . 2

‘ ry Nn 1 | T JQtT OOTY wl rv) ™ “7 < T7717 mh + , 4-1, ]
mon, pleve lan doll, they served a purpose quite essential hal qelal ite

Pe Bes a ine a Fg ee 1 . , ,
of al princess, fOr the royal dolls were used as dummies to teach the

future queen the elaborate ceremonies of t

LF TG TV res, 2 2 a oo See Pinay!
wee: he tee Sere ESET Kee Sr SOLE eprertes Ua

iEMPRESS OF INDIA. 87
dolls, and the poor, poor Princess!

But Victoria’s mother was a
sensible

woman, and, as far as possible, saw to it that her little

daughter was not robbed of her sweet. simple childhood. Up to

the time of her becoming queen, she led a remarkably quiet and
undisturbed life for a princess. Her dress was usually as simple as
any child’s could well be.

Lord Albemarle paints a pretty pen-picture of her in his auto-
biography: A pretty little girl, seven years of age, engaged in
watering the plants immediately under the window. It was amusing
to see how impartially she divided the contents of the watering-pot
between the flowers and her own little feet. Her simple but becom-
ing dress—a large straw hat and a white cotton eown—contrasted
favorably with the gorgeous apparel now worn by the little damsels
of the rising generation. A colored fichu round the neck was the
only ornament she wore.”

Victoria was early taught that even a princess must not spend
money beyond her income. Perhaps her mother was the more care-
ful about this because she remembered the debts of her husband. the
Duke of Kent, some of which were still unpaid and rested uneasily
upon herconscience. Victoria’s training in this direction is illustrated
by an incident which occurred when she was about eight years old.
Visiting a bazaar with her governess, she spent all her money for
presents for her friends. She then wished to buy a toy fon a
cousin whom she had forgotten. The price was a half crown and
the attendant was willing she should take it. But the coverness
said, ‘‘No. You see the princess has not the money, and so, of
course, she cannot buy the box.” The attendant cladly offered to
keep the box until Victoria received her next allowance, when she
went back and made the desired purchase.

Another pretty picture of her childhood is given us by Leigh
Hunt: ‘‘We remember well,” he says, ‘‘the peculiar pleasure which
it gave us to see the future queen, the first time we ever did see her,
coming up a cross path from the Bayswater gate, with a girl of her
own age by her side, whose hand she was holding as if she loved her.
A magnificent footman in scarlet came behind her, with the splendid-
est pair of calves in white stockings which we ever beheld. He looked

somehow like a gigantic fairy, personating for his little lady’s sake838 QUEEN VICTORIA

the grandest kind of footman he could think of; and his calves he
seemed to have made out of a couple of the biggest chain lamps in
the possession of the godmother of Cinderella.”

‘It was not until she was about eleven years of age that the
possibility of her great destiny was brought to her attention. In

studying the genealogical table of the kings of England, which had

> >
been purposely put in her way by her governess, her curiosity was

aroused and she inquired who would become king in case of the death

of George IV. The governess told her that her uncle William

VOuld be the Next heir to the throne. “Yes that | know. she

]

replied, ‘(but who will succeed him cess, said the ZOVETe

ness, who seemed unwilling to give a direct answer, ‘‘ You have
Several uncles!” Ihe princess was muchaffected. ‘‘ True, I have;

she answered, but I perceive here that my papa was next in age to my
uncle William; and it does appear to me, from what I have just been

woth dead, I shall

reading,

that when he and the present king are
become queen of England.”

From that time on, her education was more carefully attended
to than ever. She learned Latin and became familiar with several

= Wate ley anc eane it : : 7 LK] 2
Moder tanguavVges. SLE showed considerable talent fOr MUSIC. She
| | paid great attention to history as laying such a foundation for prac-
tical politics as a queen would need. At twelve years old she went

with her mother ona tour through the principal cities of Eneland and

Wales, studying carefully into their historical and industrial interests.

ag 7 During this tour the princess bestowed the prizes on the successful
musicians at the Welsh Eisteddfod, a musical convention held at
Beaumaris. She laid the corner-stone of a school, named a bridge,

cL
ae z ° e = » ] 1 ] 1 ‘ 58 / a
planted an oak, and became a eod-mother. She visited Oxford

4 oe

f and received a present of a handsome Bible and an account of her
a visit on white satin.

The next year the princess and her mother spent some tim«
on the Isle of Wight, off the southern coast of Eneland. There

they were as free as a royal maiden could be from the artificial

restraints ol society, oiten leaving the tootman at home and taking
: we loreae yl nied : i ;
long walks alone to enjoy the beauties of the islanc

[he young princess became of age on the 2Ath day of May,

1637. Parliament was closed in honor of her birthday and a State

Sena Seaton , vom feaeee ite t < a ity
7 vA" ya ia hie Ee ‘ OPT OE NPAT MS OT erty 2K ee A ee a a See ee | ne Ses ine Esathoesht oe
) o ~

ff———— Samm T Tn f 7 Sia oat oe

EMPRESS OF INDIA. 89 i
ball was given at the palace of St. James. But more serious matters he
were soon to claim her attention. ie

King William IV. died early on the morning of the 20th of June, i
reey7. DPlre Archbishop of Canterbury and ‘the Lord Chamberlain
started immediately for Kensington Palace toannounce the event to the |
princess. leaching the palace about five o'clock in the morning, they |

sent the announcement that they had come ‘‘on business of state to the

I 4,

‘|

Is}

; , '

REAR VIEW OF WINDSOR CASTLE—THE FAVORITE HOME OF THE QUEEN. a
TWENTY-ONE MILES FROM LONDON.

queen.” She came into the room with her eyes filled with tears. The it

first words of the new queen were, ‘‘I ask your prayers on my behalf.” i

As soon as the messengers had left her, she wrote a letter of |
sympathy to her aunt, Queen Adelaide, asking her to remain at
Windsor as long as she liked. Windsor Castle is always at the serv-
ice of the king or queen, and would consequently now fall to Victoria.
She addressed the letter to ‘‘Her Majesty the Queen.” Some one ae
suggested that the address was incorrect, as she herself was now
queen. ‘‘l am quite aware of her majesty’s altered character; but I
will not be the first person to remind her of it,” she answered.ater Tr nn ae eae : , is. ae
re —— ee — oe ae Me SS 5 RE Te A eS ed SR SS z3

of pe QUEEN VICTORIA

a ' On the next day the young queen met her Privy Council at
Kensington Palace. This Council is made up of the principal
bishops, lords and judges of the kingdom. They had met to make
the formal announcement of the death of the king and to receive
what we might call the inauguration speech of the new queen and
her oath to support the constitution of England and secure the rights
of all her subjects. They also took the oath of fidelity to her as
their queen.

It was a hard position for a young girl of eighteen, and she
seems to have behaved well. Sir Robert Peel said he was amazed
at her manner and behavior, and the Duke of Wellington was heard
to remark that if she had been his own daughter he could not have
desired to see her perform her part better. But perhaps the admira-
tion of these gentlemen was a little overwrought. The truth seems
to be that she was somewhat embarrassed but that she was sensi-

ble enough to look to her advisers for counsel, and that she behaved

: as might have been expected of any well-educated girl of good
3 sense and judgment. She read her speech with a clear voice and
remarkable self-possession for one so young.
The next day, June 21, Victoria was publicly proclaimed Queen
of Great Britain and Ireland. Ihe ceremony took place im St
James's palace. The young queen stood in an open window looking
out upon a court where an immense crowd was gathered. While the
proclamation was being read, there were frequent shouts of ‘‘ God
a ( save the Queen!” Victoria was affected to weeping. Elizabeth
Barrett Browning has written a poem in memory of this scene, one
stanza of which reads as follows:
a ‘God save thee, weeping Queen,
: Thou shalt be well beloved:
The tyrant’s scepter cannot move
As those poor tears have moved.
The nature in thine eyes we see
Which tyrants cannot own—
| The love that guardeth liberties.
Strange blessing on the nation lies,
eo: Whose Sovereign wept
{ Yea, wept to wear its crown.’’

ea aN Se hiiaa ahha a ee ee eye sere) Z ae ay
, bia 4 ees Bea ee 8 aaa SN a eh a ae Se A hide al en ae ee ONIN Goa AN pr
} ~— pe

iEan ane Se

EMPRESS OF INDIA. ep

A few days later, the queen left her girlhood’s home at Kensing-
ton for the more luxurious palace of Buckingham.

( )t 4] A 7 T f ra 4 1 (~ = - 7
| On the 17th of July she read her first speech in Parliament.
[he impression she then made is so well described by Fanny Kem-
ble, the greatest actress of the day, that I cannot forbear quoting
rom her account:

{

De
Le a,
Ze - ZG

ae RN eet
SSDS WAV Baits
omits qi
is ie
pa
Sos
&

: S
yee

x
EF,

a)
fe.)
“bie, ET
a ee
hate

eee 7
ath cog he

oath a

‘ wire st rae
Bri a a ms HA ee
DSI 4 Ih Renan oa
Bt An
ee sat) a
cea?

ra 2 CAE east ane
AAS

eee ie
eco F ee Rant
See

Pees

>
ae

BUCKINGHAM PALACE—THE LONDON HOME OF ENGLAND’S RULERS.

‘The Queen was not handsome, but very pretty, and the singu-
larity of her great position lent a sentimental and poetical charm to
her youthful face and figure. The serene, serious sweetness of her
candid brow and clear soft eyes gave dignity to the girlish counte-
nance; while the want of height only added to the effect of extreme
youth of the round but slender person, and gracefully molded hands

and arms. The Queen's voice was exquisite, nor have I ever heard4 TT ie Oe. eel

eles : ea CR a TES ER I a

i 92 QUEEN VICTORIA

]

| Lords and Gentlemen,’ which broke the breathless silence of the illus-

ower of royalty.

any spoken words more musical in their gentle distinctness than ‘My
: zt

trious assembly, whose gaze was riveted on that fair
The enunciation was as perfect as the intonation was melodious, and
I think it is impossible to hear a more excellent utterance than that
of the Queen’s English by the English Queen. ©

‘An instance of her gentleness I must not leave unrecorded.

Soon after she became queen, the Duke of Buckingham brought a
death-warrant to her for her signature. Ihe tears started to her

eyes and she said earnestly, ‘‘ Have you nothing to say in behalf of
this man?” ‘* Nothing,’ was the reply. ‘‘He has deserted three
times.” ‘‘Oh, your Grace, think again!” ‘‘ Well, your Majesty,”

returned the ‘‘Iron Duke,” ‘‘though he is certainly a very bad solder,
some witnesses spoke for his characte lr, and, f li xht | know CO the
contrary, he may be a good man. ‘‘Oh, thank you tor tl
thousand times!” said the queen. She hastily wrote ‘‘ pardoned ”
across the paper and returned it to the Duke with a trembling hand.
Her use of the first large sums of money which were placed at
her disposal on her becoming queen, was to pay the debt which her
father had left. She said to th lini |
that remains of my fathers debt. I consider it a sacred duty.” She

also gave valuable presents to those who had suffered by waiting so
long for their money. This was noble in her, though perhaps there
is danger of praising herfor it too much. It was not a great sacrifice
and any other course would not have been honorabl

Victoria had been reigning queen a little more than a year when
she was crowned. [he ceremony took place in Westminster Abbey
on the 28th day of June, 1838. The old crown weighed about seven
pounds, and a new and lighter one was made that would not rest so

heavily on the head of the young girl queen. It was made of several

silver hoops clasping a deep blue velvet cap. The hoops were cov-
ered with precious stones, among which were sapphires, emeralds.

rubies, pearls, and two thousand seven hundred and eichty-three
diamonds.

The Queen wore a robe of crimson velvet. Kneelin x, with her
hand on the Bible, she took the oath to uphold the church and state.

The anthem rang out through the spacious abbey, and the scholars

Shite :
ees is rapa as ; re Senta SeBaRa Dette kok roe hock eee ON eas Pe et
ca ed * i ii a ace UC Ernebe tar tn PeR Eo= ae

EMPRESS OF INDIA. 92

of the Westminster school. according to ancient custom, exclaimed,
“Victoria! Victoria! Vivat Victoria Regina!” (Long live Queen
Victoria. )

Then followed the litany
Hdward’s chair, in which al]
the sovereigns of England
have been crowned since Ed-

ward the Confessor. Under-

and sermon. The Queen sat in St.

neath the chair was the Stone
of Scone, the ‘Stone of
Destiny,” on which the Scot-
tish kings were formerly
crowned.

Four Knights of: the
Garter held a cloth of gold

above her head and the cu-

rious ceremony of anointing
was performed, in accordance
with the old Jewish custom
of anointing kings and proph-
ets; he Dean of West-

minster poured some oil into

len aah by a Ms

the gold anointing spoon and
the archbishop poured the
oil on the head and hands of
the Queen, marking them
im the torm Of a cross. Phe

spurs and sword, the ring and

scepter were offered, the
archbishop placed the costly ‘THE CHAIR IN WHICH ENGLAND’S RULERS
crown on the fair young head, ARE CROWNED—WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
and all the people shouted,

‘“God save the Queen!” It was a thrilling moment. It was a great
destiny that was thus laid upon this sweet young English girl of nine-
teen years. Yet it is given to many a crownless woman to wield
as creat an influence as this Queen of Great Britain and Empress of
India has done. There is no crown like that which character mayo4 QUEEN VICTORIA

set upon a girl’s fair brow, and no Indian Empire so vast as that she

may sway by the love and loyalty of a blameless lite.
A great many things have to be thought of in arranging the

marriage of a queen, and too often the feelings of the persons who

ju g
have the be St richt to be consulted are VEL. little considered.
Victoria was most fortunate in this respect. Between her and her

cousin, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg, who first visited her the year

before she became queen, there grew up a genuine love, such as
seldom comes to a happy ending in the case of princes and princesses
outside the fairy tales. Albert was the favorite nephew of that uncle
Leopold, who, it will be remembered, had done so much for Victoria

: a Atal ] : oe a tL : ee eee ]
1n hei childhood. He was a VOUNnLS Man WOT! In every way to be

Cire wWspband OL BNLiandads queen. Wil ChE Gay OF Ft engeacement
] 1 T
she w1 ee LO Wer UT Leopold, VI 1) S$ qu D and |
I
aaa [ne ] T] | ]
TOId VIDECEE ER Ot ne O} C i S| WA Cd ne
on I LI ] Jy LIS J LI) ¢ OJ L 1) 5 > LIOTI, and
eT | ]
J thin) lat ive the prosper D E Ss betol ni
7 th | 7 y
tL HeV WM I laAIrie 11) LO
) 1
| Lii¢ Lit (OL 1] nse] LU) SISt ()y 7} ind

arts and did a ereat deal to encoura lucati Ldustry. Ele
is perhaps best remembered by the exhibition at the Crystal Palace
Nn nd T) TT +. co L 7 1 ] 1
in Lo { t the s ; n il exhibitions
OL V hicl EME W rl 5 L 1D tT) cl } t | last ‘ id
oreatest

In th cours rs nin child IC [ et the val
family [hey v ue D ry sim] re carefully
educated Both the O l the Prince al VS insisted that ther
should treat evel ( [ Derrect Courtesy

by a sailo1 FE you are, my ] idy, said the sailor as he

deposited his little bi 1 on the dec I am not a little lady:

1m a princess, ’ ret ithe little maiden ‘You had better tell the

kind sailor who carried you that you are not a little lady vet
: though you hope to be one some day,” said the Oueen is

o 1ome in the Isle of
F Wight. It was a beautiful place and brought welcome rest from

Bi tea achat he ner Se, Seas , mee oe ‘i & ae ae :
oe ae eats ci Bas Se i I ee LUNN CMs Hoes bneri|
Ss sSaracen. neaeenenentaee Remmi YITVY81 1) if

EMPRESS OF INDIA.

the cares of state. Besides the handsome stone palace, she built a
cottage with a kitchen and a dairy where her daughters learned to
cook. The boys had a carpenter shop, and all of the nine children
had gardens which they tilled and whose products they sold in the
market. :

They had also a palace in Scotland, where they often went to
enjoy the mountain air and scenery. A great many pleasant stories
are told of the Queens
kindness to the poor peo- r - Eee
ple in the neighborhood.

She kept a journal while
she was here at different
times, which was atter-
wards published under
the title of ‘‘ Life in the
Highlands.” One of her
books is dedicate d to ‘My
Loyal Hy

especially to the memory

|
yhlanders, and

of my devoted personal
attendant and _ faithful
friend, John Brown.”

In aess Wer eldest
daughter, Princess Vic-

toria, was married to the

Crown Prince of Ger-

many, who later became
the Emperor Frederick prince aLBERI’S TOMB, LONDON. IN THE
William. The separation GARDENS OF WINDSOR CASTLE.
was a severe trial to the
Queen. The account in her journal of her farewell to ‘‘ Fritz” and
“Vicky” is most touching.

The year 1861 brought the death of both her mother and her

husband. During the last illness of the Prince an incident occurred

:
which particularly endeared him to Americans. It was in connec-
tion with the Trent affair. In the fall of 1861, Mason and Slidell

were sent by the Confederates as ambassadors to England. Theya es

96 QUEEN VICTORIA

succeeded in getting through the blockade and boarded the Irent,
an English vessel. The ship was stopped by Captain Wilkes, of
the San Jacinto, and the two commissioners were sent as prisoners
to Boston. The English were indignant. Lord Palmerston wrote
a dispatch in a haughty tone, demanding the instant liberation of
the commissioners. Prince Albert was so ill he could scarcely hold
a pen, but fearing the result of such a message, he caused himself
to be propped up in bed and wrote a more friendly one. Our
government promptly apologized, as it very likely would have done
in any case, but no less credit is due to Prince Albert. It was the
last thing he ever wrote.

Queen Victoria has now reigned longer than any other English
sovereign. The Queen's Jubilee, commemorating the fiftieth year of
her accession, was celebrated in 1887 with great splendor; and in
1897 the sixtieth year of her reign was made the occasion of great
rejoicing both in England and her colonies.

I have said little of public affairs in England, for this is a sketch
f bit of Queen Victoria and not a history of England. The truth is that
| English history during these years has been very little affected by
the sovereign. Matters would probably have gone on much the
same with a bad king or queen on the throne, as the sovereign has
very little power. She signs a great many documents and formally
transacts a great deal of public business, but the direction of affairs
is mainly in the hands of

considerably less power over the making of laws in Great Britain

her ministers and Parliament. She has

than the President has in this country. If her own death warrant
were brought to her by Parliament for her signature she would be
obliged to sign it or descend from the throne.

During this period the armies of Great Britain have conquered
in many parts of the world. The Opium War forced the Chinese
at the point of the bayonet to allow the importation of opium raised
in the British possessions of India. I am glad we may not charge
that directly to Queen Victoria. The English arms were victorious
in the Crimean War. Frequent rebellions in India have been

‘ crushed, and the Queen of England was declared Empress of India
in 1876.

Great progress has been made in many ways during the sixty-

Beat aE ;

Le i, ne One, camer fr

he - rhb esha), c ee ety ae RAPES Peo Ne ~ afte

7 al > i ye | ia iS AS hy eit Dat ae oh ee Ska SC ae aR ansiae ieen ONES Papurstinasts aes Ss HySermems Stirs a

EMPRESS OF INDIA.

LONDON.

BUILDIN(

eee

PARLIAME

“apege ae
areassci,

98 QUEEN VICTORIA

Biel veare of Victorias ceion. In the year of her marnage the
postage on letters was reduced to two cents each.
Largely through the magnificent efforts

It had been as

high as twenty-five cents.
of Mr. Gladstone, the right of voting has been extended to a large

ioious freedom has been secured in Ireland,

part of the population, relig
and Irish land laws have been passed which have oreatly improved
7 ]

the condition of the poor in that country. The Atlantic cable was

laid in 1858 and the public school system was established in 1870.
But though Queen Victoria has had little to do directly with
these great changes, the indirect influence of a woman of genuine
heart and noble purposes in so prominent a position can never be
“The Enelish like queens,” and will continue to like
them so long as their good fortune brings such women as Victoria to
Long live Queen Victoria!

measured.

the throne.

he
Fa rs Ks i oe —
ANAT Ne | ee Ser ean = rr
_ ie Ui Pagan a ee So) iia aoe Se eae - PN ST RS fh
A H atest nA Rel hes eee UIT Mri in tih Pm Bk
— ae aa f a of ilememes

THE POET OF THE PEOPI

Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer

Or tears from the eyelids start.

—Long fellow.

HO does not remember and hold in his heart the

“« Craigie
house” in Cambridge, Massachusetts, that old colonial

insion, the headquarters of war at the bee o
Revolution and for nine months the hon
Martha Washington, since consecrated again for he ia
ing world as the home of the poet Lonetellow?

inning of the

of Ge POT Se and

A tall hedge of lilacs shuts out the dust of Brattle

street and
shuts in tl

1e quiet of green lawns with two orassy on LCES <
two stately elms. The house is large and old-f ne a and painted
white and buff. A ereat old-time knock ld

r still ct
hanor on the door, though there is a

ind one or

s the place of
modern bell below for practical
use. Ihe large front room on the right of the entrance hall was once
General Washington’s reception room. Mr. Lonefellow used it as a
study. On the left is the room used as a drawing-room both in
the days of Mrs. Longfellow and of Martha Washington. The

house is now owned by Miss Alice Lonefellow, once little Alice, one
of the ‘‘blued-eyed banditti” of the poet's lines in ‘‘ The Children’s

Hour,’

’

‘From my study I see in the lamplight
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.”’

HENRY W. LONGFELLOWHENRY W. LONGFELLOW

net OA

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 1882.
BIRTHPLACE, STUDY. RESIDENCE, z
Portland, Me. Cambridge, Mass.

sa Yel ,Semmes SIT res)

LTE PORTO DHE PHOREE IOI

The master of the house had long been gone wl

1en it became my
privilege to m

ake pilerimage to the s spot, but his presence even then
was like a living reality, and it seemed every moment as if the white-
haired poet must appear on the broad ver randa with the ancient

eracious welcome which it was his custom to bestow on visitors.

The Open grounds in front on the opposite side of Brattle street
have been madea L ongfellow memoria] park, and ceive a broad view
of the river Charles where he begins to ‘‘write the |

ast letter of his
name.”

But this is only one of many spots sacred to the memory of the
poet whom we scarcely dare call American because the whole English-
speaking world has made him theirs as much as he is ours by their
love and appreciation, —for everything one learns to love is his own
forevermore.

A little farther along on Brattle street is the beautiful Mount
Auburn cemetery, where our poet rests, not far from the spot where
his brother poet Lowell sleeps, and Lowell's baby daughter, the little
girl of ‘‘ The First Snowfall,” lies cradled in her

‘Mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood.’’

If we pursue our Longfellow pilgrimage we must go next to
his birthplace in Portland, Maine. We may
train, and we choose t gO |
upon

go by steamer or by
yy sea—no: other way to look your first

‘the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea,’
now made a shrine forever by the poet’s song

in its honor, ‘‘ My
ost Youth: <

The old square house where he was born is still there,
and the brick building, which later became his home, still looks out
upon the quiet Casco Bay, guarding the hundreds of green islands of
which Longfellow sings—

‘‘And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.”’
It would be hard to find a more beautiful scene.
The Portland of Longfellow’s childhood was a much more lively

and thriving town than the present city. Eighty years ago, when

Seg ee an eezi) 102 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

:, Longfellow was a boy, Portland Harbor was crowded with ships from
many foreign countries, and many strange languages were heard at
times in Portland streets; and a boy awake with curiosity might
learn many things about the distant world without leaving Casco
Bay. Ellon all these busy scenes became a part of the life of the
child poet and colored his dreams with visions, we may learn from
his lines:
‘¢T remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free ;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery a the ships,
And the magic of the sea.’

But we must go for a walk in Deering’s woods, where the poet
wandered when a boy. On our way through the quiet Portland
streets we come upon a fine monument to his memory, erected in one
of the public squares. A little beyond the town we come out upon a
fine oak grove—

‘And Deering’s woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain

My heart goes back to wander there,

And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and Leautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still;
\ boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’’

He showed his love for Portland in other ways, for he visited it
every year as long as he lived.

But there are Longfellow shrines where our poet has never been
in the body, for he hada wonderful gift of seeing with his mind, and
has described places he has never visited far better than many a
tourist who has gone there by rail and tramped all over the grass and
carried off bits of everything that could be chipped off or dug up by
the roots for souvenirs. We have plenty—and more—of travelers
who go from end to end of Nova Scotia every summer and write
home what they see. But when we want to get the very breath of
I “Acadia,” with its ‘‘forest primeval,” its grassy dykes and sweet

0.)
Ke Uaioe Sires 5 iS “axe
] NY ne ied ~<a at Bt hv ean ee Bee heed ace ees Se ONC Oe ml Fre Ht IaH : Roo
<aCTS Sess

THE POET OF THE PEOPLE. 103

salt air, we read ‘‘ Evangeline,” written by Longfellow, who was
never there in his life except in spirit.

And when you go and sit in
the shade of the

“Evangeline willows” in what was once ‘‘the little
village of Grand Pré,” as I did one summer day, long, too long ago,
or climb the wild-rose covered ridge above and look down upon the
Gaspereau river to the south or out across the Basin of Minas to old
Blomidon, no matter how many times you have read ‘‘ Evangeline”
you will have to read it all over again, and any other book or any
other company—almost any other—will be an intrusion.

And then on the other side of the water, when you are travel-
ing in France and Italy, and by and by in Spain, when the trouble
is over and we are friends again with the Spaniards, you must take
with you a little pocket copy of Longfellow’s «‘ Outre-Mer ’—Beyond
the Sea. And going down the Rhine, I am told—and I can well
believe it—you will do very well with no other guide book than his
‘Hyperion,’ which he is said to have written to please Miss Fanny
\ppleton, the girl he wanted tomarry. Perhaps she was Mary Ash-
burton, the heroine of the book, for Paul Flemming was the hero,
and Mr. Longfellow once said of him to a correspondent of the
London Times, ‘‘He was what I thought I might ‘have been; but I
never ’—and he shaded his face with his hand and never finished the
sentence. Itseemsa little strange he should have said so much toa
newspaper man, but perhaps he forgot himself. And doubtless even
a man so noble and fine as he had something still nobler and finer in
his thought that he wanted to be and never was.

But Miss Appleton was persuaded—though it is not quite clear
whether the book hindered or helped

and they lived together very
happily for many se

And now I must go back to the beginning and say that Long-
fellow was born a5 oe 27 MOOV tells i: was a lawyer, a

oraduate of Harvard College, a man of unusual intelligence, kindly
spirit and charming manners. His mother was a beautiful woman,
cheerful, ventle and religious. Henry was the second of a family of
ight children.
Henry Wadsworth was five years old w hen the second war with
England broke out, and one of the first items re ‘corded in his history
is that he carried a tin gun and laid plans for the invasion of Canada.104 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

He is said to have been a lively boy with bright blue eyes, chestnut
hair, and rosy cheeks; eager, quick tempered, but quickly repentant—
“the sunlight of the house;’”—‘‘true, high-minded and noble,” is
the testimony of one of his sisters, ‘‘never a mean thought or act.
Injustice in any shape he could not brook.” He loved to wander
in the woods, and once he shot a robin. But he came home with
his eyes full of tears, so grieved that he never again pointed a gun
at a bird.

He was fond of the circus, and liked to imitate it at home. It
is amusing to think of our poet’ performing ‘‘feats of grand and
lofty tumbling” and horsemanship. The horse was a wooden one,
and is said to have lost his head in consequence of a tumble on the
part of his daring rider.

His first school was in a little brick schoolhouse and was kept by
| an old lady called ‘‘ Marm Fellows.” He prepared for college at the
| ' Portland Academy. He was fond of reading the best books and
began early to turn his attention to poetry. Every one knows the
story of his first poem, ‘‘Mr. Finney’s Turnip,” beginning,

‘« Mr. Finney had a turnip,
And it grew, and it grew;
And it grew behind the barn,

And the turnip did no harm.”’

But. alas for the poem, Mr. Longfellow was once questioned
about it and modestly denied its authorship. He did, however,
begin to write poems when very young, and seems to have pub-

Oo
Zz?)

lished several in the local papers before he was fourteen. The
very first that was ever published was printed when he was ten years
old. It looked beautiful in print, and he said of it many years
after, ‘I dont think any other literary success in my life has made

me quite so happy since.”
| At the age of fourteen he entered Bowdoin College, Brunswick,
Maine, where he remained four years and graduated with high
honors, being second ina class of thirty-seven. During his college
f years he often contributed poems to a magazine called the Unzted
States Literary Gazette, and’ was paid for them at the rate of one
dollar apiece.

an eek | ee - cee eae ~" is ah Pes .
jaa a i =i | i as Sa i ITN ens een
? 3 —, Mie me i eliSe ener 1 ae

THE POET OF THE PEOREE 105

Literature was calling him with a voice which he could not mis-
understand. But his father wished him to take up the study of law.
Sometime during his last year in college, he wrote thus to his father:
‘I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in literature; my whole
soul burns ardently for it, and every earthly thought centers in it.”
He begged his father to allow him to study one year at Harvard
University, believing that he could in that time do something to
prove that he was by nature fitted for a writer. But his father was
unwilling or unable—probably the latter—to grant the request, and
after graduating he began to study law in his father’s office. But
when, the next year, Bowdoin College offered him a professorship in
modern languages on condition that he should first study one year
in Europe, he was very glad to accept the offer. He was then only
nineteen years of age. He set out almost immediately for Europe
and remained there nearly four years instead of one, studying the
languages and literature in Germany, Italy, France and Spain. In
1829 he returned and entered upon his duties in Bowdoin College.

The department was a new one, for in those days Greek and
Latin were the only languages usually taught, and he had to write his
own text-books. He was also preparing ‘‘Outre-Mer,” a product of
his European travels, for publication. This he sold to Harper and
Brothers for five hundred dollars. But with all this he did not
neglect his college duties. He was very popular among the students.

His manner was exceedingly courteous with a courtesy that came
from the heart. He had a quick sense of humor which he could
make use of in verse when he chose. He once went to Boston and
called upon Miss Sumner, a cousin of Charles Sumner, and wore a
pair of squeaking boots. When he went away he left the following
verse behind him:

‘« T knew by the boots that so terribly creaked,
Along the front entry, a stranger was near;
I said, if there’s grease to be found in the world,
My friend from the East stands in need of it here.”’

He once staid with his friend Mr. Appleton at a hotel in Zurich,
Switzerland. The rooms were not very comfortable and the bills
were unreasonable. Mr. Longfellow wrote beneath his name on the106 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

hotel register the following lines, which may have cheapened his
autograph in the eyes of the hotel manager:

‘« Beware of the Raven of Ziirich!
’Tis a bird of omen ill,
With a noisy and an unclean nest,

And avery, very long bill.”’

And once in his life at least he wrote a parody.. It was on one
of his own verses and so there is no one to find fault. His son
Charles had started one day to go over to Lynn in an open boat and
had been capsized. He reached Lynn with clothes soaked in salt
water and was obliged to borrow a suit from his friends to wear until
his own were dry. Among the other articles was a pair of slippers,
which he wore home. These were returned a few days later by his

father, Mr. Longfellow, with these appropriate lines:

‘« Slippers that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er the bay of Lynn,
A forlorn or shipwrecked nephew,

Seeing, may purloin again.’”’

In 1831 he was married to Miss Mary Potter, a Portland girl of
lovely character, but she lived only four years after her marriage.
It was in reference to her that he wrote the beautiful poem, ‘‘ Foot-
steps of Angels.”

In 1834, Mr. Longfellow was offered a professorship of Modern
Languages in Harvard University. He accepted the position and
was allowed to go to Europe for another year and a half of study.
He took his young wife with him and she died in Holland. He
returned in 1836 and entered upon his new duties in Harvard.

It was soon after this that he began to live in the Craigie house,
first as a lodger with Mrs. Craigie, who then owned and occupied it.
She was a quaint old lady and a great student, kind-hearted but very
peculiar. When Mr. Longfellow called to engage rooms, she drew

herself up to her full height and replied, ‘‘I lodge students no longer.”
He told her he was a professor and she then showed him the house.
As she shut the door of each room she remarked, ‘‘ But you can’t

have that.” At last she took him to a room which she said had been

Op lx, i h Fae aS 3
Pe raha nce eo | ee ones pee Pe ze

™ 5 A a iano
3 —, a -staan... aaa Se

TATES POET. OF LiHE PB OLREE. 107
General Washingtonis: << Whis,;/ she said) <““youl ‘cam havew = aihe i
room was ornamented with gay Dutch tiles. The Craigie house was \
henceforth his home for the rest of his life. After his second mar- |
riage he became its owner, and the room given him by Mrs. Craigie 1
when he first became an inmate of her house was made the nursery
for his children. He refers to it and describes the Dutch tiles in his :

poem “loa Child

It must have beena rare privilege to have been a member of one
of his classes in Harvard. His business was to superintend the
teaching of five or six under-professors in the modern languages and i
literature. He visited the classes often and frequently took charge l
of the recitations. [he students were always glad when he came th

> i
in. Some one has said, ‘‘ My idea of a university is to sit on one ‘
end of a log with Mark Hopkins at the other.” It must have been
like that when Professor Longfellow came in. Edward Everett

Hale, the author of ‘‘A Man Without a Country,” and scores of |
other charming tales, was one of his students, and still loves to |
tell how delightful it was. Mr. Longfellow would read them bal- i
lads or other poems in German or Spanish or French or Italian, and
they would read them to him again. He was a beautiful reader and
they would forget they were in a class room. It seemed as if they
were only being entertained, but before they knew how it was done, i
they would know the poems by heart. His French was like that of a

Parisian, and he spoke all the modern European languages fluently. |

€

In 1843 he married Miss Appleton. They had five children, all

np inick

I
of whom are still living, Edith, who married Richard Henry Dana,

Alice, Annie Allegra, Ernest and Charles. ;

et Sc

He kept his professorship in Harvard until 1854, when he

resigned in order to give himself wholly to literary work. i

In 1861 occurred the sad death of his wife. Her clothing caught A
fire from a wax taper which she was using to seal a letter. Her hght Hi
summer dress was all in flames before help could reach her and she |
died in a short time. Mr. Longfellow was badly burned in trying to F
save her. He never recovered from the shock of her death. It a
made an old man of him. Bi

He went to Europe once more and for the last time in 1869, and
spent a little more than a year. After that he rarely left home108 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

except to go into Boston, or to Portland for his yearly visit, or to his
7 cottage on the seashore at Nahant, where he spent his summers.
. He died in 1882.

| Longfellow was always a lover of children, as many of his poems
Show, especially ‘‘The Children’s Hour.” The children of Cam-
bridge knew and loved their poet friend, and one of the happiest
occasions of his later life was on his seventy-second birthday when
they presented him with the chestnut arm-chair made from the
‘“‘spreading chestnut tree” which had stood in front of the village
smithy in Cambridge, to which Lonefellow referred in ‘‘ The Village
Blacksmith.” The old tree, already dying, had to go to make way
for the widening of the street, and the children gave the money to
build the chair from its wood. It was ornamented with beautiful
carvings of horse-chestnut leaves, blossoms and burrs. These lines
from the poem were carved around the seat:

‘‘ And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door:
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.’’
Below the green leather cushion there is a brass plate with an
inscription to the poet from the children.
Longfellow seldom wrote a poem for a special occasion, but he
wrote one for this, and it was published in the Cambridge Tribune.
Iwo stanzas of it are as follows:

“Am Ia king, that I should call my own
This splendid ebon throne?
Or by what reason, or what right divine,
Can I proclaim it mine?

* * *

‘‘And thus, dear children, have ye made for me
This day a jubilee,
2 And to my more than three score years and ten
Brought back my youth again.”

ia nas a Sod, Ps os rheoeh! ~~
bey = eee af. ay eA er aaeeceniNa Sake hae aa lc nha eee art eee) osu Ce
‘

eaSerer TTT ed Te

LHE POET OF THE PEOPLE 109

His last birthday before he died was made Longfellow day in
many of the schools throughout the country.

There are a number of stories about his kindness to individual
children. I should like to tell them all, but have space for only one. |
Which shall it be, I wonder ?

Mr. Longfellow was once showing a party of ladies and gentle- |
men through the historic Craigie house, now quite as much loved for \
its memories of Longfellow as of Washington. All of the company
had been introduced to the host with the exception of one little boy,
whom his elders seemed to think quite too small to be introduced to
so greataman. But Mr. Longfellow did not think so, and he shook |
the boy’s hand ‘‘ with a more cordial greeting even than he had given |
to the rest of the company.” The boy is a man now, but he still
remembers gratefully this act of the kind poet. Another has said.
‘‘He seemed to consider the happiness of the young as something :
sacred.” i

He had many visitors at Craigie house. He was always kind to
strangers, even if they came without letters of introduction. Two i}
young ladies from Iowa once visiting in Boston wrote to him telling f
him how they loved his poems and how much they wanted to see
him. Heanswered the letter immediately, appointing a day for them Q
to come to see him. lf

A shy young girl was calling one day with a friend. She was so
bashtulness and emotion that she could scarcely speak.
The poet paid no attention to his other visitors until he had made
her feel entirely at home.

Some of these visits had their comical side, and Mr. Longfellow
could see this as well as another. He used to like to tell a story of

i
an Englishman who came to see him. ‘‘Is this Mr. Longfellow ?” Ap
:

overcome with

be inquired. ‘‘ Well, sir, as you have no ruins in your country, |
thought’’— beginning to stammer, ‘‘I thought I would call and hie

> : {
see you.

Mary Anderson, the actress, published a newspaper article a few

years ago in which she recalled the advice given her by Longfellow UT
years ago and which she has ever since tried to follow. ‘‘See some Vi

good picture,” he-said, ‘‘in Nature if possible, or on canvas, hear a hi
page of the best music, or read a great poem daily.” You will always HtHENRY W. LONGFELLOW

—"
Re eT

aan oor

peg
ee
7

HENRY W.

LONGFELLOW.

5 ae
Se aS Metin yon a
= .En Somme st a

TE PORT: Ok PHP PEOLEE. L1t
find a free half hour for one or the other, and at the end of the year
your mind will shine with such an accumulation of jewels as to astonish
even yourself.”

She also repeated a story of an occasion when she attended an
opera with him in Boston. He had brought her some flowers and
some unknown person had also sent a bouquet to the box for her.
She did not pick these up, but continued to hold Mr. Longfellow’s

until he insisted upon her doing otherwise. <‘‘Put down my simple

ones,” he said, ‘‘and take up those beautiful flowers. It will eratify
the giver, who is no doubt in the house; try never to miss an oppor-
tunity of giving pleasure. It will make you happier and better.”
The words were like himself.

But his kindness did not end with kind words. Poor neighbors
in Cambridge had him to thank for many a load of coal, and many a
boy and girl struggling for an education received aid more costly than
encouraging words. A poor girl, a stranger, received, without asking,
a check to enable her to go on with her studies. Another, studying
music in Italy and just about to come home for lack of money,
received from him at Christmas time ‘‘only a little New Year’s gift
that would serve to buy gloves,” he said. ‘Did he know,” she
asked, ‘‘that 1t was bread, not gloves, I feared I should need and
which his generous gift supplied? ”

So his kind words and deeds went out to touch human lives with
tenderness. Andso his poems went too, the world over, as if they
were living things, with their messages of hope and blessing. A
classmate of Charles Sumner’s once said, ‘‘I think I may say that
Lonegtfellow’s ‘Psalm of Life’ saved me from suicide. I first found it
on a scrap of newspaper, in the hands of two Irishwomen, soiled and
worn; and I was touched at once by it.”

The same poem has been translated into Chinese. The work
was done by a Chinese scholar, an admirer of the poet, who had the
poem inscribed on a handsome fan in Chinese letters, and sent it to
Mr. Longfellow. And an. Englishman has translated it back again
into English. This re-translation is very curious.

His poems are more widely read to-day than ever. And so, in
a very true and high sense we may say that he is more alive to-day
than ever before.: Hl I12 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
ti But the best way to know the man is to know his poetry. |
will close this sketch by adding one of his poems, which is well worth
learning by heart.
THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ.
It was fifty years ago
In the pleasant month of May,
In the beautiful Pays de Vaud

A child in its cradle lay.

And Nature, the old nurse, took
The child upon her knee,
Saying: ‘‘ Here is a story-book

Thy father has written for thee. '

«<Come, wander with me,”’ she said,
“Into regions yet untrod ;

\ And read what is still unread

In the manuscripts of God

And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,
Who sang to him night and day

oi The rhymes of the universe.

And whenever the way seemed long,
Or his heart began to fail,

She would sing a more wonderful song,
Or tell a more marvellous tale.

So she keeps him still a child
And will not let him go,
Though at times his heart beats wild

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ;

Though at times he hears in his dreams
The Ranz des Vaches of old,

And the rush of mountain streams
From glaciers clear and cold;

And the mother at home says, ‘‘ Hark !
For his voice I listen and yearn;

It is growing late and dark,

And my boy does not return!”’

St ; ' i
BES eh : ; ae
ANS ae I a RIN Bp rye eT HE NOT Ig TS wees EEN Ay iat eae
as ~ i i ak 2 WAY VE regy Rik de hina eee ale eee) Aebatp aay
z /Seen TT Tit ed

HENRY M. STANLEY

THE AFRICAN EXPLORER.

Goal: <4 ] 1 1 = i
Io the battle or the banquet it is ever the same—: Get ready and go.’ ”’ |

— Stanley.

SUPPOSE there is scarcely one among the readers of this book I
whose first outlook on life was not more promising than that Ki
of Henry Morton Stanley. He has had little in life which he ij
has not won by his own brains and his own toil. Even the i
name which he now bears he earned for himself—how, we shall |
soon see. He was born in 18 40, in the poor little villace of Den- i
bigh, Wales. His father died soon after Henry’s birth and his
mother was so poor that she was obliged to give him to the parish.

His real name was John Rowlands. He was placed in an almshouse le
when he was a baby of. three, and

—
)

) he lived until he was i
thought old enough to ‘‘ fend for himself.” iP
Of course his opportunities for education must have been very :
limited, but it is plain that he improved such as were eiven him, {
for on leaving the almshouse at the age of twelve or thirteen, he .
was employed as teacher for a few months at Mold, in Flintshire. i
But this was too quiet a business for the restless spirit of a born f
adventurer. At the age of fourteen he worked his way to Liverpool ik
and found passage as cabin boy in a ship bound for New Orleans. | |
Looking around for something to do, he met a merchant named ie
Stanley who was attracted to the brave Welsh lad and gave him ha
employment. Finding him energetic and faithful, he adopted him i
after a few months and gave him his own name. Bi

But to be the son of a wealthy man and live in ease and luxury did
not suit the stirring nature of our young man. He wanted to see the

Vt
113 |II4 VRINR AWE SRANEE

world, and in pursuit of that desire he wandered as far as Arkansas,

cratifying his taste for adventure and wild life by setting up house-
Oo ~

keeping by himself in a cabin on the Washita. . When satisfied with
this he joined a flat-boat crew, drifted down to New Orleans and went
back to his adopted father, who received him with open arms. The

father soon after

\ I = |

| died without mak-

| | move a wall, Ilo
left Henry Morton
to the enjoyment
/ of Poverty and
hardship without
the trouble of look-

4 i | saver woye Woveson, — ale

B aE Em made his way to

- : . | Calitiomuia, isipiemit

be ee ae some time in the

sees MINT Me camps
there, and after-
Ward met with

some interesting
adventures among
the Indians.
About thas
time the Civil War
broke out. Young
Stanley had lived
for some time in

the South, and nat-

urally enough fell
HENRY M. STANLEY. in with Southern

views. The life of

a soldier attracted him, for it would give him adventure and travel.

He enlisted in the Confederate army, where he soon made a reputa-

tion for bravery and daring. He was taken prisoner in the battle of
: Shiloh and placed in a floating prison, the iron-clad Ticonderoga.
Here an incident occurred in which he showed the old daring. The

r, Oe inet SL ae accbuiiote eign ome. ee : aa ea e
at a it Ar bia a ha eatin \ kiln ceria eee pnt er yeTHE AFRICAN EXPLORER.

>
XN

PE We

AME!

RATE STE

4
4

CONFI

}

“4
4

CABLE

*
x

NINC

q
=f

FASTI

4
4

STANLE

.
Y

YOUN(116

EVEN ROAM SPA INIEE Ve

ship was under a terrific fire of shot and shell when young Stanley
volunteered to swim out about five hundred yards and fasten a cable

to a Confederate steamer.
ship was dra

ALN

at St. Asaph’s, where he was most heartily received.

wn over and captured.

[SHOUSE BOYS AT DINNER.

This he accomplished, and the Southern
He was rewarded by being re-

leased under prom-
ise not to go back
to the Confederate
army and was some
time after madean
ensign on the J1-
He

took an active part

conderoga.

innavalaffairs from
this time on until
the end of the war.

The next year
he went with the
Ticonderoga on a
trip to Europe and
obtained a leave of
absence to visit his
old home in Wales.
His Welsh friends

had heard his
callant conduct in
the American war
and the almshouse

boy found himself

a person of some
GTStinieGtlony bie
visited his old

almshouse school
The boys were

given a holiday and Stanley provided them with such a dinner as

they had never had before.

n
sea = eile ak ee
Sa aS Be el had aha a + SRA BASA SY) Ay

Perhaps he remembered the good din-
ners he never had when he was a boy at St. Asaph’s.
he is said to have made them one of his finest speeches.

After dinner

All this,

te Li ee rieert
pone aS EE PY)
¥ ‘ =THE APRICAN EXPEORER: TT7

1c doubt, left their hearts swelling with pride and pleasure at his
kindness and the thought of the honors which had come to one of :

their own. He was ashamed of his 1C1
: Te was not ashamed of his humble origin and we can

not help admiring his frank loyalty to his humble friends

rai ) 4 o. t
/ ~ . . eile ca TATA trac : e -
At this time th« lurks were treating the people of the island of |
Crete in the Meditérranean much as they have been treating the |
. . o = 5
Armenians during the past tew years. The blood of Stanley was |
stirred and he decided to go and help the Cretans throw off the |

tT,

STANLEY BEING ROBBED. h

Turkish yoke. He obtained a commission from James Gordon i
Bennett. Editor of the Mew York Herald, to travel in the East as t

special correspondent. He went to Crete, but was disappointed in
the Cretans and would not remain with them. He traveled on into Ih
Asia, where he was robbed by Turkish brigands and came near (i
losing his life.

He returned to America, but not to remain. In 1868 he went i!
with the English army into eastern Africa, again traveling as cor- h
respondent of the Mew York Herald for the purpose of reporting the | i
English war in Abyssinia. When King Theodore of Abyssinia was VtTWO re
)

ae ibe es renee
,

118 HENRY M. STANLEY

killed and the war ended, Stanley sent the news to the London
papers so promptly that it arrived before the government dispatches.
This was a triumph which gave him name and fame at once, for it
was thought remarkable that a young American newspaper man
should get ahead of the English government. His letters to the
Herald%re considered the best history yet written of the Abyssin-
jan war.

Mr. Bennett was so much pleased with his success in Africa
that he next sent him to get news in Spain, where a civil war was
in progress. Stanley was not afraid to go into the most dangerous
places in pursuit of information. He obtained not only the latest
news, but the most reliable. He made himself so trusted by James
Gordon Bennett that he would have Stanley and no one else to lead
the next great exploring expedition. This was the opportunity of
his life and opened the highway on which he has traveled to fame
and honor. ‘‘ That was just his luck,” I hear some one at my elbow
muttering. And that reminds me of what I forgot to say on the
very first page, and that is that I want you in reading this book
to notice what a company of ‘‘lucky” men:and women we have
crowded together here between two covers, and then see if you can
find any reason for the ‘‘luck” that has attended them, or whether
it all slid down the rainbow like the famous pot of gold, which
everybody is looking for and nobody has ever yet found. For if
good fortune waits on lazy John just as persistently as on plucky
Tom, why then it is high time we all found it out.

Africa has been the dreamland of the ages. Three great African
mysteries haunted the ancients with superstitious reverence and have
challenged the moderns to exploration and discovery,—the sources
of the Nile, the Niger and the Congo.

The Nile, the sacred river of Egypt, flowed for fifteen hundred
miles through a rainless land, yet its mysterious sources never failed
to send down with its turbid waves the fertility that made old Egypt
a cradle of civilization. he ‘‘green ribbon ina desert ” was literally
tiem cat) on tne Niles
reverent people who owed to it their very existence. The cataracts

It is not strange that it was worshiped by a

made its navigation in upper Egypt impossible and guarded the
mystery well. The Sahara, with its boiling heat and blinding sands,

A
ee ee ERY ince, 5
a eet De ete ip ee nih as en ee
bo 2m ‘i yaTHE AFRICAN EXPLORER. II9Q

kept the secret of the sources of the Niger, and the Falls of the
Congo, a hundred and twenty miles from its mouth, prevented the
ascent of that river.

It has been within our own century that all these mysteries have
been solved and the sources of the three rivers have beea discovered,
very near together in the highlands of the interior. At the end of
the last and the beginning of the present century, the Scotch traveler,
Mungo Park, tempted and met danger and death on the Niger. He
wrote some delightful descriptions of the natives but did not live to
accomplish his great purpose and find the beginnings of the Niger.
He never came back from his last trip and no one knows his fate.

Speke and Burton, Baker and Gordon and Livingstone continued
the explorations so well begun. The Niger was the first to yield up
its secret, but the final triumph, the settling beyond dispute the
question of the sources of the two great rivers, the Nile and the
Congo, was left to the subject of this sketch.

Stanley's next great expedition was a journey into Africa. David
Livingstone had started with thirty-eight men to march into the
interior of the Dark Continent in 1866, for the purpose of solving the
mystery of the sources of the Nile and ‘exploring and mapping the
great lakes of Central Africa. He had already spent thirty years of
his life in African exploration. No direct news had been heard from
him for many months. During that time the report reached Eng-
land that he had been murdered on the shores of Lake Nyassa, but
the story was found to be false. Again he was reported to be
deserted by his men and dying of starvation and exposure. There
was great anxiety about his safety both in England and America.
Everywhere people were earnestly asking the question, ‘‘Is Living-
stone alive or dead?” Great credit would fall to the newspaper which
should be the first to publish news of the great explorer. James
Gordon Bennett, the editor of the Vew Vork Herald, was the enter-
prising man who undertook an expedition for such a purpose, and
Henry M. Stanley was the man whom he chose to direct it.

Stanley was sitting in his room in his hotel in Madrid, Spain,
when a telegram from the younger Bennett, son of the editor, was
handed him. It read, ‘‘ Come to Paris on important business.” At

z t : To xa + Ia ric
three o'clock that afternoon the young man was on his way to Paris

ee ac SEER ome BE

cage ane atetass Saran Sa eyes
; Y

120 JESDINIRSE Why SSITBUMEIZ, NC

without the slightest idea of the nature of the business which was
calling him there. He arrived at Paris the next night and went
directly to Mr. Bennett’s hotel and knocked at his door. The con-
versation that followed was so characteristic of both young men, and
shows so well the spirit by which they were actuated, that I will give
Mr. Stanley’s own account of it:

“<«Come in!’ I heard a voice say. Entering, I found Mr.
Bennett in bed.

«<<Who are you?’ he asked.

‘©« My name is Stanley,’ I answered.

« «Ah, yes! Sit down; I have important business on hand for
you.’

“After throwing over his shoulders his vobe-de-chambre, Mr.
3ennett asked: ‘Where do you think Livingstone is? ’

‘«<«T really do not know, sir.’

‘<*Do you think he is alive ? ’

““« Fle may be, and he may not be,’ I answered.

‘¢« Well, I think he is alive, and that he can be found, and I
am going to send you to find him.’

‘««What!’ said I, ‘do you really think I can find Dr. Living-
stone ? Do you mean me to go to Central Africa?’

““«Yes, I mean that you shall go and find him, wherever you
hear that he is, and get what news you can of him; and, perhaps,’
—delivering himself thoughtfully and deliberately—‘the old man
may be in want. Take enough with you to help him, should he
require it. Of course, you will act according to your own plans; and
you will do what is best—but find Livingstone!’

‘“Said I, wondering at the cool order of sending one to Central
Africa to search for a man whom I, in common with most other
men, believed to be dead, ‘Have you considered seriously the
expense you are liable to incur on account of this little journey?’

““« What will it cost?’ he asked abruptly.

‘«« Burton and Speke’s journey to Central Africa cost between
43,000 and £5,000, and I fear it can not be done under L 2500:

fo VVell Iwill tell you what 1 will do. Draw a thousand
pounds now, and when you have spent that, draw another thousand,

and when that is spent, draw another thousand, and when you have

= ei LY
Tea ya ore: toy g Sn Re \ ae ett a Peart Es
Re dk oe) os SS eee to \\ adel ss ter e's a CS ene SES RE SL be tps pS. ween] pest PN Whe
my oe ”cman ina aeteenrae mma ST n 7

TLE, ATTAGAN BXPEOREDR: 121

finished that, draw another thousand, and so on—but find Living-
Stone: =

Stanley did not hesitate. It was an enterprise to suit the
daring of such a man. It fell in with his love of adventure, and,

like the volunteer’s call to arms, it might lead to glory or death.
When the bugle calls, the soldier does not ask what he will do. The
question was answered long ago. It was in reference to this call to
the heart of Africa that Stanley wrote the sentence which I have
coupled with his name at the head of this sketch as being character-
istic of everything he says and does—‘‘ To the battle or the banquet
it is ever the same—‘ Get ready and go.’”

He was to go by a long road and send home news from many
places on his way. He went up the Nile and saw the long-buried
secrets of the tombs which the Baker expedition was just then
engaged in opening. He went to Jerusalem and wrote a description
of the Temple of Solomon, whose foundations were. being revealed
by excavations. He wandered over the Crimean battlefields, long
ago immortalized by Tennyson in the ‘‘ Charge of the Light Brigade.”
He traveled through Persia and wrote his name on a fallen monument
in Persepolis, that once splendid city, the ancient ‘‘ glory of the
east,” much of which has lain in ruins since the fateful visit of
Alexander the Great, and he landed at Zanzibar, on the east coast
of Africa on the 6th day of January, 1871.

‘Get ready and go,” was Stanley’s word, and the getting ready
was no small or unimportant part of the expedition. He must have
soldiers to protect him from the hostile natives. He must carry
abundant supplies, for his route would lie for the most part through
a wilderness, where food does not grow on the trees. He must take
cloth and beads and wire to barter with the natives for such rude
necessities as the villages could provide, and he must have
pagazis, or Carriers, to transport all this baggage. How many sol-
diers, how many fagaz7s, how much cloth and wire and how many
beads, and how to get them all, were questions that disturbed his
dreams.

In about two months and a half his preparations were complete,
and he started on the twenty-first day of March with a hundred and
ninety-two persons making up the expedition,eA ae
b

= AE Whe) eee
a wt

FLESIN IRA MVE SANE

There are of course no roads, in our sense of the word, in Cen-
tral Africa, and a wheeled vehicle would be as rare a sight as an
iceberg, but we must not think of a trackless wilderness, for there are
numerous foot-paths from one end of the continent to the other, con-
necting the native villages. These paths are about a foot wide and
are beaten as hard as our pavements. They are direct in a general
direction, running straight over mountains and valleys, but shying
around small obstacles, such as stones or fallen trees. No native
ever thinks of moving a log or stone out of the way, and when a path
is once made, no one ever thinks of changing it. Many of them are
centuries old, and a little turn may tell the story of a tree that fell in
its way a thousand years ago. ‘‘But whatever the cause, says
Stanley, ‘‘it is certain that for persistent straightforwardness in gen-
eral, and utter vacillation and irresolution in the particular, the Afri-
can roads are unique in engineering. ©

The attacks of treacherous natives were always to be feared and
malarial fever was always to be expected. Stanley himself had
twenty-three separate attacks of the fever during the journey. Both
the white men whom he had ventured to take with him died. The
company was several times without food and reduced to the very verge
of starvation. Once after a hard day’s march and twenty hours with-
out food they had nothing for supper but tea and a few wild peaches
and tamarinds. The next day they came upon some corn-fields.
Then the hungry men lay down and waited while three or four of
their number went forward to the village to buy some grain. They
found food plenty in the village; and the starving company was turned
into a camp of rejoicing.

After a few months of wandering they began to hear tidings of
a white man with a gray beard, answering to the description of
Livingstone, and after nine months of terrible toil and privation they
found him on the banks of Lake Tanganyika. He had been very ill
but was improving. The news and supplies brought him by Stanley
gave him new heart to continue his labors. He was not ready to
return because still uncertain about the sources of the Nile.

Stanley spent four months with Livingstone and then returned
to the coast, reaching Zanzibar in May, 1872, after an absence of
thirteen months. His expedition had been completely successful.

Tre eae ee ~ ae ASRS ee ,
A aan HA ie deat Ra oes eA eta hea alia fe RASTER FT ae ES) ss eps ete re ee
as ad if t ‘ksTHE APRICAN EXPLORER: 128

But he was so changed with privation, illness and anxiety that his
friends did not know him and he scarcely knew himself in a mirror.
He was only thirty-two years old, but in appearance he had grown
to be an old man. His hair had turned quite gray. A few years
later he published a full account of this expedition in the book
entitled ‘‘ How I Found Livingstone.”

Two years after Stanley’s return, David Livingstone died in an

STANLEY FINDING LIVINGSTONE.

African wilderness with his explorations still incomplete. ‘‘ The
goes on.” Again and again the question

workers die, but the work ¢
T L oes lt 2 TNO
came to Stanley, ‘‘Why can not I complete the work : It was
eminently fitting that he should. The proprietors ol the New York
Herald and the London Telegraph at length joined forces to provide
the expenses of a new African expedition, o} which Stanley was made
the leader. ;
The dangers and discouragements were much the same as henine

47
|

Rees ee hi ae

124 VTEGINR SURANIEE Ye
had met with in his search for Livingstone, and he found his previous
experiences of great value.

On one occasion they were lost in the jungle for three days.
They were obliged to cut every step of their way through the thick-
rowing vines and crawl through the narrow hole they had made.
They had eaten up all their food. Some of the carriers were so weak
that they fell behind the party and were never heard of again. Stanley
dared not march them any farther. He ordered them to pitch their
tents while he went out with his gun in search of game. He was
about to return empty-handed when he found two lion’s cubs which
he brought to camp and dressed. They were so small that they
would scarcely make a mouthful apiece for so many men. But he
could make them into soup, for he had plenty of water, and there
would be enough to go around. He emptied a large iron trunk,
which he filled with water and placed over the fire to boil. He put
in the lions and a few pounds of oatmeal which he had left, and
made a trunk full of soup.

It must have been a pathetic sight to see the hungry men stand
around waiting while it boiled, and watching lest a drop of it boil
over. Stanley describes the scene vividly and adds, ‘lt was a rarer
sight still to watch the famished wretches, as, with these same gourds
full of precious broth, they drank it down as only starving men
could. The weak and sick got a larger portion, and another tin of
oatmeal being opened for their supper and breakfast, they waited
patiently the return of those who had gone in quest of food. Whey
soon found plenty of food in a village near by, and death was staved
off once more.

By this expedition, Stanley answered the second and third of the
ereat African questions. He proved beyond dispute that the Nile
takes its rise in the great lake called Victoria Nyanza, and, crossing
over to the great river which Livingstone had called the Lualaba and
sailing down to its mouth, proved it to be identical with the Congo.
You will remember that the sources of the Niger had been already
found. He had spent three years in this quest, and again had
accomplished everything he had undertaken. You will find a full
account of his adventures on this expedition in Stanley's own publica-
tion, ‘‘ Through the Dark Continent.”

Me i ween St Sete ea So | a hid eat Sy RS Cotene Cot Dre ee Nes eS — >) > s~ pears a Sy vi
~~ _ 5 we ee aes
ATT - 2 | Pwr Ae Se iene tenes ped ate ae x sebrests bi are an 7} bsAFRICAN EXPLORER.

i |
i

ae ee ;

(ees

malk

, egg)
o
Eee
aS |
f SS

i
Hi
[
; '
S =
yA Pa
eee
- GO? & ‘
a eee FT nace
fale ie OS
po Ee
*t, ©
t i a
Q j Ce
r \
x a
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x 9 ~®& |
= ~

PREPARING FOR A FEAST.

He returned to England in 1877, but there was still work for
him in Africa. He was called to take a prominent part in the found-"

i cama aie
’ i

126 HENRY M. STANLEY

ing of the Congo Free State. This enterprise was planned by an
association of persons from Belgium, Great Britain and France, for
the purpose of extending commerce, developing the rich basin of the
Congo, and breaking up the slave trade. The jealousies of the
different nationalities made the task a difficult one, and it required
ten years more of Stanley’s life to place the undertaking on a firm
basis.

In 1887, after a few months’ rest in England, he returned once
more to Africa to the rescue of Emin Pasha, Governor of Equatorial
Africa, who had been cut off from the protection of Egypt by a
rebellion in the Soudan. He conducted the Pasha and his followers
safely across to the eastern shore, at the same time adding consider-
ably to his own knowledge of Central Africa.

On his next return to England he received a royal* welcome.
This plain man, whose entire school education had been received in
an almshouse school, was given a degree by the University of Oxford.
He received high honors in several of the principal cities of England
and was appointed governor of the Congo Free State, which he had
helped to found.

In 1889 he married Miss Dorothy Tennant, a Welsh lady some-
what distinguished as an artist. ~The marriage ceremony was per-
formed in Westminster Abbey.

Stanley made a lecture tour of the United States in 1889.
Since 1890 he has lived quietly in England, engaged chiefly in
literary pursuits. He was elected to Parliament in 1895.

Stanley’s black followers in Central Africa appreciated the force
of his character enough to call him ‘‘ The Rock Breaker.” A para-
eraph which he wrote to the Mew York Herald at the close of his
expedition in behalf of Emin Pasha might refer to his entire life, as
well as to the single enterprise. He said: ‘‘The vulgar will call it
luck. Unbelievers will call it chance, but deep down in each heart
remains the feeling, that of verity there are more things in heaven
and earth than are dreamed of in common philosophy.”

Te ce neeae SR REE RES Pe costs | id ca ee eee | eee coral has re Dy, i Soy
a oe 2 coal ane gp a ae) errsthss sh PSP Sa Ty am
—s } es

aROSA BONHEUR

THE PAINTER OF ANIMALS |

He prayeth welt
who. loveth
well

Both man, and bird, and
beast.

Coleridge.

BOSSA BONHEUR., as a
child, was a problem to
irents and teachers dé ere f
ke. She loved to nS
romp and she hated tostudy. She |

Dp.

ali

was too active and impulsive to take kindly to the restraints of the i
schoolroom. It took her a long time to learn to read and write.
Her grandfather used to say to her mother, ‘‘ You think you have a
daughter! What a mistake! Rosa is a boy in petticoats |” i

She was a child of nature and loved the woods and fields. Her |
grandfather had a pet parrot who used to imitate her mother’s voice e
in calling ‘‘Rosa!” and when Rosa would answer the call, her
mother would detain her to learn her catechism. It is needless to

27
127/ V7 ee a <
,

= ee ae;
zee manana Lae ry ba Sele cere een
Hi : ag

128 PhsA BONHEUR

1e parrot was not one of her favor-

say that, though Rosa loved pets, tl
Her father, Raymond Bon-

ites. She came of a family of artists.
heur, was a gifted portrait and landscape painter.
talent and carried off high honors in his youth, but worked at his art
When a young man, he was obliged to

He showed great

under great discouragement.
devote a large part of his time to eiving lessons 1
his feeble and aged parents. He became attached to one of his
pupils, a charming oirl named Sophie Marquis.
fter they were married gave the couple no assist-

n order to support

Her family opposed

the marriage and a
ance. Lhe young artist was compelled to continue his lessons to the
neglect of his painting. It is Rosa's belief that his poverty lost an
artist of great ability to the world.

Rosalie Bonheur, or Rosa, as she prefers to be called, was born
‘n Bordeaux, France, in 1822. She was the oldest of four children.
Of these the elder of her two brothers, Auguste, became distinguished
as a painter of portraits and animals. He died in 1884. He had
exhibited numerous paintings in the Paris salons and received the

8 His most distinguished works

cross of the Legion of Honor in 1567.
are <‘A Herd of Cows” and ‘‘ Before the Rain.”

The younger, Isidore, isa sculptor of animals. His best known
piece of sculpture is the ‘¢Tioer Hunter.

The youngest of the four, Juliette, married Monsieur Peyrol.
She is alsoa painter of animals. She has a studio over her husband's
bronze exhibition rooms and always signs herself ‘‘éleve de son péere,”
pupil of her father. She has two sons who possess the family talent
in a large measure.

When Rosa was about four years old, the family removed from
30rdeaux to Paris. There for some years they lived through trying
times. The tyrannical measures of the king, Charles X., maddened
the excitable French people and brought on the Revolution of July,
1830, by which Charles was deposed and Louis Phillippe was placed
on the throne. It was no time for interest in art or the sale of pic-
tures. Raymond Bonheur was obliged again to devote himself to
teaching, and even then could scarcely gain a living for his family,
though the mother was thrifty and assisted by giving lessons on the
piano and by sewing. Rosa was fond of lingering in her father’s studio
and loved to cut out curious paper figures and try modeling in clay.

iq
ate a oe Scud rae ee amet Cat ee ee ae
ik , hime \\! ad De ae Sa ~ pT een en reat’ a

. V9 heel Seale eee eee eT S Ste J mir} ea eae are Spam |

THE PAINTER OF ANIMALS. 129

She was intensely fond of animals. When she was about seven
years old she used to run away to a pork shop in the neighborhood
to see a wild boar’s head, frightfully carved in wood, which did duty
as a sign. Whenever she was missed from home, the mother would
send to the pork shop, and there Rosa was sure to be found, gazing
enraptured at the boar’s head with its rude carving and gaudy paint-
ing. She is said to have revisited the place a few years ago. The
carving and the paint were still there, but the charm, alas, had
vanished.

When Rosa was eleven years old, her mother died. This, she
says, was the greatest sorrow of her life. She and her two brothers
were then entrusted to the care of a well-meaning woman called
La Mére Cathérine, with whom they remained for two years, while
little Juliette remained in charge of some old family friends. During
this time, Rosa was supposed to be sent to school. She was
actually in the fields most of the time, for it was in an open part
of the city. She says herself that she never spent an hour of fine
weather indoors during the whole time. La Mére Cathérine seems
to have been a good-hearted woman without much sense, who com-
plained of the little hoyden and scolded her but could not find any
way to influence her except in the opposite direction from that
which the good woman desired. It was about this time that she
first saw a little pale faced girl wearing a green shade over her
eyes and a comical bonnet, which aroused the mirth of the fun-
loving Rosa. The little girl was Nathalie Micas, afterwards her
dearest and most intimate friend. She, too, becamean artist, and her
death in 1889 was a blow from which Rosa was long in recovering.

At the end of two years, the father was married again to a
bright, intelligent woman, and the children were brought together
under the home roof. The boys, however, were soon placed at
school, where their father made arrangements to pay their way by
giving drawing lessons. There were no free schools then in Paris
as there are with us, and the children of the poor had small chance
for education.

Rosa had made so poor use of her opportunities in school that
her father thought it quite useless to go toany further expense for her
instruction. But it was necessary she should learn some means ot\ a
i A

Cea |
as wih Fath

A Anes
,

laa hia ee ae
Ui

130 ROSA BONHEUR
supporting herself and she was given in charge of a seamstress to be
taught sewing.

This was even worse than school. She pricked her fingers and
ht on headaches with her petulance over having to sit still and

broug
The seamstress’s husband had a turning-

do the disagreeable work.
lathe in the next room. Rosa liked to help use the machine, and
sometimes got into mischief by trying to manage it by herself when
the man was away. This was almost her only pleasure, and when
her father came to see her she would throw herself into his arms,
and, sobbing as if to break her heart, would beg him to take her
away from the hateful place. She made herself almost ill with her
rebellion and continual fretting. She was born with the soul of an
artist. It was not right for her to spend her life in sewing, and she
was trying to find the path that Nature had designed for her. She
did not know what this path was, nor how to reach it, and so the poor
child fell upon a very disagreeable way of managing matters. Her
way succeeded in the end, but it was uncomfortable for everybody
concerned while it lasted. But we will not find too much fault with
her, for it is barely possible we should not know just what to advise

her if she had it all to do over again. I suppose a really wise person,
such as you often meet, one who knows exactly what other people
ought to do every time the clock strikes, would understand a case
like this at once and would probably have told Mademoiselle Rosa
to dry her tears and take up her hemming, even while her soul was
starving for her beloved woodland ways and the wild, fresh lie of
Nature, and certainly that looks like the reasonable thing and would
have saved a vast deal of trouble. But what, meantime, would have
become of the artist ? Would Rosa Bonheur have been lost to the
world ?

I am very far from saying that she did right. J am rather sure
she did wrong. But all this goes to show that questions, even of
common morality, are not always so simple as they at first might
appear. It takes head as well as heart to know how to behave one-
self and how to settle some of the commonest questions of everyday
life. And this, to my thinking, is one reason for cultivating our
minds and trying to be wise as well as good. It was Charles Kingsley,
the author of ‘‘ Water Babies,” which, by the way, is one of the best

" i
Wane neRAE be caoh oe he te eee cee ee 2 ee = i ee Lirica tinegh:
» pik) ? 1 i \\ Sea a eo a ST sips i a :
— i aySatie ne naenemnenn 10

THE PAINTER OF ANIMALS. nat
books I know for children of all ages from seven to seventy, who
wrote the beautiful verse—

‘“ Be good, dear child, and let who will be clever
Do noble things, not dream them all day long,

And so make life, death, and that vas/ forever,
One grand, sweet song.’

I love to repeat the stanza, but I always wonder if he was altogether
right.

Rosa’s father could not bear to leave her ina place where she
was so wretched, and he took her away. This time he placed her in
a boarding school. Here the spirit of mischief made her a leader
among her mates. Many stories are told of the pranks she used to
play. She liked to draw caricatures of the teachers. These she
would cut out of the paper on which they were drawn and stick the
heads to the ceiling by means of bread which she chewed until it
became a paste. It may be imagined that these swaying paper figures
were not favorable to study among the girls, and Mademoiselle Rosa
was frequently punished by being kept on bread and water.

Besides the punishments which she so often underwent and the
frequent disgrace brought upon her by her madcap ways, she had
another source of trouble in this school. She was a poor girl among
rich ones. Her clothing was coarse and scanty, while they were
dressed in silks. They had silver spoons while she used an iron one.
This difference in position was galling to the high-spirited and sensi-
tive girl. She was very unhappy.

But this was not to last long, for one day a sham battle took
place, in which Rosa was commander-in-chief. The small army
rushed over the garden-beds spreading devastation as they went, and
the commander’s wooden sword bravely slashed down the enemy in
the form of rose-bushes. This was too much for the preceptress, and
the ‘‘ Little Hussar,” as she was called, was sent home to her father.

This time he was completely discouraged and left her to do as
she pleased, the very wisest course, as she soon proved. She began
drawing and modeling in her father’s studio, at first for her own
amusement. She became interested, and the ereat soul of the artist

began to dawn within her. From an impulsive, headstrong girl sheeats

132 ROSA BONHEUR

dev eloped rapidly into a woman of earnestness and determination.
She would work from dawn to dark, sometimes forge tting to eat.
Rosa’s father began to understand her. He commence -d seriously

to give her lessons. He was the only teacher in art she ever had.

These were happy days. It was a pleasant family picture, the
father, the two sons and this delicate, fine-featured daughter, all
working together so happily and hopefully. Rosa would sing at her

easel from morning until night. She h ct entered upon a new life.

After completing a thorough course under the instruction of her
father, she began to go daily to the Louvre, a famous art gallery in
Paris where a great number of the finest p: aintings in the world are
collected. She would take her easel and sit copying from the old
masters until she would forget the world around her. She began to
earn money from the sale of her pictures, and so became a useful
member of the family.

An incident occurred at the Louvre one day which may have
been the first suggestion to her of a future different from that of
others. She was copying a celebrated painting called Les Bergers
ad’ Avcadic—Shepherds of Arcadia- -when an old gentleman was
attracted to look at her work. He gazed at it long and earnestly,
then left her with the prophecy, ‘‘ Your copy, 707 Lyfe: is superb,
faultless! Persevere as you have begun, and I prophesy that you will
be a great artist!” No one knows how much these few encouraging
words may have had to do with the making of a destiny.

When Mademoiselle Rosa was about seventeen years old, she
painted a goat. This gave her so much delight that she began to
give her entire attention to the painting of animals. Her love of pets
began to show itself more than ever. The Bonheur family were then
living on the sixth floor, where there was not much oppestunity for
keeping animals. But Rosa had a pet sheep which she and her
brothers used as a model, and of which she was very fond. This she
managed to keep for some time in her sixth floor residence. It was
not a mountain sheep and was not skilled in climbing stairs. Conse-
quently her brother Isidore used to carry it down on his back nearly
every day and give it exercise and fresh grass. As the sheep grew to
be too large for carrying, it is related that he made a pair of mittens
for its hind feet to prevent the noise of its hoofs from disturbing the“$i f

W203 JESUENITLIR Ove ANIMALS. 132

neighbors. He would fasten on the mittens and

lead the animal by
its tore teet, requiring it to learn the

difficult art—for a sheep—of
climbing stairs with half its usual facilities for walking on level ground
One day the poor sheep fell over the balustrade and through an open
The family had mutton for
<now that Rosa was a vegetarian that day.
saying she ‘‘could not think of din
playmate was in the plat-

landing, into the rooms of a neighbor.
dinner, but we are elad to]

Ing with a playmate when that

fem ehe sheep itself eS laos

was no myth and the car-
rying up and down stairs
authenti-
cated, but for the mittens

is sufficiently

and the .mutton, I am
obliged to say, in the in
terest of truth, that I hay

no better authority than
that of a Chicago nev

paper.

Kosa Was COO poor to
buy or hire animals for

models. But she could

and did walk out into the
country where there were

plenty of cows, sher p and

other domestic animals,

which were quite willing

to be painted and made

no charge for posing in
their most artistic man-
nem ohe thowoeht little

ROSA BONHEUR AT THEAGE OF NINETEEN.

of a ten-mile walk morning and evening in rain or mud, and a long
day's sketching between.

She also began about this time to visit the slauehter-houses in
the edge of the city for the same purpose. She would sit ona bundle
of hay and paint from morning till night. She made a thorough
study of human anatomy by means of charts and plates and obtained

SS a

SS aait ROSA BONHEUR

134

. the different parts of animals from the slaughter-houses and studied

the different muscles by means of dissection. os
exhibited two paintings in the Fine Arts’ Exhibitio.

In 1841 she
p of a goat and sheep, the other a group of rab-

in Paris, one a grou
bits. In 1845 she placed twelve paintings on exhibition, with pictures
by her father and her eldest brother on each side. ihe next year
her younger brother exhibited some sculpture, and a few years later
the father and four children were represented together in their work,
the younger sister, Juliette, having then begun her artistic career.
In 1849 she took the gold medal for a painting called ‘‘ Cantal

ee din te eg

ie 8 ict a

rans Ny aK
BT Esk gt Ae. ae

A FAMOUS PAINTING CALLED ‘(pT OUGHING ’’—FROM A PHOTOGRAPH.

Oxen.” Her father died that year and she succeeded him in the
directorship of a government school of design, a post which had been:
recently given him, and which she held for many years.

Her two greatest works are the ‘‘ Plowing scene in the Nivernais, ©
which appeared in 1849, was purchased by the French government,
and is now in the Luxembourg Gallery, and the ‘‘ Horse aie
exhibited in 1853. It was while visiting the horse markets to find

; models for her studies for this picture that she first adopted male
costume to shield herself from comment and unpleasant attentions.
She afterwards formed the habit of wearing it in the studio on account

be
Dina hl a y Trane rs
rae ay 4 eet EL eee ‘

7 WK) P ails > Se ee cane NERS = per oT

oar ; oe i Ce re en a id ee St Oe pee

Y } ‘ Li 3 a \\ De . Rea Sane sm meme 20) e Sirs aver PAE SNTHE PAINTER OF ANIMALS. 135
of the freedom it gave her for drawing and modeling. She was busy
a year anda half in making the studies for this ereat picture. The
original painting is now in New York. There is a copy, made by the
artist herself, in London.

Ktosa Bonheur had four paintings on exhibition at the Columbian
Exposition in Chicago in 1893. One of these was a picture of a flock
of sheep, quietly feeding on the scanty grass ina rocky pasture. It
was loaned by General Russell A. Alger of Detroit. Another

belonged to the Jay Gould estate. A third was called ‘‘ The Over-

THE OVERTHROW—EXHIBITED AT’ WORLD FAIR.

throw,” and represented some young bullocks on a stampede of the
craziest description. In their haste they had upset some sheep, which
were painted with much spirit, and seemed to share in the evident
opinion of the bullocks that the end of the world was at hand. But
the most striking of the four was ‘‘ The King of the Forest.” This
was a splendid buck with branching horns and wide-open startled
eyes, gazing anxiously, as if he suspected his kingdom was in danger.
It was a superb picture, and was seldom left without an admiring

crowd.

re le eneROSA BONHEUR

136

Rosa Bonheur has lived for many years in the quiet little village

of By in the . forest of. Fontainebleau. Her house isa modest bric
hvac: xh wall ar ie ‘e shall be fortunate in

It has a high wall around it and we sh ull be forte it

we have a letter of introduction to

{

mansion.
our visit to this part of France if I
give us admittance to the gate. The ring of the bell will be answered
first by the barking of a company of dogs of all sorts and conditi ions.
The eagle will scream out a doubtful welcome, and a parrot will do hi

noisy best to repel invasion. A white-capped 1 maid will admit us a

some caution. Achamois from the Alps is feeding ina wire enclosure.

‘thene 1s a park not far away for sheep and deer.

ia lie es $e fm, a aa

THE HORSE FAIR.

A writer in the Century a few years ago, who was happy enough
to gain admittance to the hee of the artist, found the mistress of
the abode on the grounds near the gate. A sheep was undergoing
the process of shearing as a study for the artist, who wore her cus-
tomary blue blouse with a white collar fastened with one pearl button.
Pantaloons completed the costume. Her features were described
delicate and clearly cut. Her gray hair was short and parted at the
side. Her eyes were still superbly black. She changed her costume
before dinner, donning a velvet jacket with a touch of white at the
throat, anda rather short and perfectly plain skirt. She never makes
any compromises to fashion. Life is too short for that.

Beds Pik ys 3 os ¥ Php de,
Te Bate Ch Sik tit ao at te Ne Da Renae SARIS PRERA)) My a = =a ves sas east reate Rg OT Semmmmeme VTL) S037 t M

TTTE, PAINE RR OF INIMALS. 1 2Y,
Ji
Her favorite and usually her only ornament is the cross of the
legion of Honor, which was bestowed on her ina very curlous man-

ner. She was declared worthy r of this decoration, but the eallant

EK mperor Napoleon was afraid Go bestow it because it had never vet
been given toa woman. But in 1865 he left the country for a time
in charge of the Empress Eugénie as Regent. The Empress one
day drove over to the village of By and alighted in the courtyard of
the artist. ‘‘ Mademoiselle ! mademoiselle!” cried the maid, ‘‘ Her
Majesty, the Empress!” Mademoiselle threw a skirt over her
trousers and slipped on a velvet jacket just in time to greet her royal

visitor. ‘‘I have here,” the Empress said, ‘a little jewel which I

bring you on the part of the Emperor, who authorized me to avail
myself of the last d: iy of my Regenc y to announce to you your nom-

ination to the Legion of Honor.” She then pinned the ribbon of

the cross to the velvet jacket of the artist, Imprinted a kiss upon

her cheek and was gone.

The wife of the grocer near by gives a piquant account of the
dash made by the Prussian soldiers into this region in 1870
A tew of them came to Champagne, just across the river from By.
The grocer and a few others had een out their shoteuns,
Kosa, who is a fine hunter, appeared with hers.

there?” she asked.

when
‘How many are
‘Oh, if there are only three or four we can take
care of them.” The next daya larger force came, but the command-
ing officer gave orders that the property of the artist should not be
disturbed.

She is still as fond of animals as ever. Her home has always
been an ‘‘asylum for stray dogs.” The deer in the park rub their
noses against, her as she passes, and ask in their way to be caressed.
‘“In order to make oneself loved by wild anim: oe she says, ‘““we
must love them.” She has no fear of the wildest. She once had a
erown lioness as a model and friend. The death of the lioness has
been thus touchingly described: ‘‘When a big lioness died in the
arms of the painter, at the foot of the staircase of By, the creatures’s
tongue, rough as a rasp, feebly licked, and the huge claws closely
held, through the death agony, the kind hands of her she loved—
these last caresses seeming to say, ‘Do not abandon me!’”

The artist 1s much respected and loved by the peasants of hera) a ROSA BONHEUR.

by the cultured lovers of art the world over. The
peasants are proud to bring her a sheep or a goat from their barn-
yards, and if she has painted one of their eifts, or, better still, one of

their children, they will tell it for the rest of their lives with wonder

village as well as

and reverence—and this simple affection 1s to her no small part ot
the world’s love for the modest unassuming woman who by severe
toil and determination and the force of her genius, has taken high

rank among the world’s great artists.

mull

”

sic

Sethi 4
att MIE T ys Vis slobea-eiae een

ah) ) eo cw ena) ee J, a Is 3 s 2 es 2
~— a Eb a hy ees Nl ALATA Trays 20 AT x Ba es PET 2
' : vo 2 SG SAY Ware AUIS ea a eo + eer er, riearsh -
U A och ios aie cee tee seen aire sorst ei oeBN moa ;
. Pe iseee rst TT

PATRICK HENRY

THE DEMOSTHENES OF AMERICA

{ know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty,
or give me death!
—Fatrick Henry.
ATRICK HENRY was four years younger. than Washing-
ton, having been born in 1736, 1n the county of Hanover,
Virginia.

At the time he received the name of Patrick, there
was some reason to suppose that the name might be honored by such
bestowal, for he had a right to the gift of brains from the families of
both father and mother.

His father, John Henry, was a sturdy Scotchman of sound
intellect, high character and good education. Several of his relatives
were men of eminence in the old world. Among them was the
English orator, Lord Brougham, who was his second cousin. Patrick’s
mother came of a fine old Welsh family named Winston. They are
said to have been fond of music and eloquence, gifted in conversation
and disposed to be dramatic. What more could an orator ask in the
way of inheritance?

But it was some time before he discovered his gift. And it
seemed for a number of years as if it was likely to be something quite
different from credit which the young Virginian was destined to shed
upon his honored name.

It was easy for a boy to escape an education in Virginia in those
days, if escape was what he was bent on. There were few schools
and no truant officers abroad in the land. People who could afford
it and wished it had tutors in their homes for their children. ‘There
was, however, a small school in the neighborhood of the Henry home.
This Patrick attended for some time, but managed very skillfully to
139‘| 140 PAWRUGKE TILA RY
protect his mind from such unskillful instruction as was given. When
a | he was ten vears old a home school was established and Patrick was

taught, with a number of other children, by his father and uncle, the
I

Reverend Patrick Henry. Here he made considerable progress in

PATRICK HENRY.

mathematics and did something in Latin and Greek,—how much is
quite uncertain.

There has been considerable dispute about the amount and
to Thomas Jefferson, he was very

quality of his learning. According
ignorant. B

sut we learn from others that he knew Latin well enough
fi; to carry on a conversation in that lancuage.- We know, too, that he

: whe
RY arr rea 2 ea ati nen coma laa

THE DEMOSTHENES OF AMERICA. IAI

was fond of reading and preferred good books. His speeches showed
great command of language as well as of facts. If he accomplished
as little in school as some authorities would have us believe, he must
have made up for it by severe study in his later life.

At the age of fifteen he had learned either so much or so little
that it was thought unnecessary for him to attend school longer, and
he went into business as a salesman in a country store. At the end
of a year, his father set him up in a store with his elder brother, a
lad rather more idle and fond of fishing than himself. Another year
was enough to bring that venture to an end.

He next seems to have rested a’ year, and at eighteen he was
married, though without money or prospects. The bride’s name was
Sarah Shelton. The outlook was a dismal one in the eyes of every-
body except the young people themselves. But the parents of both
interfered to ward off starvation and endowed them with a farm and
five or six slaves.

Now why should a young man work who had so magnificent an
establishment? Or why make his head ache with accounts and man-
aging? But the slaves ate up everything they could raise and Pat-
rick was as poor with his farm as he had been without it. Whena
man is out of money, something must be sold, and Patrick Henry

sold his farm that supported the slaves and the slaves that lived oft

the farm. He was then as well off as he was before and had a little
money beside. This he invested in a store, perhaps thinking that
his agricultural experience had given him an added fitness for

mercantile pursuits. It took him three years to become a bankrupt.
His store was then shut up for him, saving him the trouble of open-
ing it in the morning and keeping the flies off the sugar barrel and
closing the store at night. He next decided to become a lawyer.
Certainly his example up to this time would not be a very ood

one for a young man to imitate. But we know that from this time
on he took up the business of living in earnest; and perhaps his mind
had been more active than any one knew during those apparently
idle years. He was groping in the dark, but eroping towards the
light. During those seemingly fruitless years, he had at least learned
to take an interest in some of the best things in literature. He
began with light reading, but by degrees became interested in history,142 PATRICK HENR

especially that of Greece and Rome. He made it a rule to read
Livy’s histories through once a year, using an English translation.
He also became thoroughly familiar with English and American
history. Among all books, his favorite was the Bible

He had the excellent habit of reading a few good books thoroughly.
His mind grasped readily the important things in a narrative or an
aroument. He knew human nature well enough to indicate that he
had been watching and thinking while he had apparently been loafing
in the store or tavern and gossiping with his neighbors. He was
sympathetic and had an irresistible tund of humor and pathos at his
command. And hehadacontagious enthusiasm. All these qualities
united to make him a prince among lawyers and the greatest of

American orators.

Having once entered upon the study of the law, he was not long
in preparing for his legal examination. Some writers say he studied
nine months, while others say six weeks. He says himself that he
spent one month in reading the laws of Virginia and Coke upon Lit-
tleton, and then went to Williamsburg to take his examination.
There were four examiners. Two of them refused his application at
first, one without examination, on the ground of his awkward and
ungainly appearance. They reconsidered the matter, however, after
consulting with the others, and signed his license to practice law on
the ground that he had a good mind and could and probably would
make himself familiar with the law, although in their opinion he had
not done so already. During the test, one of the examiners engaged
him in an argument and he defended his opinion so well that his
opponent yielded him the victory, saying: ‘‘Mr. Henry, if your
industry be only half equal to your genes. [I augur that you will do
well, and become an ornament and an honor to your profession.”

There has arisen a tradition that Patr ei Henry was ‘‘ originally
a bar-keeper, or, as a recent writer has said, that for three years
after receiving his license he ‘‘ tended travelers and drew corks.” The
origin of this story was probably the fact that for two or three years
about this time he lived with his father-in-law, who kept a tavern in
Hanover county, and, being of an obliging disposition, he was always
cuests. He was

oO
1g oD

ready to lend a hand in welcoming or entertain
popular among his old neighbors, and his account books, which have

Se - aes
fp AK ‘.
‘ TREE nth Si a S
irr bid be hvac REMOTE Dat es Deca tae Cn eat tee = Sr ce BL
\ aes

7 ae oSae emg TT yeti |

THE DEMOSTHENES OF AMERICA. 142

been preserved, show that he had plenty of employment from the
very beginning of his law caréer. The books show also that he now
began to pay inmoney the many favors which he had received from
his father-in-law.

When Mr. Henry had been practicing law for about four years,
he took a case which, with others of its kind, became celebrated in
history and is known as ‘‘ The Parson’s Cause.”

The church of England was at that time the established church
of Virginia and the ministers were paid by the taxpayers. Before
this time the law had been that they should receive their salaries in
a certain number of pounds of tobacco each year instead of money.
This was generally satisfactory, as tobacco brought a good price and
found ready sale. But in 1758 there was less tobacco raised than
usual, and the colony of Virginia passed a law requiring the ministers
to accept in payment for their services the Virginia paper money,
which was not good for much at home and could not be used at all in
England. As the amount to be paid in money was worth only
about a third as much as the tobacco they had been receiving, the
poor preachers were left ina bad way. It was an outrageous fraud.
The county of Hanover, to its credit, let it be said, declared the act
unlawful. It then remained for the parsons to sue for damages.
One of the first to do this was the Reverend James Maury. I am
sorry to say that in this case as in a number of others brought up
later, Patrick Henry was the counsel on the side of injustice. He
began his speech very awkwardly, but, warming up to™the occasion,
he soon had the jury and the entire audience under the most per-
fect control. According to the law, the jury was obliged to bring in
a verdict for damages, but acting under the wonderful influence of the
orator, they fixed the damages at one cent.

The people, many of whom had sided with the parsons before
the speech, were now enthusiastically on. the side of Henry. Ihey
cheered until they were hoarse. They crowded around him, and,
lifting him up on their shoulders, carried him out of the house and
around the yard in triumph, and his father, who was present, wept
for pure Joy.

Other cases of the same kind were immediately put into his

hands, and he gained rapidly in fame and patronage. From that

a Sia nme eS eT

Sanei. T44 PATRICK HENRY

time he took his place as the first orator in Virginia. He seems to
«oe have been a little ashamed of his course, for he 1s known to have
apologized for it to his minister uncle and others. It isa pity he did

ie not offer a better apology by refusing to take the case. The tempta-

tion of popularity and large fees overcame him in this case. but as

we shall see, he was generally and often nobly on the side of right

and justice.

In May, 1765, Patrick Henry was elected a member of the Vir-

-. ginia legislature. It was a notable year and gave our young orator
the first of a long series of opportunities to use the power that was
in him in dealing with public questions of the greatest importance.

It was the year of the passage of the Stamp Act, the beginning
of the ‘‘ taxation without representation,” which ended in the Revolu-
tionary War and the independence of the colonies.

When the news arrived that the Stamp Act had become a law,
the Virginia legislature was paralyzed, and although the feeling
against it was intense, none of the older leaders were ready to take

u action. They were cautious and too much atraid of consequences to
speak out boldly.
Imagine, then, their consternation when this ill-dressed, awk-
7 ward young backwoodsman of twenty-nine years, without reputation
| or experience in public matters, arose and read a series of resolutions
which declared plainly that no one had a right to tax the colony but
the colonists themselves. He had waited until he found that none of
y | the older members would take a bold stand, and then he hurriedly
E - scratched off his resolutions on a blank leaf of an old law book. And
after reading the resolutions he delivered one of the most famous and
dramatic of his speeches.
? In it occurred the passage now so familiar to every one: ‘‘ Czsar
y had his Brutus; Charles the First his Cromwell; and George the
| Third —the speaker was interrupted by cries of ‘‘ Treason ! trea-
son! He waited calmly until the cries ceased, then continued
defiantly — ‘‘and George the Third may profit by their example. If
this be treason, make the most of it.”

The speaker's ‘torrents of eloguence”’ carried the house by
storm. The resolutions were passed, though with some omissions.
It was near the end of the session and Patrick Henrv’s work was

Sohih ba belek ater eae MERE aay hack eee Le os Se ee iat aS aera Sis
4 a oy

Y b
etait it scclanvadaaa — .
ESET ie
pee 2 ile beers ee ees) ae Sara
ria a aE eee SY)

5 oe

he——" Seema ts ae

THE DEMOSTHENES OF AMERICA. 145

done. He started home wearing a pair of buckskin trousers and
riding a poor, lean horse which appeared as much a backwoodsman as
himself. In a single speech Mr. Henry had proved himself the
ereatest orator and one of the greatest statesmen in Virginia.

And, what is of greater consequence, he had done something to
change the course of history. He had kindled a little fame which
spread from colony to colony and was not to be extinguished until
America should become a nation. To be sure, this movement would
have started somewhere if it had not started with Patrick Henry in
Virginia. And it must be said that the New England colonies were
at the same time taking energetic action in regard to the hated
law. But ‘‘the publication of the Virginia resolves proved an
alarm bell” to inspire with courage many who before were weak and
halting.

For the next nine years Patrick Henry devoted himself steadily to
law and politics. His practice was now removed from the county to
the general court. It was very large and was generally made up of
the most important cases in the colony, but fell off during the latter
part of the nine years, when the colonists were forgetting their own
private grievances in the stirring affairs of the colonies.

He had been growing prosperous as well as famous, and. soon
after he made his notable speech in the Virginia legislature he bought
an estate called Roundabout, in Louisa county, which he made the
home of his family for several years. In 1771 he bought a country
place called Scotchtown in his own county of Hanover, where he
remained until Virginia became a state and he was elected its first
covernor.

In 1774, Patrick Henry was a delegate to the first Continental
Congress, which met at Philadelphia to discuss the tyranny of George
III., and consider how to meet it.

It fell to him to make one of the opening speeches. It was
calm, business-like and fair-minded. He seems to have been one of
the first, if not the very first, to see that the only way out of slavery
was by war. And what he saw he had a tremendous power to make
others see. Before the close of this convention-he was known as the
first orator in America.

But it was in a Virginia convention in 1775 that he made theSt) ike

fan)

edible i es ae
Se i

146 PAR GEE Tell DINTYA

sreatest speech of his life: The closing passages were as follows, and
produced the most intense excitement:

‘Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone.
just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will
ihe battle, sin is not to

There is 2

raise up friends to fight our battles for us.
the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides,
sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it 1
now too late to retire from the contest.
Our chains are forged.
The war is inevitable.

There is no retreat but 1:1
Their clanking

And

submission and slavery.
may be heard on the plains of Boston.

let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!
ir, to extenuate the matter.
The war is actually begun.

‘It is im vain, SIT, Gentlemen may
cry peace, peace, but there is no peace.
from the north will bring to our ears the
clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field.
Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What
would they have?
chased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God!

The next gale that sweeps

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be pur-

me, give me

4. o { ~
but aS [Ol 9

I know not what course others may take,
liberty, or give me death! ”
But it was not merely his words, great as they were, that affected

When he

as to be

his listeners so powerfully. His delivery was wonderful.

came to the words, ‘‘Is life so dear or peace so sweet,
purchased at the price of chains and liberty °” he stood bent over,
“like a condemned galley slave loaded with fetters, awaiting his doom. ”
His wrists were crossed as if chained. His hearers could almost see

the chains. But at the words, ‘‘ Give me liberty,” his whole appear-
ance was changed, his fetters were shivered, and he stood ‘‘ erect and
defiant.” ‘¢ death, ”

dagger pointed at his heart; while his voice became a dirge, but a

And at the word he appeared to be holding a
dirge that told the triumph of death.

He was rewarded for his services by being made commander of
the first soldiers raised in Virginia for the Revolution, but not being
promoted to the office of Brigadier-General as he expected, he soon
resigned and went home. Just why he was not appreciated in this
line of work is not quite clear, though it is thought by many that he

had not much military talent. It is quite possible that that is true,

Mey Ea ELT - ac eee
Sirk bs bettie ee wR BE Bsr De kid del oe 7 s -~ LATS on co ay Tae S rae
; i as) tie 7 a a OC ay RIT eRe BR DS Sena INS Sere Meets Fs oe)
~— uare Spa

THE DEMOSTHENES OF AMERICA. LAVA
though he had little opportunity during his short career as a soldier to
prove what he could do, and he was cert: unly not a coward.

He returned to a sad home, for his wife had died but a few
months before. He spent a few weeks with his six motherless
children before he was called away to other duties, first in another
Virginia convention at Williamsburg. And on the fifth of July fol-
lowing, the day after independence had been declared in Philadelphia,
he was elected the first governor of the state of Virginia, an office
which he held for three years.

At the end of that time his health was considerably-affected by
the cares of his public life. He declined reélection ae retired to a
new home, an estate called Leatherwood, which he had recently
bought in Henry county, near the Kentucky line.

It seemed to be his wish to remain there in quiet, but his rest
was interrupted by public business, from which it seemed that he
could not escape. He was almost immediately elected a member of
the Continental Congress, but he~declined to serve. After a year's
rest at Leatherwood he accepted an election to the Virginia legisla-
ture and served in that body, whenever the state of his health per-
mitted, until after the close of the war.

The capital had some time before this been removed from
Williamsbure to Richmond, but after the defeat of the Americans in
the Carolinas it was thought unsafe for the legislature to remain SO
near the enemy. They adjourned to Charlottesville, a safer place
among the mountains, and again to Staunton, still farther away from
danger. Itis said that when the reverend lawgivers at Charlottes-
ville heard that the British General Tarleton was after them, they
“stood not upon the order of their going, but went at once, taking
first to their horses and then to the woods.

A number of interesting stories are told about this rather undig-
nified flicsht. Among others, this one will illustrate-both the wrath of
the Pie ints over what many of them conside red the cowardice of
their legislators, and the high reeard j in which Patrick Henry was held.
A small party, including Mr. Henry, stopped at a little cabin.in the
woods and asked the old woman who came to the door for some
supper. When she asked who they were, the great Virginian orator

replied that they were members of the legislature and had been com-\ Sil. =

RINT eo cls rae a a =

PAGRIC KS HEINER Ye

148
pelled to leave Charlottesville on account of the approach of the
Enelnyn 1 Ride on, then, ye cowardly knaves,” she retorted, ‘‘ here
have my husband and sons just cone to Charlottesville to fight tor ye,

and vou running away with all your m right. Clear out; ye shall have
; » ««But.” said the orator, ‘‘we were ol bliged to fly.

nothing here.
to be broken up by the enemy.

It would not do for the legislature
Here is Mr. Speaker Harrison; you don’t think he ee have fled
had it not been necessary?” ‘‘I always thought a great deal of Mr.
Harrison till now, but he’d no business to run from the enemy,” and
she turned to slam the door. ‘‘ Wait a moment, my eood woman, »
continued Mr. Henry, ‘‘ you would hardly believe that Mr. Tyler or
Colonel Christian would take to flight 1f there were not good cause for
so doing?” ‘No, indeed, that | wouldn't,” she answered. ‘‘ But
Me davier and Colonel Christian are here.” ““ They here? Well, |
Fever would have thoueht it.? She hesitated. “‘No matter,” she
went on. ‘‘We love these gentlemen, and I didnt suppose they

: - . at : es -
would ever run away irom the B nee but since they have, they

shall have nothing to eat in my house. You may ride alone.” Then
Mr. Ivler came to the rescue. ‘‘ What would you say, my good
woman. if I were to tell you that Patrick Henry fled with the rest of
us?” ‘Patrick Henry! I should tell you there n a word of truth
in it,” was the old womans angry retort. ‘' oie ick Henry would
never do such a cowardly thing.” ‘‘ But this is Patr ick Henry,” said

Mr. Tyler. This was a hard blow to the loyal old woman. She
jerked her apron string a time or two, and then said: “ Well, then,
if that’s Patrick Henry, it must be all nght. Come in, and ye shall
have the best I have in the house.” It has been rather unkindly
suggested that Mr. Henry’s sentiment at the time of this flight must
have been, ‘‘ Give me liberty, but not death. ©

It was an unfortunate circumstance and certainly did not indi-
cate much bravery. But we should remember that Patrick Henry
had many times risked his life in his bold speeches. It would be
quite unfair to judge him by one weak act when he had committed
so many brave ones. Besides, the lawgivers could have done no
good by remaining in danger. It was quite different from running
away in battle
It is not often remembered that it was Patrick Henry who made

Pr tie

SE ee x
TDP OR rgy a ae Re ee ea IE ot on Pieris Karis

=eo Seamemee tia

THE DEMOSTHENES OF AMERICA. 149

the first effectual plea for religious liberty in Virginia. He was him-
self a devoted member of the Church of England, which was the
established church of Virginia, and which at that time considered
unlawful all forms of worship ee its own. He introduced a reso-
lution in the Virginia legislature requiring perfect religious freedom to
be granted to people of every denomination. This was passed the
year of the Declaration of Independence.

Another proof of his liberality is found in his attitude toward the
tories, the people who had remained loyal to King George during the
war. [hey were treated so harshly in some of the colonies that
thousands of them left the country and found homes in Nova Scotia
and elsewhere. In Virginia the feeling against them ran so high that
a bill was passed forbidding the admission of any of them into the

x
1

state. Patrick Henry had been stern enough toward them while the
war lasted, but now that it was over and we were victorious, he
thought we could afford to be generous. He introduced a bill to
repeal this law, and, although he was at first alone in advocating it,
he at length succeeded in getting it passed. He was also one of the
first in Virginia to urge a kindly and generous treatment of the
Indians

In 1784 he was again elected governor of Virginia. He served
for two years and then declined reelection. He had so long neg-
lected his own interests in the public service that he had grown very
poor. He wanted to provide for his old age and for his children and
erandchildren, and in order to do this he again took up the law. His
health was delicate but he worked vigorously, and in eight years he
was able to retire with a considerable fortune.

In 1795 he bought an estate called Red Hill in Charlotte county,
where he made his home for the remainder of his it te. dus lastyyears
were spent very happily with his family and tfnends. The same
year in which he took up his residence at Red Hill, President
Washington offered him the position of Secretary of State, but he
could not bring himself to give up the quiet of his domestic lite.
He also declined a nomination as governor of Virginia in 1796.

Inthe spring of 1799, important matters were expected to come
before the legislature and he was begged to allow himsclf to be a can-

didate. He consented, and, though very weak and infirm, went to

ale oe. Ae. a
ba is inet seatasmeaanennsiciaee

~—

150 PAPRIGK HENRY

house and delivered an address which made a deep
He was elected to the legisla-
He was taken

Charlotte court
impression on those who heard him.
ture by a large majority, but he never took his seat.
ill and died peacefully in June, on
of Washington. He was buried on
place is still owned by his descendants.

ly a few months before the death
his estate of Red Hill and the

sha - = mS ae AYES 3 ae te ~— —_ Or 3 PAEEA ES om
2 is elas Fi ace beh itree 9 <FONT e py - ~ os ae
When Ee evades = AY IT RIS se re TON ae neck nt Ph pe bbe e SoRN TZ iy
= w , UND ees et EAD] De eee eds eo! :5
r

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

SCIENTIST, JOURNALIST, STATESMAN

He snatched the
lightning from heaven
and the scepter from the hands
of tyrants.
—Turgot.

HE ancestors of Benjamin Frank-
lin lived for three hundred
years or more in the village of

Ecton, in Northamptonshire, England.
The first of the family of whom there is
any record owned and cultivated a
small farm of thirty acres and eked
out his small income by blacksmithing.
This farm remained in the hands of
the family until they came to America,
always passing at the death of the
father to the eldest son, as landed prop-
erty did in England and does to this
day. he eldest son also inherited the
father’s occupation, so that all the
owners. of this little farm were also
blacksmiths.

ISIbias ana rE. j= TET Tin = = or
AY) OS aaa cal deena Sens ena el oe bi a OC LAN
; hs

152 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Joseph Franklin, th« father of Benjamin, being a younger -son,
did not come into the family property or the paternal occupation, but
became a soap-boiler and tallow-chandler. He had separated from
the Church of England, and, wishing a greater degree of religious
freedom, came to New England about 1685. He had seven children
by his first wife, who came with him from England. After her death
he married again and brought up a second family of ten children.

The subject of this sketch was the fifth son of the fifth son for
five generations back. He was the youngest son, and naturally enough
was called Benjamin. His mother was Abiah Folger, the daughter
of Peter Folger, one of the earliest New England settlers, a man of
some note in his day and the writer of occasional verse. Only one
of his poems, however, was ever printed, and we may judge from
the single stanza which has come down to us through the writings of
his distinguished grandson, that the world lost little in losing the
remaining poems.

3enjamin was born in 1706 in Boston, which was then a strag-
gling town of not more than ten thousand inhabitants, though the
largest and most important in America. Queen Anne was still
touching to cure the King’s Evil, and ruling over England and her
ten American colonies—the last three of the thirteen were yet in the
future. There were no railroads or even stage-coaches. Wolves and
bears disputed the right of way with the Indians from one end to the
other of the ‘‘shaggy continent,” and witches still cantered on
broom-sticks up and down the length of those civilized portions of the
country from which the more material foes had been exterminated.
The publication of the first newspaper on the continent, the Boston
News-Letter, had been begun only four years before, and it was a
small sheet of not much account, except that it was a beginning and
a prophecy. It was high time for Benjamin Franklin to be born if
journalism was going to get a start in the United States in the eight-
eenth century.

3enjamin commenced to go to school when he was eight years
old. He had already learned to read and had convinced his friends
that he should be a scholar. His father thought of making him a
minister, and his uncle Benjamin promised him a volume of sermons

which he had himself taken down in shorthand. But his father found

a Se a a aN Set Ty

Sua
ayTimea

SCIENTIST. JOORNALELST:. “STABESIMAMN 153

that he would be unable to give his son a college education, and the
ministry had to be given up. Huis father then thought that writine
and arithmetic would be about all he would need for business life, and
he was accordingly sent to a school where nothing was taught but
those branches.

When he was ten years old his schooling came to an end, for his
father took him out of school to stay in the shop and help make soap
and candles. He would cut the wicks, pour the melted tallow
into the molds, run errands and the like.

But Benjamin did not like the tallow trade. He thought he
would much prefer to be a sailor. He was a good swimmer and
learned to manage a boat well. But his father was unwilling he
should go to sea, and that was the end of it.

He wasa leader among the boys, and, on one occasion at least,
led them into mischief. The boys used to stand and fish on the edge
of asalt marsh. The place had become very muddy through much
tramping, when Benjamin suggested to the boys that they should
build a wharf to stand on and so keep themselves out of the mud.
There was a heap of stones near by which were designed for a new
house. The young builders waited until the workmen had all gone
away, when they carried over all the stones they needed and built
their wharf. The boys were complained of and punished; ‘‘and,’
writes Franklin in his autobiography, ‘‘ though I demonstrated the
utility of our work, mine convinced me that that which was not honest
could not be truly useful.”

Benjamin was very fond of reading, but books were not over
plenty in those days, even in Boston. The first books he ever
owned were the works of Bunyan. After he had read and re-read
them to his heart’s content he sold them and used the money to buy
Burton’s Historical Collection, a set of forty small volumes.

His father, like a sensible man, watched the boy to find out if
possible what he was best fitted for. Since Benjamin was so fond of
reading, his father thought it might be well to have him taught the
printer’s trade. Benjamin consented to this, though he still preferred
the sea. At the age of twelve he was apprenticed to his printer
brother, James, who soon afterwards, probably about the year 1720,
began to publish the second American newspaper, the /Vew EnglandSE) ;

m5 B \ .
7 Dy) edie
]

”

tia aaa i a ens eee MMR ree) aid ck, ere
23 } at vo ;

154 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Courant, though against the advice of a number of croaking friends
who said one newspaper was enough for America. Benjamin's
apprenticeship was to last until he was twenty-one, his brother was
to provide his food, lodging and clothing, and during the last year was
to pay him the wages of a journeyman printer.

His business was to set type, do the press work on the paper,
andrun onerrands. This work gave him an acquaintance with people
who owned a few books and enabled him sometimes to borrow them.
He would often sit up nearly all might in order to read a book
through and return it promptly.

About this time he began to like poetry and even undertook to
write it himself. Fortunately his father criticised his verse and told

him verse-makers were generally beggars. <‘‘ Thus,” he says in his

autobiography, ‘‘I escaped being a poet, and probably a very bad

)

one w Ana there is not much doubt that he was correct in that

modest opinion. He seems not to have been gifted with the qualities
of a poet, but his verse-making exercises doubtless did much to
form and improve his style in prose, of which he in time became a
master.

It must have been soon after the Vew England Courant got well
under way that Benjamin began to think he could write prose as
well as some of the gentlemen who were in the habit of contributing
to the paper. He was a little afraid of his brother’s criticism and so
began to slip his contributions for the paper under the door at night
after his brother was gone. Some of them were heartily praised by
persons whom he considered good judges; and, best of all, when
they tried to guess the writer they invariably hit upon scholars and
men of ability. This encouraged him to continue and he hit upon
various devices for improvement. Some of these are worth describ-
ing, because they would be just as useful to a boy or girl who is
trying to become a writer in these days as they were to Benjamin
Franklin, who became by means of these methods one of the very
finest of American prose writers.

An odd volume of the Sfectator having fallen into his hands by
chance, he was so charmed with the beauty of the style as well as the
matter that he determined to imitate it. In order to learn to do this
he made brief outlines of certain parts, laid them aside fora few days

Deen
bea Ee
ets eae Na

SGT Ronee. nes
_ SA re RO Sep Re ae ee yeh) Sra) Ty END a) alg.

ihadie inne em i

SCIENTIST, JOORNALIST. STrAPESIMVAN: 155
and then tried to write out the thoughts as fully as they had been
expressed before, always using the very best language he could
command. Then he compared his writing with the original and
corrected such faults as he discovered. He next took some of the
Spectator stories and changed them into verse, and when he had had
time to forget the original, he turned them back to prose again. It
was such exercises as these continually practiced, together with the
habit of reading the best books he could find, that developed in this
boy who owed so little to the schools, that felicitous style which we
enjoy so much in his autobiography. And, whether we are thinking
of the effect on style or on character, we can scarcely say too much
about the importance of choosing the best books. If you will send
me, a year from this Christmas, a list of the books you have read in
the twelve months just preceding, with the one thing that you
remember best in each one, I can tell your fortune. And it will be
truer than the gypsy woman will tell you with her cards or her
palmistry, or even by asking the stars. Iam putting the time ahead
to give you a fair chance and a little more. It would perhaps be
taking a mean advantage to ask what you had read before you
thought about it, though the effect of that reading can not be lost or
put aside, for Nature never forgives our mistakes. But she is giving
us a chance all the time to try again and do better next time.

In the eighteenth century, people had not yet become acquainted
with newspapers and were of course a little afraid of them, just as
they were of comets in the days when it was thought probable they
might strike or bring on pestilence or war. It was not an unusual
thing for an editor to be put into prison for a little freedom of speech
of which we should think nothing. Now, Benjamin’s brother was
thought a little too free with his pen, or his type, rather, in the
Courant, and was shut up for a month in jail by way of punishment.
During this time Benjamin had a chance to show how he could edit
a paper and he kept the Couwrané going very creditably. The editor
was at length set free on condition that ‘‘ James Franklin should no
longer print the newspaper called the ew England Courant.”

He set to work to try to elude the order. He at first thought of
changing the name of the paper, but as that was not convenient, he
hit upon the expedient of publishing it in the name of Benjamin

ee i:ad cammanee ” Pe

Bio

156 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Franklin. In order to do this he was obliged to destroy the inden-
tures, or contract with Benjamin, since an apprentice, like a slave,
could not legally do business. But he took care to have other

indentures made out privately. The paper was published in this
way for several months. The scheme was neither very bright nor

very honest, and you shall presently hear what came of It.

; Meantime, 3enjamin and his brother were not on the best of
terms. His brother was rather a hard master and used sometimes to
beat him severely. Benjamin was growing independent, partly
because he had a little money of his own and partly because he was
sure his brother would not dare make use of the private indentures
to compel him to remain in case he chose to go away.

He had saved his money by economizing on _ his_ board,

his brother having consented at his request to give him half as
much money every week as his board had been costing, on condition
that he should provide his own food. He lived very cheaply and was
able to save half of what his brother gave him.

He decided to go to New York to seek his fortune. He was now
seventeen years old. He sold his books to add a little to his small
sum of money, and took passage on a boat bound for New York,
where he arrived in three days with very little money and without a
friend or acquaintance.

He could get no employment there but he heard of some work
in Philadelphia which he hoped he might obtain, and he set out at
once for the latter place. His adventures by boat and by land were
interesting, but we must omit them and bring him without delay to
Market Street wharf, Philadelphia.

He wore his everyday clothes. His best ones were in his chest.
coming around by sea. His pockets buleed out with shirts and
stockings. He bought three large rolls and walked along Market
street eating, one of his rolls and carrying another under each arm.
Miss Deborah Read, the young lady who was to become Mrs.
Franklin a few years later, stood in her door and smiled at the odd
figure he made. Not knowing the city, he wandered around until he
found himself again at the wharf which he had lately left. He took
a drink of river water and gave his two remaining rolls to a hungry

woman and child and made a fresh start for the city. This time he

OF a reed) De btes is aeTR ADE RIOD SSS De id a eee ae SA a Sead eae eR yee
a tie ee 7 ~ i = _ = _—

\ = \ —

/ . -found a nice, clean-looking crowd whom he followed into
Ouaker meeting-house and sat down.

was his first lodei

itetIkS) a
crea epity 1
Can not stop
to tell how he
found work in
a printing-
office in Phil-
adelphia and
how his good
sense and in-
dustry led on
from one suc-
cess to anoth-
erm Ele soon
attracted the
attention of
Sig William
Nenrth, the
Governor of
Pennsylvania,
who wished
him to set up
a palin tin c-
office for him-
Sell and of-
ered to sup-
ply him with

the necessary outfit.

SCIENTIST, JOURNALIST. STATESMAN

Lo/,

a large
| Hearing nothing to disturb
him, he went to sleep and slept until the meeting was over. This
in Philadelphia.

This he sent Franklin to England to buy,

promising him a letter of credit to pay for it. The letter of credit
never arrived, for the Governor was too poor to carry out his good

intentions, and Franklin was thrown on his own resources in a strange

country. But that is never a misfortune to one who as resources.

Franklin knew his trade so well that he had no trouble in getting andSih cee oh elo re b
ri NY Sra Seto ANA mone MRA ee hace ree
7 id

158 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

keeping employment in a printing-office, where he sained an experi-
ence which was afterwards very useful to him in America. Among
other things, he learned to make printer's ink and to engrave on
metal.

But Franklin had learned one of the best lessons of life before he
went to England. This lesson was temperance in both eating and
drinking. It was a great surprise to his fellow-workmen in London,
who were in the habit of drinking four or five pints of beer apiece
every day, to see this ‘“Water-American,” as they called him, so
much stronger than any of them. But they drank on just the same
and were four or five shillings poorer for it every week, besides
weakening their bodies and muddling their minds with what they
called their strengthening drink.

Franklin spent about eighteen months in England. He then
returned to Philadelphia and worked as a clerk ina store for a little
while but soon went back to his old trade. After a while he bought
a printing-press of his own and started a newspaper, which he called
the Pennsylvania Gazette. This was in 1729, when he was twenty-

/
three years of age. He was obliged to go into debt, but he worked
his way out. He kept no help in his printing-office. He worked

early in the morning and late at night. Hle-was type-setter, press-
man, ink-maker, editor, and writer of a large share of the best
contributions. He was often seen with a wheelbarrow, carrying home
the rolls of paper for printing. His fine constitution and his temper-
ate habits enabled him to do all this without injury to his health.

In 1730 he persuaded Miss Read to marry him. He fitted up
the front part of the printing-office for a book-store, and she attended
the store and sold books and stationery. They ‘‘kept the correctest
stationery that ever appeared” in Philadelphia. They were very
economical and thrifty, and soon began to be prosperous.

Soon after his marriage he started a plan for a public library
in Philadelphia. He afterwards wrote in his autobiography, ‘‘ This
was the mother of all the North American subscription libraries, now
so numerous ; it is become a great thing itself, and continually goes
on increasing.”

Then came ‘‘Poor Richard’s Almanac,” which Franklin filled
with the best of his wit and wisdom. He invented a new street

i a rN TT
Ltn ea ge Se Oe aie
adn ac ena eRe NN a) Sire SeSt ROBY OL a

ipSn eaten nee TTT 1 aI an id Sn

SCIENTIST. JOGRNAELST. STA LESAN: 159

lamp. He revised the Lords Prayer; I have never heard ‘that
anybody liked the Franklin version better than the original. He
organized a debating society, or ‘‘junto,” and a fire company. He
invented the Franklin stove. He devised a plan for cleaning the
streets, and another for ‘‘arriving at moral perfection.” His brain
was never idle.

The country was beginning to find him out. He was made clerk
of the Pennsylvania Assembly in 1736 and Postmaster of Phila-
delphia in 1737. But in the midst of all these duties he found time

for a great scientific discovery. Scholars in Europe were talking a
ereat deal about electricity. They had a machine for producing it,

but nobody knew what it was. Franklin thought it was the same
force as lightning, and set about trying to prove it. He made a cross
of cedar sticks and tied a silk handkerchief over it in such a way as
to makea kite. He gave it a tail anda hemp string. He fastened a
sharp wire to the top of the cross. He tied a silk ribbon to the end
of the twine and fastened a key to the twine where the mbbon was
tied on. Then he waited for a thunder shower. It came in the
night, and Franklin went out and sent up his kite. The wire drew the
lightning out of the clouds and the fuzz on the hempen string stood
out like quills on a porcupine. He struck the key with his knuckles
and drew sparks from it. His kite had behaved exactly like the
machine for producing electricity. He had proved that electricity
and lightning are one. He received great honor for this, both in
America and Europe. But there were some who ridiculed him and
said, ‘‘Now that you have discovered it, of what use 1S 1ty ae
replied, ‘‘Of what use is a child? It may become a man.” He
persevered until he had invented the lightning-rod, and by his dis-
coveries made possible the telegraph, the telephone, and other great
electrical appliances of our day. The child has grown to be a man.

In 1754 Franklin was a delegate to the Albany Convention, and
‘+ was here that he drew up and presented the first plan for a union
of the colonies. The plan was rejected, but it was in a certain sense
a prophecy of the union of states under which we now live.

Franklin furnished efficient service in the French and Indian
war. He was sent to England by the Province of Pennsylvania in

e
1757 to plead the cause otf the people against the proprietors, the160 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

descendants of William Penn, who were trying to hold their immense
estates in this country without the payment of taxes. He was suc-
cessful in his mission and returned home aiter an aysence of five
years, covered with honors.

In 1764 he was sent again to England, this time to protest
against the passage of the stamp act. The act was passed in spite
but was afterwards repealed, and Franklin remained

of his protest,
acting as the agent of the different colonies

in England for ten years,
in various unsuccessful attempts to protect American liberties.

He returned home at the breaking out of the war. His wife
had died and he now threw himself with all the zeal of his boyhood
into the service of his country. He was one of the committee to
draw up the Declaration of Independence, and one of the signers.

In 1776 he was sent to France to look after our interests in that
country, where he remained until 1785. He obtained loans and
ammunition from the French, and in 1778 he succeeded in bringing
about the French alliance.

His popularity there is still a subject for wonder. All France,
even elegant Paris, went wild over plain Ben Franklin. Shop-
keepers would rush out to catch a glimpse of his brown overcoat and
long gray curls as he passed along the street. Snuff-boxes were
painted with his portrait, ‘‘ Franklin” hats and ‘‘ Franklin” collars
were all the fashion, and ladies’ gloves were dyed a ‘‘ Franklin ©
color.

It is still another wonder to both French and English how
Franklin, with Jay and Adams, obtained such good terms for America
in the treaty of peace which ended the war of the Revolution in 1783.

Almost immediately upon his return he was elected President of
Pennsylvania. He was a member of the Constitutional Convention,
and though he was then a feeble old man, his influence was still
powerful. In 1790 he signed a petition asking Congress to abolish
the slave trade and emancipate the slaves. This was his last public
service. He died on the 17th of April, 1790.

When we remember how meager were the opportunities of the
boy and how many and great the triumphs of the man, we are made
to wonder whether, after all, circumstances have much to do with

destiny. Ben Franklin had but two years of schooling. All the

ReySOLENITST. [(OGRNAELSYTR (SWRA LESAN: 161

rest of his life was filled and crowded with work anda busy man’s
affairs. Yet he made himself a scholar, even in the eyes of the
learned. He learned to read easily in French, Italian, Spanish and
Latin. He was the most renowned scientist of his day. No man
of his time was better informed with regard to the progress and
nature of passing events. As has been said before, he was a master
of the English language. His autobiography has been called a clas-
sic from his day to ours. He was made Master of Arts by both
Cambridge and Yale. He received degrees from the two great

universities of England, Cambridge and Oxford. His political
services to his own country during the two great wars through which
he lived were second to none but those of Washington.

Franklin had his limitations and made mistakes, but his frank
admissions ought to go a long way towards making us forget them—
‘““my present purpose being,” he writes in his autobiography, ‘‘to
relate facts, and not to make apologies for them.”

And after all, perhaps the capstone of his praise is this: He was
an honest man.

EXTRACTS FROM POOR RICHARD’S ALMANAC.

Buy what thou hast no need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy
necessaries.
Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal more saucy.

Silk and satins, scarlets and velvets, put out the kitchen fire.

Wise men learn by others’ harms, fools scarcely by their own

Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse;

Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse.

Vessels large may venture more,

But little boats should keep near shore.

psaBENJAMIN FRANKLL LV.

I never saw an oft-removed tree,
Nor yet an oft-removed family,
That throve so well as one that settled be.

Many estates are spent in the getting,
Since women for tea forsook spinning and knitting,

And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting.

tet Ree
ITT See an a
7S Fee il aera htiae

ee eee) 2
. i \ nS a vrei ASABE) BYTES De ccs bons a ee SL ae re Bae
) AN ap aeaeeiaas ThELIZABETH :
BARRETT. BROWNING |

ENGLAND’S GREATEST WOMAN POET i

lived: = 3 ‘

And wrote because I lived. i

My heart beat in my brain. ;

—WMrs. Browning. ‘|

TERE is not much to tell in the lite of Elizabeth Barrett '

Browning. She once wrote of herself: ‘‘A bird in a cage "

would have as good a story. Most of my events, and nearly : |

all my intense pleasures, have passed in my thoughts.” There is now |

but one way to know her, and that is to know her poetry. fi
Her maiden name was Elizabeth Barrett Barrett. Her father

was an English gentleman of considerable property, ‘and a scholar in H

his tastes. She was born in 1806, near the town of Durham, in \

North England, but when she was about three years old the family :

removed to a beautiful estate called Hope End in Herefordshire, not i

many miles from Stratford-on-Avon, where Shakespeare was born. ‘

Her mother died when she was very young. i

She had two sisters and eight brothers. Her father was a ii

peculiar man in some respects, and his peculiarity appears in his

names for his two youngest sons, whom he numbered rather than
named, calling them Septimus and Octavius, for the girls did not
count. Hope End, with its view of the Malvern Hills, was the home
of the family until Elizabeth reached the age of twenty-six.

If she was not beautiful, she was at least striking in appearance,
with her large, dark, expressive eyes and an abundance of curls |
shading the thoughtful face. But when one has read Robert ;

163 ha164 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Brownine’s poem, ‘‘ By the Fireside,” all descriptions and even por-
traits fade before the picture suggested by his words,

‘“« That great brow
And the spirit-small hand propping it,
Yonder, my heart knows how !”’
| Besides her father and brothers and sisters, to all of whom she
3 was devotedly attached, her chief associates were books. She loved
i F to study Greek as most children love play, and she began to write
y verses at eight years old. Her erandmother said she ‘‘ would rather
see Elizabeth’s hemming more carefully finished off than hear of all
this Greek.” Years after, she wrote of her lifeat Hope End: ‘‘ There
I had my fits of Pope, and Byron, and Coleridge; gathered visions
from Plato and the dramatists, and ate and drank Greek and made
my head ache with it.” Here is her description of her childhood

home:

‘¢Greensthe land is where my daily
it Step in jocund childhood played;
Dimpled close with hill and valley,
| Dappled very close with shade,
if Summer snow of apple blossoms

Running up from glade to glade.”

When she was eleven years old she wrote an epic poem called
cathe Battle of Marathon... of which her father had fifty copies

j printed for distribution among their friends, ‘‘ because he wanted to
; | spoil me,” she afterwards said.
i When she was about fifteen an accident occurred which affected

y to saddle hier

all the remainder of her life. She was one day trying
ye pony without help. She fell with the saddle on her in such a way
| e that her spine was injured and she was left an invalid for many years,
| | but she read and studied and wrote as persistently as ever.

In 1832, still moving southward, the Barretts found a new home
in Sidmouth, Devonshire, on the south coast of England. The town,

rrand, but

she said, was ‘‘not superfluously clean; the house not

i comfortable and cheerful, with a splendid sea-view in front and pleas-
aha ant green hills and trees behind.” The country about she describes
| as ‘‘the very land of green lanes and pretty thatched cottages.”

is cae ins

eae x ee Ee ae aa
atlas \\ inl een en eee) ett ber

VA , *ENGLAND S GREATEST WOMAN POET. 16

There she met with a terrible loss in the death of her favorite brothet

by drowning. This was the first creat
years she could not trust herself to speak of it
mate friends.

In 1835; they
moved to London.
Here she _ threw |

r ————— a

herself into literary
work and began to |
publish occasional]

—

|
poems in maga- |
Z1NeS. Sut her |
health became |
poorer than ever. |
She seldom left the _ |
house, or even her
room, and did most
of her writing while
lying on a_ sofa.
She took no part in
the social life of the
ereat city and was
as much a stranger
there as if she had
still lived in her
native Durham.

She had numerous |
COLRreSpondents, |
but only a) tew | |
friendscame tosee == Se
her. Among these ELIZABETH BARRE’ BROWNING.

few was the writer

Miss Mitford, to whom she was greatly attached, and who was one
of the first, after her father, to predict her future greatness. And
among her correspondents was the blind poet and scholar, Hugh Stuart
Boyd, to whom she had read Greek when a young girl.

There were some of her dearest friends who disappointed and

65
- erief of her life, and for manv

t, even to her most inti-166 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

pained her at trying times in her life, but among the few who never
did was Flush, the dog, given her by another friend, Miss Mitford.
Ae: Flush shared her sick-room, sleeping by her side, refusing to leave
| her. even when the room was darkened, as it often was for many
days together, kissing her hand with a tender affection and gazing up
ee into her face with a sad, intelligent, canine sympathy that was almost
| more than human, because wise enough to understand that love is
| deeper than speech and can soften a erief beyond the reach of words.
There is no doubt whatever that dogs could talk if they chose, but
observing the poor use to which the faculty of speech is so often put
by their human brothers, and the marvelous power of silly speech
to breed silly thought and action, they prefer to be man’s silent
partner in the business of living and subduing the earth.
The memory of Flush is embalmed in English literature in
the tender verses written by his loving mistress ‘“‘To Flush, My

Dog,” a few stanzas of which I will quote:

ie ‘« But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed

Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom

Round the sick and dreary.

Ac «« Blessings on thee, dog of mine,
ei | | Pretty collars make thee fine,
, Sugared milk make fat thee!

Pleasures wag on in thy tail—
Hands of gentle motion fail
Nevermore, to pat thee!

Downy pillow take thy head,
Silken coverlid bedstead,
Sunshine help thy sleeping !
No fly’s buzzing wake thee up—
No man break thy purple cup,
Set for drinking deep in.

. a ummmneecr iaenieeinenne es
be fae ne jeer rT, rae ates ar a eh apy —— Oe
A 5 Hie 2 Pa tai es a *2T i tat 8 ee ns ates Kale Ser ees af AV adel ne = Saal -
sa se ~ eRe VRP Bs SAT AM
zis -\ i ecoe Si

ENGLAND S GREATEST WOMAN POET.

‘« Yet be blessed to the height
Of all good and all delight
Pervious to thy nature,
Only loved beyond that line,
With a love that answers thine,

Loving fellow-creature !”’

But perhaps this fancy, found in one of her letters, is prettier
than the poetry. ‘‘He [Flush] can’t bear me to look into a glass,
because he thinks there is a little brown dog inside every looking-
olass, and he is jealous of its being so close to me. He used to
tremble and bark at it, but now he 1s silently jealous and contents
himself with squeezing close, close to me and kissing me expres-
sively.” It seems insensible and almost indelicate to call such a dog
a dog, but what can we do about it ?

When Miss Barrett was married and went to live in Italy, Flush
went with her and made up for the sad, dark London days by a
happier life in the glad Italian sunshine. They were anxious days
in Italian politics, and Flush used all his influence, exerted by means
of barking and much wagging, loyally in favor of whichever party
happened to have a procession passing with flags and music. He
died in Florence at a good old age and lies buried in a stone vault ‘in
Casa. Guidi, his mistress’s Florentine home.

Miss Barrett loved the green, growing things of the country too
well to be quite contented in close, narrow, damp, dirty, disagreeable,
smoky, foggy, noisy London. But she always tried to look on the
bright side and sometimes almost succeeded, as we know by the fol-
lowing lines from one of her letters: ‘‘ There are many advantages
here, as I say to myself whenever it 1s particularly disagreeable ; and
if we can’t even see a leaf or a sparrow without soot on it, there are
the parrots at the Zoological Gardens and the pictures at the Royal
Academy ; and real, live poets above all, with their heads full of the
trees and birds and sunshine of paradise. ©

Again she wrote: ‘‘As to society in London, I assure you that
none of us have much. My doves are my chief acquaintances, and
[ am so very intimate with them that they accept and even demand
my assistance in building their innumerable nests.” And here is a
stray gleam of sunshine from another letter: ‘‘I or Henrietta mustIE ath iat eS S|
Ai ta pies ra
bi

168 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

have told you that one of my privileges has been to see Wordsworth
twice. He was very kind to me and let me hear his conversation. ©
And in this we hear again her homesick longing tor the country:
‘To abuse myself with a vain deceit of rural life I have had ivy
planted in a box, and it has flourished and spread over one window
against the glass with a little stroke from the thicker
the wind blows at all briskly. Zen 1 think of forests
it is my triumph when the leaves strike the window-

and strikes
leaves when
and groves;
pane.”
In 1844 Miss Barrett published two volumes of poems which at
once gave her a high place among poets. The principal poem was
called «‘A Drama of Exile.” ‘‘The Cry of the Children” was one
of her shorter poems which became very popular. It was a plea for
the thousands of young children who at that time were kept working
in the factories, or, worse still, in the coal mines of England. This
is the opening stanza :
‘Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?

They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,

And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows:

The young birds are chirping in their nest ;
The young fawns are playing with the shadows ;

The young flowers are blowing toward the west—
But the young, young children, O my brothers,

They are weeping bitterly !
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,

In the country of the free.’’

It was about this time that she first became acquainted with the
poet, Robert Browning. ‘They knew each other first through their
poems. They corresponded for a few months and then they were
introduced by Mr. John Kenyon, one of her old and valued friends.
It was not strange that the two poet souls were drawn together, but
when he first spoke of marriage she thought it could never be. Her
health was poorer than it had ever been before. She thought she had
but a little time to live and that in any case she could never stand on

her feet again. But Robert Browning believed she had poems yet to

a ee ee ae Day
Eh a a ls MERA a Ne a ee (eee rad Es
i \\ . 5ENGLAND S GREATEST WOMAN POET. 169

write and a life before her, and he said, ‘‘Do not die, but come with
me and live.” She said no at first, for his sake, because she thought
she would be only a care to him while she lived. But in the fall of
1846, when he had kept flowers blooming on her table every day for
two years and when he had convinced her that the ereatest burden she
could lay upon him was not to let him take care of her, she ‘‘ yielded
the grave ’ as she said, and gave up her. ‘‘near, sweet view of heaven ”
for earth and his most tender and hallowed love. They were married
in the church of St. Mary-le-bone and went first to Paris, where they
found an old and valued friend, Mrs. Jameson; she accompanied
them to Italy, which was henceforth to be their home. And
whether it was the milder air and summer sky of Italy, or whether it
was that other atmosphere of hope and love with which her great,
strong-souled husband surrounded her, she grew bright and well and
lived many happy years after she had thought she was done with the
earth. It was a resurrection miracle.

[ have put off writing as long as I could that her father opposed
her marriage and never forgave her, although she wrote him many
pleading letters. He had no reason for his objection except that he
wished all of his children to remain with him. Huis cruelty was a
ereat grief to her, for she had a sensitive, loving heart, and was
devotedly attached to her father.

Some of her greatest poems were written in this later period of

her life. Among them was one called Aurora Leigh, though the
critics disagree and some call it one of her poorest. Perhaps there is
no telling about that. If you love it, it will be great to you. And

when one reads a poem, or a book, or a friend, it is better to try to
love it than to find its faults, although some people think criticising
is a great deal smarter ; for, since everything you love becomes your
own, the more you love in heaven and earth, the richer you will be.

Mrs. Browning’s poetry has been severely criticised by some
writers, but it continues to be read and loved, and that, after all, is
the best test. She had spent too many years in a sick-chamber to
be a woman of the world, or to know always the practical thing in
relation to the social and political matters about which she sometimes
wrote, but somewhere, somehow, she had learned many things which
the politicians did not know, and she wrote always on the side of17 SP ree ee TE Te £3
1 ene
}

170 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

truth and justice. And in the end, truth and justice are always the
practical things, though they often seem visionary to those so-called
practical people who understand nothing except what they can taste
or handle, and believe in nothing except what they can measure with
their little tape line. And perhaps it was the leisure and loneliness of
her sick-room that gave a chance for her high and beautiful thoughts
to grow and blossom into poetry. For Richter says, ‘‘ The world
does with poets as we do with birds : it darkens their cages until they
have learned what they are to sing.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Browning became very fond of Italy, their
adopted home. Italy was then made up of several small states,
which were ruled and tyrannized over by Austria. The next year
after the Brownings went there was marked by an unsuccessful
attempt to throw off the Austrian yoke. Mrs. Browning took a deep
interest in this uprising, and several of her best known poems were
inspired by the dream of Italian liberty. One of these, called
‘©Casa Guidi Windows,” was named from the house in Florence
where she lived for many years, and describes the scenes of the
revolution as witnessed from her windows. It is pleasant to write
that she lived until 1861, the year of Italy’s independence, just long
enough to see her beloved adopted land united and free.

Her only son, Robert Barrett Brow ning, was born in Florence in
1849. He was a lovely child, with golden curls and a disposition as
sunny as the skies of his native Italy. He was a general favorite,
and the beggars on the street often spoke of Mrs. Browning as ‘‘the
mother of the beautiful child.” Some of the double Browning genius
has lived on in him, for he is now an artist of some note. He spends
a great deal of his time in Italy, especially in Venice, where he still
has the beautiful home called the Browning Palace, filled with
treasures which are sanctified by the memory of Robert and Eliza-
beth Browning.

Literature does not tell us of a happier marriage, for their heads
agreed as well as their hearts. They lived and wrote for fifteen years
in different parts of Italy, now in Rome, now in Pisa or Venice, but
always calling Florence home. Some of the most charming and
lovable people in all the world were in Italy while the Brownings were
the

Tennyson, George Ehot, Hawthorne and Theodore Parker,

FT Rs carrera ete rege enn Sate Say
? ™ ea ey eke MOMMA PIO NE koh 8 ie ne oe Se ea a He memeSn ae eee mene TL

ENGLAND S GREATEST WOMAN POET. 171
Frances Power Cobbe, Harriet Hosmer and many others, and our
two poets were the life and soul of the charmed circle.

But all this came to an end in 1861. She died without pain,
conscious to the last, loving and grateful to the last. ‘‘God took her
to himself,” wrote Robert Browning, ‘‘as you would hft a sleeping
child from a dark uneasy bed into your arms and the light.” Of what
proved to be almost her last words, he said, ‘‘Then came what my
heart will keep till I see her again and longer.” Her last word was,
“« Beautiful!’

Came to an end, I said. It was a foolish word. Even the dust
of which her frail body was made yet lies in the quiet of her Floren-
tine tomb, and it is only the cold enclosing marble of that tomb which
forbids it to climb up in grass and flowers and laugh out the same old
message of love in the same sweet Italian sunshine. Dare we say
that the strong spirit which once animated that dust is a frailer thing
and shorter lived than its house of clay?

Robert Browning lived until 1889. He wrote many poems after
her death, but he never wrote a long one without some mention of his
‘‘Tyric Love,” his loving and gifted wite.

The introduction to his poem called ‘‘The Two Poets of
Croisic”” is one of his most beautiful tributes to her memory, and |
will quote it entire:

Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May-morn,
Blue ran the flash across:

Violets were born!

Sky—what a scowl of cloud
Till, near and far,

Ray on ray split the shroud:
Splendid, a star!

World—how it walled about
Life with disgrace
Till God’s own smile came out:

That was thy face!

aD
eas: Sait TU ye

7 a. ae i

=
a

“ ea ee Bi creer eres eT EE
u : {22 eee

172 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

ence. On

Mrs. Browning was deeply loved by the people of Flor
the front of Casa Guidi is a memorial tablet bearing the following
v1

inscription in Italian: ‘‘ Here wrote and died Elizabeth Barrett
3rowning, who in the heart of a woman united the scholar’s learning
and the poet’s genius, and made with her verse a go olc ie -n bond between
Italy and England. To her memory grateful Florence has erected

this tablet, 1861.

om ae PI eS ef TED BE on STAJOAN OF ARC

THE MAID OF ORLEANS

Thus the Maid
Redeemed her country. Ever may the All Just
Give to the arms of Freedom such success.

— Southey.

TIT has now been nearly five hundred years since Joan of Arc
tended her lambs and listened to her ‘‘voices” in the little

village of Domremy, in the province of Lorraine, in the north-

eastern part of France. Her father Jean and her mother

Elizabeth were plain peasants in wooden shoes and lived in a little
stone house shaped like a shed. In the days of Joan it probably had
no floor except the hard-packed earth. It has since been modernized
by the addition of a stone floor. A fire of logs in a great stone
chimney furnished heat and light and cooked the simple meals.

The father owned a few sheep and cattle, which were kept in the
village pasture with the flocks of the other villagers and were tended
by the children of different families in turn. The herds graze in the
same pasture and are tended in the same manner to this day.

It is not certainly known when Joan was born, but it was prob-
ably not far from 1412. She was the third of a family of five
children.

Like the other peasant girls, she learned to spin and helped her
mother wash the family woolens in the river. She worked in the
fields at harvest time and took her turn with the others in tending
the sheep. She was more religious than other girls. It is related
that she would often leave her play and run away to the church to
pray.

Itis not strange that even achild should have taken life solemnly
in those times, for poor France was in a most unhappy condition. A

173ee . s arse 3 , rs
si as a me
)
bi

174 VOAN CORAL

crazy king and a wicked queen sat on the throne. The entire country
vet been united into one nz ition, and there’were so many
hard to know which one to obey. Besides this,

had never
rulers that it was
England ue France had long been enemies, au were now in the

PR P25. G darkest part

of the Hun-
dred Years’
War dhe
Bn else
cl eee the
EF re nee hb
throne for
their infant
king, Henry
VI., and sent
AaLMLeES to
make their
claim good.
The Duke of
Surgundy, a
powerful
French no-
ble, uncle of
lenny, Wile
sided with
the English.
The insane
king, Charles
VI... dived
and miamy,
loyal French

none OF ARC HEARING VOICES.

people con-
sidered his son, Charles VII., then called the Dauphin, as the true
heir to the throne. The village of Domremy remained loyal to the
Dauphin. Little Joan must have heard a great deal of war talk
before she was old enough to know what it meant.
before she understood it too well. Bands of

But it was not long

ae ae QQ May ROT SP
a a ———

earprent ee
la ee, J:THE MAID OF ORELANS: 175
soldiers would sometimes wander through, destroying the fields of
erain and driving off the cattle as they went. Once Joan and her
family, with the rest of their neighbors, had to take their cattle and
flee to another village, where they staid until the soldiers were gone.
When they went back, everything that would burn in the little vil-
lage had been destroyed—the furnishings of the church, the straw
roofs of the houses, the wooden doors and the simple furniture.
Only the stone walls were left. If we can imagine her feelings as
she came back to her empty, fire-blackened home, it may not seem
so strange that from that hour she left her childhood behind her.

Wounded soldiers often straggled through Domremy and stopped
for a glass of milk or a slice of black bread at the hospitable cottage
of Joan’s father, and it is related that more than once she gave up
her bed to a tired wanderer from the wars and slept on the hard
stone hearth. Is it strange that her dreams were not like the dreams
of the children we know, tucked up in their warm beds all safe out of
the way of harm ?

The people of Domremy were uneducated, simple, pious and
superstitious. They were devoted Catholics and lived much in the
society of saints. Joan never had to be told to go to the church to
repeat her Ave Marias or her Paternosters.

There was a magnificent old tree in the village, called ‘‘larbre
des dames,” the ladies’ tree, where the young men and maidens used
to meet and sometimes dance on summer evenings. There were
wonderful legends about this tree and the fairy visitors which had
been seen dancing under its branches. All these stories worked with
power upon a mind already deeply touched with a sense of mystery
and awe.

The one idea of her life was to do her duty. For the first few
years, duty meant simply to be kind and patient, to watch the cattle
faithfully, to help her mother with the spinning, to pray, and to twine
earlands around the shrine of the virgin. But as she grew older,
duty began to wear a sterner shape. When she was about thirteen,
she began to hear voices and see visions. It was on a saint’s day and
she had been fasting the first time the visions came. She thought
she saw the archangel Michael, and that he told her she must go and
save France. Then others came, especially Saint Margaret and

— sie
ne lg neBL hermes waited , Piueee

176 JOAN OF ARC

Saint Katherine, always bringing the same message, which grew
more and more distinct as time went on. For three years they
haunted her, sleeping and waking, and then the message came
clearer and told her more exactly what she must do.

At first she could not believe that so stupendous a task was
meant for a simple, unlettered peasant girl like herself. She pleaded
with the saints, telling them how young and ignorant she was and
how unprepared for such a mission. But she began to see that she
must yield. She seldom spoke of her visions until the time came
when she felt obliged to tell what power was compelling her in
order that she might persuade people to listen to her and help her.

From her own time to this there has been a great deal of discus-
sion about Joan’s visions and voices. She said she saw and heard
them, and she bore a shining character for truth and sincerity to the
last hour of her life, and I think no one now disputes the facts that
she related. In her own lifetime her enemies called her a witch and
a sorceress, and thought she was possessed by an evil spirit; while
others believed, as she herself did, that she was directed by saints
and angels. We look at things differently now, or at least we use
different words from those they used in the Middle Age, and the
question now is, ‘‘Was she insane or inspired?” Perhaps the
simplest and truest way to answer it is to say that nobody knows,
and that perhaps nobody ever will know. But it doesn’t matter
much how we decide, for if we say she was insane, why then we
shall have to go on and say one thing more, and that is that insanity
must sometimes be an excellent thing, and it doesn’t make much
difference whether we give it a good name or an evil one. For Joan
of Arc lived like the saints she walked among, and though she lost her
lite she saved her country. Andin all history no other girl of nineteen
years has ever been sane enough to do better or accomplish as much.

A great many of the world’s noblest helpers have believed that
they were taught by visions and voices from the unknown. It is
foolish for anyone to contradict them, for they themselves know
more about it than anyone else can. What is really important to
remember is that an ugly mind will never see visions of beauty, and we
must keep ourselves in tune if we would hear the voices of the infinite.
It is much as if the whole world were one great white sheet and

Seth hs esate EMER SE AE cee Laka ee
; oo 8 ye ‘ami ».

Se ae Na Raa ke ta Eye) STIR Gee
} ; 5 Re ay %THE MAID OF ORLEANS.

177 |

|
your mind a magic lantern. Your thoughts and actions are the }
slides, and you may have whatever show you please. The pure I

thoughts of the shepherd girl of Domremy were fixed on duty; and
duty was the word that came in her dreams. i

When Joan was sixteen years old, she had grown into a tall, \

pleasant-faced, sweet-voiced girl with dark hair and hazel eyes, and |

It 1s not very surprising that.a young man of Domremy wished to
marry her. But she told him she could not become any one’s wife

until she had obeyed her voices and saved France. Her parents are
said to have encouraged the young man; partly because they thought
if she would fall in love, like other girls, she might then forget what
they considered her wild dream of leaving home and

o eoing to the war. 1 |
[he young man at length went before a magistrate and made h
oath that she had promised to marry him, thinking she was so shy , |

and timid that she might be frightened into yielding to his wish. Not |
at all. She too went to the magistrate and swore that what he had 1
said was not the truth. In Mrs. Catherwood’s story called ‘‘ Days of |
Jeanne d’Arc,’ this young man is made to follow her to the war as |
her knight and guard. This ought to have been true and probably 4
was, even though the historians have not yet found it out. It is not 4
the people who are always keeping their eyes fixed on the histories
that find out all the truth, and there are those who see it in visions
now as well as in the days of Jeanne d’Arc. For the nineteenth

century has more wonders in a week, without even mentioning Edison
or the X-rays, than the fifteenth had in a hundred years.

And now Joan’s voices became clearer still. The English held
nearly all of the northern part of France, but the French still had
possession of the city of Orleans, on the river Loire. The English
marched against it and laid seige. The French were full of anxiety.
If Orleans should fall, they believed France would be lost. The |
voices now told Joan that she must save Orleans from the English, i

eae as en

Serie

and must see the Dauphin crowned. But according to French :
tradition there was but one place for crowning a French king, and
that was at Rheims, a city in the east of France. |

She seems to have had no ambition for herself. It was only for Ht
the sake of France and at God’s command that she would go. She i

shrank from the rough life of the army and would have much pre-PUR estates DLL es
7 Oana <e
+

ithe ee ar Tae

178 VOANTORALE

ferred to stay at home and tend her sheep. But the command was
clear and there was nothing to do but obey. She was now told that
she must go to Robert of Baudricourt, governor of the little walled
town of Vaucouleur—valley of color—some twelve or thirteen miles
from Domremy, and ask him to send her to the king.

But her father and mother would not consent to her going. Her
father said he would rather see her drowned than have her go on
such a mission. She had always been obedient to her parents, but
now she determined to obey the higher power that was calling her.
‘‘Flad I a hundred fathers and a hundred mothers,” she said to the
judges in her trial, ‘‘God’s orders must be obeyed.” She waited for
an opportunity.

Opportunity always comes when one is waiting to do the right.
It came to Joan. She hada young married cousin living at a little
village called Bury-la-Céte, on the road to Vaucouleurs. This cousin
was ill, and her husband, Durand Laxart, went to Domremy to fetch
Joan to take care of her. The Laxart house is still standing in
Bury-la-Cote. It is much out of repair and is used as a shelter for
poultry and domestic animals.

When she had been at his house a week or two, she persuaded
Laxart to take her to Vaucouleurs in his cart and to go with her to
see the governor. In our journey thither we may follow the maid in
the long cart ride up and down the vine-covered Vosges hills, or we
may take a train at Domremy and reach Vaucouleurs in a few min-
utes, paying for time at the cost of a picturesque ride and memory-
haunting associations. Baudricourt was a rough fellow and he told
Laxart with an oath to take her back to her father and give her a
sound whipping. She went back to Bury-la-Céte with Laxart, but
she still believed in her voices, and in a few days returned to Vau-
couleurs. Laxart again accompanied her and found lodgings for her
with a good woman named Catherine le Royer. She spent a week or
two there, spinning for her hostess, going to church often and con-
fessing, and telling everyone she met that God had told her to go to
the Dauphin and save France. She often repeated a prophecy which
was well known throughout the country, that France would be ruined
by a woman, and restored by a maid from Lorraine. The mother
of Charles VII. was commonly believed to be the woman,

DER R casper oy
} ;LHE MAID OF ORLEANS.

Baudricourt now began to look upon her with a little more

and when Baudri-

made immediate prepara-
tions tor departure. She thought, sensibly

was going to do men’s work she should

favor. Two rough soldiers offered to escort her.
court at length consented to her going, she

enough, that since she
wear mens clothes. The
enthusiastic people of Vaucouleurs provided her outfit, a black

vest,
a tunic and long hose of grey cloth, strong

leather shoes and a
Her hair was cut short, like a bov’s.
ind her hat was black. She took her litt]

cuirass made of leather thongs.

e red peasant’s dress with

her in a bundle which she used at night for her pillow. Four more

armed men accompanied her, making six in all.

dred miles to Chinon, where Charles VII.

It was three hun-
vas, and they were ten days
on the road, sleeping ee in a a ee and sometimes in the
fields. Joan often thought of her home and wished she were spinning
with her mother, but the voices said, ‘‘ Child of God, go on, go on.”
The soldiers came to think of herasa saint. ‘‘I think she was sent
from God, for she never swore,” said one of them. He was a hard
swearer himself and realized the difficulties in the way of not swearing.
Charles VII. was poor material to make a king of, but Joan of
Arc could get nothing better, so she used what she had. At Chinon
he was spending his time in merriment and feasting whenever he
could get anything to feast on, which was not every day, and instead
of fighting like a man for his kingdom, he was trying to think what
he should do to save his own good-for-nothing head when Orleans

should fall.

It was several days before Joan could get admission to the court.
When she did, Charles amused himself by appearing dressed in the
clothes of a common courtier and hiding behind some of his gentle-
men to test her, for he had heard that she had said she would know
him. She recognized him at once and said, ‘‘Gentle Dauphin, |
have come to you on a message from God, to bring help to you and
to your kingdom.” He talked with hera little while and then sent
her back to the tower where she was lodged.

Then the priests and wise men began to examine her to find out
whether she was possessed of a spirit or not, and, if so, whether good
or evil. It took the Dauphin a long time to make up his mind what
to do, which is rather surprising when we remember how little of it

OPE TEL Oe E is

ing ES

odie dceeogwenthh-aetihe

aaoe rae ras + AR
i

180 JOAN OF ARC

he had. But everywhere she went she inspired the greatest enthusi-
asm among the common people. The case was desperate and some-
thing must be done at once if ever. The Council advised the king
to give her an army and send her to Orleans. But it took time to
raise an army. Inthe meantime, Joan dictated a letter to the Eng-
lish, telling Ahern that she was approaching with a company to drive

Coke

JOAN OF ARC.—A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN FROM-A FRESCO IN THE
PANTHEON, PARIS.

them out and begging them to leave without bloodshed. But they
only laughed at her. ‘‘ What! afraid of a woman! a witch!” they
said. ‘‘If she has supernatural powers, they are from the devil, and
not from heaven.”

In about two months, an army of sixty thousand men was raised.
Many of the soldiers believed the Maid to be an angel from heaven.

eee) oF = ie Ceo naa
PN Si as AU Na hee aa Aryans sre SN NINN Ge meres ent! POMEA Bom
. as \ <4TE WALD OF OREBRANS 181

The king gave her a white horse and white armor. She carried a
white flag bearing the lilies of France. As they approached Orleans
the citizens came out and joined the army. The siege was raised,
the English fled, and the Maid with her soldiers entered the city with
ereat rejoicing. Even the English began to believe in her supernat-
ural powers.

She soon started with Charles and a part of the army to
crown the Dauphin at Rheims. Until then, the people of Rheims
had taken sides with the English ; but when they heard of the Eng-
lish defeat and of the victorious French army that was marching
towards them with the Maid at its head, they came out and sur-
rendered and asked and received pardon of the Dauphin for their
rebellion. Charles was crowned and anointed with many impressive
ceremonies.

It is pleasant to know that Joan's father and her cousin Laxart
came to Rheims to witness her triumph. It was probably here that
she asked and received her father’s forgiveness for the one dis-
obedience of her life. The king gave her family a title, and, as a
reward for her services, freed the inhabitants of Domremy and
Greux from paying taxes. They kept this privilege for two hundred
years, and opposite the names of these villages was written in the
tax-gatherer’s record, ‘‘ Nothing, for the sake of the Maid.” She
asked nothing for herself.

Joan now believed that her work was finished and wished to return
to Domremy to live and die inher simple cottage home. This the king
would not permit. He wished her to lead the army to still greater
triumphs. But now her voices failed her and she lost confidence, for she
was disobeying her conscience. She went into battle reluctantly and
was taken prisoner by the Burgundians. The English declared her a
sorceress and demanded her in the name of the church. She was
civen over and sent to Rouen for trial. Irons were put on her ankles
and she was chained to a ring in the wall of her narrow cell. The
king did not care or dare to help her, the nobles were jealous of her,
and the common people lost faith when she ceased to conquer. The
English were humiliated at being overcome by a girl, and now they
were still more embittered by another French triumph at Compiégne.
She was kept in prison nine months before the trial began.

— itn cons
= 33 ed ee eehi i) ‘
a I ket

7 i) ieee ii ae
)

PREY S97 ~~ ages FE TPS s
- ia emeach) Sesryeyenrs my eh PEA oe hehe me
;

Pd somal ie SE poco ns 8 a

182 JOAN OF AKC

The principal accusation was that she had dealings with evil
spirits, but there were so many charges that it took more than a day
to read them. . They asked her a great many questions, all of which
she answered simply and frankly except the ones about her visions;
and these she said she was forbidden to answer. She believed
almost to the last that God and his saints would deliver her from
death. Once, in her great agony, she did what her enemies most
wished, and confessed that she had done wrong, or at least that she
had been mistaken, but she quickly repented and never again yielded
to this weakness. She was condemned to die at the stake. She
was just nineteen years old.

At eight o’clock, one beautiful May morning in 1431, she was led
to the scaffold, crying, ‘‘Ah, Rouen, | greatly fear that you will
have to suffer for my death.” She asked for a cross, and when it
was given her she kissed and embraced it. In the midst of the
flames she was heard calling on the names of St. Michael and
Jesus. One of the English leaders is said to have exclaimed, ‘‘ We
are lost! We have burned a saint.”

The sight of her terrible death made many people believe
her a martyr, and twenty-four years afterwards she was granted a
new trial and acquitted. It was also decreed that a cross in her
honor should be erected on the spot where she died. A few years ago
a handsome monument was erected to her memory in one of the
most beautiful spots in Paris. A laurel wreath entwines her fieure
and it is always covered with fresh flowers.

But public opinion in France had not waited for her acquittal by
the courts, and the city of Orleans already celebrated every year its
deliverence by Joan of Arc. A few years ago she was deified by the
church. And now, go where you will in France, the gentle spirit of
the Maid broods over you.

The French were of course discouraged and met with a few
more losses, but it presently began to seem as if the valiant spirit of
the murdered Maid had entered into France. Even the king became
more courageous and spirited, and within twenty years the English
were driven out of France and had nothing left but the port of Calais.
She had accomplished more in her death than in her life.

a ad eer Seth (OL So. SarTHOMAS ALVA EDISON

THE WIZARD OF MENLO PARK

One of the few that have a right to rank
With the true Makers. —Lowell.

Hine 2

etal ¥

Te
=
yo)

Aare ecm age ee

WR te er ee

Ea
1 facRclieatinsd: 2

sree: Ae”
ey =

——_ |

EDISON AS A NEWSBOY. |

HOMAS EDISON may well be called a wizard. If he had
lived in 1400 in Europe, he would have been burned for
practicing the Black Art or dealing with evil spirts. Or if he hy

had been a citizen of Massachusetts in 1692, nothing could 4
have saved him from sharing the fate of the lamented old women i

who were hanged on Witches’ Hill in Salem for the crime of riding

153THOMAS ALVA EDISON

THOMAS A. EDISON.

“When the Dream of the Electric Light Became a Reality.’

broomsticks through the air at midnight; though he, who would of

course have had the very latest scientific news, might perhaps have

ES eno Sets TK 7 a a e SLOSS
SS is EN 2 is ees Ne he ha ae CN a ea i ee NS
) \ , seTHE WIZARD OF MENLO PARK. 18s

been comforted by the knowledge which the old women unhappily
did not possess, namely, that within two hundred years scores of
women, old and young, would be riding every day of the week in
broad daylight past the very foot of Witches’ Hill on a broomstick
train, as Doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes calls the trolley cars. | Mr.
Edison exercised his usual discretion in keeping out of the way until
these dangers were well over, for truly the world moves. In the
fifteenth century they burned their men of science. In the eighteenth
they only starved them, and in the nineteenth, we bestow on them
wealth and honor—sometimes; that is to say, if they are shrewd
business men of the world, like Mr. Edison. Otherwise, we allow
them to satisfy their hearts and fill their stomachs with the epitaphs
and tombstones to be provided by the next generation. In the
twentieth century we may perhaps hope for such a division of labor
that the man of science will not have to peddle his own inventions.

But Mr. Edison had another reason for his late appearance.
He could not have gone far towards inventing the phonograph and the
megaphone and all the rest of his family of phones if Samuel Morse
had not already invented the telegraph. And it goes without saying
that Morse would never have thought of the telegraph if Benjamin
Franklin had not made a kite and sent it up and brought down the
lightning and found out what it was. So Morse stood on the
shoulders of Franklin, and to-day Edison is standing on the shoulders
of Morse. It is not to be wondered at if he can see twice around the
world and under the sea and back again while honest old Benjamin
is only getting out his handkerchief and wiping the fog off his
spectacles.

And one thing more, for Mr. Edison never does anything cr
doesn’t do it without more than one good reason, you may be sure.

The slow stage-coach world of Franklin’s time was not even
ready for newspapers. You remember wise folks in Boston thought
one was plenty and two was far too many. And even the world of
Morse’s time was hardly ready for the telegraph, as we can prove by
the man

oe a bundle

an intelligent man too—who asked how lar
could be sent over the wires, and if the United States government
was fool enough to risk its mail bags that way. A kinetoscope then
would have driven Philadelphia crazy.eee Se

ee ee | ee splint loeb

186 THOMAS ALVA EDISON

But Morse’s invention—an instrument that could send a message
han time can fly—so fast, indeed, that 1t can run out west on

Il us it is raining in New York before the New

faster t
an errand and te
Yorkers have even thought of getting out their umbrellas, and then
turn around and get back before breakfast—Morse’s invention, I was
soing to say, revolutionized the world, and made it almost ready for
Thomas Edison.

He was born just in the nick of time, in 1847, three years after
Miss Annie Ellsworth had sent the first telegram skipping along the
wires from Baltimore to Washington, and four years before the first
rail was laid on the railroad from Detroit to Port Huron to the end
that Thomas Alva might become a train boy and sell peanuts on the
Grand Trunk and so get his first start in the world of business.

How strangely time reverses the positions of men and things,
In the year 1860 one might have described Tom Edison as a green,
awkward lanky boy who bawled out newspapers and molasses candy
on the elegantly equipped Grand Trunk trains. To-day we point
Li out the Grand Trunk to foreigners as the railroad on which Mr.
Thomas Edison made the beginning of his great career. This is
perhaps the most complete somersault the Grand Trunk has ever

made, and that is saying a great deal.

Milan, Ohio, a little port on Lake Erie, has the honor of being
his birthplace, but as he removed from there with his parents soon
after he had learned to walk, it would seem becoming in the Milanese

MEP Le

i to season their pride with a due allowance of modesty.
be | if His father, Samuel Edison, was a Dutchman born in Nova
: Scotia, and his mother an educated Scotch-Englishwoman who had
Bo : been a Canadian high-school teacher. He is said to have been his
i | mother’s favorite among her three children, and it seems a pity that
E she could not live to see her boy acknowledged one of the world’s
oreatest scientists. But she lived until 1871 when his successes had
already begun, and a mother’s prophetic heart could tell the rest.
His life at Milan, so far as I am informed, furnishes but one
| item of interest to science. This was an experiment which was
nit | interrupted before its natural conclusion and seems to have been
on that account a failure. When he was about five years old, he
observed an old goose in the barn who seemed to be spending a great

Poe os

- — .

me hee aN ener eet hw bed ee ie ie LAT ae eae ~
¢ UN 5 ~toe ee BS bea ee eae ce A ROT EP DS Senet
’ emTHE WIZARD OF MENLO PARK. 187

deal of precious time on a nest full of eggs. When the eggs actually
picked their outgrown shells open and marched seriously down hill in
gvold-and-green livery and took to the water, Thomas Alva’s wonder
and admiration knew no bounds, and he begged to know just how it
happened. He was told that this wonderful event was caused by the
heat of the old goose’s body. He believed, then as now, in making
an actual test of all facts submitted. The next day he was missed
from the house. He was found, after some hours, his sister says,
‘curled up on a nest he had made in the barn, sitting on goose eggs
and trying to hatch them.”

Iam told that Mr. Edison does not like this story, though I can
not understand why, for it strikes me as equally creditable to his
head and his heart. But a sympathetic English gentleman who
repeats the story, tries to shield the young inventor by suggesting
that his sister, who first gave it to the public, is a member of the
Edison family and may possess as much talent for inventing tales as
her brother has for inventing machines.

The family removed to Port Huron, Michigan, when Thomas
was seven years old. He had but two months of school in all his
life, but he was fortunate in having a mother who could teach hima
ereat many things. He had a great deal of curiosity, as we may
know by his experiment on the goose eggs, and he wanted to read
everything. When he was ten years old he was reading such books
as Gibbon’s Rome, the Penny Encyclopedia, and Hume's ‘‘ History
of England,” and he read all the books on chemistry that he could
lay his hands on. When he was about twelve, he obtained access to
the Detroit Public Library. There he began at the left hand end of
the lower shelf of the big room and had read fifteen feet of books
without omitting a line, when one of the librarians noticed his peculiar
method and asked what he was doing. Edison replied that he
intended to read the library through. He was advised to change his
method and he then began to select books that were better suited to
his needs. Among those which he had already read were several
dictionaries, Burton’s ‘‘Anatomy of Melancholy,” and Newton's
“Principia,” a book so difficult that very few persons, if any, since
the author, have ever comprehended it all. Even Edison says he

did not quite understand it.

Sarabi

eee TOIT
ALY) DS ia i i naan hes

£88 THOMAS ALVA EDISON

About this time he began work as newsboy on the Grand Trunk
railroad running across Southern Michigan from Detroit to his home

in Port Huron. | |
It was not long before his business increased so much that he

employed four assistants. He began to look out for ways of making
work light and money plenty. One of his first ways of increasing
his sales was to have the main head lines of the papers chalked down
on the bulletin boards at the principal stations. The plan worked
well. He usually sold two hundred papers, but when the news came
of the great battle of Shiloh in 1862, he thought he could use a
thousand. He hired a telegraph operator to send his announcement
of the news all along the line. He had no money to buy the papers
and he had fears about his credit. But he plucked up all the courage
he could find and asked the man in charge of the delivery depart-
ment for a thousand copies of the Free Press on credit. He was
refused. This made him desperate, for he did not have a fortune to
lose in that way. He next went to the office of the manager, and,
erowing plucky as the difficulties increased, asked for fifteen hundred
copies of the papers on trust. The man stared at him in amaze-
ment, but was probably overcome by the very audacity of the request,
and wrote a few words ona scrapof paper. ‘‘ lake that down stairs,”
he said to Edison, ‘‘and you will get what you want.” ‘‘ Then,” said

Edison, ‘‘I felt happier than | have ever felt since.” He tells the
rest ofthe story himself as follows: <‘‘I took my fifteen hundred
papers, got three boys to help me fold them, and mounted the train
all agog to find out whether the telegraph operator had kept his word.
At the town where our first stop was made I usually sold two papers.
As the train swung into that station I looked ahead and thought there
must be a riot going on. A big crowd filled the platform and as the
train drew up I began to realize that they wanted my papers. Before
we left I had sold a hundred or two at five cents apiece. At the next
station the train was fairly black with people. I raised the ‘‘ante”
and sold three hundred papers at ten cents each. So it went on
until Port Huron was reached. . Then I transferred my remaining
stock to the wagon which always waited for me there, hired a small
boy to sit on the pile of papers in the back, so as to discount any
pilfering, and sold out every paper I had ata quarter of a dollar or

~— ih ba a LF Ab ay eich NN FER Utter, Bea ee
/THE WIZARD OF MENLO PARK. 189
more per copy. Il remember I passed a church full of worshipers,
and stopped to yell out my news.

In ten seconds there was nota
soul left in meeting.

All of them, including the parson, were
clustered around me, bidding against each other for copies of the
precious paper.”

All this success young Edison considered was due to the tele-
graph, and he determined to become a telegraph operator. He began
to pick up knowledge from the operators along the road and he put
up a short line of his own, constructed of stove-pipe wire, nails, old
bottles, strips of zinc and the bottoms of old copper kettles. There
is a popular story to the effect that he tried to make his electricity by
rubbing two cats’ backs together, but I will not say it is true.

He saved the life of a child of the station master at Port
Clements, and the grateful father in return taught him all he knew
of telegraphy.

About this time he became a journalist and began to publish a
newspaper, of which he was editor-in-chief, publisher, printer, carrier
and all. Hus editorial rooms occupied one corner of a baggage-car.
Here he published and printed the Grand Trunk Flerald, made up
for the most part of local railway news; and of which he sold several
hundred copies a week. Qn one occasion, at least, the freedom of
the press was seriously abridged by means of a beating given the
editor by a railroad man, who thought he had received too much
justice in the editorial columns of the Herald.
| But his chemical laboratory, which occupied another corner of
the same car, i more serious trouble. One
day a bottle of phosphorus fell down and exploded, setting the car
on fire

was the cause oi still

The frightened conductor threw the chemicals out of the
window and followed them up with the printing press ; then, by way
of anti-climax, boxed the ears of the chemist. But this inglorious
defeat ended in victory after all, for he set up both printing-press and
laboratory on ¢erra firma in his father’s basement and continued
business as before.

When Edison was eighteen years old he went to Indianapolis
and secured a situation as telegraph operator.

He had not had a great deal of practice and found more or less

difficulty in keeping up with the other end of the line. Then an

See omen_ 3 —
ee SO ess — 3 _———

190 THOMAS ALVA EDISON

&. expert was put on at the Cincinnati end of the wire, and something

EE. had to be done about it. He worked out an invention by means of

i which he could have the words transmitted to him as slowly as he

Hil pleased, no matter how rapidly they were sent. He could then take
his time and write out his copy so beautifully that the manager was

S i sorely puzzled over his rapid improvement.

i The scheme worked well until one night during a Presidential
election a heavy night’s work came in, when the young operator fell
behind and never caught up. Then the trick was discovered and
could be used no more.

The young man’s head was so full of inventions that he some-
times neglected his duties. For this reason he lost place after place.
This did well enough for Edison, for he had something so great ahead
of him that he did not mind going hungry for a few years and
wearing a linen duster all the year around. But you and I would
better be quite sure about the future before we adopt his plan.

At Stratford, Canada, where he worked as telegraph operator

i for a few weeks, he was for some unknown reason required to tele-

| eraph the word ‘‘six” to his manager once every half hour to prove

that he was awake and at his business. He was so very wide awake

i that he thought this caution unnecessary, so he made a wheel that

could say ‘‘six” on the instrument as well as he could, and hired

the watchman to turn the wheel while he used his time in his
own way.

| But this came near having a tragic ending, for a train came

along out of time and a dispatch was sent to stop it, but the operator

not being at his post and the wheel and the watchman together

i being unable to say anything more alarming than ‘‘six,” a collision

ae was narrowly avoided, and Mr. Edison soon found it convenient to

i b leave Stratford. He was threatened with Canadian law and it is said

ie | that he never looked behind him until he was safe this side of the

widest part of the Detroit river. Such experiments gave him great
| experience in traveling and he had probably occupied more positions
by the time he was twenty-three than any other young man of his

a age in America. But he had also become an expert telegrapher and
lla had acquired such a knowledge of mechanics that the foundation of

his inventive career was already well laid.

t ‘
CU ke a ee = — . Sa
- ~~ bear molec teaee eth a aaa Sv aiciaae NRE al a te hu cia, nme Te a SENSE SYN nibh bins base

; : \ = nt y aTHE WIZARD OF MENLO PARK. [QI

Mr. Edison made his first visit to the Patent Office at Washing-
ton when he was twenty-one, with an electric vote recorder. It was
very ingenious, but in 1868 the country was not quite ready for a
machine which had no mind of its own, and therefore could not be
induced to chan

ge it. But that was a great many years ago.

From that day to this he has, as one of the United States Patent
Commissioners said, ‘‘kept the road to the Patent Office hot with
his footsteps. ”

Soon after this he went to New York, where he quickly made a
reputation as an electrical expert and did all kinds of odd jobs, from
mending a door bell to adjusting the most serious difficulties in tele-
sraph lines.

His first financial success came to him from improvements which
he made in the instruments called ‘‘tickers,” used in brokers’ offices
to record quotations of stock. This brought him something better
than money, too—in the confidence of certain New York capitalists,
who furnished him with money to carry on his incandescent light
experiments. He removed to Menlo Park, New Jersey, for room and
quiet, and there, in 1879, the dream of the electric light became a
reality and literally went forth to ight the world. It may be doubted
whether any other single invention has ever done so much directly to
change the face of the globe.

But this work of inventing was something more than pressing a
button. It meant anxious days and sleepless nights for many, many
weary months, besides the work of all the years from Franklin down to
Edison. The next time you feel cross because you have to reach up
and turn on the lights, please stop and think for a moment how much
of terrible toil that little motion stands for.

When Edison's lamps had been burning for a month they all
went out. Edison shut himself up in his laboratory and scarcely ate
or slept for five days, and at the end of that time went to bed worn
out and sick. That was a good time for croakers to croak, and they
made the most of their opportunity. A well-known professor of
physics used the occasion to prophesy that the Edison lamp ‘' would
not last long enough to pay for itself.” ‘Ill make a statue of that
man,” said Edison to Mr. P. G. Hubert, while his lamps were still
shedding darkness, ‘‘and I'll illuminate it brilliantly with Edison

RSdee i a cree TN LS ag EIS

Tn Me ae stat

192 THOMAS ALVA EDISON
lamps and inscribe it: ‘This is the man who said the Edison lamp
would not burn.’

So many absurd stories have been told about Mr. Edison’s mar-
riage, how he proposed to the young lady across an electric machine,
how he forgot to leave the laboratory to go to his wedding and made
it up afterwards and was married the next day, how he forgot he had
been married the very day it happened, and so on, ad infinitum, no
one of them ever being told twice alike, that I am absolutely certain
they are not true and will not be euilty of repeating a single one
of them. It is, however, certain that he was married in 1873 to Miss
Mina Miller, a bright young lady of Akron, Ohio, who had assisted
him in a series of dangerous electrical experiments. The principal
experiment was highly successful.

Mr. and Mrs. Edison have had for some years a beautiful home
in Orange, New Jersey, within a short distance of his laboratory.
There are two children, a girl and a boy, and they have received
regular Christian names, but in their presence their father thinks he
he is still a telegraph operator, and calls them ‘‘Dot” and ‘‘Dash”
to this day.

This book is not an encyclopedia and can not give an account
of all the contrivances of this wonderful man. In 1893 he had
registered seven hundred and forty patents in the Patent Office.
Many of his inventions, such as the phonograph, or talking
machine, the kinetograph, by which one may see as well as hear
an opera in a distant city, and the incandescent electric light, are
known the world around. And his system by means of which
four distinct messages may be sent on a wire at once, whereas
only one could be sent before, saves the Western Union Telegraph
Company many hundred thousand dollars every year. |

About sixteen years ago, Mr. Edison was one day walking along
a sandy stretch of New Jersey shore, when he happened to kick
up some black sand with his boot. Nowa great many people before
him had noticed this black sand, but there was so much of it that no
one had ever thought of its being good for anything. The truthis, the
difference in things is not so much in the things themselves as it is in
the eye that sees them.

Anyway, Mr. Edison took some of the black sand home and

a ae EADS Fee oR re en a
\ : m5TULLE

LHOMAS A.

HDISON

AND

WIZARD OF MENLO PARK.

siete Serer
DS Ne

HIS

TONDERFUL

TALKING

MACHINE.P ia a et hc sete aah ey een anal wy ee ee
i

194 THOMAS ALVA EDISON

analvzed it. Then he took a horseshoe magnet and held over it
and the strange antics which the sand performed proved that it was
full of iron. |

A few vears later he traveled over the New Jersey mountains
with a more powerful magnet and found that the hills were as full of
iron as was the black sand on the shore. Then he thought it he
could only build a mill big enough to crush the mountains into sand,
and could find or make a magnet a million times as strong as the one
he then had, he might accomplish a great deal, not only for Mr.
Edison, but for the world, which is always wanting more iron. It
took a long time to think it out, but it was easily enough done when
he had learned how. For the mill, he had nothing to do but geta
big enough weight and hoist it up in the air and it would come down
itself and grind the rock into powder. And for the magnet, he had
only to get a very large piece of iron and pound it into the shape otf
a horseshoe and send the electric currents throbbing through it, as he
knew how, and it would love nothing better than to work for him
night and day without rest or sleep, coaxing the precious iron out of
the sand. Of course, there are rollers and pounders and crushers
and grinders of all shapes, sizes and conditions. And the mill is not
so simple an affair as this brief description might indicate. But the
principle is all contained in what I have said.

So many things will do themselves if we only know how to let go
and allow them to help us. For the giant forces of gravitation, heat,
magnetism, electricity, and a thousand others, are standing around,
with their sleeves rolled up, begging of us to let them help in any
good work. And if they prance around and do mischief sometimes
with their landslides and earthquakes and cyclones, it is only because
we have not yet given them enough to do to steady them down, and
of course they feel frisky and must do something, like young colts in
the pasture, or boys when the Latin lesson is too short and the
teacher’s back 1s on the wrong side. They will be perfectly safe and
more friendly than we can imagine when we know how to set them
at work.

And now that Mr. Edison has his gigantic mills at the village of
Edison up in the New Jersey mountains, and is working hand in glove
with the forces of Nature, I suppose it will not be many years before

cei CNV Bel aha Ree oi
a . ——THE WIZARD OF MENLO PARK. 1Q5

he will have all of New Jersey ground up and cast into plough-shares
and pruning hooks. And while that may seem a little unfortunate
for the owners of real estate in New Jersey, it will add so much to the
value of the shipping interests in Pennsylvania that the New Jersey
farmers are sure to be more than satisfied.

With a glimpse at Mr. Edison’s laboratory at Orange, New
Jersey, we must leave him. It is an enormous establishment. its
running expenses being more than a hundred and fifty thousand
dollars a year. They are paid by the different commercial companies
in which Edison is interested, and who, of course, have the benefit of
his inventions. Inall this vast establishment there is not an ounce
of anything made to sell. Everything is done for experiment. The
single mind of this one man keeps hundreds of the most expert
workmen in the country constantly employed in working out his ideas.
A sketch which he can make in ten minutes will often keep a dozen
men at work for a fortnight in drawing plans and making models.

This laboratory is the fulfilled dream of Edison’s life. Years ago
he said of this dream: ‘‘ Give me these advantages and I shall gladly
devote fifteen hours a day to solid work. I want none of the rich
mans usual toys, no matter how rich I may become. I want no
horses or yachts—have no time for them. | want a perfect work-
shop.”

He has gained enormous wealth, but he still asks nothing in life
but achance to work. He has a beautiful home, but that is because
his wife likes beautiful things. He has a box full of medals and
decorations, given by royal hands. But he has forgotten what most
of them were given for, and has lost the key to the box. Once when
he entered an opera house in Paris, the band played our national air
in his honor, such a compliment as is usually kept for kings and
queens. And well might such honor be thus bestowed, for all the
little kings and kinglets that have entered Paris ina hundred years
have been pigmies compared to this uncrowned king of Nature's
forces. And still he wears a soiled linen duster and an old limp hat,
as shabby as the ones that made the telegraph operators in the New
York office where he went to seek employment some twenty-five years
ago, call him ‘‘the jay from the woolly West.” And still he keeps at
work, and still the world is asking, ‘‘ What is Edison up to now ? ©YE ELAMAE. (GEADSEONE

THH RIGHT HONORABLE WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.

ay ROT
eae aE SUSE ET ae SN
—[ do not admit fail-
ure; I admit success to
be incomplete.
—Gladstone.

HE year 1809 would
be memorable
enough in the rec-

ords of the English-speak-
ing race if it had given to
the world only Abraham
Lincoln among those who
should live in history. It gave
also William Ewart Gladstone,
one of the greatest statesmen
of his own or any other time.
He was born in Liverpool

on the 29th of December.
Many generations back, it is
recorded that the family name
was Gledstanes. It was later
changed to Gladstones, and
two or three generations back
of the subject of the sketch, it

dropped the s and became

Grladstone.

era aaa a alI eg eer

193 WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

William E. Gladstone was a Scotch Englishman. Huis father,
i Sir John Gladstone, was a Lowland Scotchman, his mother a High-

J
¥
ve
X
a
A
tian
N

GLADSTONE’S ANCESTORS WERE GRAIN MERCHANTS.

1 j Se y
‘ander. Sir John was a man of ereat energy, as might have been
expected ofsthe father of William Ewart. He ‘was a wealthy and
thriving grain merchant of Liverpool, as was his father before him.

“etc. % \
SMALE ithe
5 on

s yahguhhhanenest ee ee pe BEE ATT : ay ‘one Se Te =
P ae oe Sera ar a aes oe ares NRA a le Di aa OT eae Pee on CN sy eo Hts Dutpe hin es RTE

pers)
/ iTTE GRAND OF DPD MAN 1Q0Q
His wife, the mother of William, was a woman of manv accomplish-
ments. She is said to have been a descendant oft Robert Bruce of
Scotland. ij

GLADSTONE SERVING THE UPPER FORM BOYS AT ETON.

Four sons and two daughters came into the Gladstone home.

One son besides William became a member ot Parliament, and an-

Fo ln ee eee a ean ik aire200 WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

other was at one time mayor of Liverpool. The daughters died
young. William outlived all the others many years. } : |
The father seems to have known how to whet his children’s
minds for knowledge. No question was ever looked upon as settled
until it had been well discussed and the boys put on their mettle
‘1 the debate. It was here when a very young lad that William
Gladstone began his career as an orator.

Lies kk IRIE Ta

ay <u wi.

<n | baler, Ph. ANG, Sh. ped
DER R agt Oi o Stine!

ETON COLLEGE.

For a short time he attended a private school near Liverpool.
When he was eleven years old, the great world began to open to
him through the gates of Eton, a quaint old school for boys, which
was founded in the fitteenth century by King Henry VI. Eton is
twenty-two miles southwest of London and just across the [hames
from Windsor Castle. It is one of the most interesting places in all

England. The chapel is very beautiful. A great many distinguished

Ce aS TIA
PTV TG NT Sn ee SO aa ede ais FEN NANS,

BRR oper erny ps
ER Ty Bie)
)THE GRAND OLD MAN. 201

men began their education here, and many now famous names are |
carved with jack-knives on the desks and walls—among them that of
Gladstone. Hl

There he became acquainted with the curious custom of fagging,

lone ago that no one knows how it began. Its main feature is that
the lower class, or lower form boys, as they are called there, shall
wait upon the upper form boys, cooking their breakfasts, brushing
their clothes and doing everything which the upper boys would have

!
}
which in all the great English schools has come down from a time so

to do for themselves if they had no one to take the place of a servant.
The wealthiest boys in the kingdom are educated at these schools |
and take the part of fags like the others. A grandson of Queen Vic-
toria is now at Eton and blacks the boots of his superior as cheerfully
as if he had always been accustomed to such service.

William Gladstone was called the prettiest little boy that ever ‘|
went to Eton, and the description must have been a true one, for a
recent writer who has known him well for many years says he was 1
the handsomest old man that ever went to Eton or anywhere else. i

He is not remembered by his Eton mates as having been a fh
oreat athlete in those days. He cared little tor games, but was fond
of rowing and walking. He preferred such studies as history and
lancuages to mathematics and science. He took a prominent part in
the debates of the Eton society and edited the Eton «Miscellany.
Here is one stanza of a poem which he wrote in Eton days to the i
memory of Wat Tyler, a labor agitator of the time of Richard II. :

‘« Shade of him whose valiant tongue
On high the song of freedom sung ! ir
Shade of him whose mighty soul i

Would pay no taxes on his poll!" ¥

He wrote some creditable Latin verses, a long poem on Richard
Cceur de Lion, and a paper on ‘‘ Eloquence,” in which occurred the |
following almost prophetic words: ‘A successful déda¢, an offer from
the minister, a Secretaryship of State, and even the Premiership
itself, are the objects which form the vista along which a young Hi
visionary loves to look.” Whe future was already stirring in the A

young man’s heart.

FL ied ali ai aia ye rs ai—

WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

After leaving Eton he studied tor some time with a private tutor
| and entered Christ Church College, Oxford, in 1829.
Oxford is one of the two great universities of England, Cam-
bridge being the other one. . It is very old and it has been said that
| one of its colleges was built by King Alfred. That, however, is only
a tradition. Many curious old customs are still kept up here, as at
Eton. One is that of bringing in the boar’s head on a platter at
Christmas time, while the old noels, or Christmas carols, are sung.

CHRIST CHURCH COLLEGE—OXFORD.

Young Gladstone soon took high rank in Oxford He took
plenty of recreation, mingled freely in the social life of the students,
and spent more time in athletics than he had in Eton. But during
his study hours his door was locked and no one ever saw him. The

future was calling him for great matters and he was beating out the
: answer in the silence of his chamber.

He became Secretary and afterwards President of the Union
Debating Society. Some one has said that the members of this club

ikon aaa a: Se ae
} Ta ee i 2 sr a = 2 Cos ae
3 = psn al ene WE SL a ae Serena atil OR hatte we ieee RL Oe ae —~
A rl ae = } } -\ hans A 4 ~
)TILE (GRAND, OLD

MAN. 203

were conceited enough to think that the Prime Minister was watching
them for members of the Cabinet. It would not have been ated
presumption on the part of the young men if they had believed SO,
for, during the century, Christ Church College alone has given eight
Prime Ministers to England, including Gladstone himself. Young
Gladstone must have already begun to give promise of the greatn
within him, for Bishop Wordsworth declared that he knew Se
would be Prime Minister when he heard him deliver his maiden
speech in the Union Debating Society, though it is perhaps a little
unfortunate for the Bishop’s reputation asa seer that he did not make
his prophecy public until after it was fulfilled.

DINING HALL—CHRIST CHURCH COLLEGE, OXFORD.

Not content with such societies as were already existing, and
longing, like Alexander, for more worlds to conquer, Gla dst tone
established a society of his own, which used to meet regularly in ae
rooms of the students. It was at first named the Oxt ford E Ussay
Club, but in time it adopted the initials of its founder and became
the Weg.

It would be interesting if we could find out just what influenc
young man. This old university was then, os
1-fashioned in its ideas. It thinks the old-time
tle down to King James, knew pretty much all

Oxford had on this
is to-day a little ol
people, from Aristot=r:
: es,

Balurhs

204 WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

that was worth knowing, and that all that has been found out since
is of comparatively small consequence.

Now there is a great deal of good in this spirit that preserves the
Our forefathers did know a great deal that it is
And Oxford has often shown a

wisdom of the past.
very well for us to hold fast to.
splendid loyalty to the kings of Great Britain and has been magnifi-
cently faithful to the Church of England. This is good, but there is
always danger of standing still or even of going backwards, like the
cray-fish, if you once make up your mind that the old institutions are
as good as they can be made. The Stuart kings, and even some of
the kings of the House of Hanover, to which Queen Victoria belongs,
have made some mistakes in governing.
‘divine right of kings” to rule the people in their own way, and they

They believed in the

thought that all the people should have to do with the government
was to be governed by it and say nothing. The professors and
students of Oxford have usually stood for the ‘‘divine right of
kings,” and have generally thought that nothing in the Church of
England could be improved, from an article of the creed to the
pattern of a Bishop’s gown.
that the old things were as good as they could be made, and the old
ways as good as could be found out, we should still be living in caves
with the cave bear, like our far-away ancestors of some thousands of
years ago; and the caves would have no electric lighting, or hot and
cold water connections, or steam heating, or anything that we in
these days think comfortable.

The spirit of Cambridge is somewhat different. The faculty
there have more often stood for the rights of the people against the
kings, and perhaps a little more often for the people’s privilege to
think for themselves in matters of religion.

Now if everybody had always believed

But there is no danger
that even Cambridge will turn the world upside down with new
notions.

In England the party which supported the king against the
people whenever there were differences between them, has for many
years been called the Tory party; while those who stood for the
claims of the people have been called the Whigs. At the present
day the Tories are usually called Conservatives, and the Whigs are
called Liberals. I have taken some time to explain the use of these

Dena {Dba bebe na bral cn ne SSMA Sh ra Dae ae Wy vay eA ee RPE ao SE
t pe i ee
fGRAND. OLD MAN.

gee

bag

ae ae a OPPY} 206 WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

terms because we come across them often in reading the later lite of
Gladstone.

The color worn by the members of Oxtord University is dark
blue, while the Cambridge color is light blue. Now if you were
watching a boat race on the Thames between the Oxford and Cam-
bridge crews, and it I were to tell you that everybody whom you
saw wearing the Oxford dark blue was a Tory in political matters, or
a Conservative, as we say now, and that they also belonged to the
Enelish church, while every one wearing the light blue was a Whig, or
Liberal, and believed that the state and the church ought to be
independent of each other, I should not be telling you the truth; and
it would be a very shameful business, for a great many Oxford people
are Liberals and a great many Cambridge people are Conservatives.
But it would be considerably truer than if I were to say just the
opposite.

Now this Conservative or pre-servative spirit as we might call it,
ai in Oxford as elsewhere, while it often acted to preserve the best
E My things, was sometimes concerned to preserve things not so good.
mi When William Gladstone was in college, slaves were still held in the
| British colonies. The Tory element, which we have seen prevailed
in Oxford, did not indeed believe that human slavery was right, but
it thought the time had not yet come for freeing the slaves, and there
was an old law still on the statute books which forbade either
et Catholics or Jews to sitin Parliament. The Whigs were trying to do
aii away with these unjust laws. The Tories upheld them. We scarcely
need to be told that Oxford stood by the old laws. As yet young
Gladstone showed no tendencies to disagree with his Oxford training.
ea He made speeches in college on all these questions and always on the
ea Conservative side. Says Justin McCarthy, one of his latest biog-

raphers, ‘‘His mind would appear to have been a sort of mirror of
the general mind of Oxford—a veneration for the past, a love of
tradition, a romantic sentiment of reverence for the ancient institu-
I tions of the country, and yet a mind open to see the inevitable
‘ tendencies of the future.”
sf Many years later, looking back upon his youthful attitude
towards these great questions, Mr. Gladstone said: ‘‘I trace in the
bo. | education of Oxford of my own time one great defect. Perhaps it

ae om
i a 5 a aaa Dean) nin Coeetatensa ap Deel rae eee
; aLITE GR.

AND OLD MAN. 207
was my fault; but I must admit that I did not learn, when at Oxford.
that which I have learned since, namely, to set a due value on the
imperishable principles of human_ liberty
assure you, gentlemen, that now I am in>
privileges, | have no fear of

I can only
front of extended popular
those enlargements of the constitution
that seem to be approaching. On the contrary, I hail them with
desire.”

He was destined before many years to throw all the weight of his
splendid intellect and all the force of his giant character into the
other side of the scale

He graduated with the highest honors in 1531 and went to Italy
expecting to spend some time in study and travel, but was called ace
in the course of a few months at the invitation of the Duke of New-
castle, to become a candidate for the House of Commons.

In England the election of members is managed quite differe ntly
from the way it is done in our Congressional elections. In the first
place, a candidate need not be elected by the district in which he
happens to live, but may be sent by any community that is entitled
toa member by law. Iam speaking of the lower House, or House

Commons. The upper House of Parliament is of course filled by
Lords and Bishops, whose office is either inherited or subject to
appointment by the queen or prime minister. And in the days of
which I am writing, the people of the borough, as a town entitled to
a representative was called, had in many places scarcely any claim
to elect the members themselves. Often all or nearly all the land in
a borough would be owned by one man or family, who generally
claimed the right to require his tenants to vote as he wished. This
ten left the election of a candidate practically in the hands of one
man. Such boroughs were called ae boroughs. Before 1832,
also, there had been ‘‘rotten boroughs,” as they were called, where
the population was so small that they were not rightfully entitled to
representation. An instance of this was Old Sarum, which had not
a house in its borders, but sent two representatives to Parliament
every year, while Birmingham, a large and industrious city, had no
representative at all.

The Reform Bill of 1832 did much to remedy these evils, and
consequently a great many Liberals were chosen for the Parliament

vac
vh

Riptateeee see Ss peeI a ET ar
Ul

208 WILLIAM BB GLADSTONE

of meee twas called the Reformed Parliament, and was the first

in which William Gladstone sat.

In the Duke of Newcastle’s borough he openly claimed the right
to control the votes of his tenants. ‘‘ Have I not a right to do what
I like with my own?” he asked. And it is an open secret that he
chose Gladstone for the position because he believed the young man
from Oxford was ‘‘against any and every reform.” His son had
been a college mate of Gladstone’s and had heard him make a speech
which gave that impression. It sounds very strange to us, who have
thought of him as the leader in all great reforms in England for
many years.

At the time of taking his seat in the first Parliament, Gladstone
was a handsome young man of twenty-four, with a fine physique, a
pale face, splendid eyes, and hair black as night; and he grew hand-
somer as the years went on. Says Mr. Justin McCarthy, who knew
him intimately for many years: ‘‘] do not believe I ever saw
a more magnificent human face than that of Mr. Gladstone after he
had grown old. Of course the eyes were always superb. Many a
stranger, looking at Gladstone for the first time, saw the eyes and
only the eyes, and could think for the moment of nothing else. Age
never dimmed the fire of those eyes.”

There were several names in that first Parliament that have
since become renowned names of history. Among these were Sir
Robert Peel, Lord Macaulay, now so famous in literature, Grote,
the historian of Greece, and, last but not least, the great Irish orator,
Daniel O'Connell, for whom Gladstone soon formed a strong and

lifelong attachment.

Gladstone was for many years a consistent follower of that Tory
policy which he had inherited from his beloved Oxford. His tather
owned property and held slaves in the West Indies. He made a
speech in which he defended his father’s course in regard to slavery.
He believed in emancipation, but thought it should be gradual and
that the slaves should be educated before being freed. He said:
‘Let fitness be made a condition for emancipation; and let us strive
to bring him to that fitness by the shortest possible course.” He
did not then see that the best and oftentimes the only preparation for
freedom is freedom itself.

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— f ae Sep PEEN ee AS Sees ey TNS! omTILE (GRAND OLD

BEPC
Ree oe

3
Ta

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eles
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era
od

nse
Sie,

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ene

aah!
eK RS;

Frame
a Cr

al eee cae tikSy

WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

Fortunately, there were those who saw farther; and this same
Parliament, largely through the efforts of the Methodist Preacher
Wilberforce, passed a bill for immediate emanc! ipation and appropri-
ated twenty million pounds to pay the slave owners for their property.
It seems a pity that Gladstone had not a nobler part in this.

On another of the great questions of the day he took at this time
the side that was opposed to liberty. This was the Irish church
The great majority of the Imsh people were Catholic,

question. ;
Yet the English Parliament maintained a Protestant

then as now.
church in that island and levied taxes to support it. This compelled
the Catholic majority to support a church which they hated. The
law was not changed until 1869, giving Mr. Gladstone time to change
his mind and vote on the side of religious freedom. He was never
ashamed or afraid to change sides when he found that he had been
in the wrong.

About the time he entered Parliament he began to study law.
This he continued for six years, and then gave up the desire to
practice at the bar. But his legal training was not lost. It helped
to clear his mind for those great political questions with which he
was to grapple for so many yeats.

In 1834 Gladstone was appointed Junior Lord of the Treasury,
and the next year he became Under-Secretary for the colonies. In
1838 he published his first book, ‘‘The State in its Relations with
the Church.” This made him many admirers and some enemies.

The same year he made a second visit to a W hile in Rome
he met Miss Catherine Glynne, who was spending the winter there
with her sister Mary and her mother, Lady Glynne, of Hawarden
Castle, Wales. The sisters were charming girls and were known as
‘the Handsome Miss Glynnes.” He had known them before in
Wales, and his friendship for Catherine now made rapid progress.
They became engaged, and were married the next year. Since that
time Hawarden Castle has been his home whenever his exacting
political life has allowed him to escape from London. The old
Hawarden Castle is now a picturesque ruin, covered with ivy. It
was used as a fort in the wars of the Saxons and Danes. Whe
present castle is a handsome structure built of gray stone. ‘‘ Every-
thing is old-fashioned, quiet and comfortable,” says a writer in a

ere re ae
; aaa ti) ze“> \Sigpamreease

RAE GRAND OLD: MAN:

HAWARDEN.

DN
<<

OLD

CEES7 ic

212 WILLIAM E, GLADSTONE

«Nothing could be simpler than Mrs. Gladstone's own

London paper.
living-room, bright and sunny, yellow- walled, flower-scented, with an
Bright bec

outlook from its ce windows upon the lawn. . . . o

of flowers, scarlet, blue, and gold, sparkle in the sun against lawns a
srass; and trees of all greens stand round, from the lightest of green
leaves to somber hollies. ”

He hada fine library of about fitteen thousand volumes. Huis
study he called the Temple of Peace, because it was always devoted
to quiet. He was a close student as long as he lived and read easily
in several languages. In the room next to the study were two pianos
and an organ. Mr. Gladstone was fond of music and played the
piano well.

Until a very few years ago, a favorite recreation with this strone-
limbed statesman was that of chopping down such trees in Hawarden
Park as were beginning to decay and needed removal.

He was now fast becoming prominent in public life. - He began
to fill high of fee under the government. During these years he was
slowly changing his views from Tory to Whig, or from Conservative
to Liberal. And he changed his actions just as fast as he changed
his mind. On one occasion he resigned a high place in the Cabinet
because he was not sure he agreed with the Prime Minister in regard
to a certain bill whose principles he had been in the habit of oppos-
ing. A few months later he voted and made speeches in favor of
the bill.

He developed a wonderful talent for finances. Addresses on

money-matters are usually considered dry, but Gladstone knew how
to make them so attractive that people would listen spell-bound to his
financial speeches, even when they lasted for hours. From this
time on his position as that of one of the great leaders of thought in
England was assured.
The famous ‘‘corn laws” laid heavy taxes on grains, and so
raised the price of bread-stuffs, causing great suffering among the
English poor. Gladstone had been a defender of these taxes, but
when he saw the evil they were producing, he turned squarely around
and threw his influence against them. They were done away with
largely through Gladstone's efforts.

He was always the friend of peace. He opposed the Crimean

OETTT, (GIRAND OLD VAN: 213

war, but unsuccessfully. He was sent as commissioner to the Ionian
Islands, whose inhabitants at that time wished to be united with
Greece. He was successful in bringing this union about. His
thorough knowledge of the Greek language, history and literature
made him well fitted for this mission. About this time he published
his ‘‘Studies on Homer and the Homeric Age,” and in 1861 a volume
of translations from the Greek.

During our Civil War, Mr. Gladstone sympathized with the
Southern people and predicted their success, but a few years later
he candidly admitted his mistake. ‘‘I must confess,” he said, ‘‘that
I was wrong; that I took too much upon myself in expressing such
an opinion, yet the motive was not bad. My sympathies were then
where they had long before been, where they are now,—with the
whole American people.” Perhaps there is not another example in
history of a man who learned so much by living as Gladstone.
His mind was always open to the truth, and he was always ready
to take the next step forward.

By the year 1865 he had become too liberal in his opinions
to please his University of Oxford. He was defeated in the elec-
tion, but was soon returned to Parliament from another borough.

In 1866 he introduced the Reform Bill, whose purpose was to
give the right of voting to thousands of the inhabitants of Great
Britain who were then deprived of that privilege. It was carried
in 1867.

In 1869 Mr. Gladstone was made Prime Minister, thus receiv-

ne the highest office in the gift of the English people. That office

Ng
he filled at four different times. He was once offered a baronetcy
by the queen, but this he refused. His fame is safer with the
people than any titles can make it. The name of Gladstone will
need no ornamental attachment to make it long remembered as
one of the noblest of the nineteenth century.

In 1870 he introduced the Irish Land Act into Parliament.
Nearly all the land in Ireland was owned by a few wealthy Eng-
lishmen and was occupied and tilled by poor Irish tenants who were
often turned out of their hovels to die by the roadside if unable to
pay the high rents which were required. The purpose ot this Land
Act of Mr. Gladstone’s was to lower the rent and improve the

eg a mercnrnrnans (ON Rie

Riiititieeicie tee ae are TT be Leeet

GLADSTONE INTRODUCING

Wore AUIS eS

THE HOME RULE BILL.TIT E (GRAND (OED VAAN: 215

condition of the tenants. It was opposed fiercely, but was finally
passed. In 1881 he brought in another Land Bill, which was
intended still further to extend the rights of the Irish tenants, and it,
too, was passed. It was in the debate on this bill that he used the
characteristic words: ‘‘It is said that we have failed in Ireland.
I do not admit failure. JI admit success to be incomplete.”

That spirit was one of the secrets of his marvelous success.
He never admitted failure. He believed so much in the right that
he could never doubt its final triumph. That faith gave him courage
to work when nie would have given up in despair. |
In 1886 he brought in hisnow famous Home Rule Bill for giving
Ireland a Parliament of its own and the right to govern itself. The
bill was voted down, but Mr. Gladstone never ceased so long as he

lived to work for the emanc Ipa ition of poor suffering Ireland.

We must remember that he began by opposing Irish fre¢ oe on

the ground that England knew better what was good for the Irish
than oe ey did themselves. He ended by asking from the : nelish

oY
— *

sovernment all that any reasonable Irishman could think of askin
He was always moving on.

In 1870 he favored the settlement of the Alabama claims by a
peace commission and the payment of a large sum of money by
Great Britain to this country to settle the difficulties without war.

le was accused by some of wanting ‘‘ peace at any price, and made
many enemies at the time. He could afford to make enemies in such
a cause, for he knew that time would set him right with the world.

Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone celebrated their golden wedding in 1889,
when Mr. Gladstone was eighty years of age. Their domestic lite
was a singularly happy one. They had eight children, four sons and
four daughters. Two of the sons have been members of Parliament,
and one of the daughters, Miss Helen Gladstone, is one of the vice-
principals of Newnham college, and is prominent in many movements
to secure O Bporuaites for the higher education of women.

Mr. Gladstone retired from Parliament in 1894 and gave the
remainder af his life mainly to literary pursuits. His sympathy for
the Armenians during the Turkish outrages of 1895 and 6 called forth
from his pen a vigorous and eloquent outburst, which proved that the
old fire still burned on. Until a few months before his death his

ea ec en ieee <1 aia
\ ‘ ns . | at ¥health was remarkably vigorous for one of his age.
useful and honorable life to a good old age by means otf his regular

WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

a ar
}

GLADSTONE AND GRANDCHILD.

\ tries and languages united in doing honor to the man
many years the stanch and wise friend of the oppressed of all nations.

RET UIE

He preserved his

}

and. temperate
habits, his v1io-

Orous exXercise,

tivity whic

morning of May
IO, 1898 He

was buried “in
Westminster
Abbey with
many of Ene-
land’s greatest
GeeaG. het
death brough
messages ol
sympathy from
many landsand
the newspapers
of many coun-

who was for so4 emerge 5 a

Se aed abl ee asNANSEN.
A BEAR WAS CROUCHING ON THE ROOF OF Our Hut, GNAWING AT THE WALRUS HIDE.

hihi a eee Sart tEaweas) werereas willis.
= 2a i ae Tri ah By whnnass Shee hata cee ee

S, -\\ BO ee ne 27 Spt ae

FRIDTJOF NANSEP

EXPLORER OF THE FARTHEST NORTH :

gs
1
|
Greet the unseen with
a cheer. |
e Browning, quoted by Nansen. 1
BE , |
ce Ff you find anything stirring in t
Hurope in the Middle Ag L
from 800 down,” said a keen laa
Ce ON a old German professor of his- |
NANSEN WATCHING THE AURORA : af a,
BOREALIS WHEN A CHILD. tory, ‘‘look out for a Norse- (4h

man.” The old sea-kings of la
Denmark, Norway and Sweden, down to 1000 A.D., were the pirates
f Europe. The fearless sailors of the North were the forerunners

217

es aT nn ar kd218 FRIDTJOF NANSEN

rts ees E me es 41 ~ += 4 r
of European commerce. [hey brought fut from the north, amber

from the shores and fish from the waters of the Baltic, and honey trom
Greece. They were the explorers of the Medieval Age. They
made settlements in Scotland and the Orkneys, in Ireland, France,
Iceland, Greenland, perhaps on the continent of America. They con-
quered England

ee eer ee ee f twice over, once
es through the Danes,

once under William
the Conqueror.

They overran Italy,
they went on pil-
erimage to Jerusa-

lem, they threat-

ened the Eastern

aoe: ie Empire. It is the
te . So | blood of the Norse-
i ee oe re ; man that has leav-

ened Europe with

courage and daring

JULAXC AlLlt Lal Li Ss
s

Fridtjot Nansen

has inherited the

spirit as well as the
blood of the “old
Norse kings. He
was born in Chris-
tiania, the capital
of Norway, in 1861.
His grandfather's

oerandtather’s erand-

ee eee eet e o JL16, :
father was Hans

Nansen, a comman-
FRIDTJOF NANSEN. der of ships for the

Iceland Company

for many years. Fridtjof’s father was an accomplished lawyer.
oh birth or honored ances-

His mother made no pretensions to hi
try, but had a strong will and a brilliant intellect. She had a

ae er eens
my Bh a oe) oe a a eo beaks cate et

5 SE “2 ee AST ~~
} z hes nc Rete Reem a ek eee yy) aEXPLORER OF THE TFARLAEST NO REEL 219
mind of her own and cared little for public opinion. She was an
accomplished snow-shoe runner, although that kind of recreation was
tabooed to ladies at that time as unfeminine and improper. She
was a thrifty and ‘‘managing” housewife, not afraid of disagree-
able tasks, and would often do the work which the servants thought
too hard for them. She worked in the garden and did all the fam-
ily sewing, including the tailoring for the boys until they were quite
srown up. Yet she found time for books and stored her mind with
useful knowleds

The Nansen home, where Fridtjof was born and bred, was in
the outskirts of Christiania, where the boy had all the advantages of
city and country combined,—fresh air and forests, familiarity with
the a life of the farmers, one of the best schools in Christiania
at a distance of two miles and a half, which, to a Nansen, was a mere

trifle the way of walking, and last, but not least, eee hills for

g
snow-shoeing.

Little Fridtjof and his brother early became accustomed to
manly exercise and many dangers. [hey narrowly escaped drownin
in the Frogner River, where they used to go switiming almost as
soon as the ice was gone. The brother’s fishhook once went astray,
and, instead of a fish, caught little Fridtjof in the lip. His mother
it out with a razor and nobody cried. When he was five years
he ran into the house one day with a face that could not be seen
for the blood that was streaming from it. He had run against his

berg, in his mother’s back yard. He shed no tears, but he
still wears the scar, his ‘first ice-medal,” but not his last. He
stuffed a cannon full of powder and looked into it to see why it
didn't go off. It went off, and his mother again became a surgeon
and picked the powder out of his face grain by erain with a
needle

His first snow-shoes were an old pair that had been worn by
his brothers and sisters. He says they were precious poor ones.
But a sympathetic friend promised to give him a pair. This was in
the spring, and poor Fridtjof had to wait an interminable time until
winter and had also to remind the friend several times—‘‘ What
But he got them at last. He took part

about those snow-shoes?

Bare aa et SMe aka a rai are ti etseee

: | 556 FRIDTJOF NANSEN

in the races and won a prize. But he saw some peasants snow-shoe-
Bi ing and found that he was not doing it according to the best
f methods. He would not take the prize home until he had mastered
the new way. The iron in his blood was already making itself felt.

It is not strange
that an imagina-
tive Norway boy

should have often
Y watehed thiart
| northern wonder,
3 the Aurora Bore-
=—41 alis, through the
v4 radiant splendor of
those Norway
nights, with feel-
ings of keenest, de-
ltoht; INor is at
Strange if his
youthful dreams
were thron ge d
with polar myste-
ries and-~ that he
early resolved to
Penethake —tlte
white silence of
those frozen seas

and bring back a
tale of the mar-
a NANSEN’S FIRST SNOW-SHOES. vels that lay be-
| yond.

He studied at the University of Christiania, but was too impatient
tor the stirring life that haunted his dreams to take time to finish the
course. He was scarcely twenty-one when he started on his first

| polar expedition. He was gone five months. His ship, the Viking,
ui was frozen fast in the ice on the east coast of Greenland for some
time, and while there he first conceived the idea of crossing Green-

hits

iEXPLORER OF THE FARTHEST NORTH.

land on snow-shoes. He killed fourteen polar bears during this trip

and five hundred seals.

On his
return to
Norway he

app nted cura-
I

which he had had in the arcti
seas, but it made no difference
uis zeal. He pursued the
der his microscope
as earnestly as he had chased the
polar bears in the frozen north. He wrote
to his father, ‘‘I have become an absolute
first-class stick-in-the-mud.” But he did his
best to offset his quiet occupation by becoming yyy png POLAR BEARS
a member of two athletic societies. IN GREENLAND.

In 1886 Nansen spent a few months in
Italy in the study of zoology. He returned home and wrote a trea-
tise on the nervous system, which was so good that it won him his

Doctor’s degree. While he was writing his thesis he was also deep

SS eo eee ere a sea222 FRIDTJOF NANSEN

in plans for his trip to Greenland. He said, “Tt will be a hard
but pooh! I shall manage it.” And he did manage it, as he

spring,
A generous man was

manages everything he pea
found to provide the expenses of the expedition and the party started
from Christiania on the second of May, 1888. They landed on the
east coast of Greenland about the middle of July

Doctor Nansen had given a great deal of ehouetit to the equip-

ment of the party. They took with them sledges, which they had to

draw themselves, for they
shoes, or sk, a tent and two woolen sleeping-bags, a spirit stove for
cooking, scientific instruments, tools, candles and darning needles

h- “74 Tae re el) NT aruszeoi: ~ —
, had no reindeer or dogs, Norwegian snow

They also carried a large stock of provisions.
I wish I had space to describe the hardships and adventures of

this toilsome journey; I can only say that they accomplished it suc-
cessfully and came out on the west coast in October. Here they

found that the last ship of the season had already sailed for Denmark
and they were compe led to spend the winter in Greenland. You
will find the whole story most charmingly told in Nansen’s own book,
‘«« The First Crossing of Greenland.”

After his return from the north, in 1889, Doctor Nansen was
appointed curator of the museum of Comparative Anatomy at
@hiistiania:

During the same year he was married to Eva Sars, the daughter
of a well-known naturalist. She is:the most accomplished lady ski-
runner in Norway, and was well known before her marriage as a con-
cert singer.

While Doctor Nansen had been exploring in Greenland and
dodging icebergs in the northern seas, he had also been thinking, and
thinking toa purpose. He had been working out a plan by which
he hoped to go a little farther north than any one had yet gone.
He knew that at a certain season of the year there were strong north-
westerly currents in the Arctic Ocean, and he believed that if a ship
could be built strong enough to withstand the pressure of the ice, it
would be carried by the drift straight across the polar sea. He would
‘“‘take a ticket with the ice,” he said.

This plan received its fair share of ridicule. Men of science
were very shy of favoring an enterprise so original and so bold.

See SE RET ey) 1) thn menea mae

EXPLORER OF THE FARTHEST NORTH. 223

Lieutenant Greely, who in 1884 had reached a point farther north
than any other explorer had yet done, was unsparing in his criticism.
In an article published in the /orum in 1891, after mentioning the
names of several men prominent in northern exploration, he says:
‘“T have no hesitation in asserting that no two of them believe in the
possibility of Nansen’s first proposition to build a vessel capable of
living and navigating in a heavy Arctic pack, into which it is pro-
posed to put his ship.”

George Wallace Melville, of the unfortunate Jeannette expedi-
tion, also expressed a similar opinion. Lieutenant Greely sketches a
vivid picture of the trials and horrors of the situation and the prob-
able sacrifice of life, and adds: ‘‘Arctic exploration is sufficiently
credited with rashness and danger in its legitimate and sanctioned
methods without bearing the burden of Doctor Nansen’s illogical
scheme of self-destruction.”

But criticism alone has never built a world, or even found one,
and probably never will. Nor can it always prevent others from
building and finding. Doctor Nansen paid no attention to the critics,
but kept right on working out his plans. He believed in himself
against the world until he brought the world around to his way of
thinking. In describing his own attitude of mind, he once told this
story at his own expense: ‘‘ There was a man in a madhouse in
London who used to say: ‘I said the world was crazy, but the world
said that I was crazy, so they put me here.’” But in the case of
Nansen and the world, in regard to his polar expedition, he has
certainly proved that he was not the crazy one. His ship, the
‘‘(Rram’—the name means ‘‘ Forward’—was built under his own
personal direction. . It was made of gnarled Italian oak which had
been seasoning for many years ina Norwegian dock. It was prob-
ably as strong asa ship could be made. The timbers of the frame
were a foot thick and placed only two inches apart, the space between
being filled with a waterproof composition. Pitch-pine planks lined
the walls. On the outside of the walls were three separate layers of
oak, each of them watertight. The bow and stern were .covered
with heavy iron plating.

It remained to be seen whether the ‘‘ Fram” would be crushed
in the ice ‘‘like an almond in the jaws of a nut-crack,” as Melville

ee.

Riikittanie eee te ee rT ee dal alacant224

eiegdp ibis ois cabelas au pee! wo bao

The Sheet OF

FRID TI OLE NANSEN

had predicted, or whether it should fulfill the destiny for which it was
designed by its heroic builder.

Doctor Nansen and his carefully chosen crew of twelve men
sailed away from Christiania in the ‘‘Fram™ on the 24th of June,
1893. They took with them stores of provisions to last six years in
case thev should be lost or frozen fast in the ice, and so delayed

me
+.

i s baeicnti Peet
oe pa ae SA
i sot eal

=e 4,
Ea
i
»

THE ‘*‘FRAM’’ SAILING FROM CHRISTIANIA.

beyond the three years for which the expedition was planned. They
also took plenty of warm clothing, several pairs of sz, canoes,
sledges and dogs to draw them. Great numbers of people watched
them tll they became a mere speck on the water and at length faded
quite out of sight. Many of the watchers had contributed money to
aid in the expenses of the voyage. ‘‘Not one of them, probably, ”

wrote Dr. Nansen, ‘‘knows what they are paying their money for.

a Sg < ETN ir CR ee
—— \ “ in eam k 3) ing ieee - ammeter ODE Te) Puree 3
——. f =EXPLORER OF THE FARTHEST NORTH. 225

Maybe they have heard it is a glorious enterprise; but why? to what
end? Are we not defrauding them?

But their eyes are riveted on
the ship, and perhaps there dawns before their minds a momentarv
vision of a new and inconceivable world, with aspiration after a so}

Ne=-
| Lit

ld,
thing of which they know naught. And here on board are men who
are leaving wife and child behind them. How sad has been the
separation—what longing, what yearning await them in the comin

Tears! ANG tt IS not for profit they do it. For honor ai

then ? [hese may be scant enough. It is the same thirst for

achievement, the same craving to get beyond the limit of the

unknown which inspired this people in the Saga times, that is stirring
them again to-day.”

Doctor Nansen left behind him his youne wife and a five-months
|

old babe, who would never remember her father’s face if he should be
lost in the ice-pack.

Mrs. Nansen, who, like her husband, is an accomplished ski-
runner, wished to accompany him on his hazardous journ But

. 1 7 1 1 1 1
the little daugntel could not OO, and could not sta DenINGa tf De

left both motherless and fatherless if the ‘‘Fram” should be lost.

But the ‘‘Fram was not to be lost. The ocean current

ts e
true to the compass, the ‘‘ Fram’s” stout timbers survived the ice-
berg’s ‘‘fleet of death” and drifted across the frozen sea exactly as
her commander had said she should. In alittle more than three
years she returned to the harbor of Christiania, bringing her brave

commander and his trusty Captain Sverdrup, with every man of the
crew safe and sound. The doctor had proved the truth of his theory
with regard to the currents, had demonstrated that a ship could be
built of sufficient strength for the trial, and had ‘‘beaten the record ”

IT)

y
~

of all previous explorers by go four degrees, or about two hundred
and eighty miles farther north than even his formidable critic,
Lieutenant Greely.

While the ship was drifting on its northerly way its trained

scientists were taking the most careful observations possible with their
instruments. They sounded the depths of the water and found it
much deeper than they had expected. They kept careful records of

: : ] ent Ses el eg
the temperature, the pressure of the air and other atmospheric cond1-

tions. The lowest temperature recorded was 93% degrees below

pine EO nent

eo ee rrr cea aa ca dasa
wa Vili

226 FRIDTJOF NANSEN

freezing. Seventy or eighty degrees below the freezing point they
considered mild and balmy for winter weather. They were not dis-
turbed by the heat even in summer, as it was rarely above freezing.
They studied the stars from this new field where man had never been
before. They brought up samples of the ocean bed and carried
away specimens of the vegetable and animal lite of those unknown
regions. They took note of the curious antics performed by the
magnetic needle in their compass. They made drawings of the
magnificent auroral displays which brightened their long nights.
And they made a windmill by means of which they furnished electric
lights for their library.

The leaders were wise enough to provide every possible means of
recreation for the men, and so keep them from homesickness. They
eround out dreadful music from the ship’s organ. They played
eames, and they celebrated every available festival day, such as the
Norwegian anniversaries and their own birthdays.

All this time the ship was frozen fast in the drifting ice. They
drifted to the northwest and back again. They crossed the 8oth

degree of latitude and zigzagged back across it again, — Buescher
course was generally to the northwest. In November, 1895, they
very nearly reached the latitude of 86 degrees. They were prac-

tically within four degrees of the pole when the current shifted. Had
the ship been allowed to keep on drifting, it is thought she would
have come out off the east coast of Greenland. When they had
drifted long enough, they loosened the ship from the ice by blasting,
and in twenty-eight days they had reached the open sea to the north-
west of Spitzbergen.

While the trusty ship with her brave crew were doing their
noble part in simply

‘‘ drifting, drifting, drifting,
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main,”’

Doctor Nansen and his friend, Lieutenant Johansen, were absent on
a sledge expedition across the ice. They left the ship on the 14th otf
March, 1895, and succeeded in reaching a point a little farther north
than the highest latitude reached by the ‘‘Fram.” Ihey were gone
fifteen months and crossed hundreds of milesof ice. They had three

3 = Bs =
aL Eee) where:EXPLORER OF THE FARTHEST NORTH. DeN
sledges drawn by twenty-eight dogs to carry their supplies as well
themselves, and two kayaks, or Eskimo canoes.

as
They took with
them food for three months, plenty of woolen clothing, two sleeping-
bags, a silk tent, two pairs of skz, their rifles and instruments for
measuring latitude and longitude, etc.

The ice was rough and often full of crevasses. It was hard

See rat. eemae eyo ee Seu, heme .
Pe Ce OE xs
Sate, i * : i :

‘FARTHEST NORTH,’’ 1&Q6.

traveling for dogs, but they went about a hundred and forty miles in
less than three weeks. They reached the latitude of 86° 14’ in
December, 1896. The ice jetties were harder and harder to cross
and the dogs were growing weak. Their food was nearly exhausted
and for a time they found no game. At length provisions were so
scarce that they were compelled to kill some of the dogs to teed
the others. Even the men were so nearly famished that they had

EES Rs RR a a oe NN ETTct arent A tah nac OE a

:
wi oit

228 FRIDT/JOF NANSEN
lood. This was the saddest trial of the expedition.

to drink the dogs’ b
The cold was terrible. It

It seemed like murdering one’s friends.
would have been tempting death to go farther.

southward and soon killed a bear and a walrus.
and they were not particular about the kind.

They turned to the
After that food was

plenty, such as it was,
They could eat anything, cooked or raw.

The two companions reached Franz Josef Land in August, 1395,
and there they spent another of those long nor
They killed plenty of bears and walruses and so did not
But it was the longest winter they had ever known.

thern nights which last

all winter.
lack for food.
They had little to do except read the Nautical Almanac and sleep in
their fur bags. In May it grew light enough for them to travel more
easily and they started southward. It was two hard-looking tramps that
reached the ‘‘Fram” after fifteen months of terrible hardship and
It was a glad day for sailors and wanderers alike. It was
The ship seemed like a palace to
hey thought the most

exposure.
almost like a reunion after death.
the two wanderers, and the plain ship fare t
delicious they had ever eaten.

Captain Sverdrup lost no time in steaming his good ship home
to Norway. But the ‘‘Fram ~ was built for strength rather than

speed, and it was not until August that they entered Christiania
harbor after an absence of more than three years.
Then’ Norway went wild. Lhe ‘‘Fram” sailed into the fjord

amid the roar of welcoming cannon. Thirteen volleys were fired in
honor of the thirteen members of the expedition. Doctor Nansen
ee Achore, and from a lofty’ platiorm) erected” tou Sele
occasion received an enthusiastic greeting from the mayor. ‘Then
the Doctor mounted the platform and accepted the welcome in
his hearty way, speaking modestly of himself and his achievement
and giving all the credit he could to the ‘‘ Fram” and his thirteen
loyal men.

Then a pretty sight appeared at one of the palace windows.
His five-months-old baby had during his absence grown into a three-
year-old little blue-eyed girl. She now appeared at the palace
window, waving her hand and smiling at the crowd. The queen had
arranged that she should first meet her father in the palace.

And then the glad people let him go home to his own house.

ooEXPLORER OF THE FARTHESE NORE 229

But of the happiness in that home and thirteen others that day,
no one need try to tell.

[he festivities were kept up for a week. A few davs later,
Doctor Nansen was seen by Herbert Ward, an American author who
wrote an account of the return of the ‘‘ Fram ”

for one of our maga-
ZINES.

The Doctor was standing on the shore and looking over into
the town. ‘‘I have been taking a good look at my house again,” he
said, smiling.’ ‘‘It’s now a long time since I saw it.”

Mr. Ward went to the house with him and heard the story of

the voyage from Doctor Nansen’s own lips. When he began to talk,

little Liv, as his baby daughter is called, was playing in one corner
of the room. But as he grew more earnest in his recital. she left her

}
corner and stood on one of his charts by his side, looking up into his
ialf expression as if she were wonder-
ing if this great stalwart, splendid fellow who called himself her father

Doctor Nansen has since written and published a full account of

this expedition in a book called ‘‘ Farthest North.”

In 1897 he made a tour of the United States, visiting and
ecturing in the pri | cities and receiving everywhere an enthusi-
astic welcome. In Chicago, Central Music Hall was crowded to
hear h

ln appearance he is a typical Norwegian, blue-eyed and fair-
hair d, ta] a 1d Imus ular, aS We imagine his ancestors, the old
Vikings, to have been

He speaks with the force and eloquence which simpleness and

directness give. His English is perfect except for a northern accent
and a burr of the ~ which gives added strength and charm to his

Of course we must not forget that Doctor Nansen has stood on
the shoulders of all the explorers and scientists who have gone before
him and has profited by their labors and reaped the harvest of their
toils. And now he has given of the wealth of his own hard-bought
experience to enrich the world.’ This is as it should be. This is
what we are all for, great and little, to make bridges of ourselves on
which the men and women of the future shall cross to higher and still

higher achievements. Perhaps some one who shall read these pages

TOT og SRT

a ee eee a mein dine i sdi is
h

2.30

FRIDTJOF NANSEN
may be stirred by the story of Doctor Nansen to press on and find
the Pole itself, or something better, more likely, for, missing the thing
i for, how often we find a better thing, just as Columbus,

we look
searching for a new route to India, found a continent and never

knew it.

But Doctor Nansen is still comparatively a young man and may
yet climb on his own shoulders to a success which shall dwart his
achievements already won. We shall hope to hear from him again.
He is still ‘‘breast forward” in the battle for science, and loves to
quote these inspiring lines of the poet Browning, which, whether he
knows it or not, so well express Doctor Nansen’s own purpose and

character:

«© One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.

‘No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time
Greet the unseen with a cheer !
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
‘¢ Strive and thrive!’ cry ‘ Speed, —fight on, fare ever

There as here!”’aon

CLAKA BARTON

THE ANGEL OF THE BATTIEERIEED

She lightened
the burden of
life to others.

+7
re -chot.

Geors
TC{ Liss

POND, Pia. a me ck
%

Let

tA BARTON is a slen-
ler little woman with soft
brown eyes, thin gray hair,
a larse but firm mouth,

and small, delicate hands which ac-

; company her rapid, earnest speech
with frequent gestures and add greatly
to the charm and liveliness of her
conversation. She is rather below
the medium height, but carries some-
thing queenly in her manner. Her
dress is always simple, her favorite
color being green. One of her sisters
is credited with once having said:

‘When Clara goes to town to buy a
brown dress, a brown dress I know she will get, for Clara always

does as shi SaAVS. But One Way Or another, that dress always

Y oie !
manages to turn green betore she can get home.

cas Ten)

TWPU ER eS rorya. [a ee ye

omen SSUES

———eSea hea ae cot ones eten a)

CLARA BARTON

232

Savs a writer who has known her well, ‘‘I believe I have never

yier face than that of Clara Barton.” Yet it is

looked upon a hap}
Perhaps that is the

certain she has never sought her own happiness.

|
———_

CLARA BARTON—‘‘ THE ANGEL OF THE SICK-ROOM.”’

13} =

; reason she has found it. Her whole long busy life has been employed
in making less unhappy the lives of miserable ones and in sharing
the burdens of those weaker than herself.

*
>

Ves.
Ln ear eR
LENE AT
7 i} LT ae
Sestneoent sree han eesTHE ANGEL OF THE BATTLE RIEED: 233

She was born in 1830 in North Oxford, Massachusetts, the
youngest of five children. She came of good old Puritan stock, her
ancestor, Marmaduke Barton, having come over to New England a
few years after the settlement of Plymouth. The name Barton
meant ‘‘ defender of the town.”

Her father’s name was Stephen Barton. He was a man of
strong character and great influence in his town and had been in his
youth a soldier under ‘‘ Mad Anthony” Wayne in the Indian wars
in the West.

As a child, Clara was full of spirits and bubbling over with girlish
fun and frolic. She seems to have liked boyish sports Andee a
fine horse-back rider. She can not re member that she ever had a
doll. She preferred cats and dogs for pets, especially if they were
sick or otherwise unfortunate. :

She did, however, have one kind of inanimate playmates—a set

of wooden soldiers, made for her by one o! her brothers. With these

she and her father would orten ho ) 1dian wars ot his

ct
~~
ct
——t
=
—

young days. None of the biographers whom I have consulted have
mentioned that the real purpose of these battles was to provide
wounded soldiers for nursing. But when I state that some of the
wooden men were put to bed after each engagement and rolled up in
bandages and fed on peppermint and gruel, I am certain no one will

1 .

be so discourteous as to ask for my authority. Surely, one should

have wit enough} to find out a few things without a book.
hool at the age of

; to the school-house on the shoulder of her brother

(
—<
“1

vegan to go to sc

The precocibus little maiden
three years, ridin
Stephen, the teacher ot the school. At nine years old she was sent
away from home to school. She lived for two years in the family of
her teacher, a man so kind and noble that she can not speak of him
to this day with dry eyes.

When she was eleven years old a great care fell upon her and
her studies 4#vere interrupted for some time. This was caused by a
most unhappy accident to one ol her brothers. He fell from the roof
of a building on which he was at work and was so badly hurt that he
was uttable to leave his bed fortwo years. During all that time, Clara
was his tender nurseand devoted companion. He wanted her always

by his side and she would give up the care of him to no one else.

aa eye

oe es ee ee a ld aaa a234 CLARA BARTON
I have called this event an unhappy accide nt, and so it certainly
e. But it is more than probable that the experience it

seemed to | 3
. of A becoming a nurse

brought to Clara Barton was one great caust
in later vears and saving the lives of so many soldiers in our Civil
War. Perhaps, after all, there are no unhappy accidents, or any
accidents at all if we understood.

The Bartons were poor, and it was not long before the helpful
youngest daughter went out into the world to help hghten the family
burdens and provide means to continue her education. At fifteen
she began teaching in the schools near her home and we are told that
the committeemen were always elad to secure her as a teacher.
After a little she studied for some time in Clinton, New York, and
then resumed her teacher’s tasks. When she was about twenty-
three she opened a free school for girls in Bordentown, New Jersey,
beginning with six pupils. She received very little encouragement at
first. The prominent men of the town laughed at her plans and
hopes. Several men had tried to carry on a school in the town and
had been driven out by unruly pupils. What could a young girl do?
Miss Barton soon proved what a girl could do. She taught her six
pupils just as faithfully as she would have taught a large school.
Other children began to be attracted. The school committee were
convinced of her abilit They followed her advice anal built a large
school-house, and before the year was gone she had organized a graded
school of six hundred interested pupils. Her success was complete.

Her work in Bordentown was very trying and she at length went
to Washineton to seek rest and visit relatives. There a friend
obtained for her a position as clerk in the Patent Office. She was
the first woman employed in the office, and the men resented her
presence and tried to make the place so disagreeable for her that she
would have to leave. The gentlemanly clerks stood up in rows along
the lone corridor through which she h: ad to pass, and amused them-
selves by staring and whistling as she went by. But Miss Barton did
not appear to see them. She walked past as calmly as if they were
decorations on the wall. They tried sane ways to push her out, but
the superintendent of the office dismissed some of the men and
appointed women in their places. She had scored another success

in the interest of right and justice.THE ANGEL OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 236

When Mr. Buchanan became President, Miss Barton was dis-
missed from her office for no reason except that she belonged to
the wrong political party, but she was soon needed to straighten
out some tangled records and was recalled by the same administration.

She was in Washington when the Civil War broke out. When
the Sixth Massachusetts regiment arrived after being fired upon in
Baltimore, bringing with them forty sick and wounded soldiers, Miss
Barton met them at the station and set about seeing what could be
done for them. It was Saturday night and they had no supplies.
She went to the markets and bought food, hiring five strong negroes
to carry the baskets of provisions to the starving men. She went
herself and saw it properly distributed, attending to the comfort of
the men in ways that no one else thought of.

Soon after this the soldiers began to arrive in large numbers and
the hospitals were filled to overflowing. Miss Barton resigned her
position in the Patent Office and gave her entire time to looking after
the soldiers, especially the sick ones. She had been having a good
salary and it was a great pleasure to her that she had a little money
of her own to spend on articles which were not otherwise provided.
When people began to send clothing, fruits, jellies and medicines for
the soldiers, many sent them directly to Miss Barton, feeling sure that
in her care they would be wisely and honestly used. She would often
have tons of such supplies on hand and had to engage warehouses
for their reception.

In 1861 she was called home to the deathbed of her father. She
told him how she was pained by the sufferings of the soldiers and how
she wanted to go with the army to the front where the fighting was
soing on and the misery was greatest. His reply was, ‘‘Go, if you
feel it your duty to go! I know what soldiers are, and [I know that
every true soldier will respect you and your errand.”

There seemed to be no place in war fora woman. But she went
to the Assistant Quartermaster General and he made a place for her,
issuing an order that she should be allowed to go where she pleased.
She ordered a wagon to be loaded with such comforts as the sick and
wounded would need, and followed General McClellan, reaching the
army the day before a battle. When the battle opened she had
her mules harnessed and followed the line of artillery with her wagon

Pen ne ae ne ee eee ik a 4 gemma ———"7 aN I~

236 CLARA BARTON

of supplies. She stopped in a cornfield where the vounded men
were brought. Shot and shell flew thick around them. She found a
few men and set them to work to help the wounded. She » seemed to
have in her wagon everything that every one else had forgotten.
When her bread was all gone she found that her medicines were
packed in meal and she made eruel of the meal. This was sent In
bucketfuls for miles along the lines. When night came on despair
came with it, for there were a thousand dying men on the field of
battle and the army supplies included no lights. But Miss Barton
had thought of candles and lanterns, and the work of aiding the suf-
fering went on through the night.

She was always at the front. At Frederic cksburg she slept in her
tent, like the others, though it was in the dead of winter. At one
time fifty soldiers were brought to her who had been wounded several
days and had had no care. They were nearly starved and their
clothes were frozen stiff. She ordered fires to be built, the snow to
be cleared off and the soldiers to be laid on blankets around the fire.
Then she ordered the men to pull down the chimney of an old house
and heat its bricks to lay around the men. She could make comfort
where there was nothing to make it of, for she had a head as well as
a heart.

An incident related by General Elwell of Cleveland, Ohio, I will
repeat in his own words. It occurred during the retreat of General
Pope after the second battle of Bull Run:

‘‘Miss Barton was about stepping on the last car conveying the
wounded from the field with the enemy’s cavalry in sight, and shot
and shell from their guns falling on our disordered ranks, when a

oldier told her that there was left behind in the pine bushes, where
he had fallen, a wounded young soldier; that he could not live, and
that he was calling for his mother.

‘She followed her guide to where the boy lay. It was erowing
dark and raining. She raised him up and quietly soothed him.
When he heard her voice he said in his delirium, ‘Oh! my mother
has come. Don’t leave me to die in these dark woods alone—do stay
with me—don’t leave me.’

“At that moment an officer cried out to her: ‘Come imme-
diately, or you will fall into the hands of the rebels—they are on us.’‘« Well, take this boy.

‘“«Then I will stay with this poor boy. W
stay.’

Both went. The boy was taken to a hospital
and his mother came before he died. It would b:

speak of her gratitude to Clara Barton.

sometimes on old scraps of paper, sometimes on

carefully hidden his copy away. He assisted Miss
tify the graves of all but about four hundred of
there, and she had sim] headboards placed at
She used her own mon for all this we rk. but
wards restored
sand dollars.

In 18609 Miss Barton went for rest to
But her rest was always to be found In action:

Society had already been tormed in Geneva, and

nations in the world except ours had joined it.

Fa nal aaa lal La SG

THE ANGEL OF THE BATPEPFLIELD:

no transportation for dying

237

quick.’

VVe both TO. Ol both

in. Washineton

USELESS TO EEV tO

nd where their

: her. She

nd established a

Contederate

n were buried

1)0Oner who had

them secretly,

rags, and had

Barton to iden-

. S( icdie 1S buried

all the graves.
Coneress after-

of fitteen thou-

in Switzerland.

The Red Cross

all the civilized\
> as

: ue fim

r ys hy es
}

Se aed eae Grex

238 CLARA BARTON
The basis of the society was a treaty among the nations of the
o protection of nurses, surgeons, and all persons
engaged in caring for the wounded in battle. The white flag with <
l the sign which should ensure protection. This
was the Swiss national flag with the colors reversed. The leaders of
the society urged Miss Barton to undertake the work of interesting
the United States in this treaty.
But the Franco-Prussian war was just beginning and the Red
Cross asked for Miss Barton’s help on the battlefields of Europe.
o the front to help the sick, the

earth providing for the

red cross was made

She forgot her illness and went t
starving and the wounded everywhere, on the
the other, for it is a principle of the Red Cross Society, as it has
alwavs been of Clara Barton’s, to aid the enemy s wounded as readily

one side as much as

as one’s OWN.

She went to Paris just as the siege was dver. On one occasion
a starving a5 had routed the police, when Miss Barton ap peared
and spoke to them in her calm, reasonable way. ‘‘ God!” they said,
“it is an angel.” And they too became calm and reasonable.

She became an intimate friend of the daughter of the old
Emperor Wilham, the Grand Duchess of Baden, an earnest worker
in the cause of the Red Cross. It must have been beautiful. to see
these two women together, the German princess gladly giving up the
luxury and leisure of her palatial home for the painful, toilful life in
the hospitals, and the gentle American, with her poor, tortured, pain-
racked body, forgetting her own suffering in the deeper miseries of
others.

After the war Miss Barton returned to America and after a long
series of disappointments succeeded in 1882 in establishing an
American branch of the Red Cross with an ‘‘ American amendment ”
which provides that the society shall act not only in time of war but
also in the case of great national calamities, like floods, fires, and
earthquakes. This amendment has since been adopted by several
European countries.

Miss Barton was made the first President and has fulfilled the
duties of the office ever since. It was not long before work was
found for the new society. Fires in Michigan and Wisconsin, floods
along the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, and the terrible CharlestonTHE ANGEL OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 239

earthquake, all caused untold suffering and all moved the
and the kind offices of the Society of the Red Cross.
During the winter of 1895-6, the sufferings of the

sympathy

Armenians
1 outrages became so great that the sympathies of the
civilized world were aroused. Funds were raised in America for the

under [Turkis

relief of the starving. Responsible persons were needed to administer
the supplies, and the Red Cross Society was invited to take the
responsibility, with its dangers and hardships. It was a hard sea
voyage in the dead of winter, and a dangerous and toilsome mission
for a frail woman of sixty-five. But Clara Barton’s name itself was
a charm. She could go where no one else could gain admission.

She responded, “‘I am a poor sailor, but I will go. There

o is
nothing else to do.” There was never but one way open for this
loyal woman, and that was the path of duty.

Again in the beginning of 1898, when we could no longer shut
our ears to the cry of our starving neighbors in Cuba, the nation called
tor Clara Barton. When President McKinley asked for contributions
to provide food, clothing and medicines for the sufferers, the response
was worthy of a generous people. Again, no one would be so safe as
Clara Barton, and no one else could be so trusted with the people's
silts. It was the old story, ‘‘ [here was no one else to go, so I went.”

She recently told the story of her work in Cuba to a reporter for
the Outlook, and it is to his article, published in the Ovzetlook for April
9, 1898, that lam indebted for most of my information on this subject.

She reached Havana in February. She was warmly received by

1er plans

General Blanco and the Spanish Chancellor, who approved
and gave her such assistance as they could—for, so contagious are
sympathy and generosity that if we were a nation of Clara Bartons
we could turn our warships into hospitals and orphan asylums, and
subdue the Spaniards with love—‘‘the greatest thing in the world.”
It is to our shame that we can not conquer by the gentle method.
But it would be still more to our shame if, in the cause of humanity,
we failed to use the poorer weapons of torpedoes and cannon if it 1s
indeed true that we are not yet great enough to use the highest.

Miss Barton afterwards visited the principal Cuban towns,
organizing a better hospital service and looking after the distribution

of several shiploads of supplies.

cs nen Cae

eee ei 1 aaa240 CLARA BARTON

In the town of Jaruca she found the people in a terrible con-
dition. It was crowded with veconcentrados, as the Cubans are called
who are driven from their farms into the towns by the Spaniards.
They can usually get nothing to do and have to depend upon the
towns-people for everything. The people of Jaruca had divided with
the new-comers over and over again. “Twelve thousand people had
died there within a few months—as many as usually live in the
town—and it was still full of the sick and dying. The mayor and
judge met Miss Barton and her friends with great cordiality and took
a wretched place. The house was fairly good,

them to the hospital
but it was so dirty that Miss Barton thought it was dangerous to
enter it. There were four sick men. She had them turned out into
the sunshine, and she sent for men to clean the building. Water
was so scarce that she had to buy it. She had the house thoroughly

scrubbed, the walls whitewashed and the grounds raked and sprinkled

with lime. She sent a physician and plenty of wholesome food, good
clean beds and blankets, cans of condensed milk, grains and rice.
The hospital was soon full of veconcentrados. Before this they would
not go there if they could help it, for it was a worse place to die in
than the ditches where they already were.

Everybody turned in and helped Miss Barton—the priest, the
doctors, the mayor, the people. Then she wanted an orphan asylum.
Within forty-eight hours she had one ready for use. It was soon
full. Forty starving little ones were brought in from the ditches,
where their mothers and fathers had died. Miss Barton had them
washed and dressed and put into clean beds, where they soon forgot
their troubles and slept as sweetly as happy children in comfortable
American homes. They learned to love Miss Barton, and all who
were old enough crowded around to kiss her hand when she came
away. She returned for the time being under the advice of Consul-
General Lee, but at this writing, May 1, she is at Key West on board
the Red Cross steamer Texas, ready to go wherever she is needed
most. And the rest of the story can not now be told, because it is yet
in the future.

Clara Barton’s only home is in Washington, our seat of govern-
ment, in the same building with the Red Cross Society. It 1s a plain
brick house, built in the time of our Revolutionary fathers, and rich inTE ANGEL OF GEG BA TEEEFIETEE

MOE
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WA

IN A CUBAN HOSPITAL.

A wea came. Cs
Be Rs een TC ee RCS OPN ce PLEASE AT 9 ITY242 CLARA BARTON |

historic memories. The walls of the entrance hall are lined with the
flags of many nations, all personal tributes to this wonderful woman.
In the entire house there is not a picturé or a decoration, from the
portrait of her loved friend, the Grand Duchess of Baden, to the
vase of wild rice gathered on Morris Island, but has a meaning anda
history. It is a house that tells the story of a life.

I have related but a few of the kind deeds of a noble woman.
In war and peace she has saved hundreds of lives and relieved thou-
sands from misery. She has touched thousands more, who have
never looked upon her face, with cheer and courage. She has been
a part, and in this country the greatest part, of that great interna-
tional movement which has already dotted with peace the battle-fields
of the world.

It is a movement which must grow and grow, because it is good
and right. And when the spots of peace which the Red Cross has
sown on the earth shall have spread over the world and become a uni-
versal peace, then the name of Clara Barton will be even more hon-
ored than it is to-day.ROE, ee Taal a
Bi es Ree

ena
x siiaieniiadaa - Phe --.-+--- emetic ak alt at | £8 as izeMOODY’S FIRST SUNDAY SCHOOL CLASS (in 1856).—H WALKED IN AT
THE HEAD OF 18 RAGGED CHILDREN.

Ce eae ae ~
; Ss ; rrr 8
ee eb aeDWIGHT L. MOODY

hie EV ANGELS

The common people

ORTHFIELD is a beautiful spot on the Connecticut river,
near the northern boundary line of Massachusetts. On
one of the principal streets, embowered in trees,
stands a spactous white framed house, with broad
verandas, the home of Dwight L. Moody. JLo be sure, he spends

John Wesley said of

Sj mpathi s to the end of the earth. But his cheery, hospitable wife

more time away from it than in it, for ‘‘the world is his parish,” as

imself, and his feet are constantly following his

is generally there to greet triend or stranger though no one is a

stranger long—and Mr. Moody returns to it often to find ‘‘i’ the light
o’ home” strength and courage to meet the duties of his world-wide
parish.

r been born at

Mr. Moody is now sixty-one years old, having

Northfield in 1837. Hus father, a farmer and stone-mason, died when
Dwight was four years old. lhe mother was left with seven sons

and two dauchters, the eldest being a boy of fifteen years. Debts
swallowed up the property that was left, leaving little but the home.
The mother cultivated the garden with the help of the children, did
all the odd bits of work that fell in her way, besides going out of her
way for others, and managed to keep the children together until they

were old enough to look out for themselves. This would make us
think that Dwight L. Moody is like his mother, though she tells us
that the father was a hard worker, too.

Soon after the father’s death another trouble came to the lonely
mother. Her eldest boy fell into the bad habit of reading a poor
243

ee eee oo TES re i teas
i

Nat So bee—

IDG CAELIE Ths WKOXOV DS.

244

He had a strong imagination, and these

a class of exciting novels.
aaa) 5 e . . s f f - z <7 ry At >
£ books cheated him into thinking that 1t was foolish to stay at home
so out into the world

and drudge for a living when one might as well gc

and make his fortune out of his good luck.

DWIGHT LL. MOODY.

| «<I can remember,” says Mr. Moody, ‘‘how eagerly she used to
He look for tidings of that boy; how she used to send us to the post-
| office to see if there was a letter from him, and recollect how we used
to come back with the sad news, ‘No letter!’ I remember how in
the evenings we used to sit beside her in that New England home,

and we would talk about our father; but the moment the name of

aceite
tA DY) | eae 2 g —
EYER ELE Se UNS Bal) A ebbe hn esal

_TELE FEV G Pale Se 245

that boy was mentioned she would hush us into silence.

Some
nights, wl

1en the wind was very high, and the house, which was upon
a hill, would tremble at every gust, the voice of my mother was raised
in prayer for that wanderer, who had treated her so unkindly. JI
used to think she loved him better than all of us put together, and I
believe she did.

‘(On a Thanksgiving day she used to set a chair for him,
thinking he would return home. Her family grew up, and her boys
left home. When I got so that I could write, I sent letters all over
the country, but could find no trace of him. One day, while in
Boston, the news reached me that he had returned. . . . One
day, while my mother was sitting at the door, a stranger was seen
coming toward the house. As he came to the door he stopped.
My mother didn’t know her boy. He stood there with folded arms
and great beard flowing down his breast, the tears trickling down his
face. When my mother saw those tears she cried, ‘Oh! it’s my

lost son!’ and entreated him to come in. But he stood still. ‘No,
mother,’ he said, ‘I will not come in until I hear that vou have for-
given me.’ She rushed to the threshold, threw her arms around him,

and breathed forgiveness. ’

[It is said that Dwight liked fun better than study and failed to

make the best use of his earliest years in school. He had a teacher
who used the rod freely, and Dwight received his full share of the
blows. He was a big-hearted, generous boy, easily moved by kind-
ness, but one who could not be controlled by force. But at last. a
woman came, who threw away the rod and tried to rule by love.
Then the boys thought they were going to have a whole winter full
of fun. But somehow the fun died out, and before they knew what
had happened, they were a busy, happy set of workers.

Dwight soon learned that farming was not to his taste. When
he was seventeen he persuaded his mother to let him go to Boston to
learn what the great world was like, and to try to make himself a
place in it. For some tim

success for employment. We will let him describe this home-sick

he walked the streets, looking without
time in his own words: ‘‘I went to the post-office two or three times

a dav.” he savs. ‘‘to see if there was a letter for me. I knew there

i.
was not, as there was but one maila day. I had not any employ-

are a aes ee TY at did cl fangs ao nite Creeee

246 DWIGHT L. MOODY

, and so went constantly to the post-

ment and was very homesick
did come in my letter had

office, thinking perhaps when the mail
At last, however, I got a letter. It was from my

he first letter she ever wrote me. 1 opened it with
a light heart, thinking there was some good news from home, but the
burden of the whole letter was that she had heard there were pick-
and warned me to take care of them. I thought
hand first, and then I might take care

been mislaid.
youngest sister, —t

pockets in Boston,

| had better get some money 1n
of pickpockets. ”

The lad was independent and proud, and w

but he was obliged to seek work

The uncle hesitated for some

pled with the condition that he

anted to make his

way without the help of relatives,
from an uncle who kept a shoe store.
time but at last gave him work, cou
ld attend the Mount Vernon church and Sunday-school. He
beyond him, but his Sunday-school teacher, Mr.
ho took a deep interest in his class of boys.

shou
found the preaching
Kimball, was a man w
He seems to have had a powertul influence for good over young
Moody and to have been at least one great means of starting him on
his noble career of helpfulness.

His Christianity from the very first seems to have been a religion
of deed and not of creed. He was eager to begin to work for
humanity, most of all for young men, like himself.

But he found himself hindered and delayed by his lack of
education. He applied for membership in the church, but the church
thought it best to make haste slowly in regard to so unpromising a
candidate, whom they thought ‘‘ unlikely ever to become a Christian of
gospel truth; still less to fill any extended

clear and decided views of |
sphere of public usefulness.”

This seems very unjust in the light of his later life, and perhaps
++ was so. It shows the danger of trying to pass judgment on
unfinished men scarcely out of their teens. But there 1s no doubt
that the mortification and anxiety of this delay gave the young man
some sober thoughts which helped to make him the strong, sound
man he is to-day. For there is a great and gracious law at work in
the world by which the foolishness of parents and teachers, story-
writers and preachers, in dealing with youth, is often turned to good
in the crucible of the youthful heart. :TATE TSVAN GIGS. 247

And if the pain of Dwight Moody’s own loss and lack was
changed to the sympathy and helpfulness which in later years laid the
foundations of the Northfield Seminary and the school at Mount
[lermon, that the sons and daughters of farmers might have the
education he could not have, then it was onlv one mors
sweet coming out of bitter and good out of evil.

» instance of

He remained about two years in Boston, and then, at tl

1e age of
nineteen, made his w: iy to Chicago, where |]

1e found familiar employ-
ment in a shoe store.

He soon joined Plymouth church, where he rented four pews for
such young men as he hoped to induce to ea But when he
wanted to speak in the church prayer-meetings and elsewhere, he was

warned that keeping still would be a more powertul weapon in his

hands than speaking. Did ever a well-meaning young man of nine-
teen receive more discouragement than that? But Dwieht L. Moody

was Not to be discoura: ed.

He next sought out a mission school and off

‘red himself as a

teacher. Here again he was not received with sordiality at first.

eee

He was told that he might come if he would bring his own scholars.
He brought them the next Sunday, eighteen of them, ragged and
dirty as street Arabs know how to be.

After a while he opened a Sunday-school in the most wretched
part of the city he could find,—in the very heart of a district of
saloons. His Sunda eaeun room itself was an old saloon. Tomake
up this school he sought out the shabbiest and the most degraded.
One who eee well a visit to this school says he found Mr.

Moody with a colored child in his lap, reading the ‘‘ Prodigal Son’

to his flock of prodigal sons.

He soon gathered a thousand pupils. He taught them not only
the theory but the practice of religion. He got the boys to wash
themselves, at least on Sunday mornings, and tried to set them to
work that they might learn to get an honest living. He visited them
often in their homes and won their love by his genuine interest in
their welfare.

At the age of twenty-three Mr. Moody decided to give up his
business and devote himself wholly to the teaching of religion and

morals. When asked what he would live upon, he answered, ‘‘ God

TU ore eeyernc: a ae oo a ie ee :
“ » {248 DVLG HUA. MOODX
will provide for me if he wishes me to keep on, and I shall keep on
till I am obliged to stop.” That was always his way—no half-way

work for him.
He became a city
with the army in the service of the Christian Commission. He was
sharing

missionary, but the war broke out and he went

not made a chaplain, but he dida chaplain’s work and more,
privations, relieving suffering, cheering the cheerless, inspiring the
hopeless.

Mr. Moody was married in 1862 to Miss Emma Revell, a young
lady who was well qualified to assist him in his mission work. She
was willing to live simply that the work might goon. Their home
was noted then as now for its hospitality. And if there was one
class that received more of it than another, it was those who needed
it most.

In a few years he had a church which cost twenty thousand
dollars, but it was burned with his home in the great fire.

In 1873 he went to England, taking with him the singer, Ira
D. Sankey. At first they received little attention. At their first
meeting they had a congregation of four persons, but Mr. Moody
said it was one of the best meetings they ever had. They went
through Scotland and Ireland, and the number of their hearers
increased to hundreds and thousands. At Glasgow, in Scotland,
nearly thirty thousand persons came to hear them. They preached
and sane in London for four months to immense congregations.
Mr. Moody made a second visit to London a few years ago and was
received as warmly as before.

His great successes both in Great Britain and America had made
it plain that his work was to be that of a traveling evangelist and that
he could have no ‘‘abiding city” on the earth. It became, then, all
the more necessary to have a permanent home for his family and a
place of rest for himself in the brief intervals between labors. It
was fitting and natural that he should choose to have that home
in Northfield, his native town.

The farmers of the neighborhood were generally poor and could
not afford to send their children away to school. Mr. Moody began
to think it was a great pity that so many boys and girls must grow

up without an education, He was sorry on their own account andLITE EVANGELIST. 249

he realized, too, how much more useful an education would make
them to the world. Now when anything is going wrong, it is not
Mr. Moody’s way to sit down and say, ‘‘ Too bad,” and think it will
always have to be so. ‘‘ What can be done about it ?” is his ques-
tion, and he sets out to find the answer. It was so in this case.
He began to plan for a small school. There was an old hotel in the
middle of the village,and he thought, ‘If I could only buy that
building and turn it into a school, that is just about what I should
like.” But the hotel was not for sale, and he had to try another
plan. He began by adding rooms for eat cirls to his own house.
He hired a teacher and opened the school. He made board and
tuition so cheap that very poor girls could afford to attend. So

many applied for admission that he was obliged to build a small

class room and dormitory across the street. The school still grew and
orew, and the buildings had to grow with it.

He found friends who were elad to give One) towards so good
a cause. Jhen he had been publishing the Gospel Hymns himself
because no publisher would do it for him. Th yi now ie n to bring
hima great deal of money, and this he used for the school. He
bought more land and put up more buildings; and the Northfield
Seminary, as it is called, now gives instruction to three hundred
young Ved The girls are taught cooking and all the departments
of common aes keeping, with plain sewing and dressmaking, besides
Greek and Latin and all the other studies of an ordinary High School,
and those who wish it are prepared for college. Of course it goes

without saying that the moral and religious welfare of the girls
carefully looked after.

But Mr. Moody thinks the girls ought not to have all the good
things, and he has since established a similar school for boys four
miles away across the Connecticut river. This school now has over
four hundred students.

No one can even guess at the good that is done by these institu-
tions in taking ignorant boys and girls and fitting them for the duties
of life. If Mr. Moody had done nothing but this, he would have

le for all time, for every student becomes a

earned great gratituc
candle to shed a little more leht in dark places. It is a work that

spreads and spreads, like the waves of the sea.

Cn ements ae aL ald aa EINE. RETEST TE250 DWIGHT L. MOODY

THE MOTHER OF DWIGHT L. MOODY,

5 neTHLE, TE VZALN GISELS Te 251

Mr. Moody has also established two other institutions of learn-
ing, the Northfield Training School for Women and the Bible Insti-
tute in Chicago for the purpose of training busy men and women for
missionary work among those whom the churches do not reach. Thus
he is continually ‘‘ multiplying himself” and his usefulness by prepar-
ing others to do such work as he is now doing. ‘‘ Better set ten men
to work than do the work of ten men,” is a principle upon which he
always acts, and perhaps a recent writer in the Ouztlook did not go
too far in saying, ‘‘ No other living man has done so much to set so
many people to work and develop their talents and powers.”

Mr. Moody is on good terms with all his neighbors, of whatever
creed or doctrine. Northfield has both a Unitarian and a Catholic
church, and he is friendly with both. When his Catholic brothers built
a church he presented them with a bell, and some time after, they
returned the favor by a gift of building-stone. He has enough of the
spirit of brotherhood to realize that all are working in different ways
for a common cause.

He carries a message for everybody, which can be understood
by everybody. This is appreciated by those who differ from him
most in creed. I cannot show this better than by repeating a quota-
tion used by the writer in the Oztlook referred to above, from the
Rev. W. C. Gannett, a radical Unitarian, now of Rochester, New
York. Mr. Gannett wrote in 1877: ‘‘Every man who goes to the
Tabernacle carries a conscience, and knows what Moody means when
he says straightforwardly, ‘You are a sinner; you need cure, you feel
mighty little power to cure yourself; there’s a power that can cure
you; lay hold of it—_here it is—and be well.’ He knows what he 1s
talking about, and you know, too, be the doctrine what it may. Iwo
or three great moral facts of religion, phrased in the Christian sym-
bols, are there. The fact of sin, the need of a changed heart, of a
new birth, the sure moral judgment, the possibility of forgiveness,
the strength that comes to the penitent—this you and I know all
about, though our symbols for it are different.”

Bic ese ac doa < e Se ee ee A
iae
a

WANAMAKER RECEIVING HIS FIRST CHECK

AS POSTMASTER-GENERAL,JOHN WANAMA

THE SUCCESSFUL MAN OF BUSINESS

4¥ hi D1

Thinking, trying, toiling and trusting is all of my biography.

—Wanamaker.

lest of seven children. His

father was in poor circumstances and could ceive him few

¢ ] 1 ono TNX ] ae xt : { c
AdVanNtages ex ¢ pt plenty Of Opportunity tfo1 selt-]

OHN WANAMAKER was the eld

help and

S¢ lf-re 1lanNnC¢ LH attended the public schools of Philadelphia

he was fourteen years old Hor the public school system of
America, unlike that of any other country on the olobe, gives its
privileges to rich and poor alike. I wonder how many youne people

think how much that means when they are tired of school and ish
vacation would hurry and come. There are very few of our noted
men or women who have not owed the foundation of their education
to the American system of free schools.

John Wanamaker was born in Philad lphia, july 11, 1437

father was descended from German anc
their native land by I liclous persecu

C
John Wanamaker inherited good health, good habits and thrifty

[rom a long line of ancestors. And in

the last of the three gifts at least, he improved on his inheritance, as

it is the business of every boy and girl who comes into the world to

do in some respects. His attendance at school was not very regular,
|

for he was often needed to assist his mother in household duties and

in the care of his younger brothers and sisters, and he sometimes
worked in his father’s brickyard, where he could earn two cents in the
morning before going to school by turning five hundred bricks.

When he was fourteen years old, he left school and engaged to

o
work as errand boy in a store on Market street, at a salary of a dollar

ATP Bae RE 4 eee te
ae ee ela a a Se a bac Lad ef os ei

{254 JOHN WANAMAKER
He is remembered by a number of people who
knew him at this time. There seems to have been nothing remark-
able about him except that he was faithful in his work and always
pleasant and obliging. He was always one of the first at the store
the last at night. He looked after his
ter his own and was never afraid of
. longer than he was paid for.
confidence of his employers

and a half a week.

in the morning and among
employers interest as he would at

making too long a day or working a littl
Verv naturally such a boy sained the

and was promoted as fast as there were places above him to be filled.

From messenger boy he rose rapidly, first to the position of stock
boy, then of entry clerk, and at len,
He was so agreeable and obliging

oth became salesman in the

largest clothing house in the city.
as a salesman that customers wou
object to being waited upon by any one else.

2ut he found time for other interests than those of his business.
ber of the Young Men’s Christian Association

Id frequently inquire for him and

He was an active mem
of Philadelphia, and in 1957 h
vith a salary of a thousand dollars a year.
and filled it to the satisfaction of most of the

e was made its first paid secretary,
He held this position for

several years
members.

During the years of his secretaryship |
dollars. With this as capital he entered into a business partnership
with his brother-in-law and started a clothing store. This was in
1861, the very day that Fort Sumter was fired upon.

His first business move was a daring one. He selected the very
lesman he could find in Philadelphia and engaged to pay hima
one-third as much as the entire capital of the

1e saved two thousand

best sa
salary of $1,350 a year,
frm. It seemed a great piece of extravagance in view of the other
expenses to be met. But it soon justified itself, for the new salesman
was known in New York and his association with the firm brought it
honor and credit. It is said that Mr. Wanamaker himself delivered
the first goods sold by the firm in a wheelbarrow and spent the money
on his way back in an advertisement in the /zguzrer. He believed
in himself and was not afraid to venture. His habits were always
good. He never uses liquor or tobacco in any form, and never
attends a horse race. His employés remarked that he used often to

be seen gathering up pieces of string and tying them together to beTHE SUCCESSFUL MAN OF BUSINESS 255

used for tying parcels. He also saved the newspapers to be used for
wrapping paper. Such economies would be quite beneath the dignity
of many an elegant young man who thought himself rich enough to
spend all of his salary as fast as he earned it, but the man who was
going to be a millionaire was not ashamed of small economies. He
always took a deep interest in his employés, and more than one poor
young man has had Mr. Wanamaker to thank for the kind word or
act that gave him added courage for the struggle of life.

Mr. Wanamaker was very original in his ways of advertising and
anticipated many of the more modern methods. He put up enormous
sions, sometimes a hundred feet long, on fences built for the purpose,
and he sent immense balloons out into the country with the name
‘«“Wanamaker and Brown” painted on them in large letters. All this
was ingenious and daring and showed remarkable talent and enterprise
in so young a man.

As every one knows, there are enormous amounts of money
spent every year in advertising, ae doubtless, to pay off the
national debt in a few years and build comfortable homes for all the
orphans in the country. It seems to be necessary to one who would
hold his own in trade, as things are now, but it is an enormous waste
and it may be hoped that the next century will find some more
economical system of bringing together the buyer and the goods he
needs, a system which will not eat up so large a portion of the profits
and waste so much labor and money. If, for example, a man who
makes hammers were to spend more time and money in finding out
how to make the very best hammer that could be made, and less in
spreading the news about it, then that part of the world that wanted
hammers would after a while hear of this excellent hammer-maker
—for everybody likes to speak of persons and things that have served
him well—and would soon build a railroad to his door and buy his
hammers by the carload. But that time is not yet come, and we
must possess our souls in patience, and in the meantime buy our
hammers of the most ingenious advertiser.

But Mr. Wanamaker not only made innovations in ways of adver-
tising, but in several instances he set a new example of honesty for
business men. The new ways were found to work well, and some of
them have become the rule among the best business houses in this

re - ;
Ee ee a rey fenie ia ar ay. aan eeat ( ies

256 JOHN WANAMAKER

country. It was customary in those days to mark the prices of goods
in such a wav that the customer could not read the mark, and the
salesman was expected to get the highest price he could, studying his
customer and gauging the price asked by the apparent possibilities of
the case. Mr. Wanamaker instituted the plan of ‘but one price
and that plainly marked.” Business men thought he was crazy, and
said his business would go to pieces, but now everybody admits that
the ‘‘one price” plan is not only mght but practical, as all right
ways will be proved to be sometime, when the world is old enough to
be wiser.

When he entered his new store in 1877, he went still further in
announcing new principles. At that time, most merchants considered
that ‘‘a sale was a sale,” and they would not often allow goods to be
returned. If a customer had made a foolish or unsatisfactory pur-
chase, he had only himself to blame and must take the consequences.

3ut Mr. Wanamaker announced the principle that ‘‘those who
bought goods of him were to be satisfied with what they bought, or
have their money back.” This worked well too, for people were more
willing to buy of a house that would give them fair treatment. Most
of the business men in Philadelphia declared that a merchant could
not keep business going on such terms. But Wanamaker and Com-
pany proved that they could, and at the same time could make more
money than any of their competitors. Again, Mr. Wanamaker
required his employés to make visitors welcome whether they came
to buy or only to look, or even only to meet their friends. This was
smiled at for a while and called the ‘‘ Wanamaker way,’ but now it
has become everybody’s way, at least among the better class of trades-
people. And like all courteous ways, it has been found to be the
successful way. Mr. Wanamaker often made sales to country. people
when his salesmen failed, because he was not too proud to treat them

in a friendly way. He put them at their ease and made them com-
fortable and they were generally glad to come again.

And still with all his rapidly increasing business he found time
for Sunday-school work and the affairs of the Young Men’s Christian
Association. He established a Sunday-school in one of the poorer
parts of the city and built it up until it had about three thousand
pupils and was one of the largest Sunday-schools in the world.LTE SUCECESSEGE MAN OF BUSINESS 257

In 1875 he bought the immense building which had been known
as the Pennsylvania railroad freight depot at Thirteenth and Market
streets, Philadelphia, and made it over into a tabernacle for the
use of Mr. Moody during the winter of 1875 and 6. It was large
enough to hold twenty thousand people and was often crowded. The

next year he had it remodeled into a bazaar for the sale of men’s and
boys’ clothing.

Mr. Wanamaker, like Mr. Edison, has a remarkable power of
working for a long time without sleep, though, unlike Edison, he
usually makes it up by a long rest afterwards. He preserves his
streneth by his calmness, wasting little in worry or excitement. This
may have been in some degree a natural power with him, but lke all
kinds of mental power, it can be cultivated. The mind can be con-
trolled, like steam and electricity, and, like those forces, it is only
safe and serviceable when it is harnessed. It is said that Mr. Wan-
amaker has a remarkable power of concentrating the mind upon
one thing at a time, so that his many and various business cares and
responsibilities seldom interfere with one another. When he is
engaged upon one question it is as if he had not another problem in
the world.

Mr. Wanamaker has always been active in philanthropic and
other public movements, as a man of his wealth and position should

be. He gave effective Serv1ce 1

1 collecting for the starving in the terri-
ble Irish famine. He has been at different times chairman of a
number of committees for the relief of towns which had suffered from
fire. He helda high position on the finance committee of the Centen-
nial Exposition at Philadelphia in 1876. And in 1886 he was prom-
inent in a movement to secure a better water supply for his
native city.

During the last few years he has been more or less prominent in
politics. In 1882 he was urged to accept the Republican nomination
for Coneress, but he declined it and four years later he refused the
nomination for Mayor of Philadelphia on the independent ticket. He
took a prominent part in the presidential campaign of 1888 and was
rewarded for his services by the office of Postmaster-General, given
him by President Harrison. He was active and alert in fulfilling the
duties of that office and instituted several reforms in its management.

en en norte ep NT. = Se: enna ii. aamuaumanaaiaas OE POE258 JOHN WANAMAKER

nts he provided a more rapid transmission of

Among other improveme
he railroad companies to

the mails in some regions by spurring up t
He established a system by which foreign mail is dis-
and is ready for instant forwarding upon arrival
hat ‘‘one-cent letter postage, three-cent tel-
legraph messages ” were possibilities

higher speed.
tributed on shipboard
import. Ee predicted t
ephone messages, and ten-cent te
of the near future. He favored the establishment of a postal tele-
eraph service, and he did much to clear the mails of printed matter
pertaining to lotteries as well as other injurious and immoral publica-
tions. He was ridiculed in some quarters for this work and called
the ‘‘Sunday-school Postmaster-General.” If this is what Sunday-
school service would do for the country, it is a pity we have not more
of it engaged in the service of the Government.

When Mr. Wanamaker received his first month’s salary as Post-
Pere General, he said, “ Lhis is the first salary I have earned in
twenty-five years. I do not know what I shall do with it.” To
appreciate this remark one needs to know the fact that it is very easy
for the Postmaster-General to use the salary of his office many times
over-in sustaining the office and meeting the many appeals which
reach it, and that Mr. Wanamaker actually spent more than his
salary for the entire time in keeping up its expenses.

Mr. Wanamaker has béen charged with dishonesty in relation to
certain public affairs, and the charges seem not to have been satis-
factorily answered. But such charges are frequent in the case of
public men, and it 1s very difficult to determine their truth or falsity.
If we knew they were true, the wrong would not destroy the actual
eood in the man, but it would be very disappointing and would lessen
our satisfaction in studying his career. But it is always best to believe
just as little of the evil as we can of everybody and just as much of
the good as possible. And there is certainly enough of good to believe
about John Wanamaker to keep our thoughts busy for some time.

Mr. Wanamaker was once asked where he got his education and
his reply was characteristic: ‘‘I picked it up as I went,” he said, ‘“as
the tenders on the railroad take up the water from their track tanks.”
And when asked for material for a biography, he wrote in response
the sentence I have coupled with his name at the beginning of this
sketch: ‘‘ Thinking, trying, toiling and trusting is all of my biography. ‘v nee iad

itt _ Tie ee Le a Pees Sa
Beso eee ana “ aiseRh

y:
wie
:
:

Sa)

PeQTTRUNTD
‘

We
Raters
s

LEE HASTENED TO HIS WAITING MOTHER AT CLOSE _OF FIVE YEARS AT WEsT PoInrt.adds,
ban

ROBERT LEE
HORSE,

‘built in

of the

Cao celia k ae eeeeiaailel.

ThE HEROTOE

Like mist before the
The hostile coh
Our

Are brothers at

TRAVELLER.

the

Potomac Upon th

frowning foemel!

ROBERT ET. (ile

SOUTH

erowing light,

rts melt ay

Virginia

County,

as the birth county of Geor

vhich h s bi
home of th

ears previous
tion ‘Withn

sioners of the D

nial /mansion in

Testmoreland

already famous

oe
Th house in
rn had been the
Lees for many
to the Revolu-

LWO

[n-

1 its walls
eclaration ot

| while the

dependence were born,

fact that Robert Edward Lee
first Sav the heoht there makes
lt Ver mor interesting, writes
General Fitzhueh Lee, his
nephe \ bi oe whose
ecent services as Consul-Gen

throug

4 large, stately
and mn

e rool were sum

ary a meetin OS mare i
tamales ft
; ¥

1
rea Inagde
1 4
Nout L

1 ‘ 4.1
well as South.

his nameé

nation,
Cte WS

mansion, he
t fae the

mer houses with

from

meV a

4 ‘
mae: D6O ROBBER: E, ERE

chimneys for columns, where the band played in the evenings and
iy the ladies and gentlemen promenaded.
Robert E. Lee was born in 1807. His home was not far from

St Usze

FITZHUGH LEE.

the birth-place of Washington. The two lads might have gone
i fishing and clam-digging together along the Potomac if Washington
had not lived seventy-five years too soon. But if he had waited forWIGE2 Ia BIRO (OVE ITNEHE SOWINE, 261
Lee he would not have been here when the country needed him to
lead its armies and to be its first President. And George Washing-
ton was always on hand when there was anything for him to do.

But Kobert Lee’s father lived in time to go fishine with Wash-
Ineton when the two were boys on the Potomac. They spent many
happy days together and an enterprising publisher found, a number
of years ago, two letters purporting to have passed between them
was

when they were children. Henry Lee, the father of Robert.

the Revolution. His soldiers loved to call him ‘« T ioht-Horse Harry.”

eh Tre was another reason why Robert lee and ( reorge Wash-
en they were boys. Robert
Lee's father and mother moved away when he was four years old and
went to live in Alexandria, a beautiful city about six miles from
Washington. It had several good schools at that time and General

Lee wished to give his children the best opportunities the country

eh ee lea vies 12 - {-4 +l li ] ry rand ] ]
EHe dast SCNOO!L Whicn mObDert attended 1n Alexandria nad a

(one eee a4 es T. Ppa lane di ba ayy ‘ c ‘
Ouaket LeAGKHEL, l Mir. Pa} lowell 1) \ name. Lhe boys Ol Mer.
eee de Te Eo x oie 1 [ eee te Ct Telisss : (es ”

H tllowell’s SCNoOOo!L nicknamed the pulidine Brimstone Castle on

account of its color. The teacher and his afterwards famous pupil
spoke very kind words of each other many years later, although they
had fought on opposite sid

When Robert was eleven years old, his father died. He had
been ill for a number of years and Robert's training had already been
left largely to his mother for some time. She was a noble woman
and well fitted for her great task. Says Fitzhugh Lee: ‘‘If he was
early trained in the way he should go, his mother trained him. If he
was ‘always good,’ as his father wrote, she labored to keep him so.
[f his principles were sound and his life a success, to her more than

to any other, should the praise be given. [his lovely woman, as

J
-
—
J
me
_
JS
~~

¥§ Shirley, who resided
in his grand old mansion on the banks of the James river, some
len; as; Mow, the Seat Or am Open,

profuse, and refined hospitality, and still in the possession of thi

ee nN areeeeiede Uinta 1 aan iCea in

Z a a

ROBERIME, LEE

Robert’s mother. too, was an invalid for many years. And i
she was one of the most devoted of mothers, he not less was a faith-
ful son. He watched over her very tenderly. When she was able

to go out she was fond of taking long drives. He usually accom-
panied her, and always took the greatest p ains to make her comfort-
able. He would often take several newspapers and a knife with him
and if she was disturbed .by draughts he would make paper curtains
and hang them up at the sides of the carriage. She would laugh at
his efforts, and the love and the laughing did her more good than the
curtains.

As he grew up and began to think of a profession, it was natural
enough that the son of a gallant soldier should turn his thoughts
toward the army. And if he was going to be any kind of a soldier,
he wanted to know how to be a good one. He decided to go to West
Point. where General Grant, his great opponent in the Civil War,
went a few years afterwards.

When he left home for his four years’ absence at West Point,
his mother said, ‘‘ How can I live without Robert? He has been

both son and daughter to me.”

He entered West Point at the age of eighte¢ Here he found
4 very different life from anything he had known cone His mother

kept a large number of ae and he had always had plenty of
servants to do his bidding, but here he had to wait upon himself and
sometimes do hard and disagreeable work. One of the first things
he was told to do was to carry his ‘‘outfit” to his room. It consisted

of a chair, a water pail, a pillow and two blankets. He had to put

these things on the handle of his broom and carry them. past a long
row of strange boys. They howled at him and said, Lello, plebe,

cl
how do you like it?” He had to make his own bed, but th at did
not take long, for he had nothing to do but spread a blanket on the
floor and throw down his pillow. Iam afraid he had some homesick
days at first, but he was too proud and plucky to admit it.

Robert was popular among the cadets in spite of the fact that he
would not join in their pranks when pranks meant mischief to anyone
or breaking rules. He never ran away when he was on duty asa
sentry, he never went out at night and left a dummy in his bed to

make believe he was there himself, and he never went to BennyTEES, THEERO OF WHT: S OWE: 263
Havens saloon. He never received a single black mark during his
residence at West Point; and you remember from General Grant's
experience how easy it was to get them.

He always kept his uniform neat and his brass buttons rubbed
so bright that you could see your face in them. His shoes were
always well blacked and his musket shining. He was a handsome
young fellow, six feet tall and as straight as an arrow. He liked to
look well, but did not care for gold lace and feathers. After he had
become a General in the army, he often went without his General's
uniform and sometimes wore simply his Colonel's stars. When
isked why he did this, he replied that he did not care about making
a show of himself. Besides, he added, perhaps he did not deserve
to rank higher than a Colonel anyway.

In summer the cadets would sometimes camp out under the
trees to get a taste of soldiers’ life. When the bugle sounded in the

norning, they had to get up whether they were ready to or not.

ie once up, there was no delicious breakfast of fried chicken, such
I

Robert had been accustomed to in his Virginia home. Coffee and

hash, that was all. For dinne they had ae beet or mutton, and
for tea they had tea and not os else. Sometim a sly youth
would tack a piece of beef fast to the under ee of ie ne with his
fork at dinner time, and if no one found it he would have cold meat
fOr ted.

Robert was made an adjutant during his last year at school and
was second 1n his class at graduation.

Very soon after he graduated he went home to his mother, who
was rapidly declining, to perform the last kindnesses and say farewell.
It was a sad parting to the ae) who had grown wise and manly since

but had never outgrown his mother's love

He was made Lieutenant in the Engineer corps soon alter he
oraduated, and was shortly aiter sent to Pasion Roads, in Vi
He remained there several years. During all that time He was Soon
ing after the repairing and strengthening of the walls and forts. It
never occurred to him then that a few years later he would come with
cuns and shells to try to batter down the very fortifications he was
taking so much pains to strengthen.

While Lieutenant Lee was living at Hampton Roads he was

: i ¥ 4 ae a=
ae ams Ulm uci: {-; -gaummuamaaaial =" ners
: tia ;264 ROBERT E. LEE

married to Miss Mary Custis, a great oranddaughter of Martha
Washington. She inherited the magnificent estates of her father,
George Washington Parke Custis, who, you may remember, was an
adopted son of George Washington. Her mansion at Arlington
became henceforth for many years the home of the Lees, although
the young Lieutenant was destined to spend the best of his life ata
distance from Arlineton in the fulfillment of his military duties. He
had known Mary Custis when she was a little girl ei had met her
again when he was grown a handsome young cadet and was spending
4a vacation in Alexandria. They were married two years after he
eraduated from West Point.

Their domestic life was very happy and was marred only by the
long and frequent separations made necessary by the life of a soldier.
vou eh absent from home so much he took great interest in the
|

there were six, three

education and training of his children, of whom
virls and three boys. One day when he was out walking with one of

vis children, the boy fell behind, and looking back the father saw
that his little son was walking in his steps with head and shoulders
erect like a soldier, and imitating his every motion. ‘‘ When I saw
this,” he commented, ‘‘I said to myself: ‘It behooves me to walk
very straight, when this fellow is already following in my tracks.’ ”
And there was never a father more careful to Mi his children a good
example than General Lee.

In 1845 the Mexican War broke out and Lieutenant Lee was

ordered to the field. He was wounded once, he won many honors,

and became a Colonel. But he was deeply pained by the horrors and

cruelties of war. Many things in his letters at this time reveal his
genuine kindness of heart. In a letter to his son he wrote some sad
things about a battlefield. He told how he found some poor wound: d
Mexicans and had on carried to a house by the side of the road.
He found a little Mexican drummer boy with his arm broken to pieces
by a bullet. A wounded soldier had fallen on him and died. The
little drummer-boy could not get away and was moaning with pain.
A little barefooted Mexican girl asked Colonel Lee to help him.
Her great black eyes were full of tears and her hands were crossed
on her breast. Colonel Lee had the little boy sent to a hospital,

where he would have good care. The little girl went away, saying,Mis Jahay6O) (2 WIGIS SOWIE 265

Mille gracias, Signor,” in Spanish, for that is the language the

Mexicans speak. It 1s not hard to guess what she meant.
[hen Colonel Lee jumped on his pet horse Creole. She

her way ve ry slowly and carefully over the dead men as if she were

atraid of hurting them. But when she got over the battlefield she

4 ; : ] . a ] z : ]
went so fast he could scarcely hold her. She wanted to get away

l can not learn that Robert E. Lee ever had anv bad habits of

any kind whatever. [ have inquired diligently about this, havin:
LK ot h - | iT ; fen laa cs eae] fa : js 1 5 : eal
DEEN lalNer GESITOUS OL NNaGINYE some Little flaw in his Character which
| ] 1
Ee GCGOULG ¢ ING ENUS DLOMC that lq not trvin CO
| iT) WhIteEr than | ictually VAS I { he | ENEEED HIS uto-
¢ ) 15] ~ ] 1
1oOgTapn is Benjy n Eranklm did: 1 am su sh have
t t ] [> ] waged
] ( Ll] LULILS LI ne Lle( Ln ut LV ¢ Ci Mress tn tC W1TN
] | | ] Seed : ] vat ead .
all the pains I have taken, [I can find nothing 1 is conduct worthy
© €pro i) L] LO i] ELIMNG.@Or Ent aha V\ I EE ok KS (RO)
nany ¢ IS a mistaken judgement, united vith a most exact-
: ‘ 1] ] 4 ] a ae |
1) LI1¢ l\er CONSCLENCG! INVEnead | L L course WNHICN at
1
Ln Ss ( | ( i)| ( Mou | tL THUS Ct) )]
' 1 ; } ] oe
He ovis US 1 \ LIS K( ) topacc | Evie \ . CLOTTI
d NK ( Lc S tT Wine
\ ! , ] E , 1 | ] 1
VV | re INK Stal Cl rOrTr tne VL \ in Vi | Na tac JFa\ 1111Y)
} ‘ 1 ] ]
DOLL ( Wh Sk é : i LA Ss 1 { h a Cl 11 H tUl
: le ] ] | \
hol VV LiL th husk Dut | C11¢ UW) { to | 4 le] IL { wi > h
‘ 1 1
| { +] [= 24 aac
CO Ll ) LETCE EN Well 5 VE] [Gas Lot LGK COUE UST
i | ) ) y ] T ) | ] ) ) h
: ll a S Cave LE ke ( Cl ( tha U
1 1
he cou) uch thn var without Sin Nisk
} \A ! \ ) rt | l HexD] ssibly
v L L( 1] Lis LO) l pal ) LI \ 4 se Cas} Co iy
QS Cl

Robert E. Lee believed in the Union and loved the stars and

stripes. Ele hoped against hope that the Southern states would not
1 1 : . . . - << 1
secede, and did everything in his power to prevent it. He believed

slavery to be a moral and political evil. He freed his own slaves
ne before the war, saying that if all the slaves in the South were
his, he would give them up to save the Union. But w |
he Union and Virginia, he said: ‘‘1 can not draw
The decision cost him a terrible

f
om
—
=

ny native state.”

, zi
aa Ts a

TPT TUNA PRR ono NN mene TPE SPR

i ti
' 5)
; ;
pe lg
t *
{
; i
Wy266 IROVABAR JB, 16/d3,

struggle. General Scott, his old commander, who believed in him so
much that he said Lee’s service would be worth that of fifty thousand
common men, begged of him to remain true to the Union, and
President Lincoln informally offered him the command of the entire
army of the United States. He gave up his commission as Colonel
Hi and declined the President’s offer, saying that, though he opposed
| secession and deprecated war, he could take no part in an invasion ot
the Southern states. He was still uke for peace, and had then
not the most distant thought of taking part on either side of the con-
flict if there should be one. Two days afterwards the State of
Virginia seceded from the Union and offered Colonel Lee a commis-
sion as commander of its forces. He accepted the trust, and |
believe there is no one living, South or North, who doubts that he
acted with clear conscience and the most perfect sincerity.
We may form some idea of the pain his decision cost him from
a letter written about this time to his sister living in Baltimore,
whose husband was strongly in favor of the Union. ‘‘ With all my
devotion to the Union,” he wrote, ‘‘and the feeling of loyalty and
duty of an American citizen, I have not been able to make up my
mind to raise my hand against my relatives, my children, my home.
a i | I know you will blame me, but you must think of me as kindly as
you can and believe [ have endeavored to do what I thought right.
May God guard and protect you and yours and pour upon you every
: blessing is the prayer of your devoted brother.”
(1 Z| There is no need of telling here the story of the war. General
| | Lee was after a while placed in command of all the Southern forces.
He made a brave struggle, but the odds were all against him. The
population and resources of the North were double those of the
at South. And, more, far more than that, there is a tremendous power
vl in beingright. We call it ‘‘ moral power,” with an apologetic accent,
and speak sometimes as if we would like to trade it for bullets or tor-
| pees but 1t has backed up American cannon more than once and
i may have to do it again.
| General Lee as well as General Grant proved many times over
| | that it is not necessary for a brave soldier to be cruel or hardhearted.
if aa ‘The bravest are the tenderest,” said Bayard Taylor, and I have
| faa chosen one story out of many to illustrate Lee’s bravery and tender-

sk 3 A b
, obs ia 7SEG TS

peo

1 ee remain ak ime ess

ee eraserM4 IY a
|

268 IR OVI BIR SB, IL/BID

ness atonce. One day when the Northern soldiers were firing into
the Southern camp, General Lee told Some of his men to go into the
back yard where they would be safer. The men did as they were
told, but as they went back they saw their General walk across the
space where they had been standing and pick up some small thing
from the ground. Then he put it up into a tree just above his head.
It was a little bird which had fallen out of its nest. He did not
but he wanted to save the

notice that he was in danger himself
soldiers and the little bird.

Mrs. Lee and her young daughters spent a great deal of time in
knitting socks and providirs other comiorts for the destitute Southern
soldiers. A number of General Lee’s letters in which he acknowl-
edges these favors have been published. It is hard to choose from
them, but I can give you only one. He wrote to Mrs. Lee, March
18, 1864, as follows: ‘‘I arrived safely yesterday. There were sixty-

seven pairs of socks in the bag I brought up instead of sixty-four, as
you supposed, and I found here three dozen pairs of beautiful white

yarn socks, sent over by our kind cousin Julia and sweet little Carrie,
making one hundred and three pairs, all of which I sent to the Stone-

wall brigade. - One dozen of the Stuart socks had double heels.

Can you not teach Mildred that stitch? They sent me also some
hams, which I had rather they had eaten. I- pray that you may be
preserved and relieved from all your troubles, and that we may all
be again united here on earth and forever in heaven.”
During the last summer of the war you have read how General
Lee fought every inch of Grant’ ozess to Richmond; but when he

S pro:
sleam of hope he wrote to General Grant, inti-

saw there was not a
mating that he was willing to surrender.

The two commanders met at Appomattox Court House. Their
meeting was courteous and kindly, as became men who _ had
each fought for a principle that was dearer than life. Thev had
a pleasant talk about the days when they were both fichting on the
same side in Mexico, and then General Grant wrote out the terms of
surrender on a piece of yellow paper. The only condition imposed
by the conquering General was that the Southern men should £0
home, promising not to take up arms again against the Union. Gen-

eral Grant provided rations for the starvine men under Lee and they

DSPELE THEERO

OF THE SOCLE

started at once for their homes, where they were soon engaged in
peaceful occupations, repairing the damage that war had done.

Within a few months General Lee was chosen President of a
college tor young men, called Washington University, situated at

3
Lexington, Virginia. He remained in this position as long as he

] ] - { 4 |} ] { + t= i
lived. He Made Tua SCHOOL OL ONE EULt Always behave like centle-

Ss
EMS Rn \ 3
SAUNAS \\ ) x 5 >

a "

BTA ah

CAN iy
a aS

aN ep
Choe

\
a
ea

N aS
aN

Ree

aay, oe 3

aS
Nh Se

AP
RMS

SENT ETA
LOX >
TATA
i RUAN te :
pr Z
ys oe A) ANN \\ 3
Q BOR rhe /
“ SE ARSON GY
[OUSE WHER EE SURRENDERED

men. He was as much loved by his students as he had been by his.

liers. After his death the collezge was re-named in his honor and
is now known as Washington and Lee University.

His sympathies with students were ready and quick, and he had
a wondertul memory for names and faces. A recent magazine writer,
relating some p rson 1 recollections of Washington University, is

he was formally introduced to

cm pens Ie

BR eh ee nee ORSON i. a TG

er os RS

a,270 ROBERT E. LEE.
General Lee with about thirty others among the four hundred new
students that thronged the campus, and that six weeks afterwards the
General met him and called him by name. The same writer relates
two other occurrences so characteristic of the man that I will quote
the account in full:

‘‘T had another experience not so agreeable. = . = Dunme
one of the public celebrations of 1870 I was the orator selected from
the Washington Literary Society, and after my oration had been
submitted to the committee | added a few closing sentences which
were intensely Southern and which I knew would catch the popular

applause. General Lee was surprised and shocked. How it was
that I escaped a personal reprimand I do not now recall. I learned,

however, of the General's indignation; that he had brought the sub-
ject up before the Faculty, and that I narrowly escaped expulsion.

“<] will tell of another occurrence, which was currently reported
among the students as showing how determined the President was
upon this point. Ata Faculty meeting one of the professors made
some yee remark about General Grant. General Lee, in
indignation, rose from his chair, and, looking the professor full in the
Ace. said to him: ‘Sir, if you ever presume again
spectfully of General Grant in my presence, either you or I will sever
his connection with this University.’ ”

Robert E. Lee died in 1870. In his last hours, like Napcleon,
he lived again through the battles he had fought. He was heard to
sive the command, ‘‘Strike the tent;’” he then called for one of his
officers, say ying earnestly, ‘‘ Tell Hill he must come up. ~

His gray horse Traveller, who had carried him through so many
battles, wal ik ed with the mourners to the grave. North and South
mourned together for the dead hero. His enemies had long ago

become his friends.

ee ers =) TES)SUSAN B. ANTHONY
A CHAMPION OF EQUAL RIGHTS

Winning by inches, holding by clinches,
Slow to contention, and slower to quit.
— Robert Collyer.

sic LLY years aco ems were not of so much consequence as

they are to-day. Jhere were very few things that it was con-
sidered proper tor them todo. In school they were taught

only the simplest branches. leading, writing, and a little arithmetic

were thought quite enough for a girl to know. If now and thena
cirl had the ambition to learn what her brothers did, it was thought

]

a great pity that her tastes were not more feminine. When he:

brothers were away at college, she must stay at home, spinning,
ss 1 1 4-4 1 :
Weavl1n lat ] NUtTe! LT Nees¢
If her family was wealthy it was even worse. A little weakly
music, alittle drawine of flat figures, and a great deal of horrible

embroidery in colored worsteds served to pass the time away.
When a boy was twenty-one, he might go where he wished and

do what he liked. If he staid at home and worked for his father,
he must be paid for it. Buta girl must stay at home until she was

' <oo ]
MATTIeCC.

l{ she Was asked to ma\riry the man she lo\ ed, and her parents

approved of her choice, it was well. If not, she must marry some

one else, or be a dep ndent drudge in the family ot her relatives as

long as she lived.

It was counted proper tor her to work like a slave in her own

family, but if she went outside to earn money she lost all place in
society and was no longer welcome even in the paring-bees and quilt-
ine-bees of her own neighborho dL.

And if she married she became her husband’s property just as
she had before been the property of her father. Marriage was only

271

TUM hecrerpe pepe oes — A
\ {eee rnd ed 5 eee ae Se

474 SUSAN B. ANTHONY

: trading owners. Even if she worked away from home and earned
a wages, the wages belonged to her husband. Her employer would
not dare pay money to her, for if he did her husband could compel
him to pay it again

to him.

If her husband

thought she needed

punishment, he

Hi t Se 3 = | was permitted by
| ee a | the law to beat her
ee — | or punish her in
eg eee any way he chose,

only so he did not

RD ew a
An Se
iu? wt"

put her life in dan-
ver. Andifhe did

ee esa St
endanger her lite,

it was difficult to
proveacase against
him, fora wifecould
neither sue nor be
sued, nor could she
be a witness in a
court, more than a
slave. In the law
phrase, Wal swale
was dead in the
law.” If she hap-
| eS pened to have a
— — kind husband, it
SUSAN B. AN’THONY. was her great good
fortune. Ifshe had
| an unkind one, her’ position was little better than that of a slave.
i And it was not only forbidden for a woman to collect her own
| wages, but she could not hold property that was given or bequeathed
ba) to her. If her father willed her an estate, it became the property of
her husband and he might if he chose make a will ceiving all except

| one-third of it to some one else.

a
4, ies be ——— _eneeenA CHAMPION OF EQUAL RIGHTS.

27 3 iH
i,
But what was even worse than all this, a woman had no legal i

right to her own children. Her baby in the cradle might be taken
away from her and she had no redress in law. And if her husband
died she could not be the guardian of her children. They might
have a guardian who would beat and starve them and never permit
her to see them, and she could do nothing about it, because she
was a Slave in the eyes of the law.

Until the last half century, a woman doctor, lawyer

was unheard of. When Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman who

or minister

a:
ever received a medical diploma from any college, wished to study :
medicine, not one of the medical institutions of our country would
admit her for several years. When Antoinette Brown eraduated i
from Oberlin College she asked permission to enter the theological
department, and, although she had graduated with the highest honors,
there was so much opposition to her admission to th divinity school
that a member of the college faculty said to her, ‘‘If there were any |
by-law, Miss Brown, by which you could be shut out, you would not
be admitted.” And when Harriet Hosmer, now the great American i
sculptress, wished to study anatomy as a preparation for the study of '
sculpture, she had great difficulty to find a medical college that would
admit her. Yet all of these, as well as t sands ther women,
have proved themselves eminently fitted for these high vocations.

A rew women were able, by hook Or by CTOs kk LO” Get Loge ther
knowledge enough to enable them to teach in the most elementary (
schools. This they were sometimes allowed to do, and for their iF
services were paid seven or eight dollars a month and the privilege of 4
boarding around, doing a work for which a man would have been 3
paid thirty dollars a month and board. |!
This was the condition of women when Susan Bb. Anthony, }

Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucretia Mott, Lucy Stone, Mary

more and Julia Ward Howe were growing into womanhood.
Is it anv wonder their hearts were stirred with pity for their

sisters and that they resolved to devote their lives to the struggle for

woman’s emancipation ?

Susan B. Anthony was born in South Adams, Massachusetts,

in 1820. Her father, Daniel Anthony, was a Quaker, who had

extremely advanced ideas on the subject of women’s education.

Be ae Ne eee cia een a eerie SOS Tea274 SUSAN B. ANTHONY
owned a cotton factory and Susan was accustomed to work in the
factory when quite a young sirl. He wished his daughters to be able
to support themselves, and educated them, so tar as possible, with
that idea in view. He hired private teachers in the home, and Susan
afterwards attended a Friend’s boarding school in Philadelphia. But
the studies were simple and the instruction very impertect, and she
was indebted for much the largest and best part of her culture to her
habit of reading good books.

She was always strong-willed and ambitious. When the little
oirl was fifteen years old she went into long dresses, put up her
Aaa and began to be a school teacher. She continued to teach in the
state of New York until she was twice as old and many times as wise
as when she began. She taught at first in the district schools,
receiving the usual wages. Afterwards she secured a position in the
academy at Canajoharie, where she was paid rather better, but still
received much less than men who did similar work.

She did a great deal of thinking during those years. She was
very often made unhappy by the injustice which she saw in the treat-
ment of women. And when she received her six or eight dollars at
the end of the month for her own splendid services as a teacher, and
thought of the quadruple sum which the rather weak-minded young
man in the next school district was pocketing with manly dignity, it
is just possible that the double and twisted contrast may have magni-
fied her sympathies. And who can blame her if it did ?

But Miss Anthony was never a woman of one idea. She was
interested in good movements of many kinds. She made her first
speech before the public in 1847, and from that time on she took a
prominent part in organizing temperance societies and lecturing in
the temperance cause.

In 1848 a convention was called in Seneca Falls, New York, by
Lucretia Mott, Ehzabeth Cady Stanton and others, for the purpose
of discussing ‘‘the social, civil and religious condition of women.”
This attracted the attention of Miss Anthony and she soon became
an enthusiastic supporter of the principles of equal liberty. About
this time she made the acquaintance of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and
the two became life-long friends. They first saw each other at an
anti-slavery meeting in Seneca Falls, which was addressed by WilliamA GHAMPION OF EOUALE RIGHRS

Lloyd Garrison. Years afterwards, Mrs. Stanton wrote: ‘«Walki ine
home after the adjournment, we met Mrs. Bloomer and Miss Anthonv
on the corner of the street waiting to greet us. There she stood with
her good earnest face and genial smile, dressed in gray silk, hat and
all the same color, relieved with pale ne ribbons, the perfection of
neatness and sobriety. I liked her thoroughly, and why I did
once invite her home with me to dinner, I do not know. She

me of that neglect and never has forgiven me, as she wished to see

not at

ACCUSES

and hear all she could of our noble friends. |] suppose my mind was
full of what I had heard, or my coming dinner, or the probable

behavior of three mischievous boys who had been busily exploring
the premises while I was at the meeting.” ?

In 1853 the ‘‘friends of temperance” were invited to meet in
New York on the 11th of May to prepare for a world’s convention.

inning of the meeting ladies were allowed to be called

q)
le] Pea a n becan Seal es hat
daeiegates, Dut 1t soon became evident that this perm isslon Was ONLY
A ~
~ MWmHIlamant “7 ' UXT ] : 1 ] 7 ] ]
complimentary. A motion was made that Miss Anthony should be
. ot + > . - > . rm ad sil ] y eh . “ale
made a member of the business committee, and the war began. The
d+ ‘(dan h, in ] ie CE seta TiN “+1 : :
President of the meeting and other honorable’ gentlemen re
1 ete 1, jes 1 ee a "4 Vi fe
norrmned at the bare thought of a woman in sucha position. VIS
Abb les. l]x + .cetar t + TY \f | sneak in x rn] + > } +]
ALDI INé] oster attempted to speak 1n explal n UE ENE! LS
sis mrnar th h saAnld “J 4 ] L ; lL] |
such an uproar that sn could not be heard and she was obliged to
io is es ‘ ally eee “oentlel Fe ee le sn
Lake NeEr Seat. ne Crowd Ol ventiemen made themselves 1nto a
> oh TW Tr | Yr sy] ne ‘ r f + al wal x . I xr » 7 ] > yey fe
mob 1n order to silence a few quiet, orderly women. tC WaS alt lengtn
tal FI cya ik fat : 7 a Wee es
voted tnat the credentials of the women delegates should not be

accepted. Mr. [Thomas W. Higginson then issued an invitation to

all who wert In favor ol a whol world's convention that 1S, one which
] lA 1am? == a : “ |] — . ¢ en { 7 ; ] nl . aah .
snould admit women as Well as men LO MeEcCE IN anownel }) 1 CE 1 ¢
women delegates and their friends then withdrew. Mr. Higeinsons

Invitation resulted in a meeting of three thousand persons a tew days
later, and Susan B. Anthony was elected its President.

A scene ae to the first of these two temperance meetings was
enacted the same year in an educational cs a in Rochester, and
again Miss Anthony was the cause of the trouble. She had listened
for hours to a discussion, which, as she thought, left the main point
untouched. She thought she understood the matter. She arose and
‘Mr. The President did not know what to do,

said, President. ”

<a . -
a oeemeiikt ak site ees Rimi kL SERIES 5 ERIE6 SUOSAN B. ANTON

(3 _
2/

No lady had ever thought ot speaking in an educational convention
before. He asked in a mocking tone, ‘‘ What will the lady have? ”
‘‘T wish, sir, to speak to the question under discussion,” was the calm
reply. ‘‘ What is the pleasure of the convention?” asked the Presi-
dent. nervously. It took the frightened gentlemen half an hour to

decide, and then the President announced, ‘‘lhe lady can

He speak.” And she spoke so well that the Rochester Democrat next
panel morning commented, ‘‘Whatever the schoolmasters might think
ii :

i of Miss Anthony, it was evident that she hit the nail on the

head.”

Miss Anthony and her friends wished to work for temperance,
for education, for the abolition of slavery, for every good cause. But
now she and a few other clear-headed women began to see that they

could do nothing for temperance or any other cause until the main

question was settled, whether women might have an opportunity to
speak and work by the side of man. Accordingly, from this time
on, while Miss Anthony, Mrs. Stanton and others have never ceased
to be a friend to all humane causes, they have given their chief sup-

port to the cause of woman’s rights. And to this cause Miss Anthony

has given her life, most earnestly and most unselfishly.

| - : ; : : r : as
| They did not begin by asking the right of voting. They asked
at first for such simple things as the right of holding property, and

the right of a mother to have charge of her own children if her hus-
band died or was unfit for the trust. But they came to see that all

4 | | these rights were largely dependent upon the ballot, and that women
iT . . 2 .
f can never have their complete social and property rights until they
Bil il have their full political rights.

| And all these years of women’s rights conventions have not been
simply for the sake of convincing men. It has been harder many
times to convince the women themselves. In that educational con-
vention where Susan B. Anthony made a speech in 1853, there were
; women who said, ‘‘Did you ever see anything like this perform-
Hea ance?” ‘*Who can that creature be?” ‘‘She must be a dreadful
creature to get up that way and speak in public.” This shows how
| public opinion on such matters has changed since 1853. 1 suppose
Wily there is scarcely a man or woman in the country to-day who would be

ereatly shocked to see a modest woman rise in a modest, womanly

~A CHAMPION OF EQUAL RIGHTS. 277

fashion and deliver the best speech of the occasion in an educational
meeting.

It was when Miss Anthony was a young woman that the
‘Bloomer” costume, one of the first attempts at a reform dress
for women, was introduced. It received its name from Mrs.

Bloomer, who was among the first to wear it. It was worn by sev-
eral friends of the women’s rights movement and so became asso-
ciated with it in public opinion, but it was adopted simply for th
sake of convenience and health. Miss Anthony wore it for a time.
but gave it up as others did, partly because of the discomfort caused
by public comments, but mainly because it brought contempt upon
the cause of women’s rights.

Klzabeth Cady Stanton wrote of it a few years ago: ‘‘I wore
the dress two years and found it a great blessing. What a sense of
liberty I felt, in running up and down stairs with my hands free to
carry whatsoever I would, to trip through the rain or snow with no
skirts to hold or brush, ready at any moment to climb a hill-top to
see the sun go down or the moon rise, with no ruffles or trails to be

limped by the dew, or soiled. by the grass. . . . -. Wet such is

the tyranny of custom, that to escape constant observation, criticism,

ridicule, persecution, mobs, one after another gladly went back to
the old slavery and sacrificed freedom to repose. | have never won-
dered since that the Chinese women allow their daughters’ feet to be
encased in iron shoes, nor that the Hindoo widows walk calmly to

the funeral] pyte . is

It was not a handsome costume, and that probably no one knew
better than the women who wore it. They realized its ugliness, but
adopted it because nothing else had yet been thought of which gave
equal freedom.

The experiment was regarded as a failure, but ‘‘no good thing

is failure, no evil thing success,” and the seed which these brave
women sowed with many heart-burnings is yielding its harvest. [he
“Bloomer” costume in some of its modifications has been used ever
since as a costume for gymnastics. And the shock which those
women gave society has done its work to help free women from the
inconvenient, unhealthy dress of fifty years ago. We are largely

indebted to them for the freedom of the bicycle costumes which

z ma - ST 5 ETE
FO a alee ae aed ie a cel) =/ gua —
\) ‘278 SUSAN B. ANTHONY

public opinion in this country—hardly in England and France and
nowhere else on the face of the globe—allows us to wear without
mobbing us. And even the bicycle itself, that blessed harbinger of
liberty and health to girls and women, would scarcely be tolerated
now had it not been for the courage of those ‘‘ Bloomer’ women of

half a century ago.

lt is not women

Alone wlio re
: 1
helped D the
4 eae =
Cnang sitd ( nens
NOS1t10ON i r \
man VOU VE6r Sa
1 }
nad a ( in to
iS Ootn nd
VE ry W qd
a I lc 18} tO ne tct LiIl-
; o¢
el W T lli ONE
:|
familly a | L
IS COOd {OT T ¢ | (
iS vood [Ol t| ¢
h 4+ L
nive SaYVS EY IMn-
C6rESon . t | ¢
woman qu t10nN

:
thony s K 1S Nov
he) ‘ Q] are

BF pe ee , SN eg Zs VEE GONE. Wie Ave

A RECEPTION GIVEN AT’ WASHINGTON, D. C., ae ae ne ent
alee - ~ =

BY SUSAN B. ANTHONY. tended a conven-

tion in Washing-

ton last March, ‘‘looking twenty years younger than her seventy-
eight years,” it was said, in spite of the plain. black dress which she
always wears, and her crown of white hair. While she was there a
birthday reception was given her by Mrs. McLean, in one of the most
beautiful homes in Washington. It was attended by Mrs. Grant, Mrs.
Philip Sheridan, and other well-known ladies who believed they were
honoring themselves in doing honor to Susan B. Anthony.

ee EN eoA CHAMPION OF EQUAL RIGHTS: 279

It was once the fashion in some quarters to hoot at Miss
Anthony when she appeared in public. When I first saw her it was
a little in the fashion to smile at her as if she were abroad to amuse
the public. And perhaps the amusement has not yet quite di
peared. But before we join in the smile, let us be sure we

counted up all the privileges we owe her in whole or in part.

are a few who like to call her ‘‘ Saint Anthony;” and it Is sate

that there are those in the calendar who have need to look

than she tor their title to saintship.FRANCES WILLARD

iy
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FRANCES WILLARD.

PM ares oe
air

PUNE Ce

Fe ann ideale Et eeRee

é
bat

4
ip

ie in Cae a.

FRANCES E. WILLARD

EARLIEST PORTRAIT. STUDENT—18 YEARS.
LATEST PORTRAIT— 58 YEARS.
PRECEPTRESS LIMA SEMINARY——28 YEARS. DEAN WOMAN'S COLLEGE—-34 YEARS.
PRESIDENT W. C. T. U.—48 YEARS.

ee! Se eee as ane tet en re ee SW]
os d tiFa FY

——

FRANCES WILLARD

THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE

She remembered the to-morrows ol the worl An 1a

NCES WILLARD was born September 28, 1839. Her
father’s name was Josiah Willard and her mother’s maiden

lame was Mary Thompson Hill. Both were natives of Ver-

ea . <i : . . . aS ] Sy Sea 1 1
She was a welcome child and brought love with her when she

came, for a little girl sister had died less than a year before her birth
and the mother’s empty arms were aching to clasp another girl baby.
She was the fourth of five children, but at this time she and her brother
Oliver, five years older than herself, were the only ones living.

‘““What sort of a looking baby was Frances Elizabeth anyway? ”
asked a friend of her mother a few years ago. ‘‘ Very pretty,’ was
the answer, ‘‘ with sunny hair, blue eyes, delicate features, fair com-
plexion, long waist, short limbs. She was called the doll-baby ot
the village.”

And her father, while walking with her in his arms at night and

trying in vain to hush her vigorous screaming, was accustomed -to
predict her future greatness by saying, ‘‘I declare, this young one
ought to amount to something, she gives trouble enough!” But the
mother testifies that he was very patient with his crying baby and did

his full share to reconcile the little wanderer to her new surroundings.

When Frances was two years old, the family removed to Ohio,
and both father and mother spent five years in study in Oberlin
college. There Baby Frances began her college training too, for
she was the pet of the students and used to imitate their gestures and

try to rehearse their speeches. And at the mature age of three or

251

FN a ed reat ( eeee a

252 FRANCES WILLARD
four, she made her first appearance before the public, her father

standing her up in a chair to sing her one queer little song in her

queer little voice) as she herself once described it:

‘«« They called me blue-eyed Mary when friends and fortunes smiled,
But oh! how fortunes vary!
Kind sir, then take these posies, they’re fading like my youth,

I now am sorrow’s child;

But never like these roses shall wither Mary’s truth:

Who knows how much this atmosphere, full of study and students,
may have affected her future life?

It seems to be quite the fashion, in writing about Frances
Willard, to begin by explaining her, by telling just how and why it
was that she, instead of one of her neighbors, grew up in her Western
home to be the magnificent woman we all love and honor to-day, and
for whom only yesterday our tears were falling.

It was, indeed, her great good fortune to have been well born.
The name Willard means ‘‘one who wills,” and has been an appro-
priate one for the family as far back as their’ history goes. Her
ancestors had lived on New England soil and cultivated the hardy
New England virtues for two hundred years. It is not strange that
these virtues budded and bloomed at last into that rare flower of
womanhood, Frances Willard. But let us not forget that Frances
herself had something to do about it.

Perhaps we are in danger sometimes of putting too much responsi-
bility upon our grandfathers and not enough upon ourselves. A whole
ceme oo full of distinguished and noble ancestors could not help us
very much unless we were minded to follow their good example.
And we need not be discouraged even if we have none worth men-
tioning, for neither had Lincoln, nor Joan of Arc.

I admit it would be well when you want to reform a man to
begin with his grandfather, according to the witty prescription of Dr.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, if you could. But the trouble is, it is too
late. That being the case, we must see what else can be done about
it, for the universe is so full of resources that there is always some-
thing else to be done. And you and I can do that something else
even if we haven't a long line of Plymouth Rock Puritan ancestors

behind us.THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANGE.

Oo not mean any disrespect to anyone's blue blood, either. I,

never hear anyone speak about ancestors that came over in

‘flower without being eriped by a vicious twinge of envy. But

to draw myself up with a wrench and say, Never mind, it is

too late to begin to think about that now. I shall just have to go to
wor] beha elf /

But there are at least two sides to all arguments, and it will do
no | nn the other hand to remember, each for ourselves, what the
Emperor Napoleon once said, and forgot as soon as he said it, ‘‘I my-
self am an ancestor !”

\n hether we think we can or can not explain Frances Willard
s] : re st 4 same, and here to st torevel For Death is
kin | leaves us all sweet memories and loves 1 influences, and
h 1] very little that was worth keeping

\\ th ed in Oberlin, the family circle was completed by

LEN were tnree weeks On CHE Wav. Lhe Vi DaSsea ff

vy, the sister whom Frances so t y | and

L n, whos last VOIaAS Were od to be

Her hte was commemorated several years after by Miss Wil-
le volume called ‘‘Nineteen Beautiful Y«

Ces iS Tlve \ LS ler I h | d ind

; told him he must go where he could live « farm and

1 nacked ut 11) ale ee Ae held i ee eo
i Ee Dadi Ca Up all thelr Nouseneid Foods 1 CnOree White-

pe ln veer } : " voy Ll ] yl day 4-4 ry
pl LIT1e SCNOONEeITS aS cney WEeELBeG Gallec., and Stalrte¢ LO

st. Lhe father drove the head team: Oliver, who was then

| I+ r ] r ~ hy 14 ] 14 T } 17 ‘ » »
irs old, and already thought himself quite aman, drove the
]

the mother the third.“ father’s, writing desk, lined with

nade a SOIC NESE for the CWO bairnic S, Hrances and Mary.

NT 1] a, “ te Wey? :
Newfoundland dog Fido guarded the rear.
]
T

1rough

] ] ]

Chicago, a place which they remembered as having the biggest and

qo tf -“

has ft

cis ,

Lt) i

that |
7

COTISsIn.

mud-holes of any town on the road. For Chicago always
biegest of everything, and of course was obliged to keep up

sutation then which it has made since. { Mr. Willard declared

1e wouldn't be hired to live in such a place, and, as nobody

‘ire him to change his mind, he went on to Janesville, Wis-

SHMUEL DRRANNEe | Pecan

Ce ee cee CETTE hea sald we

ean pees nse ee ha een

eS NS re, Py
AY) | ee

284 FRANCES WILLARD

They lived in Janesville a few weeks while Mr. Willard
found a farm and built a house. They moved into the house
before it had any windows or much of a roof. But it was sum-
mer, and the children thought life was beginning to be one nice, long
picnic.

They learned to love the groves of oak and hickory, the beauti-
ful Rock river, and the prairie stretching as far as eye could see.
They were never lonely, though,) except their father’s tenants, they
had no neighbors within a mile.

The house was a simple cottage, but picturesque, with rambling
roof and dormer windows, here a gable and there a porch, all twined
over with Virginia creeper and Michigan rose, and well hidden with
everoreens. hey called it ‘‘Morest Home.”

Frances had the same kind of trials that other girls have. One
of the most grievous was that she thought she was plain-looking, and,
to make matters worse, other people sometimes thought so, too. | A
candid girl of her acquaintance once said, ‘‘Aren’t you sorry to be
homely, Frank?” and spiteful boyssometimes called her ‘‘Red-head’”—
a name that some boys keep for girls that have the most beautiful
hair in all the world. / But her mother and sister soothed her wounded
pride, her father comforted her with ‘‘Handsome is as handsome
does,” and her brother cheered her up with his hearty, ‘‘ Never
mind, Frank, if you aren’t the handsomest girl in the school, I hear

them say you are the smartest.” So the love of all the family
helped her to outgrow the pang. And she grew handsomer as she

grew older, so that when she was thirty-five she was described as pos-
sessed of ‘‘a straight, elegant figure, an oval face, a wealth of light
brown hair, and a clear, bell-like voice which made her very effective
as a speaker.”

Before there was a school-house built in the neighborhood there
was a home school in the Willard house, where a number of the
neighbors’ children were gathered with our trio, and all were taught
together by Miss Anna Burdick, a cultured young lady from the
Fast.

But. school was only a small part of the education of these
children. They seemed to have something in themselves that drew
culture to them.THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE. 285

When they became acquainted with a girl from the city and
heard from her of town advantages, they lost no time in sighing
because they could not go to the city, but decided that they would
bring the city to them. And so they did. They elected a mayor
and other officers, laid out streets, changed the barn into a ‘‘ Ware-
house” and the well into a ‘‘ City Fountain,” and set Upla oo City
Stockyards” and ‘‘ Board of Trade,” with tin coins and reoular
‘‘bank notes,” painted by Mary, the family artist. The city laws
have been kept, and are a curiosity in literature, but the Willard
children acquired a great deal of information and culture in compiling
them.

And one, at least, of these provisions for city government was
prophetic of the life work of Frances Willard: <‘‘ We will have no
saloons or billiard halls, and then we will not need any jails.”

The brother cheerfully lent masculine aid to these enterprises

and was repaid by the willingness of the feminine portion of the

a, >

family, including mother, to convert the city into a fort when occa-
sion demanded and valiantly defend it against a howling squad of
Indian braves, consisting of Oliver and his one available boy friend,
Loren.

The cause of temperance was not altogether neglected, even
while Frances Willard was too young to go away from home and

organize white ribbon brigades, for the children all signed a total
abstinence pledge, which was written in the family Bible and signed
first by father and mother. It was not very good poetry, perhaps,

but it made a good safe wall of protection around every boy or girl

who signed and kept it.
When Frances was fourteen, the little brown school-house was

built, about a mile away, and a ‘‘real-hlve graduate trom Yale” was
1

teacher. Here the three children spent ten hap]

| ether,

yy months tog
and it was an awakening time for all of them. Then the brother
went away to college and when he returned he brought back books
which made the vacations as profitable as the school-days had been,
as vacations always should be in one way or another.

There was not often a note of complaint, but once Frances cried
out: ‘1 wonder if we shall ever know anything, see anybody or go

anywhere? ’ 5 Why do you wish to go away? ” smiled the ever-

A* y pot - sy hana”
GN adalah oa Dee286 FRANCES WILLARD

a . patient Mary. ‘‘Oh, we must learn,” was the reply, ‘‘must grow,
_ | and must achieve; it is such a big world that if we don’t begin at it
we shall never catch up with the rest.”

“Tt was a beautiful childhood,” Miss Willard once said to her
friend Miss Gordon; ‘‘I do not know how it could have been more
beautiful, or how there could have been a truer beginning df many
things. To me it has often seemed as if those earlier years were
‘seed to all my after good. ©

How happy the child to whom is given such a memory of home,
| how blessed the parents who have given it.

When Frances was fifteen the entire family went East, visiting
erandparents, uncles, cousins and aunts in Monroe county, New
York. It was a great experience for these young people and widened
| the world for them.

\ The next winter the two girls attended a ‘‘select school” in
Janesville, where Mary was long remembered for her wonderful map
drawing and Frances for the way she edited the school paper.

ena Soon after this she became an author in sober earnest, for the

tial Prairie Farmer offered a prize for the best essay on the ‘‘Embel-

lishment of a Country Home,” and Frances tried for the prize and
took it—a cup and a silver medal, with a congratulatory note, over
which there was great rejoicing in the Willard family.

At seventeen, Frances, with her sister Mary, spent a year in the
u ‘Milwaukee Female College.” Here, as ever, she excelled in
a scholarship, particularly in history, which was taught by a loved aunt
of her own, and’! made some lifelong friends, particularly Marion
Wolcott, a brave, high-principled girl whom she set up as her stand-
| ard at once.

It was a happy year, but their happiness did not depend upon

| luxuries of any kind to any great extent, for the only spending money

they had during the whole winter was fifty cents apiece, which was
sent them by Mike, the farm hand.

There were never children more gladly obedient than these three.
Yet when Frances reached her eighteenth birthday, thus becoming
‘of age, she celebrated the occasion by waving the flag of her free-
ae a dom a little. -She began by composing a ‘‘pome,” as her brother
: called it, of which the following are sample lines:

TR pat is
4 as
:THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE.
‘¢The clock has struck ! | |
O! heaven and earth, I’m free !
And here, beneath the watching stars, I feel

New inspiration

0 1 )
\nd now I feel that I’m alone and free

To worship and obey Jehovah. only.”’

Towards evening she sat down in her mother’s rocking-chair, and
with her father’s objection to novels on the top of her mind, began to

read ‘‘ Ivanhoe.”’

Pretty soon her father came in. ‘‘I thought I told you not to i
read novels, Frances,” he said.
‘So you did, father, but you forget what day it 1s.” )
“What day, indeed! |] should lke to know if the day has any-
thing to do with the deed !~ i
‘Indeed it has—I am eighteen—I am of age—I am now to do
what / think right, and to read this fine historical story 1s, in my "
opinion, a right thing for me to do. — i

At first her father thought of taking the book away from her, but
her calm assurance was too much for him. He concluded to make
the best of it, and went away laughing and muttering, ‘‘a chip of
the old block !

When Frances was nineteen, the sisters entered the Northwestern

Female College at Evanston, Illinois. Here the two girls were at

first distincuished among their mates for their country attire, particu- |
larly for a pair of red woolen hoods which their father’s care and taste
had provided. But it was not long before they became so well known Hi
for their cleverness that their odd clothes were quite forgotten. \

Frances was a leader wherever she went. She had been brought |
up religiously, yet she was not at this time what she herself or most i
others would have called religious, although she had great respect and tt

reverence for all holy things. . But she had a head as well as a heart,
and could not believe until she understood.

She was not fond of religious meetings in the early months in
Evanston, and once when she entered a young ladies’ prayer-meeting |

there was an evident fear among the girls that she had come tor 'FRANCES. WILLARD
mischief. | This was a great mistake, for, as she wrote long afterwards
in her autobiography, ‘‘I would as soon have thought of insulting my
own mother as making light of religion, at least in a prayer-meeting. ”

Anyway the girls were wise beyond their years and asked Frances
to lead the meeting. Much to their surprise, she complied at once.
She read a chapter and added a few comments, and then said, ‘‘ Let
us pray.” All the girls but one immediately eayalte, 8S 1L, Pee
said Frances—for the girls had the outlandish fashion of c
another by their surnames, —‘‘ why don’t you kneel down ae behave?

lling one

If you don’t you are a disgrace to yourself and the whole Lineburger
tribe.” It is needless to say that ‘‘Lineburger” knelt. and the meet-
ing went on without further interruption.

Her religious experience during her college days may be briefly
summed up in a memorandum made by herself in one of her text-

books on Moral Science: ‘When I began this study I could not Say

whether there was a God or no—and if there was, whether he cared
for mé or not. Now, thanks to President Wayland and my faithful
instructors, I can say from my heart I believe that there is a God,
and that he is my Father.” And that faith, I think, never left her.
In the fall of 1858 the Willard family
Home to Evanston, and Frances graduated as valedictorian of her

removed from Forest

class a little before she was twenty.
For the next two years she spent most of her time at home,

study Ae and writing, preparing herself all unconsciously for the great
work « r life. Her father objected to her going out into the world,

but oe was something stirring at her heart that would not let her
rest. In those days there were but few things that women could do,
and an intellectual woman must be a teacher or nothing. Frances
could not be nothing, and so she decided to be a teacher.

She had already taught the district school near Forest Home one
summer vacation. She now began again, teaching one term in
Evanston and the n going to Harlem for two terms in a district school
out on the prairi She seemed to realize as few young girls do that
she was building the woman of the future. ‘‘So here goes for a fine
character!” she sang out gaily as she put the last touches to her
trunk-packing for the district school in Harlem.
1374 S

Between 1858 and
she taught 1 in thirteen different institutions, changing from oneTE APOSTLE OF GEMPERAN GF:

to another generally because she wanted different experiences, and |

always changing of her own accord.
In 1861 she ‘‘wore a ring for three-quarters of a year,” as she I

: . : : |
But she found her love in this case was

says in her autobiography.
imaginary, and broke the engagement in time to prevent t iH
. m {

oreater mistake that such a marriage would have been. The real |
tragedy of her life came at a later period and has been left sacredly |

untouched by her biographers.

Soon after this, her brother married M iry Bannister and went |

Fe 1 ee . >) a T> : : Ne rT O 1
West to take charge oi a church in Wenver, Colorado. in Lds00 Th
i
4 1 r y Lh ; “toad
first Evanston home was sold and the family beca esidents of i
.
) f 7 7
RR St VCottade which remained VIiss Willare S non aS lone as | }
ae 1 1 1 ; , . : h
1 ) ] yy | . A } ) lena rs ] a , ss Ae
sne lived, and then passed to her pbelovecd Irlend and secretary,. Anna
. 1 Ti T = — >< Q cet 4. ] ; ] ] on el pk eee , 1
(;ordon. iT) January, 1000, het fatner dled, Lt] ee SPpr1ine OT EE |
LIY1¢ \ al sh ACCC pted cne 1Invit LION Ol hei Lit | L* A j cL( kson LO
WIEN Her to Europe, Miss Ja KSONS fatNner Delne Ll LO Way Vliss |
U Mie Ppt! '
\ 1] 3 ] | 2 1 }
Villard s « penses for the sake ol N ( nNpahnlonsnip fo 5 adau {
I t |
uring that visit cam¢e the definite inspiration to work tor the advan if
4 : oo (6 Ua a cea le . ] 1 L Lil al
ment Ol Women. What Call WS aone CO Ma kK¢ Lil VOTICA L W1Ce]
p! ice tor women: Was the qu St1on that beal LE hh neart for an
1 at 1 } : }
inswel L Th ST of her busy lie
\ ] ] | ]
liss Wi had learned through h wn perienc c
+}, ] na ] : | } \ { )
Ll aS ek L WES Glo: 3 \ [ i]
~ ID lA, +} p ; { = | 1
= i) L11¢ I EFESIGIELILE “ th N nee \ IAT A L Meg L(
}
1 1
1) ot the Nort VEStTGEN WI S| Oli¢ | p a
} 1 |
lf-oovernment for all girls who proved thems s wort! to b |
1 1 4 . ] }
placed Upon No;nol illowing them To CGO Lilt pl€ds SO LOU i
t ip] ) ] t a 10] “| I) cl rh ric nN | | HF
LS ney pit LSed LO @ TOM | on ( :
, 1 oy , | ri i
to be trusted ind sne seldom found her trust misplaced Ene SIS) i
] 4 ] le] s - \j
thi Northwe stern (¢ olle O'¢ lc ved and honored ner as the women Ol th
ot 4 ‘ , aie 7 Ain Loan aT , tary
rld have since learned to do. Said one of her students a few

nonths ago, ‘‘ Frances Willard taught me in the University, and ti

she made the class-room seem like a flower-bed.

But astill wider field was opening for her. In 1874 she resign d ti
her position in the college and began to work actively in the cause ol |
temperance. Che Woman’s Christian Temperance Union had been

already organized, but had as yet accomplished little. Miss Willard

eei

FRANCES WILLARD

290

was elected President of the Chicago organization. She worked for
i Ht some time without a salary. During this time she often walked
| miles for lack of five cents to pay car-fare, and sometimes went hungry
! | for lack of money to buy food. To the credit of the women, let it
Hh be said that they provided a salary as soon as they knew the situation.
fi il She was soon after made Corresponding Secretary of the Illinois
4 / | society, and five years later became President of the national organ-
ization. From that day
to the day of her death,
her life was the history
of the W. Go ay Usheand
the cause of temperance
everywhere. All this time
her work and influence
had been broadening.
Her brother diedin 1879,
and for a few months she
and her sister-in-law, Mrs.
Mary B. Willard, edited
the Chicago Dazly Post.
She became editor of the
Union Signal, a woman's
temperance paper, a labor
of love which she laid
down only with her life.
She visited ‘eveny
ail es Ae Se province of Canada and
Ni DRINKING every state in the Union,

a He speaking and organizing,
Na eH Her work in the South was of especial value for its kindly uniting
spirit. It is estimated that for several years she traveled thirty thou-

a She set in motion the immense project of obtaining signatures to
i the ‘‘polyglot petition” for home protection, by means of which hun-
20 dreds of thousands of people, representing more than fifty different

| Fa sand miles a year and averaged one lecture a day.
{

eae nationalities, made known to their government and to the world their
wish for temperance legislation and the legal upholding of a higher

“4 Odes
\THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE. 201

standard of morals, and she gave to the W.C. T. U. of her own iN

country its motto, ‘‘For God and home and native land.” il
Her work was not confined to the temperance cause. It wasshe i

who suggested and kept up the ‘‘Do-everything policy,” as it was |
called, of the Temperance Union, for she believed that every good {|
work strengthened every other. i
|

® ¢.
at May 2 |
ae ds
eS is
; Ps |
Tir
4)

|
Dt |
| A Be
Penis sik Sisk
ORE AN RE:
gg el EIB ES EM
nee
ANNA GORDON.
She made woman suffrage one of the objects ol the Union, for
she held that woman’s vote could save the country for temperance. |
The building of the Woman’s Temple in Chicago, a great build-
‘no devoted to the cause of temperance and the rights of women, was

laroely her work and was very dear to her heart. It was an immense

te ° °
as ee ee ee a A TTATTINT
undertaking and brought her great anxiety, as well as great inspiration.

\fter the death of her mother and the beginning of her own con-

<a i ¥ Se a a 4 Senne eee
ermal ae ts cl 1 ammaRip
Ve
,

FRANCES WILLARD

292

nection with the World’s Christian Temperance Union, she spent
much of her time in England, with her secretary, Anna Gordon,
venerally in the home of her friend, Lady Henry Somerset, a woman
©o i ; A s © - — . .

who has been a part of almost every good work in Great Britain for
many years.

Of Miss Gordon Miss Willard was always glad to speak a grate-
ful and loving word. The friendship of these two women was exceed-
inely tender and beautiful, and Miss Gordon's efficient helpfulness

ov ~ e ie 7
has been for many years a large element in Miss Willard’s success.

Miss Willard has written a number of books, besides the ones

notable of all,

the autobiography from which I have

mentioned, the most

already perhaps, being
‘Glimpses of Fifty Means
quoted so often in this sketch.
last two conventions which she attended, a hard
task was given her. At the World’s W. C. T. U. Convention which

met in ‘Toronto in October, 1597, she found herself obliged to differ

At each of the

on important points from her friend Lady Henry Somerset. It was

4 oreat trial, but she took her stand so lovingly, although so firmly,

that the friendship of the two women was made stronger than ever.

And at Buffalo, where she made almost her last public appear-
ance, she was compelled to take sides against a large party of tem-
perance workers who were in favor of giving up the Women’s Temple

to be sold for debt. She said that whatever steps the convention

{

|
might choose to take, she would herself assume the burden of the

debt and devote her life to paying it. The Union showed its great
confidence in her judgment and ability by leaving the entire matter
in her hands.

But it was not for her to see the Temple debt removed. She
was taken ill in January, and, at the end of three weeks, died in New
York, February 18, 1898.

Her will, which was made three years before her death, was as
simple and direct as herself. It was written in her own hand and
contained none of the usual legal formalities, yet was perfectly clear
in its provisions. It begins with the following characteristic lines :

This is my last will and testament, after fifty-six years of my
heavenly Father’s discipline and blessing to prepare me for better work
hereafter (as I believe) in wonderful worlds unknown,”TITE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE 293

She willed the bulk of her property to Miss Gordon, but left i
mementos to many other friends, of whom she spoke with tender |
affection.
1y other thoughtful

‘ 5 4 ~ : j
iealth. She wished |

}

Miss Willard had long believed with ma
1 a
1¢

people that our cemeteries endanger the public |

1arm after she was dead. For this and other reasons, she

—"

;
}
|
}
|
|
to do no
desired her body to be destroyed by fire rather than buried. Her |

wish was fulfilled and her ashes placed in her mother’s grave in the
beautiful cemetery of Rosehill, near Chicago.

‘Even in her last hours, she remembered the to-morrows of the

world.” The keynote of her lite was love and helpfulness.

fa -
JVOW |

n fj
Leia S (1) / SW
DX ou TO)
1 GN

\
“~~ \ ie

(Qt NIV:
WAAL thr

1965, f

i ellie a Th i eeeGALILEO.

=) ESAT Wr, RU =
A ayes aoe . ITDGALILEO
A STUDENT OF NATURE

Thoughts that great hearts once broke for, we
Breathe cheaply as the common air.

Lowell.

HEN Galileo Galilei was born in Pisa, Italy, in 1564, the

I
world still held a great many strange beliefs. It had been

» but forty-two years since Magellan's ships had sailed
around the world and proved the earth to be round, and the best
schools and colleges taught a great many things which the children of
our primary schools now know are not true.
According to the astronomies of that time, the earth was in the
center of the universe. Around it was a series of crystal spheres
1 the moon and other heavenly bodies in their places and
1

a
ercurv. the next Venus, the next the sun,

which hel
revolved with them around t earth. The nearest sphere held the
moon, the next the planet M
while the tenth sphere surrounded all and was immovable. Pictures

were drawn representing this scheme, with angels turning the cranks

which kept the spheres in motion. This theory was called the
Ptolemaic system, from the astronomer Ptolemy, an Egyptian, who
taught something like it in the second century after Christ. The
theory had, however, received a great many additions since his
death.

Eleven years before Galileo was born, Copernicus, a scientist of
Polish birth, published a book in which he taught the new-old theory
that the sun is the center of our planetary system, and that the earth
and other planets revolve around the sun. But Copernicus was an
old man on his deathbed when the book was published, and there was
no one left who cared or dared to press its conclusions home to men.
And so the truth waited for Galileo.

295206 GALILEO

Galileo as a boy was fond of mechanics. He would have loved
to linger around the machine shops if there had been machine shops
in Pisa and Florence in those days. He would have wanted to know
exactly how and why everything was done as it was, and would, I
suppose, have driven the workmen distracted with questions which
they could not answer. His father was in rather poor circumstances
and Galileo as a little boy made his own toys. He had not much to
make them with, but the contrivances he would put together amazed
his friends more than once and made them wonder what the future
held for the gifted boy.

Yet he was fond of literary studies, too. His education was
begun in the monastery of Vallombrosa, near Florence. In the
monastery schools of the Middle Age, boys were taught little but
Greek and Latin and the philosophies of men long since dead.
Galileo was a good scholar in Greek and Latin, but he began early
to pick flaws in the old philosophy which most people accepted with-
out question simply because it was put down in the books.

The men of those days had curious ways of finding out things—
perhaps it would be truer to say, of not finding them out. For
example, if they wanted to know about the growth of a plant, instead
of going out into the field and watching it grow, they would go inside
their own minds and shut the door and try to reason out how the
plant might grow. Then when they had worked out a plan which
did not disagree very badly with what they had found out in the
same way before, they would set it down in the books that that was
the way it did grow.

And so instead of going out in sunlight or starlight to see how
sun and stars do actually move, they staid indoors and reasoned out
how it would have been if they had been in the place of the Creator
when the universe was being made. Then they set down the product
of their imagination as facts, and after a generation or two it came to
be thought wrong and profane for anybody to say anything different.
So that instead of learning anything new, they copied their own
errors from century to century, just as a schoolboy sometimes writes
down the page of his copybook, and, copying his own mistakes all
the way along, makes the last line worse than the first.

They were fond of discussing such questions as, ‘‘ How manyA STUDENT OF NATURE. 297
devils can dance at once on the point of a needle?” «Do angels
occupy space?” and other problems equally practical. Such things
seem very foolish to us, but the Middle Age people whetted their
ninds on these debates and we have inherited the mental] discipline
which they acquired. Whenever we are tempted to criticise our
ancestors, we ought to remember that we began where they left off.
and if our feet are planted firmly on the truth to-day, it is because
we stand on the foundations which they laid with toil and tears and
many martyrdoms.

While Galileo was studying in the mona stery
attracted to the religious life that he wished t

he became so
to become a monk, but
his father objected to this so strongly that he removed him from the
monastery and placed him in the university of Pisa before he was
quite eighteen. Here, since his father wished that he should study
medicine, he began to ae lectures given by a distinguished
physician and botanist.

As he was sitting in the cathedral one day about two years after
he entered the university, he noticed the swinging of a ee sus-
pended from the roof. On comparing the vibrations of the lamp
with the beating of his pulse, he found that, whether the vibration
was great or small, the time required for the motion was the same.
He then reasoned that if the vibrations of the swaying body could be
determined by a healthy pulse, the reverse would also be possible
and the beating of a patient’s pulse might be reckoned - comparing
it with the same vibrations. He made an instrument to prove the
theory and it was so successful that 1t was soon in general use among
physicians.

But this simple little instrument was destined for other purposes.
It was soon found useful in dividing the day into parts. Sun-dials,
water-dials, hour-glasses and other crude contrivances had up to this
time been used for keeping account of time, but it was seen that the
pendulum was a much more accurate time-keeper than any of them.
A Dutch astronomer named Huygens a few years later took advan-
tage of the invention and made a pendulum clock.

We ought never to look a clock in the face without thinking of
Galileo, the twenty-year old boy who made the clock possible because
he not only saw the swaying lamp with his eyes, as thousands of

iN eas aaa akira Ce ee a ies 1 4) ema oo aee

298 GALILEO

a people had done before him, but saw with his mind, as any one may
do who will stay awake and ask questions. To the thinking mind,
everything has a message. Galileo's lamp still swings in the Pisa

cathedral. What message would it bring to you or me? Buta
Lil better question is, What has the lamp on our own parlor table to say
to us?

It is not strange that the study and practice of medicine at that
time had little charm for a youth like Galileo. The medical art con-
sisted largely of magic, and little had been learned with regard to
methods since the days of Aristotle, a Greek philosopher, who had
been authority on medicine for two thousand years. Galileo disliked

it more and more, and by degrees began to give his attention to
physics and mathematics.

Some minds have windows open in certain directions, while all
the rest is blank wall. Some, like Beethoven, have windows to let in
music, while others are transparent to beauty in color and form, and
become our painters and sculptors. Galileo had the wide-open mind,

| with windows in many sides of his nature. He inherited great
| musical skill from his father, and even in his student days his com-
I | positions challenged the admiration of music-loving Italy. He loved
| painting, too, and it is thought by some that 1 he had followed his
strongest inclination he would have been an artist. His perfect com-
mand of Latin and Greek and his ready wit and eloquence gave
promise of great success if he were to choose a literary career. Per-
haps the incident of the lamp, with the success and fame it brought
him, quickened his aspirations on the side of mechanics. He heard by
| { chance a lesson in geometry, and thereby received an impetus which
impelled him to the study of mathematics. It seems probable that
he would have been equally great in any pursuit which he might have

chosen.
| He was compelled by poverty to leave the university before
HW taking his degree, but he soon after published an essay on a certain
branch of natural philosophy, which attracted the attention of
; i il scholars and brought him a position as lecturer on mathematics in his
h own university of Pisa. His lectures at first brought him great pop-
| ularity and at the same time he pursued his studies as earnestly as
| ever. He is now everywhere admitted to have been one of the

Mi Sh),

vy Wal’ xa Ape
P why y ei ~ 7 sce — es ee
} xA SRODENT! Off NAGOTE: 299

world’s great geniuses, yet he seems never to have trusted to any
senius but that of hard work and steady thinking. He began to find
new ways of solving old problems. This began to make him enemies
for in those days old ways and old thoughts, like old wine, were r ck-
oned much better than new, and it was considered almost a crime to
question the authority of the older teachers, especially of Aristotle,
who had a great mind and had written on almost every subject that
made a part of human knowledge in his time.

But Galileo boldly disputed even the teachings of Aristotle when

He let fall at the same moment two bodies of different weights
fae - +] 1 2 | ]
from the top of the leaning tower o1 Pisa and foul iat thev reached

the ground at the same time. [his the enemies of Galileo wou

admit even when tney Saw It. | He WiASE Men Ol | ISa quoted trom

Aristotle the statement that a heavy body would require a longer
time to reach the ground than a light one, and they preterr d to trust
Aristotle even when the evidence of their own eyes contradicted him.
[That Galileo was clearly in the neht made them only the more aligry,
1 > T) ] 1 1
and they made lite 1n Fis y unpleasant for h t he s glad to
|
GTOd L\ } LC( Dil di GI TT matnemMalics Ill t u SITY < rad la
A
7 } q 1
H Fem ( LY Ep { Eee L) 5 ( y STUC L w] )
Eine
Came TEOM ES ©) )] LO IS FreomMm Was SO
] | ] ; - ] y ] +14 el “r. . XT
crowded tn LT a Tew 3} Cture hall was DuUILT I Poh) tO aACCOININ) date two

x r1 “7 1 z a 1 7 ] a ; a
thousand people. W hile CHELEE he invented the thermometer.
Soon after Galileo hbecame acquallit d with T

nicus and his theory of the sun as the center of our planetary system,

he beoan to accept the reasonableness 01 the Copernican theory; but
oy 1° : eal ] ] ol ]
he said little about it for many years, Or until he had, as he thought,

proot strong enough to convince the most stubborn.

l heavens. Lhere was some-
je a Soe ane al ahead aolog. Meine
ing inits appearance. It was changeable incolor, being

now orange, now yellow, then purpi red and white by turns. It made

1e world of scholars and ¢ xcited a new interest in the

a oreat stir in t
study of astronomy. Every one was anxious to hear Galileo’s explana-
tion of the new wonder, and his lecture room was thronged day after
Thev expected him to thumb the leaves of the old books and

day.
yf the old philosophers, perhaps

find an explanation eiven by some

a la ie ee Uta 1 Seamed =

VS re ieOEE

300 GALILEO

Aristotle himself, hundreds of years before. Imagine, then, their sur-

prise when he not only sought an explanation outside of all the books,
but declared that Aristotle and othe

known it all and had actually made

rs of the old philosophers had not
mistakes! [he students gen-
erally believed that the new star was a kind of meteor and that it
and the moon and revolved around the earth.
But Galileo proved that it was many
the sun, and boldly said that it could not revolve around the earth,

for that would be contrary to the true theory that the earth revolves
around the sun.

was between the earth
any times farther aw ay than

That was a bomb-shell in the camp of the follow-
ers of Aristotle and Ptolemy. They forgot hs brilliant star and
called upon Galileo to prove his position about the revolution of the
earth. He gave a series of lectures on this question and the profes-
sors and students of the university divided into two parties, one sup-
porting the old theory, the other the new. The discussion was one

of burn ing inte rest Harn

r all the remainder of Galileo’s life and he
did not live to hear the ae of it or to cease to suffer from the bitter-
ness of his opponents.

It is undoubtedly true that the credit of the original idea of the
telescope belongs to a Dutch astronomer, if indeed it is not older still
than the Dutchman. But it was Galileo who first ap ipplied it to practical
use in studying the heave nly bodies. There was no sleep for Galileo
the night after he heard of the Holl a instrument, and before morn-
ing he had thought out the principle SO clearly
make a glass magnifying three times.

that he was able to
This he improved until he had
an instrument magn ifying thirty-two times. He
hundreds of them himself

afterwards made
und they were called for in all parts of

Europe. His instrument was a verv simple

one, made of two elasses
only, and constructed on the principle of an opera glass. But simple
and weak as it was when compared to th

e great modern telescope at the
C . ~ oP . :
Lick observatory in California or Lake

Geneva in Wisconsin, it made
It showed for the first time the
mountains and valle ys in the moon and proved the Milky Way to be
made up of millions of stars too far aw: iy to be seen by the naked

possible some wonderful discoveries.

eye. And in 1610, Galileo discovered the four moons of the planet
Jupiter. It could easily be shown by the telescope that the moons
revolved around Jupiter, and this discovery made the revolution of theearth around the sun seem so probable that it

as a proof of that fact.

A STUDENT OF NATURE. 301

was regarded by many

[hen a strange thing happened—at least it would be strange if

something like it had not happened so many times before. The

stronger the proofs of the earth's movement

more bitter were the followers of Aristotle a

s around the sun, the
cainst the new theory.

Some would not look through the tel scope tor fear they might see

the moons which they were sure did not ex

] 1

moons were produced by the telescope, while

were anillusion produced by the devil. Anoth

that as there were but seven days in the week,

xist. Others said the

others said they

ler astronomer objected

Se ee Se by | <7
but Seven metalis—we

y ss CXF rT rT 1 4-],, Sao antenna a | ] 5 = .
now know there are in the neighborhood of fifty—and but seven win-
CXTC ct ] ] : 1x ie a ] : 2 ] < 4 ;
dows in the heads of animals, it must be contrary to the law of
T Se LL 4 ; et 1 : x :

Nature that there should be more than seven planets, and conse-
quently there were no more than seven; adding that the moons of
“4 on . fest 3] = 251 el 7 4 { : ]
Jupiter could not be seen by the eye alone, and were therefore useless

] a 4 :
a } L ( 1¢ ] as ih me
] ] 4 1
(salileo ans r¢ CI tnat th reasons ¢e n why more than
\ 1
SeEV¢ l pid Us Cl Lid hot ( > ( JULI 4 IECELY D SCTOT) enough Ce
] 4 ] ee
destroy LI S ] LNets hich } DeeT) { Ll] Cen ind went on
~ i
1 - { 7 7 ] : s a
studying them just as lf Cl nad n 1 reasoned out Of existence.
1 1 1 1 1 1 4 1
He studied the sun spots 1d found that they had re Cular movements,
indicating that the sun turns on its axis, which we now know to be a
fact [his made the Copernican theory seem still more reasonable
oe ji
to those who were willing to be convinced, but its old enemies were
& ] qs : z : as y “lel ant ep canta haere ; yee
made still more bitter against it. Che head of the university of Pisa

forbade his astronomer to speak of these spots

In 1615 Galileo was called to Rome to ;
He prepared and pub
[It was claimed th:

1 ; aN 1
sented the theory asa possibility onlv, but tha

his enemies new weapons.

truth, and all who opposed it began to tr
Galileo. The church authorities, both Cat
were generally opposed, not only to the ne
newly discovered facts

Father Caccini, a learned priest, made a pun upon the name “ot

Galileo and preached 4 sermon from the text,

a ann A a pts

to his students.

inswer for his heresies.

lefense, which only gave

it Copernicus had pre-

t Galileo taught it asa

ain their guns against

holic and FProtestant,
w theory, but to the

‘Ye men of Galilee,7 i) eda ni
?

302 GALILEO

why stand ye gazing up into heaven?” In this sermon he declared
that ‘geometry is of the devil,” and that “mathematicians should be
banished as the authors of all heresies.” The distinguished theolo-
sian, Fromundus, objected that if the earth moved, ‘‘the buildings
and the earth itself would fly off with such a rapid motion that men
would have to be provided with claws like cats to enable them to
hold fast to the earth’s surface.”

Here was another argument which was widely published and
which was a fair sample of the reasoning which was expected to settle
the whole matter: ‘‘Animals, which move, have limbs and muscles ;
the earth has no limbs or muscles, therefore it does not move. It is
angels who make Saturn, Jupiter, the sun, etc., turnround. If the
earth revolves, it must also have an angel in the center to set it in
motion; but only devils live there; it would therefore be a devil who
would impart motion to the earth.”

Galileo was at length imprisoned, and, under threat of torture,
was compelled to recant what was called his ‘‘ error and heresy of the
movement of the earth.” That was, of course, neither a brave nor
an honest thing to do. But we must remember that he was an old
man, sick and disappointed and in the power of his enemies. It is
not very strange that he weakened under threats which he knew too
well would be rigidly fulfilled. But it would have been a glorious
thine if he could have been strong enough to brave the danger and
stand by the truth.

The familiar story that as he rose from his knees after recanting
he muttered between his teeth, ‘‘It does move, though,” is probably
not true.

Even his recantation did not save him from persecution. He
was still looked upon and treated as a dangerous member of society.
He was exiled from his family and friends and was more than once
threatened with the dungeon. His last years were spent in blind-
ness, loneliness and disappointment. He died in 1642.

His persecution:did not end with his life. His friends were not
allowed to bury him in the family tomb or to place a monument above
him. It was forty years before anyone dared place an inscription
above his grave, and a hundred years before his bones were given
honorable burial in the church of Santa Croce at Florence and a suit-A SLODENT, OF INNATE: 303
able monument placed above him. There is now no place in the
civilized world where he is without honor.

We do not often remember to be grateful for the air we breathe
or the light of day —they are such common things. And in our time
there is no one to shut us up in prison or put us to the torture if we
think and believe differently from others and if we dare say what we
think. But it has taken thousands of years and a long line of noble
men and women who have undergone untold suffering to bring the
ere it will allow such liberty as we now enjoy.

world to the point wl
Galileo was one of that line. We have seen that his old age was full

of disappointment and that he died poor and blind and neglected.

Was his life on that account a failure? MLet us look for an answer

in the great lines of the poet Lowel

‘«Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record

One death-grapple in the darkness twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,

Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,

Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and tis prosperous to be just ;
Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified,

And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.

‘¢Count me o’er earth’s chosen heroes,—they were souls that stood alone,
While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone,

Stood serene, and down the tuture saw the golden beam incline

To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine,

By one man’s plain truth to manhood and to God’s supreme design.

«« By the light of burning heretics Christ’s bleeding feet I track,
Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back,

- ]
And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned
One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned

Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face t

to heaven upturned.304 GALILEO.

‘For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands,
On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands ;

Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,
While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return

To glean up the scattered ashes into History’s golden urn.”’WOLFGANG A. MOZART
THE MASHER Of MASTERS
ue God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear

[The rest may reason and welcome: ‘tis we musicians know.

—Browning.

ILE father and mother
ot Mozart, Leopold
and Maria Anna Mo-

zart, lived in the beautiful old

town of Salzburg, in Austria,
very near the German border.

At the time of their marriage

they were considered the
handsomest couple in Salz-
burg. They had been engaged
for several years. ‘« (Good
things take time,” he wrote
many years afterwards.

Leopold Mozart came of

a family of bookbinders, but

the love of music Was too

strong in him to allow him to

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART.

follow his father’s trade. He
studied music in a monastery in Augsburg, Germany, and became a

master of the violin and organ. He then went to Salzburg, where

o,
he was made court musician and afterwards conductor of an orchestra
for the archbishop of Salzburg. He was also a famous composer, and
wrote music for all kinds of instruments. He was an industrious
worker and a model husband and father. His wife was a good,

305

_ ar - any SEIT Prt
Se ae eas | eteceaeamiaammaias306 WOLFGANG A. MOZART

asy-going woman, W ho seems to have had more good temper than

ee But Leopold Mozart had enough of that for two.

Little Wolfgang was born in Salzburg in 1756, when Maria
Theresa was Empress of Germany and archduchess of Austria, which
was then a part of the German Empire. His full name was Johannes
Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Sigismundus Mozart; but as that was too

long for every day, it was usually shortened to Wo lfoang Amade or

Wolfgang Gottlieb. |
He had one sister, Maria Anna, usually called Nannerl, five
ind she, too, had the gift of music.

years older than himself,
When he was three years old he

Wolfgang was a wonder-child.
would listen intently to the lessons which his father was giving the
little Nannerl upon the harpsichord, and when the lesson was over
would seat himself at the instrument and imitate what his sister had
played. He would also pick out certain chords which seemed par-
ticularly to please him. When he was tour years old he began to
compose little pieces.

An interesting little book has been kept containing some of the
music which he first learned to play, as well as some of his own com-
positions as written ps by his father. This memorandum in his
father's handwriting appears at the end of some fairly difficult music:
«‘ This minuet and trio Wolfgang learned in half an hour on the 26th
of January, 1761, the day before his fifth birthday

night.” The book is eae in the Mozart collection at Salz zbure.

, at half past nine at

One day about this time he was observed making some marks on
paper with a en deal of labor and precision. His father picked up
the paper and looked at it. There were a few notes and a great
many blots. He thought at first it was only nonsense, but when he
had examined it he handed it to his friend Herr Schachtner, the
court trumpeter, and exclaimed with tears in his eyes: ‘‘ Look, Herr
Schachtner ! how correct and according to rule it is set; only it could
be of no use, for it is so extraordinarily difficult that no one would be
able to play it.”

But little Wolfgang was not to be put down like this. ‘‘ That is
“You must practice it until you can
And he went

why it 1s a concert, he said.
make it go. See, this is the way it must be played.”
to the clavier, a kind of piano, and showed them how.

“ See“ THE MASTER OF MASTERS 307

He never cared much for play, though he would sometimes jump
up from his studies for a few moments and prance around the room
with a stick for a horse. One who knew him well wrote after his
death to Wolfang’s sister, ‘‘ Even childish « amusements and games, to
be interesting to him, had to be accompan ed BP music, and if he and
I carried playthings for a game from one room to another, the one

who went empty-handed must sing and play on the violin a march all
the time

Although nothing else was of any interest to him when con pared

)

ae es aN Sane aga Bey Boy ; a
to music, he was willing to study whatevel his father wished him

to learn. He was very conscientious and dutitul. «¢ Next to God
con 1es papa,” he often sald.
When little Wolfgang was barely five, his father took the two

children on a concert tour to Munich, in Bax tia. Lhey staid three

weeks and were so successful that they set out tor Vienna, the capital
Austria, the next September.

They went down the ‘blue Danube” ina boat. On the way

the Bishop of Passau detained them five days that he might hear the

playing of the wonderful child. It is related that when they arrived

in Vienna, the little Wolfgang s . charmed the custom house officers

th it the ’ GIG HOE CO lect th L | duti 5

The Empress M ia Theresa and her husband, Francis [., were
very fond of music, and they sent to have the ‘little magician ’ and
his sister brought to the imperial palace. There the children played
for three hours the first day of their appearanc [he emperor was
delichted. He told Woligang in sport that anyone could play by

using all the fingers, but that the right way was to play with only one.
The little fellow took him at his word. and did as the emperor sug-
gested. He also played the clavier, with the keys covered with a

cloth, and without making a single mistake

The empress sent the children some beautiful dresses—a white
silk gown for little Nannerl, and a lilac-colored, gold embroidered
suit for Wolfgang.

Wolfgang was not afraid of people o! rank. Why should he be?

He was himself a king who had no need of a crown. He would jump

into the lap of the empress and kiss her, and he played with the little
iked Martie

princesses as freely as he played with his sister, lale |

Fe ae Dee Rl ae ioe ecw yt Tcl Gee es Sean tsso woe eee

WOLFGANG A. MOZART

305
Antoinette best—the unfortunate princess wno was one day to become
Queen of France and lose her beautiful head in the French Revolution.
He fell one day on the polishe d floor and she helped him up. ‘‘ You
are good,” he said, ‘‘I will marry you;” and when the empress asked
him why, he said, ‘‘Out of gratitude; she was kind to me, while her

”

sisters stood by and did nothing.
He was not shy either of Prince Joseph, who was one day to be

emperor. When the prince ventured to play the violin, little Mozart’s
first comment was, ‘‘ Fie!” but the prince persevered until he won a
“bravo!” from his gifted little critic.

The next year the entire family set out for Paris, Scone to
play at many places in Germany. They were detained for a day at
Wasserburg by the breaking down of the carriage. The father took
little Wolfgang to the great church organ and showed him how to use
it. Ele understood it at once, and, his father wrote, ‘‘used the
pedal just as if he had practiced it for several months. Every one
was lost in astonishment, and this is a new grace of God, which many
S pace him in

only receive after much trouble.” So it was alwe ay
learning music. It seemed as if he had known it all before, had for-

gotten it for a little, and was only refreshing oe mind.

They were received with great respect almost everywhere in
Germany. At Frankfort they were heard by the poet Goethe, who
said long afterwards: ‘‘I myself was about fourteen, and I can still
recollect the little man in his wig and sword quite distinctly.” Leo-
pold wrote: ‘‘We hold no intercourse with any but noble and dis-
tinguished persons, and meet with exceeding politeness and respect.”
He was pleased with the welcome given them at Aix-la-Chapelle by
the Princess Amalie, sister of Fre oe mick the Great — “Only sheinas

SG;

no money,” he wrote to a friend in Salzburg. ‘‘If the kisses which

she gave my children, especially Master Wolfgang, had been louis-
dors, we might have been joyful.’

In Paris it was much the same as in Vienna. The two children
played in the royal palace to the great delight of the king and queen.
The Marquise de Pompadour took
on a table, but when he wanted to kiss her she drew back. ‘‘ Who is
this,” he exclaimed, that will not let me kiss her? Why, the empress

kissed me!”

him up in her arms and stood him“THE MASTER OF MASTERS.” 200 |

The <Avantcoureur, a Paris newspaper, spoke in the highest
praise of the ‘‘real prodigy” who not only played the works of the
most celebrated masters of Europe in a most surprising manner, but
could improvise, or ‘‘play out of his head,” as the French said, by |
the hour. |

They put him to many tests. They gave him music without |
the bass and required him to write the bass. He did so without an
instrument, which few of the great composers could do. Some of

the finest artists in Paris painted pictures of the wonderful family.

“

Wolfgang was now seven years old.

About this time Leopold Mozart published four sonatas of Wolf-

i
gang’s composition. He feared so much that people would think |
Wolfgang did not really compose them that he was not sorry to find

4 mistake in one of them and he published it without correction.
Musicians of to-day agree that they were sood, not merely for a child,

> >

but tor any be dy.
According to the Ir plan, they next went on to 1 Adan. The
=> I .
journey was of great interest to the children, 1 hey spent a few days

]

at Calais, where they first made acquaintance with. the sea. Ihe

tides were a source of great delight. ‘‘ How the sea runs away and
; } 2? 7 T jhe —- i aa
erows again!” wrote the little Nannerl in her diary.

Arrived in London they took lodgings with a hair-dresser 1n St.

Martin’s Lane. The English dress struck them as very peculiar,
but they soon adopted it. The father wrote home to Salzburg:
‘‘How do you suppose my wile ind girl look in English hats, and

the great Wolfgang in English clothes?
In a few days t 1e George III.
and Queen Charlotte in Buckingham Palace, and Leopold again

wrote home: ‘‘Lhe kindness shown to us by both those exalted

1ev were allowed to play for Ku

personages is beyond description. We could not have supposed from
their friendly manner that they were the king and queen of England.
We have met with extraordinary politeness at every court, but what
we have experienced here surpasses all the rest.” They received
about a hundred and twenty dollars for each performance at court.
Yet they received more trinkets than dollars. They were given

‘oold cnuff-boxes enough to set up a shop,” the father Said, “but dl

)

am poor in money.

onan310 WOLFGANG A. MOZART

Leopold was soon after taken ill, and there were no concerts for
two months. During this time little Wolfgang gave up all practicing
on instruments ‘‘out of consideration to his father,” and gave himself
to composing music. He wrote six sonatas, which were ViCly,
humbly dedicated” to Queen Charlotte ‘‘by her Majesty's very
humble and very obedient little servant.” For these he received
fifty guineas, or about two hundred and fifty dollars.

They started homeward, but Wolfgang himself was ill in the
Netherlands and they were delayed for some weeks. He would not
give up study, but hada board for a writing table laid across his bed
and wrote out the musical thoughts that haunted his wonderful brain.
Wolfgang was ten years old when they reached Salzburg again.
They had been gone three years and a half.

‘Wolfgang, with the help of his sensible father, had kept up his
studies with great regularity in spite of the interruption caused by
concerts and traveling. He had made marvelous progress. It was
admitted on every hand that he was a genius, but both he and his
father were wise enough to understand that genius is not a substitute
for work.

The next year they went to Vienna to play at the marriage of
the Archduchess Maria Josepha. But the bride died from smallpox
and little Wolfgang took the disease and was blind for nine days.
When he recovered, they went back disappointed to Salzburg.

Two years after, Wolfgang went with his father to study music
in Italy. They reached Rome during a great thunderstorm—
“received like great men with the firing of guns,” Wolfgang said.
There in the Sistine chapel he heard a famous piece of music, the
‘‘Miserere,’ written by Allegri, which was regarded so sacred that no
one was allowed to take it out of the chapel or copy it under penalty
of being excommunicated from the church. Wolfgang listened to it
twice, and then went home and wrote it out correctly from memory.
This was considered so wonderful that no one thought of having the
punishment inflicted. It brought him great honor.

In Naples the audience that listened to him was so struck by his
skill with his left hand that they thought there was witchcraft in the
diamond ring he wore. They compelled him to take it off, and he
played better than ever. The Pope gave him the Cross of the Order

er cae“THE MASTER OF MASTERS” 311

of the Golden Spur and a title, and Leopold wrote, ‘‘ He has to wear
a beautiful golden cross, and you can picture to yourself how I laugh
every time I hear him called Signor Cavaliere.” He was at first a
little proud of his badge and title, but he soon forgot all about it.
Though so young, he seemed to realize that the truly great thing was
to de a great musician, and not to wear medals or bear titles. With all

his honors he did not forget his home or his child loves. Once he

and he often asked the
prayers of his ‘‘heart’s little sister, Marianne.”

sent his mother a ‘‘thousand billion kisses’

He had many requests for operas. He worked very hard. He
never was a child in the ordinary sense of the word, but work was
dearer than play to him and his childhood was sunny with love and
appreciation.

When they returned to Salzburg, it seemed necessary for his

father to stay at home and earn a little money by giving music
lessons. Wolfgang was now twenty-one. He started to go to Paris,
taking his mother with him. The separation was a painful one, for
they were a loving family.

On his way to Paris he stopped at Mannheim. Here he became
acquainted with a young girl named Aloysia Weber, and fell in love

with her. She hada beautiful voice, but her father was almost as

]

poor as Wolfgang. When Leopold Mozart learned of this affair, he
wrote to his son, ‘‘Off with you to Paris; get the great folks on your
side; aut Cesar, aut nthil (either Cesar or nothing). From Paris,
the name and fame of a man-of great talent goes through the whole
world.”

Wolfgang, then as ever obedient to his father, started for Paris.
There his mother died and he found little employment. His good
fortune had left him when he parted with his father. He did not

know how to meet the world. He went back to Salzbure with a

heavy heart, not so much for himself as for his father and sister.

He found that Aloysia Weber had gone on the stage at Munich,
and he followed her there. She had been prosperous while he had
been unfortunate, and she was too proud to acknowledge his acquaint-
ance. Hewrote her a farewell song and went back again to Salzburg.
She married a comedian and lived a sad lite.

A year or two later he met the Weber family again at Vienna,

= pT a SOT
Tepe eoramnemmenn Bi a Lo eterna i7 ta az

Bn WOLFGANG A. MOZART

and gave lessons to a young sister of Aloysia, named Constance.
She seems to have resembled his mother in character, being good
natured but somewhat lacking in energy. Wolfgang became attached
to her and married her when he was twenty-six.

Their poverty was very bitter as long as he lived. Constance
was ill a great deal. They had several children and often there was
not enough for them to eat. He worked furiously, preparing piece
after piece of music which was hailed with delight by those who
understood music, but brought him more fame than money. Huis
“Don Giovanni” won the highest praise from the poet Goethe and
others; yet he received but a hundred dollars for it. Opposite the
entry of this sum in his account book he wrote, ‘‘ Too much for what I
do, too little for what I might do.” He was always reaching after the
ideal. He gave lessons and concerts almost continually, went hungry
himself that his wife and little ones might not suffer, and more than
once fainted away at his midnight work. He was the most devoted
of husbands, as he had been the most loving of sons and brothers. The
Emperor of Austria once said to him, ‘‘ Why did you not marry arich
wife?” He replied proudly, ‘‘Sire, I trust that my genius willalways
enable me to support the woman I love.” Only his affection could not
be starved. Huis letters to his wife when absent from her prove that
he remained the lover to the last. He once sent her 1,095,060, 437,082
kisses. He lived but nine years after his marriage, and one has said
that all that time ‘‘his life can be compared to nothing but a torch
burning out rapidly in the wind.”

One trouble was that his music was too fine and too difficult to
please the popular ear. Publishers told him he must write more

simply or they could not use his works. “Thenvaeeite repliediaron
once driven to speak bitterly, ‘‘I can make no more by my pen, and
I had better starve and go to destruction at once.” But courage and
cheer did not all die out while life lasted. Once when they had no fuel
in the house Mozart and his wife were found waltzing to keep warm.

A short time before he died, a strange man came and asked him
to write a Requiem on the death of a nobleman’s wife. The name of
Mozart was not to be used and the nobleman was himself to have the
credit of writing the composition. He disliked the deception in it,
but his wife advised him to do the work and he yielded.DEE VMASEER OF. MASTERS. 212

Overworked, hungry, in debt and hopeless, he became possessed
of the idea that the piece would be his own Requiem. He fell ill
and was obliged to go to bed, but, as he had done when a child, he

wrote from his sick-bed and nearly finished the music. The day
before he died hé asked to have parts of it sung by friends at his
bedside. After singing the alto with them himself, he burst into
tears and said, ‘‘Did I not say that I was writing the Requiem for

myself ?’

A messenger soon after came in to announce that he had received

1 appointment as organist in St. Stephen’s cathedral. He had

wished the place for vears, but it was too late. ‘‘Now must I go, 7

a o
he said, ‘‘just as I should be able to live in peace; I must leave my
family, my poor children, at the very instant in which I should have

been able to provide for their welfare.’

He became delirious and died at midnight. He was only thirty-
five years old. He might have lived many years longer if the world
had been generous in time. There is a legend that he died from

—

poison, but it is without foundation.
His wife was too ill to go to the funeral. A few friends accom-
panied the body in the pourin rain to the cathedral of St. Stephens,

oO
+

but the storm OoTeEW WOTSE and no one went to the OTAVE but the cem-

etery attendants. This man, who had done so much to fill the world
with music, was buried in a pauper’s grave. And when Constance
was able to go to the cemetery, a few weeks later, a new grave-
digger had taken the place ot the old one, and no one could tell her

where her husband was buried. The spot is unknown to this day.

Mozart had left debts behind him and his family was destitute.
Constance appealed to the Emperor Leopold II. for assistance. He
helped her arrange a concert, and, partly through his generosity, the
debt was paid.

The ‘‘Magic Flute,” his last composition except the Requiem,
became so popular that the publisher made a fortune out of it, but
Mozart’s family never received a dollar from it.

Several vears afterwards his widow married a wealthy Dane, who
educated her children.

As soon as Mozart was dead the world began to find out what it

had lost. If only it could have learned his worth a little sooner, what

3 i rn CERES ee
eee Neen eee en iL i aaa = eaeMSTE psoas
ES) TS se
A

314 WOLFGANG A. MOZART.

sorrow might have been saved! Distress and want robbed him
of his best years and robbed the world as well of the glorious
treasures which might have fallen from his pen if he had lived out
his life.

Salzburg now has a bronze statue in his honor and the Mozart
Museum in the same city is one of its leading attractions to tourists.
Vienna has done him tardy honor by a monument in the Cemetery
of St. Mark. And in 1891 the centennial of his death was cele-
brated in Salzburg with a new theater and the performance of the
“Magic Flute.”FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

THE ANGEE OF HE CRIME

I will not say that love makes all things easy, but it makes us choose

what is difficult. George Ehot.

>PLORENCE NIGHTINGALE was born in Florence, Italy,
- where her parents were visiting at the time, in 1818. She

© was the youngest daughter of an English gentleman whose
original name was Edward Shore. A few years before the birth of
his now distinguished daughter, he inherited an estate from his grand
uncle, Peter Nightingale, and assumed the family name of Night-
ingale.

Little Florence was born into a home of luxury and received all
the advantages that wealth could give. She made good use of her
opportunities, for we are told that she was a faithful student and
became far better educated than most girls of her time. She studied
the higher mathematics and learned to read Greek and Latin readily.
She also spoke several of the modern European languages fluently
and was skilled in music. She was a fine looking girl and possessed
fine social qualities. She might have been a brilliant leader in society
had she chosen to spend her life in that way, but she preferred some-
thing vastly different.

Like our own Clara Barton, she began while she was very young

to show her sj mpathy with the sick and suft

ring, not merely by words
but by helpful deeds. She loved pets and cared little for dolls, or
other inanimate playthings. She loved insects, birds, cats, dogs,
everything that was alive. She was fond of visiting the poor people
on her father’s estate, and often carried them clothing, medicine, food
ind dainties.

The wild birds and squirrels learned to know the gentle oirl, and
soon found out that she was their friend. She would often patter
down the long avenue of trees in her father's erounds, scattering nuts
along the path as she ran. The squirrels would scarcely wait for
her to pass, but would run down the trees, pick up the precious nuts,

and hurry away with them to their pantry.

BR a ah aca ai ;316 FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

One of her favorite pets was the old gray pony, Peggy, who had
long since outlived her usefulness into a serene old age. Peggy was
a trained pick-
Docket, ana
when Florence

would come to
the gate, the
wise old pony
would search
her mistress’s
pockets for the

sweetmeats or
apples which
she well knew
were there in
hiding.

Florence was

a good horse-
back rider and
used often to
ride with the
good old par-
ish clergyman
when he went
tovisit the poor
people in the
distant cot
tages. He had

studied medi-

cine and often
took the place
of physician to
the people of
the neighborhood. He was a kind, good man, and seems to have
had a strong influence over little Florence. The world will never
know how much it is indebted to this simple, kindly, unassuming
man for the helpful career of Florence Nightingale.

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.THE ANGEL OF THE CRIMEA. ab7,
An interesting story appeared a few years ago in a magazine
called Little Folks.and I will repeat it because it shows so much of
the woman in the little girl.
An old shepherd of her father’s named Roger had a shepherd

g
dog which he valued highly and which he calle Cap: One day a
mischievous boy threw a stone at him and hurt his leo. Old Roger
thought the leg was broken and decided to kill the dog. But just as
he was about to do so, Florence rode alone with her friend the vicar.

Florence could not think of having the poor fellow killed, and her

friend said they would ride on and see what they could do for him.

They went into the cottage and found him lying on the brick floor.
His eyes sparkled angrily when they went in, but when Florence
called him ‘‘ poor Cap,” he began to wag his tail and crept along and
lay down at her feet. She held one of his paws in her hand and

patted his head while the vicar examined his leg and found it was not
seriously hurt. At her friend’s suggestion, Florence lighted the fire
and he ated Some Water to bathe the dog's le 0," He Soon be OAT) to
feel better and tried to look his gratitude, wagging all there was left
of his tail by way of thanks. When they were going home they met
the shepherd with a rope in his hand.

‘*Q, Koger, ’ cried Florence, “‘you are not to hane poor Cap;
his leg is not broken at all.’

‘No, he will serve you yet,” said the vicar.

““Well, | be glad to hear it,” said the shepherd, “‘and many
thanks to you for going to see him.”

Some days after, Florence and the vicar were out riding, when
they came upon the shepherd and his sheep. This time Cap was on
duty. Huis tail wage

coed when he saw Florence, but he did not get
up, for he must not leave his post. The shepherd said to Florence,
‘Do look at the dog, miss; he be so pleased to hear your voice. I

be glad I did not hang him. I be greatly obliged to you, miss, and
the vicar for what you did. But for you I would have hanged the
best dog I ever had in my life.’

She traveled to many countries with her father and mother, and
everywhere her first wish was to visit the hospitals and other institu-

tions for the aid and comfort of the suffering. Herreading, too, was

mainly along these lines. Once when traveling in Egypt she pre-

i f ‘ ee sue GENE 5 oe eee ea
leak ieee ees POR PE318 FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

scribed medicine and treatment for some Arabs who were suff fering

They began to recover so quickly that they thought she
h. and believed she had treated them with sorcery.
Before she was twenty, she began to be deeply interested in the
training of young women for nurses. She ice familiar with the
excellent work done by the Roman Catholic Sisters of Charity, and
wished that the same thing might be done by Protestants. She
regarded as a profe ssion and that nurses

with fever.
must be a witc

thought nursing should be

should be mee hly traine ed for their work. Some years afterwards

she heard an institution at Kaiserswerth on the Rhine for this
very purpose. It was called a ‘‘school of deaconesses,’’ and had been
founded by Amelia Sieveking and Pastor Fliedner, a man of great
earnestness and unbounded energy. When Miss Nightingale was
twentv-five, she visited this institution and examined its methods and
management. And soon after her return to England she decided to
go again to Kaiserswerth and take the nurse’s training herself, thus
deliberately giving up the life of ease and luxury which she might have
had and taking upon herself the toilful life of a nurse. It was only
a six months’ course, but she worked so hard that her health nearly
broke down. She passed her examination, however, with great
credit, and returned home for a year’s rest. At the close of the
year she went to London and took char ‘oe of a sanitarium for invalid
teachers. The institution was badly in need of money and was just
on the verge of failure when Miss Nightingale came and saved it.
She gave money of her own and she solicited money from others. She
improved the management and insured the success of the andertale
ing. She would accept no pay for her services. When she had
accomplished her task, at the end of many toilful months, she again
returned home for a much needed rest. But instead of rest she was
called to work, the great work of her life. ,

In 1854 the Crimean War broke out. Great numbers of British
soldiers were hurried off to the front in Russia without sufficient prep-
aration for the hardships of war. The sick and wounded could not
be cared for and there was great suffering among the men. The war
correspondent of the Lonxdon Times sent the following report :

“It is now pouring rain, the skies are black as ink, the wind is
howling over the staggering tents, the trenches are turned into dykes;THE ANGEL Of THE CRIMEA. 319

in the tents the water is sometimes a foot deep; our men have not
either warm or waterproof clothing; they are out for twelve hours at
4 time in the trenches; they are plunged into the inevitable necessi-
ties of a winter campaign,—and not a soul seems to have thought of
their comfort or even of their lives. These are hard truths, but the
people of England must hear them. Jhey must know that the
wretched beggar who wanders about the streets of London in the rain,
leads the life of a prince compared with the British soldiers who are
fichting out here for their country. ©

Other and similar statements followed. The next winter the
snow was three feet deep and the cold was so bitter that many of the
soldiers were frozen as they lay in their tents. The English people
could bear this no longer. They raised money and sent supplies of

food. medicine and warm clothing to the poor sufferers on the bleak

Russian plains. But more than that was needed,—a person who had

the good sense and practi lability to oversee the distribution of sup-

plies and superintend the work in the hospitals. Assoon as this need
was realized, it is not strange that many minds turned towards Miss

Nightingale. And while there were some who scouted the unheard-

]
7

of thing of sending a woman into such dangers to endure such hard-

ships, the re were Malt) who be lieved that it was the only Way. The

Secretarv of War wrote to her in October, 1854, and asked her if she

would accept the position, and on almost if not quite the same day on
ee

which his letter was penned to her and betore she had received it, she

wrote to him, offering to go to the Crimea. It was very soon arranged

that she should oO. She lost no time in setting out, and took with

her thirty-four nurses and abundant supplies. She found a battle
raging and everything in terrible confusion, but her energy and
orderly mind _ so¢ vn eave a measure of comiort to the suffering. She
caused the barracks to be cleaned, provided the men with clean gar-
ments, and prepared nourishing food for the sick. The death rate
had been sixty per cent, but under Miss Nightingale’s efficient man-
agement 1t was soon reduced to one per cent.

The gratitude of the soldiers knew no bounds. In her presence
the roughest men grew gentle and profanity was seldom heard. A
soldier wrote, ‘‘ We call her the angel of the Crimea. Could bad

men be bad in the presence of an angel? Impossible.” Another

ee ee eaaial A aSa er ne a ct oe ne

be as a a
aren

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

ah 320
wrote, ‘Before she came there was such cussin’ and swearin’ as you
never heard: but after she came it was as holy as a church.” And
still another said, ‘She would speak to one and another, and nod
and smile to many more; but she could not do it to all, you know,
for we lay there by hundreds: but we could kiss her shadow as it
fell, and lay our heads on our pillows again content.” And the
London Times said :

‘«« She isa ‘ministering angel,’ without any exaggeration, in these
hospitals ; and as her slender form slides quietly along each corridor,
every poor fellow’s face softens with gratitude at the sight of her.
When all the medical officers have retired for the night, and silence
and darkness have settled down upon these miles of prostrate sick,
she may be observed, alone, with a little lamp in her hand, making
her solitary rounds. ”

3 She remained at the front of war eighteen months, or until the
Ni | war closed. When she returned, all England delighted to honor
| her. The queen gave her a beautiful cross and the government
Hi | presented her with $250,000 to endow a training school for nurses,

since she would accept nothing for herself. But one of the finest

tributes she received was this: At a banquet given in London soon
I) after the close of the Crimean War, at which were present ten of the
| most noted men of England, each was asked to write on a slip of
paper the name of the leader in the war who, in his opinion, would
be remembered when all the others were forgotten. When the
slips were read, they were all found to bear the name of Florence
Nightingale.

Miss Nightingale has written several books, all of which relate
| to the subject of hospitals or nursing. She has given her long, busy
i | life to the cause she loved. She has made nursing a fine art, and,
| ereat as was her usefulness in the Crimea in saving lives and pre-

venting suffering, she had a yet nobler mission in preparing the way

for the Red Cross Societies of the world and making possible the
i presence and helpfulness of women in the dangers and sufferings of
| the battle-field.

et She is an old lady now and has long since given up her place by
the bed of the suffering. 3ut her pen is not idle and her mind

still toils in the cause which she has made peculiarly her own.Tepe esrorennenIn fie = So erin eTMin

iY bes ies‘ ee doe
ot = sapere
Ce ea eeea ieee