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 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
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Cornell University Library 
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 The man that corrupted Hadleyburg and ot 
 
 3 1924 022 053 569 
 
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THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED 
 HADLEYBURG 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
By mark twain. 
 
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 NEW YORK AND LONDON : 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS. 
 
S. L. CLEMENS 
 
THE MAN THAT 
 CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER STORIES AND ESSAYS 
 
 By mark twain t/^seu4,> 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 1900 
 
Copyright, 1900, by Olivia L. Clbhbhs. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Man that Corrupted Hadleyburg ^ 
 
 From Harper's iSagaxine 
 
 My D£but as a Literary Person 84 
 
 From the Ctntury 
 
 From the "London Times" of 1904 128 
 
 From the Ctntury 
 
 At the Appetite-Cure 147 
 
 From the Cosmopolitan 
 
 My First Lie, and How I Got Out of It .... 167 
 
 From the New York IVorld 
 
 Is He Living or Is He Dead? 181 
 
 From the Cosmopolitan 
 
 The Esquimau Maiden's Romance 197 
 
 From the Cosmopolitan 
 
 . How to Tell a Story 225 
 
 From the Youth's Companion 
 
 About Play-Acting 235 
 
 From the Forum 
 
 Concerning the Jews 252 
 
 From Harper's Magazine 
 
 Stirring Times in Austria : 
 
 I. — The Government in the Frying-Pan . . . 284 
 
 II.— A Memorable Sitting 295 
 
 III. — Curious Parliamentary Etiquette .... 315 
 
 IV. — The Historic Climax 332 
 
 From Harper's Magazine 
 
 The Austrian Edison Keeping School Again . . . 342 
 
 From the Century 
 
 Travelling with a Reformer 348 
 
 From the Cosmopolitan 
 
 Private History of the "Jumping Frog" Story . . 374 
 
 From the North American Rtview 
 
 MY Boyhood Dreams .... 388 
 
 * From McClure's Magazine 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 S. L. CLEMENS 
 
 ' IT LIT UP HIS WHOLE HEAD WITH AN EVIL JOY " . 
 
 ' ' BUT IT WAS NOT MY EDWARD ' " 
 
 ' GOODSON LOOKED HIM OVER " 
 
 ' ' READY ! — NOW LOOK PLEASANT, PLEASE ' " . . 
 
 'THE HOUSE WAS IN A ROARING HUMOR" . . . 
 THE LAST OF THE SACRED NINETEEN . ... 
 
 FAC-SIMILE OF A CENSORED NEWSPAPER . . . . 
 
 THE PARLIAMENT-HOUSE, VIENNA 
 
 DR. ORTON LECHER 
 
 SCENE IN THE AUSTRIAN PARLIAMENT-HOUSE DUR- 
 ING DR. lecher's TWELVE HOURS' SPEECH . . 
 CARLOS WOLF 
 
 Frontizpiece 
 
 Facing p. 
 
 2 
 
 " 
 
 6 
 
 " 
 
 12 
 
 if 
 
 24 
 
 " 
 
 54 
 
 " 
 
 8o 
 
 Pagt 
 
 288 
 
 Facing p. 
 
 294 
 
 '* 
 
 300 
 
 " 
 
 308 
 
 " 
 
 324 
 
THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED 
 HADLEYBURG 
 
^^ 
 
 o 
 
 ^;;^(siGNED)Ji 
 
 /a 
 
 ^fK$ 
 
THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HAD- 
 LEYBURG 
 
 I 
 
 IT was many years ago. Hadleyburg was the 
 most honest and upright town in all the region 
 round about. It had kept that reputation un- 
 smirched during three generations, and was prouder 
 of it than of any other of its possessions. It was so 
 proud of it, and so anxious to insure its perpetua- 
 tion, that it began to teach the principles of honest 
 dealing to its babies in the cradle, and made the 
 like teachings the staple of their culture thence- 
 forward through all the years devoted to their 
 education. Also, throughout the formative years 
 temptations were kept out of the way of the young 
 people, so that their honesty could have every 
 chance to harden and solidify, and become a part 
 of their very bone. The neighboring towns were 
 jealous of this honorable supremacy, and affected 
 
to sneer at Hadleyburg's pride in it and call it 
 vanity ; but all the same they were obliged to ac- 
 knowledge that Hadleyburg was in reality an in- 
 corruptible town; and if pressed they would also 
 acknowledge that the mere fact that a young man 
 hailed from Hadleyburg was all the recommenda- 
 tion he needed when he went forth from his natal 
 town to seek for responsible employment. 
 
 But at last, in the drift of time, Hadleyburg had 
 the ill luck to offend a passing stranger — possibly 
 without knowing it, certainly without caring, for 
 Hadleyburg was suflficient unto itself, and cared 
 not a rap for strangers or their opinions. Still, it 
 would have been well to make an exception in 
 this one's case, for he was a bitter man and re- 
 vengeful. All through his wanderings during a 
 whole year he kept his injury in mind, and gave 
 all his leisure moments to trying to invent a com- 
 pensating satisfaction for it. He contrived many 
 plans, and all of them were good, but none of them 
 was quite sweeping enough ; the poorest of them 
 would hurt a great many individuals, but what he 
 wanted was a plan which would comprehend the 
 entire town, and not let so much as one person es- 
 cape unhurt. At last he had a fortunate idea, and 
 when it fell into his brain it lit up his whole head 
 with an evil joy. He began to form a plan at once, 
 
"IT LIT UP HIS WHOLE HEAD WITH AN EVIL JOY" 
 
saying to himself, " That is the thing to do — I will 
 corrupt the town." 
 
 Six months later he went to Hadleyburg, and 
 arrived in a buggy at the house of the old cashier 
 of the bank about ten at night. He got a sack out 
 of the buggy, shouldered it, and staggered with it 
 through the cottage yard, and knocked at the door. 
 A woman's voice said " Come in," and he entered, 
 and set his sack behind the stove in the parlor, say- 
 ing politely to the old lady who sat reading the 
 Missionary Herald by the lamp : 
 
 " Pray keep your seat, madam, I will not disturb 
 you. There — now it is pretty well concealed ; one 
 would hardly know it was there. Can I see your 
 husband a moment, madam ?" 
 
 No, he was gone to Brixton, and might not re- 
 turn before morning. 
 
 " Very well, madam, it is no matter. I merely 
 wanted to leave that sack in his care, to be deliver- 
 ed to the rightful owner when he shall be found. 
 I am a stranger; he does not know me; I am mere- 
 ly passing through the town to-night to discharge 
 a matter which has been long in my mind. My 
 errand is now completed, and I go pleased and a 
 little proud, and you will never see me again. 
 There is a paper attached to the sack which will 
 explain everything. Good-night, madam." 
 
The old lady was afraid of the mysterious big 
 stranger, and was glad to see him go. But her curi- 
 osity was roused, and she went straight to the sack 
 and brought away the paper. It began as follows: 
 
 " To BE PUBLISHED; OT, the right man sought out by pri- 
 vate inquiry — either will answer. This sack contains gold 
 coin weighing a hundred and sixty pounds four ounces — " 
 
 " Mercy on us, and the door not locked !" 
 Mrs. Richards flew to it all in a tremble and locked 
 it, then pulled down the window-shades and stood 
 frightened, worried, and wondering if there was any- 
 thing else she could do toward making herself and 
 the money more safe. She listened awhile for burg- 
 lars, then surrendered to curiosity and went back to 
 the lamp and finished reading the paper: 
 
 " T am a foreigner, and am presently going back to my own 
 country, to remain there permanently. I am grateful to 
 America for what I have received at her hands during my 
 long stay under her flag ; and to one of her citizens — a citi- 
 zen of Hadleyburg — / am. especially grateful for a great 
 kindness done me a year or two ago. Two great kindnesses, 
 in fact. I will explain. T was a gambler. IsayIwA.S. I 
 was a ruined gambler. I arrived in this village at night, 
 hungry and without a penny. I asked for help — in the dark ; 
 T was ashamed to beg in the light. I begged of the right 
 man. He gave me twenty dollars — that is to say, he gave 
 me life, as I considered it. He also gave me fortune ; for 
 out of that money I have made myself rich at the gaming- 
 
table. And finally, a remark which he made to me has re- 
 mainedwith me to this day, and has at last conquered me; and 
 in conquering has savii the remnant of my morals: I shall 
 gamble no 7nore. Non I have no idea who that man was, but 
 I want him found, and I want him to have this money, to give 
 away, throw away, or keep, as he pleases. It is merely tny 
 way of testifying my gratitude to him. If I could stay, I 
 would find him myself ; but no matter, he will be found. 
 This is an honest town, an incorruptible town, and I know I 
 can trust it without fear. This man can be identified by the 
 remark which he made to me ; I feel persuaded that he will 
 rem.ember it. 
 
 "And now my plan is this : If you prefer to conduct the in- 
 quiry privately, do so. Tell the contents of this present writ- 
 ing to any one who is likely to be the right man. If he shall 
 answer, ' I am the man ; the retnark I made was so-and-so,' 
 apply the test — to wit : open the sack, and in it you will find 
 a sealed envelope containing that rem.ark. If the remark 
 mentioned by the candidate tallies with it, give him the money, 
 and ask no further questions, for he is certainly the right 
 man. 
 
 " But if you shall prefer a public inquiry, then publish this 
 present writing in the local paper — with these instructions 
 added, to wit: Thirty days from now, let the candidate ap- 
 pear at the town -hall at eight in the evening {Friday), and 
 hand his remark, in a sealed envelope, to the Rev. Mr. Burgess 
 {if he will be kind enough to act) ; and let Mr. Burgess there 
 and then destroy the seals of the sack, open it, and see if the 
 remark is correct ; if correct, let the money be delivered, with 
 my sincere gratitude, to my benefactor thus identified" 
 
 Mrs. Richards sat down, gently quivering with 
 excitement, and was soon lost in thinkings — after 
 this pattern : " What a strange thing it is ! . . > 
 
And what a fortune for that kind man who set his 
 bread afloat upon the waters ! ... If it had only- 
 been my husband that did it ! — for we are so poor, 
 so old and poor ! . . ." Then, with a sigh — " But 
 it was not my Edward ; no, it was not he that gave 
 a stranger twenty dollars. It is a pity too ; I see 
 it now. . . ." Then, with a shudder — "But it is 
 gambler's money ! the wages of sin ; we couldn't 
 take it ; we couldn't touch it. I don't like to be 
 near it ; it seems a defilement." She moved to a 
 farther chair. ... "I wish Edward would come, 
 and take it to the bank ; a burglar might come at 
 any moment ; it is dreadful to be here all alone 
 with it." 
 
 At eleven Mr. Richards arrived, and while his 
 wife was saying, " I am so glad you've come !" he 
 was saying, "I'm so tired — tired clear out; it is 
 dreadful to be poor, and have to make these dismal 
 journeys at my time of life. Always at the grind, 
 grind, grind, on a salary — another man's slave, and 
 he sitting at home in his slippers, rich and comfort- 
 able." 
 
 " I am so sorry for you, Edward, you know that ; 
 but be comforted ; we have our livelihood ; we have 
 our good name — " 
 
 " Yes, Mary, and that is everything. Don't mind 
 my talk — it's just a moment's irritation and doesn't 
 
 I ! 
 
"BUT IT WAS NOT MY EDWARD" 
 
mean anything. Kiss me — there, it's all gone now, 
 and I am not complaining any more. What have 
 you been getting ? What's in the sack ?" 
 
 Theri his wife told him the great secret. It dazed 
 him for a moment ; then he said : 
 
 " It weighs a hundred and sixty pounds? Why, 
 Mary, it's for-ty thou-sand dollars — think of it — a 
 whole fortune! Not ten men in this village are 
 worth that much. Give me the paper." 
 
 'He skimmed through it and said : 
 
 " Isn't it an adventure ! Why, it's a romance ; it's 
 like the impossible things one reads about in books, 
 and never sees in life." ■ He was well stirred up now ; 
 cheerful, even gleeful. He tapped his old wife on 
 the cheek, and said, humorously, " Why, we're rich, 
 Mary, rich ; all we've got to do is to bury the money 
 and burn the papers. If the gambler ever comes to 
 inquire, we'll merely look coldly upon him and say : 
 ' What is this nonsense you are talking ? We have 
 never heard of you and your sack of gold before ;' 
 and then he would look foolish, and — " 
 
 " And in the mean time, while you are running 
 on with your Jokes, the money is still here, and it 
 is fast getting along toward burglar-time." 
 
 " True. Very well, what shall we do — make tlTe 
 inquiry private ? No, not that ; it would spoil the 
 romance. The public method is better. Think 
 
8 
 
 what a noise it will make ! And it will make all 
 the other towns jealous ; for no stranger would trust 
 such a thing to any town but Hadleyburg, and they 
 know it. It's a great card for us. I must get to the 
 printing-office now, or I shall be too late." 
 
 " But stop — stop — don't leave me here alone with 
 it, Edward!" 
 
 But he was gone. For only a little while, how- 
 ever. Not far from his own house he met the edi- 
 tor-proprietor of the paper, and gave him the docu- 
 ment, and said, " Here is a good thing for you, Cox 
 —put it in." 
 
 " It may be too late, Mr. Richards, but I'll see." 
 
 At home again he and his wife sat down to talk 
 the charming mystery over ; they were in no con- 
 dition for sleep. The first question was, Who 
 could the citizen have been who gave the stranger 
 the twenty dollars ? It seemed a simple one ; 
 both answered it in the same breath — 
 
 " Barclay Goodson." 
 
 "Yes," said Richards, "he could have done it, 
 and it would have been like him, but there's not 
 another in the town." 
 
 " Everybody will grant that, Edward — grant it 
 privately, anyway. For six months, now, the village 
 has been its own proper self once more — honest, 
 narrow, self-righteous, and stingy." 
 
" It is what he always called it, to the day of his 
 death — said it right out publicly, too." 
 
 " Yes, and he was hated for it." 
 
 " Oh, of course ; but he didn't care. I reckon he 
 was the best-hated man among us, except the Rev- 
 erend Burgess." 
 
 " Well, Burgess deserves it — he will never get an- 
 other congregation here. Mean as the town is, it 
 knows how to estimate him. Edward, doesn't it 
 seem odd that the stranger should appoint Burgess 
 to deliver the money ?" 
 
 " Well, yes— it does. That is— that is—" 
 
 "Why so much that-w-ing? Would you select 
 him ?" 
 
 " Mary, maybe the stranger knows him better 
 than this village does." 
 
 " Much that would help Burgess !" 
 
 The husband seemed perplexed for an answer; the 
 wife kept a steady eye upon him, and waited. Finally 
 Richards said, with the hesitancy of one who is mak- 
 ing a statement which is likely to encounter doubt, 
 
 " Mary, Burgess is not a bad man." 
 
 His wife was certainly surprised. 
 
 " Nonsense !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " He is not a bad man. I know. The whole 
 of his unpopularity had its foundation in that 
 one thing — ^the thing that made so much noise." 
 
10 
 
 "That 'one thing,' indeed! As if that 'one 
 thing' wasn't enough, all by itself." 
 
 " Plenty. Plenty. Only he wasn't guilty of it." 
 
 " How you talk ! Not guilty of it ! Everybody 
 knows he was guilty." 
 
 " Mary, I give you my word — he was innocent." 
 
 "I can't believe it, /and I don't. How do you 
 know?" 
 
 " It is a confession. I am ashamed, but I will 
 make it. I was the only man who knew he was 
 innocent. I could have saved him, and — and — 
 well, you know how the town was wrought up — 
 I hadn't the pluck to do it. It would have turned 
 everybody against me. I felt mean, ever so mean ; 
 but I didn't dare; I hadn't the manliness to face 
 that." 
 
 Mary looked troubled, and for a while was silent. 
 Then she said, stammeringly : 
 
 " I — I don't think it would have done for you to 
 — to — One mustn't — er — public opinion — one has 
 to be so careful — so — " It was a difficult road, and 
 she got mired ; but after a little she got started 
 again. " It was a great pity, but — Why, we 
 couldn't afford it, Edward — we couldn't indeed. 
 Oh, I wouldn't have had you do it for anything !" 
 
 " It would have lost us the good-will of so many 
 people, Mary ; and then — and then — " 
 
II 
 
 " What troubles me now is, what he thinks of us, 
 Edward." 
 
 " He ? He doesn't suspect that I could have 
 saved him." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed the wife, in a tone of relief, " I 
 am glad of that. As long as he doesn't know that 
 you could have saved him, he — he — well, that makes 
 it a great deal better. Why, I might have known 
 he didn't know, because he is always trying to be 
 friertdly with us, as little encouragement as we give 
 him. More than once people have twitted me with 
 it. There's the Wilsons, and the Wilcoxes, and the 
 Harknesses, they take a mean pleasure in saying, 
 ' Your friend Burgess,' because they know it pesters 
 me. I wish he wouldn't persist in liking us so ; I 
 can't think why he keeps it up." 
 
 " I can explain it. It's another confession. When 
 the thing was new and hot, and the town made a 
 plan to ride him on a rail, my conscience hurt me 
 so that I couldn't stand it, and I went privately and 
 gave him notice, and he got out of the town and 
 staid out till it was safe to come back." 
 
 " Edward ! If the town had found it out — " 
 
 " Dotit -' It scares me yet, to think of it. I re- 
 pented of it the minute it was done; and I was 
 even afraid to tell you, lest your face might betray 
 it to somebody. I didn't sleep any that night, for 
 
12 
 
 worrying. But after a few days I saw that no one 
 was going to suspect me, and after that I got to 
 feeling glad I did it. And I feel glad yet, Mary- 
 glad through and through." 
 
 " So do I, now, for it would have been a dread- 
 ful way to treat him. Yes, I'm glad; for really^ 
 you did owe him that, you know. But, Ed- 
 ward, suppose it. should come out yet, some 
 day !" 
 
 " It won't." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because everybody thinks it was Goodson." 
 
 " Of course they would !" 
 
 "Certainly. And of course ^^ didn't care. Theyi 
 persuaded poor old Sawlsberry to go and charge it 
 on him, and he went blustering over there and did , 
 it. Goodson looked him over, like as if he was 
 hunting for a place on him that he could despise J 
 the most, then he says, ' So you are the Committee ; 
 of Inquiry, are you ?' Sawlsberry said that was 
 .about what he was. ' Hm. Do they require par- 
 ticulars, or do you reckon a kind of a general an- 
 swer will do?' 'If they require particulars, I will 
 come back, Mr. Goodson ; I will take the general 
 answer first.' ' Very well, then, tell them to go to 
 hell — I reckon that's general enough. And I'll give 
 you some advice, Sawlsberry ; when you come back 
 
'GOODSON LOOKED HIM OVER" 
 
13 
 
 for the particulars, fetch a basket to carry the relics 
 of yourself home in.' " 
 
 " Just like Goodson ; it's got all the marks. He 
 had only one vanity; he thought he could give 
 advice better than any other person." 
 
 "It settled the business, and saved us, Mary. 
 The subject was dropped." 
 
 " Bless you, I'm not doubting that." _ 
 
 Then they took up the gold-sack mystery again, 
 with strong interest. Soon the conversation began 
 to suffer breaks — interruptions caused by absorbed 
 thinkings. The breaks grew more and more fre- 
 quent. At last Richards lost himself wholly in 
 thought. He sat long, gazing vacantly at the floor, 
 and by-and-by he began to punctuate his thoughts 
 with little nervous movements of his hands that 
 seemed to indicate vexation. Meantime his wife 
 too had relapsed into a thoughtful silence, and her 
 movements were beginning to show a troubled dis- 
 comfort. Finally Richards got up and strode aim- 
 lessly about the room, ploughing his hands through 
 his hair, much as a somnambulist might do who 
 was having a bad dream. Then he seemed to ar- 
 rive at a definite purpose ; and without a word he 
 put on his hat and passed quickly out of the house. 
 His wife sat brooding, with a drawn face, and did 
 not seem to be aware that she was alone. Now 
 
H 
 
 ■" and then she murmured, " Lead us not into t. . . . 
 but — but — wfe are so poor, so poor !. . . . Lead us 
 not into. . . . Ah, who would be hurt by it ? — and 
 no one would ever know. . . . Lead us. . . ." The 
 voice died out in mumblings. After a little she 
 glanced up and muttered in a half-frightened, half- 
 glad way — 
 
 " He is gone ! But, oh dear, he may be too late 
 — too late. . . . Maybe not — maybe there is still 
 time." She rose and stood thinking, nervously 
 clasping and unclasping her hands. A slight shud- 
 der shook her frame, and she said, out of a dry 
 throat, " God forgive me — it's awful to think such 
 things — but. . . . Lord, how we are made — how 
 strangely we are made!" 
 
 She turned the light low, and slipped stealthily 
 over and kneeled down by the sack and felt of its 
 ridgy sides with her hands, and fondled them loving- 
 ly ; and there was a gloating light in her poor old 
 eyes. She fell into fits of absence ; and came half 
 out of them at times to mutter, " If we had only 
 waited ! — oh, if we had only waited a little, and not 
 been in such a hurry !" 
 
 Meantime Cox had gone home from his office 
 and told his wife all about the strange thing that 
 had happened, and they had talked it over eagerly, 
 and guessed that the late Goodson was the only 
 
IS 
 
 man in the town who could have helped a suffer- 
 ing stranger with' so noble a sum as twenty dol- 
 lars. Then there was a pause, and the two became 
 thoughtful and silent. And by-and-by nervous and 
 fidgety. At last the wife said, as if to herself, 
 
 " Nobody knows this secret but the Richardses 
 . . . and us . . . nobody." 
 
 The husband came out of his thinkings with a 
 slight start, and gazed wistfully at his wife, whose 
 face was become very pale ; then he hesitatingly 
 rose, and glanced furtively at his hat, then at his 
 wife — a sort of mute inquiry. Mrs. Cox swallowed 
 once or twice, with her hand at her throat, then in 
 place of speech she nodded her head. Ifi a moment 
 she was alone, and mumbling to herself. 
 
 And now Richards and Cox were hurrying through 
 the deserted streets, from opposite directions. They 
 met, panting, at the foot of the printing-ofifice stairs ; 
 by the night-light there they read each other's face. 
 Cox whispered, 
 
 " Nobody knows about this but us ?" 
 
 The whispered answer was, 
 
 " Not a soul — on honor, not a soul !" 
 
 " If it isn't too late to—" 
 
 The men were starting up-stairs ; at this moment 
 they were overtaken by a boy, and Cox asked, 
 
 " Is that you, Johnny ?" 
 
x6 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You needn't ship the early mail — nor any mail ; 
 wait till I tell you." 
 
 " It's already gone, sir." 
 
 " Gone?" It had the sound of an unspeakable 
 disappointment in it. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Time - table for Brixton and all the 
 towns beyond changed to-day, sir — had to get the 
 papers in twenty minutes earlier than common. I 
 had to rush; if I had been two minutes later — " 
 
 The men turned and walked slowly away, not 
 waiting to hear the rest. Neither of them spoke 
 during ten minutes ; then Cox said, in a vexed tone, 
 
 " What possessed you to be in such a hurry, I 
 can't make out." 
 
 The answer was humble enough : 
 
 " I see it now, but somehow I never thought, 
 you know, until it was too late. But the next 
 time — " 
 
 " Next time be hanged ! It won't come in a 
 thousand years." 
 
 Then the friends separated without a good-night, 
 and dragged themselves home with the gait of mor- 
 tally stricken men . At their homes their wives sprang 
 up with an eager " Well ?" — then saw the answer 
 with their eyes and sank down sorrowing, without 
 waiting for it to come in words. In both houses a 
 
17 
 
 discussion followed of a heated sort — a new thing ; 
 there had been discussions before, but not heated 
 ones, not ungentle ones. The discussions to-night 
 were a sort of seeming plagiarisms of each other. 
 Mrs. Richards said, 
 
 "If you had only waited, Edward — if you had 
 only stopped to think; but no, you must run 
 straight to the printing-office and spread it all over 
 the world." 
 
 "It jflzrf publish it." 
 
 " That is nothing ; it also said do it privately, if 
 you liked. There, now — is that true, or not?" 
 
 " Why, yes — yes, it is true ; but when I thought 
 what a stir it would make, and what a compliment 
 it was to Hadleyburg that a stranger should trust 
 it so—" 
 
 " Oh, certainly, I know all that ; but if you had 
 only stopped to think, you would have seen that 
 you couldn't find the right man, because he is in 
 his grave, and hasn't left chick nor child nor rela- 
 tion behind him ; and as long as the money went 
 to somebody that awfully needed it, and nobody 
 would be hurt by it, and — and — " 
 
 She broke down, crying. Her husband tried to 
 think of some comforting thing to say, and pres- 
 ently came out with this : 
 
 " But after all, Mary, it must be for the best — it 
 
i8 
 
 must be ; we know that. And we must remember 
 that it was so ordered — " 
 
 "Ordered! Oh, everything's ordered, when a 
 person has to find some way out when he has been 
 stupid. Just the same, it was ordered, that the 
 money should come to us in this special way, and 
 it was you that must take it on yourself to go med- 
 dhng with the designs of Providence — and who 
 gave you the right ? It was wicked, that is what 
 it was — just blasphemous presumption, and no 
 more becoming to a meek and humble professor 
 of—" 
 
 " But, Mary, you know how we have been trained 
 all our lives long, like the whole village, till it is ab- 
 solutely second nature to us to stop not a single 
 moment to think when there's an honest thing to 
 be done — " 
 
 " Oh, I know it, I know it — it's been one ever- 
 lasting training and training and training in honesty 
 — honesty shielded, from the very cradle, against 
 every possible temptation, and so it's artificial hon- 
 \ esty, and weak as water when temptation comes, as 
 /we have seen this night. God knows I never had 
 i shade nor shadow of a doubt of my petrified and 
 indestructible honesty until now — and now, under 
 the very first big and real temptation, I — Edward, 
 it is my belief that this town's honesty is as rotten 
 
19 
 
 as mine is; as rotten as yours is. It is a mean town, 
 a hard, stingy town, and hasn't a virtue in the world 
 but this honesty it is so celebrated for and so con- 
 ceited about ; and so help me, I do believe that if 
 ever the day comes that its honesty falls under 
 great temptation, its grand reputation will go to 
 ruin like a house of cards. There, now, I've made 
 confession, and I feel better ; I am a humbug, and 
 I've been one all my life, without knowing it. Let 
 no man call me honest again— I will not have it." 
 
 " I — Well, Mary, I feel a good deal as you do ; 
 I certainly do. It seems strange, too, so strange. 
 I never could have believed it — 'never." 
 
 A long silence followed ; both were sunk in 
 thought. At last the wife looked up and said, 
 
 " I know what you are thinking, Edward." 
 
 Richards had the embarrassed look of a person 
 who is caught. 
 
 " I am ashamed to confess it, Mary, but — " 
 
 " It's no matter, Edward, I was thinking .the same 
 question myself." 
 
 " I hope so. State it." 
 
 " You were thinking, if a body could only guess 
 out what the remark was thdii Goodson made to the 
 stranger." 
 
 " It's perfectly true. I feel guilty and ashamed. 
 And you ?" 
 
20 
 
 " I'm past it. Let us make a pallet here ; we've 
 got to stand watch till the bank vault opens in the 
 morning and admits the sack. . . . Oh, dear, oh, 
 dear — if we hadn't made the mistake !" 
 
 The pallet was made, and Mary said : 
 
 "The open sesame — what could it have been? 
 I do wonder what that remark could have been ? 
 But come ; we will get to bed now." 
 
 "And sleep?" 
 
 "No; think." 
 
 " Yes, think." 
 
 By this time the Coxes too had completed their 
 spat and their reconciliation, and were turning in 
 — to think, to think, and toss, and fret, and worry 
 over what the remark could possibly have been 
 which Goodson made to the stranded derelict : that 
 golden remark ; that remark worth forty thousand 
 dollars, cash. 
 
 The reason that the village telegraph -ofifice was 
 open later than usual that night was this : The 
 foreman of Cox's paper was the local representgr 
 tive of the Associated Press. One might say its 
 honorary representative, for it wasn't four times a 
 year that he could furnish thirty words that would 
 be accepted. But this time it was different. His 
 despatch stating what he had caught got an instant 
 answer : 
 
21 
 
 " Send the whole thing — all the details — twelve hundrea 
 words." 
 
 A colossal order ! The foreman filled the bill ; 
 and he was the proudest man in the State. By 
 breakfast-time the next morning the name of Had- 
 leyburg the Incorruptible was on every lip in Amer- 
 ica, from Montreal to the Gulf, from the glaciers of 
 Alaska to the orange-groves of Florida ; and mill- 
 ions and millions of people were discussing the 
 stranger and his money-sack, and wondering if the 
 right man would be found, and hoping some more 
 news about the matter would come soon — right 
 away. 
 
 II 
 
 Hadleyburg village woke up world -celebrated — 
 astonished — happy — vain. Vain beyond imagina- 
 tion. Its nineteen principal citizens and their wives 
 went about shaking hands with each other, and 
 beaming, and smiling, and congratulating, and say- 
 ing this t\img adds a new word to the dictionary— 
 Hadleyburg, synonym for incorruptible — destined 
 to live in dictionaries forever ! And the minor and 
 unimportant citizens and their wives went around 
 acting in much the same way. Everybody ran to 
 
22 
 
 the bank to see the gold -sack; and before noon 
 grieved and envious crowds began to flock in from 
 Brixton and all neighboring towns ; and that after- 
 noon and next day reporters began to arrive from 
 everywhere to verify the sack and its history and 
 write the whole thing up anew, and make dashing 
 free-hand pictures of the sack, and of Richards's 
 house, and the bank, and the Presbyterian church, 
 and the Baptist church, and the public square, and 
 the town-hall where the test would be applied and 
 the money delivered ; and damnable portraits of 
 the Richardses, and Pinkerton the banker, and Cox, 
 and the foreman, and Reverend Burgess, and the 
 postmaster — and even of Jack Halliday, who was 
 the loafing, good-natured, no -account, irreverent 
 fisherman, hunter, boys' friend, stray -dogs' friend, 
 typical " Sam Lawson " of the town. The little 
 mean, smirking, oily Pinkerton showed the sack to 
 all comers, and rubbed his sleek palms together 
 pleasantly, and enlarged upon the town's fine old 
 reputation for honesty and upon this wonderful 
 endorsement of it, and hoped and believed that 
 the example would now spread far and wide over 
 the American world, and be epoch-making in the 
 matter of moral regeneration. And so on, and so 
 on. 
 
 By the end of a week things had quieted down 
 
23 
 
 again ; the wild intoxication of pride and joy had 
 sobered to a soft, sweet, silent delight — a sort of 
 deep, nameless, unutterable content. All faces bore 
 a look of peaceful, holy happiness. 
 
 Then a change came. It was a gradual change : 
 so gradual that its beginnings were hardly noticed ; 
 maybe were not noticed at all, except by Jack Hal-" 
 liday, who always noticed everything; and always 
 made fun of it, too, no matter what it was. He 
 began to throw out chafifing remarks about people 
 not looking quite so happy as they did a day or two 
 ago ; and next he claimed that the new aspect was 
 deepening to positive sadness ; next, that it was 
 taking on a sick look ; and finally he said that every- 
 body was becomeso moody, thoughtful, and absent- 
 minded that he could rob the meanest man in town 
 of a cent out of the bottom of his breeches pocket 
 and not disturb his revery. 
 
 At this stage — or at about this stage — a saying 
 like this was dropped at bedtime — with a sigh, usu- 
 ally — by the head of each of the nineteen principal 
 households : 
 
 "Ah, what could have been the remark that Good- 
 son made !" 
 
 And straightway — with a shudder — came this, 
 from the man's wife : 
 
 " Oh, dont ! What horrible thing are you mul- 
 
24 
 
 ling in your mind ? Put it away from you, for God's 
 sake !" 
 
 But that question was wrung from those men 
 again the next night — and got the same retort. 
 But weaker. 
 
 And the third night the men uttered the question 
 yet again — with anguish, and absently. This time 
 
 — and the following night — the wives fidgeted 
 feebly, and tried to say something. But didn't. 
 
 And the night after that they found their tongues 
 and responded — longingly, 
 
 " Oh, if we could only guess !" 
 
 Halliday's comments grew daily more and more 
 sparklingly disagreeable and disparaging. He went 
 diligently about, laughing at the town, individually 
 and in mass. But his laugh was the only one left 
 in the village : it fell upon a hollow and mournful 
 vacancy and emptiness. Not even a smile was find- 
 able anywhere. Halliday carried a cigar-box around 
 on a, tripod, playing that it was a camera, and halted- 
 all passers and aimed the thing and said, " Ready! 
 
 — now look pleasant, please," but not even this 
 capital joke could surprise the dreary faces into 
 any softening. 
 
 So three weeks passed — one week was left. It 
 was Saturday evening — after supper. Instead of 
 the aforetime Saturday- evening flutter and bustle 
 
25 
 
 and shopping and larking, the streets were empty 
 and desolate. Richards and his old wife sat apart 
 in their little parlor — miserable and thinking. This 
 was become their evening habit now : the life-long' 
 habit which had preceded it, of reading, knitting, 
 and contented chat, or receiving or paying neigh- 
 borly calls, was dead and gone and forgotten, ages 
 ago — two or three weeks ago ; nobody talked now, 
 nobody read, nobody visited — the whole village sat 
 at home, sighing, worrying, silent. Trying to guess 
 out that remark. ';' v' \(\- '^ :i^-^i f)'Wi'^ 
 
 The postman left a letter. Richards glanced list- 
 lessly at the superscription and the post-mark — un- 
 familiar, both — and .tossed the letter on the table 
 and resumed his might-have-beens and his hopeless 
 dull miseries where he had left them off. Two or 
 three hours later his wife got wearily up and was 
 going away to bed without a good-night — custom 
 now — but she stopped near the letter and eyed it 
 awhile with a dead interest, then broke it open, and 
 began to skim it over. Richards, sitting there with 
 his chair tilted back against the wall and his chin 
 between his knees, heard something fall. It was 
 his wife. He sprang to her side, but she cried 
 out : 
 
 " Leave me alone, I am too happy. Read the 
 letter— read it !" 
 
26 
 
 He did. He devoured it, his brain reeling. The 
 letter was from a distant State, and it said : 
 
 " / am a stranger to you, but no matter : I have something 
 to tell. I have just arrived home from Mexico, and learned 
 about that episode. Of course you do not know wha made that 
 remark, but I know, and I am the only person living, who does 
 know. It was GoOBSON . I knew him. well, many years ago. 
 I passed through your village that very night, and was his 
 guest till the midnight train came along. I overheard him 
 make that rem.ark to the stranger in the dark — it was in 
 Hale Alley. He and I talked of it the rest of the way home, 
 and while smoking in his house. He mentioned many of your 
 villagers in the course of his talk — most of them in a very 
 uncomplimentary way, but two or three favorably : among 
 these latter yourself. I say 'favorably ' — nothing stronger. 
 I remember his saying he did not actually LIKE any person in 
 the town — not one ; but that you— I TUlNV^ he said you — am 
 almost sure — had done him a very great service once, possibly 
 without knowing the full value of it, and he wished he had a 
 fortune, he would leave it to you when he died, and a curse 
 apiece for the rest of the citizens. Now, then, if it was you 
 that did him that service, you are his legitim,ate heir, and 
 entitled to the sack of gold. I know that I can trust to your 
 honor and honesty , for in a citizen of Hadleyburg these virtues 
 are an unfailing inheritance, and so I am going to reveal to 
 you the remark, well satisfied that if you are not the right 
 man you will seek and find the right one and see that poor 
 Goodsons debt of gratitude for the service referred to is paid. 
 This is the remark: 'You ARE FAR from being a bad 
 man : go, and reform.' 
 
 " Howard L. Stephenson." 
 
 " Oh, Edward, the money is ours, and I am so 
 
27 
 
 grateful, oh, so grateful — kiss me, dear, it's forever 
 since we kissed — and we needed it so — the money 
 — and now you are free of Pinkerton and his bank, 
 and nobody's slave any more ; it seems to me I 
 could fly for joy." 
 
 It was a happy half- hour that the couple spent 
 there on the settee caressing each other; it was 
 the old days come again — days that had begun with 
 their courtship and lasted without a break till the 
 stranger brought the deadly money. By-and-by 
 the wife said : 
 
 " Oh, Edward, how lucky it was you did him that 
 grand service, poor Goodson ! I never liked him, 
 but I love him now. And it was fine and beautiful 
 of you never to mention it or brag about it." Then, 
 with a touch of reproach, " But you ought to have 
 told me, Edward, you ought to have told your wife, 
 you know." 
 
 " Well, I — er — well, Mary, you see — " 
 
 " Now stop hemming and hawing, and tell me 
 about it, Edward. I always loved you, and now 
 I'm proud of you. Everybody believes there was 
 only one good generous soul in this village, and 
 now it turns out that you — Edward, why don't 
 you tell me ?" 
 
 « Well— er— er— Why, Mary, I can't !" 
 
 " You can'tf Why can't you ?" 
 
28 
 
 " You see, he — well, he — he made me promise 1 
 wouldn't." 
 
 The wife looked him over, and said, very slowly, 
 
 "Made — you — promise? Edward, what do you 
 tell me that for?" 
 
 " Mary, do you think I would lie ?" 
 
 She was troubled and silent for a moment, then 
 she laid her hand within his and said : 
 
 " No . . . no. We have wandered far enough 
 from our bearings — God spare us that ! In all your 
 life you have never uttered a lie. But now — now 
 that the foundations of things seem to be crum- 
 bling from under us, we — we — " She lost her voice 
 for a moment, then said, brokenly, " Lead us not 
 into temptation. ... I think you made the prom- 
 ise, Edward. Let it rest so. Let us keep away 
 from that ground. Now — that is all gone by ; let 
 us be happy again ; it is no time for clouds." 
 
 Edward found it something of an effort to com- 
 ply, for his mind kept wandering — trying to re- 
 member what the service was that he had done 
 Goodson. 
 
 The couple lay awake the most of the night, 
 Mary happy and busy, Edward busy, but not so 
 happy. Mary was planning what she would do 
 with the money. Edward was trying to recall that 
 service. At first his conscience was sore on account 
 
29 
 
 of the lie hg. had told Mary — if it was a lie. After 
 much reflection — suppose it was a lie ? What then ? 
 Was it such a great matter? Aren't we always act- 
 ing lies? Then why not teU them ? Look at Mary 
 — look what she had done. While he was hurrying 
 off on his honest errand, what was she doing ? La- 
 menting because the papers hadn't been destroyed 
 and the money kept ! Is theft better than lying ? 
 
 T/iat point lost its sting — the lie dropped into 
 the background and left comfort behind it. The 
 next point came to the front : Aad he rendered that 
 service ? Well, here was Goodson's own evidence 
 as reported- in Stephenson's letter ; there could be 
 no better evidence than that — it was evenproof that 
 he had rendered it. Of course. So that point was 
 settled. . . . No, not quite. He recalled with a 
 wince that this unknown Mr. Stephenson was just 
 a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it was 
 Richards or some other — and, oh dear, he had put 
 Richards on his honor ! He must himself decide 
 whither that money must go — and Mr. Stephenson 
 was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he 
 would go honorably and find the right one. Oh, it 
 was odious to put a man in such a situation — ah, 
 why couldn't Stephenson have left out that doubt ! 
 What did he want to intrude that for? 
 
 Further reflection. How did it happen that 
 
30 
 
 Rickards's name remained in Stephenson's mind 
 as indicating the right man, and not some other 
 man's name ? That looked good. Yes, that looked 
 very good. In fact, it went on looking better and 
 better, straight along — until by-and-by it grew into 
 positive proof. And then Richards put the matter 
 at once out of his mind, for he had a private in- 
 stinct that a proof once established is better left so. 
 He was feeling reasonably comfortable now, but 
 there was still one other detail that kept pushing 
 itself on his notice : of course he had done that ser- 
 vice — that was settled ; but what was that service ? 
 He must recall it — he would not go to sleep till he 
 had recalled it ; it would make his peace of mind 
 perfect. And so he thought and thought. He 
 thought of a dozen things — possible services, even 
 probable services — but none of them seemed ade- 
 quate, none of them sfeemed large enough, none of 
 them seemed worth the money — worth the fortune 
 Goodson had wished he could leave in his will. 
 And besides, he couldn't remember having done 
 them, anyway. Now, then— now, then — what kind 
 of a service would it be that would make a man so 
 inordinately grateful ? Ah— the saving of his soul ! 
 That must be it. Yes, he could remember, now, 
 how he once set himself the task of converting 
 Goodson, and labored at it as much as — he was 
 
31 
 
 going to say three months ; but upon closer exam- 
 ination it shrunk to a month, then to a week, then 
 to a day, then to nothing. Yes, he remembered 
 now, and with unwelcome vividness, that Goodson 
 had told him to go to thunder and mind his own 
 business — ^^ wasn't hankering to follow Hadley- 
 burg to heaven ! 
 
 So that solution was a failure — he hadn't saved 
 Goodson's soul. Richards was discouraged. Then 
 after a Httle came another idea: had he saved 
 Goodson's property? No, that wouldn't do — he 
 hadn't any. His life? That is it! Of course. Why, 
 he might have thought of it before. This time he 
 was on the right track, sure. His imagination-mill 
 was hard at work in a minute, now. 
 
 Thereafter during a stretch of two exhausting 
 hours he was busy saving Goodson's life. He saved 
 it in all kinds of difficult and perilous ways. In 
 every case he got it saved satisfactorily up to a 
 certain point ; then, just as he was beginning to 
 get well persuaded that it had really happened, a 
 troublesome detail would turn up which made the 
 whole thing impossible. As in the matter of drown- 
 ing, for instance. In that case he had swum out and 
 tugged Goodson ashore in an unconscious state with 
 a great crowd looking on and applauding, but when 
 he had got it all thought out and was just begin- 
 
32 
 
 ning to remember all about it a whole swarm of 
 disqualifying details arrived on the ground : the 
 town would have known of the circumstance, Mary 
 would have known of it, it would glare like a hme- 
 light in his own memory instead of being an incon- 
 spicuous service which he had possibly rendered 
 " without knowing its full value." And at this 
 point he remembered that he couldn't swim, any- 
 way. 
 
 Ah — there was a point which he had been over- 
 looking from the start : it had to be a service which 
 he had rendered " possibly without knowing the full 
 value of it." Why, really, that ought to be an easy 
 hunt — much easier than those others. And sure 
 enough, by -and -by he found it. Goodson, years 
 and years ago, came near marrying a very sweet 
 and pretty girl, named Nancy Hewitt, but in some 
 way or other the match had been broken off ; the 
 girl died, Goodson remained a bachelor, and by- 
 and-by became a soured one and a frank despiser 
 of the human species. Soon after the girl's death 
 the village found out, or thought it had found out, 
 that she carried a spoonful of negro blood in her 
 veins. Richards worked at these details a good 
 while, and in the end he thought he remembered 
 things concerning them which must have gotten 
 mislaid in his memory through long neglect. He 
 
33 
 
 seemed to dimly remember that it was he that 
 found out about the negro blood ; that it was he 
 that told the village ; that the village told Goodson 
 where they got it ; that he thus saved Goodson 
 from marrying the tainted girl ; that he had done 
 him this great service " without knowing the full 
 value of it," in fact without knowing that he was 
 doing it ; but that Goodson knew the value of it, 
 and what a narrow escape he had had, and so went 
 to his grave grateful to his benefactor and wishing 
 he had a fortune to leave him. It was all clear and 
 simple now, and the more he went over it the more 
 luminous and certain it grew ; and at last, when he 
 nestled to sleep satisfied and happy, he remembered 
 the whole thing just as if it had been yesterday. In 
 fact, he dimly remembered Goodson's telling him 
 his gratitude once. Meantime Mary had spent six 
 thousand dollars on a new house for herself and a 
 pair of slippers for her pastor, and then had fallen 
 peacefully to rest. 
 
 That same Saturday evening the postman had 
 delivered a letter to each of the other principal 
 citizens — nineteen letters in all. No two of the 
 envelopes wa^e~irike, and no two of the superscrip- 
 tions were in the same hand, but the letters inside 
 were just like each other in every detail but one. 
 They were exact copies of the letter received by 
 
34 
 
 Richards — handwriting and all — and were all signed 
 by Stephenson, but in place of Richard's name each 
 receiver's own name appeared. 
 
 All night long eighteen principal citizens did 
 what their caste-brother Richards was doing at the 
 same time — they put in their energies trying to 
 remember what notable service it was that they 
 had unconsciously done Barclay Goodson. In no 
 case was it a holiday job ; still they succeeded. 
 
 And while they were at this work, which was 
 difficult, their wives put in the night spending the 
 money, which was easy. During that one night the 
 \ nineteen wives spent an average of seven thousand 
 'dollars each out of the forty thousand in the sack 
 — a hundred and thirty-three thousand altogether. 
 
 Next day there was a surprise for Jack Halliday. 
 He noticed that the faces of the nineteen chief cit- 
 izens and their wives bore that expression of peace- 
 ful and holy happiness again. He could not under- 
 stand it, neither was he able to invent any remarks 
 about it that could damage it or disturb it. And 
 so it was his turn to be dissatisfied with life. His 
 private guesses at the reasons for the happiness 
 failed in all instances, upon examination. When he 
 met Mrs. Wilcox and noticed the placid ecstasy in 
 her face, he said to himself, " Her cat has had kit- 
 tens" — and went and asked the cook ; it was not 
 
35 
 
 so ; the cook had detected the happiness, but did 
 not know the cause. When Halhday found the 
 duphcate ecstasy in the face of " Shadbelly " Bill- 
 son (village nickname), he was sure some neighbor 
 of Billson's had broken his leg, but inquiry showed 
 that this had not happened. The subdued ecstasy 
 in Gregory Yates's face could mean but one thing 
 — he was a mother-in-law short; it was another 
 mistake. " And Pinkerton — Pinkerton — he has 
 collected ten cents that he thought he was going to 
 lose." And so on, and so on. In some cases the 
 guesses had to remain in doubt, in the others they 
 proved distinct errors. In the end Halliday said to 
 himself, " Anyway it foots up that there's nineteen 
 Hadleyburg families temporarily in heaven : I don't 
 know how it happened ; I only know Providence is 
 off duty to-day." 
 
 An architect and builder from the next State had 
 lately venttrred~to~s&t-Ttp' a small business in this 
 unpromising village, and his sign had now been 
 hanging'out a week. Not a customer yet ; he was 
 a discouraged man, and sorry he had come. But his 
 weather changed suddenly now. First one and then 
 another chief citizen's wife said to him privately : 
 
 "Come to my house Monday week — but say 
 nothing about it for the present. We think of 
 building." 
 
36 
 
 He got eleven invitations that day. That night 
 he wrote his daughter and broke off he.r match with 
 her student. He said she could marry a mile higher 
 than that. 
 
 Pinkerton the banker and two or three other 
 well-to-do men planned country-seats — but waited. 
 That kind don't count their chickens until they 
 are hatched. 
 
 The Wilsons devised a grand new thing — a fancy- 
 dress ball. They made no actual promises, but told 
 all their acquaintanceship in confidence that they 
 were thinking the matter over and thought they 
 should give it — " and if we do, you will be invited, 
 of course." People were surprised, and said, one to 
 another, "Why, they are crazy, those poor Wilsons, 
 they can't afford it." Several among the nineteen 
 said privately to their husbands, " It is a good idea, 
 we will keep still till their cheap thing is over, then 
 we will give one that will make it sick." 
 
 The days drifted along, and the bill of future 
 squanderings rose higher and higher, wilder and 
 wilder, more and more foolish and reckless. It 
 began to look as if every member of the nineteen 
 would not only spend his whole forty thousand dol- 
 lars before receiving- day, but be actually in debt 
 by the time he got the money. In some cases light- 
 headed people did not stop with planning to spend, 
 
37 
 
 they really spent -^on_credit.__ They boughLland, 
 mortgages, farms, speculative stocks, fine clothes, 
 horses, and various other things, paid down the 
 bonus, and made themselves liable for the rest — at 
 ten days. Presently the sober second thought 
 came, and Halliday noticed that a ghastly anxiety 
 was beginning to show up in a good many faces. 
 Again he was puzzled, and didn't know what to 
 make of it. " The Wilcox kittens aren't dead, for 
 they weren't born ; nobody's broken a leg ; there's 
 no shrinkage in mother-in-laws ; nothing has hap- 
 pened — it is an insolvable mystery." 
 
 There was another puzzled man, too — the Rev. 
 Mr. Burgess. For days, wherever he went, people 
 seemed to follow him or to be watching out for him ; 
 and if he ever found himself in a retired spot, a 
 member of the nineteen would be sure to appear, 
 thrust an envelope privately into his hand, whisper 
 "To be opened at the town-hall Friday evening," 
 then vanish away like a guilty thing. He was ex- 
 pecting that there might be one claimant for the 
 sack — doubtful, however, Goodson being dead — 
 but it never occurred to him that all this crowd 
 might be claimants. When the great Friday came 
 at last, he found that he had nineteen envelopes. 
 
38 
 
 III 
 
 The town-hall had never looked finer. The plat- 
 form at the end of it was backed by a showy drap- 
 ing of flags ; at intervals along the walls were fes- 
 toons of flags ; the gallery fronts were clothed in 
 flags ; the supporting columns were swathed in flags; 
 all this was to impress the stranger, for he would be 
 there in considerable force, and in a large degree he 
 would be connected with the press. The house was 
 full. The 412 fixed seats were occupied; also the 
 68 extra chairs which had been packed into the 
 aisles ; the steps of the platform were occupied ; 
 some distinguished strangers were given seats on 
 the platform ; at the horseshoe of tables which 
 fenced the front and sides of the platform sat a 
 strong force of special correspondents who had 
 come from everywhere. It was the best -dressed 
 house the town had ever produced. There were 
 some tolerably expensive toilets there, and in sev- 
 eral cases the ladies who wore them had the look 
 of being unfamiliar with that kind of clothes. At 
 least the town thought they had that look, but the 
 notion could have arisen from the town's knowl- 
 edge of the fact that these ladies had never inhab- 
 ited such clothes before. 
 
39 
 
 The gold-sack stood on a little table at the front 
 of the platform where all the house could see it. 
 The bulk of the house gazed at it with a burning 
 interest, a mouth-watering interest, a wistful and 
 pathetic interest; a minority of nineteen couples 
 gazed at it tenderly, lovingly, proprietarily, and 
 the male half of this minority kept saying over to 
 themselves the moving little impromptu speeches 
 of thankfulness for the audience's applause and 
 congratulations which they were presently going 
 to get up and deliver. Every now and then one 
 of these got a piece of paper out of his vest pocket 
 and privately glanced at it to refresh his memory. 
 
 Of course there was a buzz of conversation going 
 on — there always is . but at last when the Rev. Mr. 
 Burgess rose and laid his hand on the sack he could 
 hear his microbes gnaw, the place was so still. He 
 related the curious history of the sack, then went 
 on to speak in warm terms of Hadleyburg's old and 
 well-earned reputation for spotless honesty, and of 
 the town's just pride in this reputation. He said 
 that this reputation was a treasure of priceless 
 value ; that under Providence its value had now 
 become inestimably enhanced, for the recent ep- 
 isode had spread this fame far and wide, and thus 
 had focussed the eyes of the American world upon 
 this village, and made its name for all time, as he 
 
40 
 
 hoped and believed, a synonym for commercial in- " 
 corruptibility. {Applause^ "And who is to be the 
 guardian of this noble treasure — the community as 
 a whole ? No ! The responsibility is individual, 
 not communal. FromThis day forth each and every 
 one" of you is in his own person its special guar- 
 dian, and individually responsible that no harm 
 shall come to it. Do you — does each of you — ac- 
 cept this great trust ? [ Tumultuous assent^ Then 
 all is well. Transmit it to your children and to 
 your children's children. To-day your purity is 
 beyond reproach — see to it that it shall remain so. 
 To-day there is not a person in your community 
 who could be beguiled to touch a penny not his 
 own — see to it that you abide in this grace. [" We 
 will! we will /"'^ This is not the place to make 
 comparisons between ourselves and other commu- 
 nities — some of them ungracious toward us ; they 
 have their ways, we have ours ; let us be content. 
 [^Applause.] I am done. Under my hand, my 
 friends, rests a stranger's eloquent recognition of 
 what we are ; through him the world will always 
 henceforth know what we are. We do not know 
 who he is, but in your name I utter your gratitude, 
 and ask you to raise your voices in indorsement." 
 
 The house rose in a body and made the walls 
 quake with the thunders of its thankfulness for the 
 
4t 
 
 space of a long minute. Then it sat down, and 
 Mr. Burgess took an envelope out of his pocket. 
 The house held its breath while he slit the enve- 
 lope open and took from it a slip of paper. He 
 read its contents — slowly and impressively — the 
 audience listening with tranced attention to this 
 magic document, each of whose words stood for an 
 ingot of gold : 
 
 " ' The remark which T made to the distressed 
 stranger was this: " You are very far from being a 
 bad man; go, and reform." ' " Then he continued : 
 " We shall know in a moment now whether the re- 
 mark here quoted corresponds with the one con- 
 cealed in the sack ; and if that shall prove to be so 
 — and it undoubtedly will — this sack of gold be- 
 longs to a fellow-citizen who will henceforth stand 
 before the nation as the symbol of the special virt- 
 ue which lms~jjiade our town famous throughout 
 the land— ^rJBillson !" 
 
 The house had gotten itself all ready to burst 
 into the proper tornado of applause ; but instead 
 of doing it, it seemed stricken with a paralysis ; 
 there was a deep hush for a moment or two, then 
 a wave of whispered murmurs swept the place — of 
 about this tenor : " Billson ! oh, come, this is too thin ! 
 Twenty dollars to a stranger — or anybody — Billson I 
 Tell it to the marines!" And now at this point the 
 
42 
 
 house caught its breath all of a sudden in a new 
 access of astonishment, for it discovered that where- 
 as in one part of the hall Deacon Billson was stand- 
 ing up with his head meekly bowed, in another part 
 of it Lawyer Wilson was doing the same. There 
 was a wondering silence now for a while. Every- 
 body was puzzled, and nineteen couples were sur- 
 prised and indignant. 
 
 Billson and Wilson turned and stared at each 
 other. Billson asked, bitingly, 
 
 " Why do you rise, Mr. Wilson ?" 
 
 "Because I have a right to. Perhaps you will 
 be good enough to explain to the house why you 
 rise?" 
 
 " With great pleasure. Because I wrote that 
 paper." 
 
 " It is an impudent falsity! I wrote it myself." 
 
 It was Burgess's turn to be paralyzed. He stood 
 looking vacantly at first one of the men and then 
 the other, and did not seem to know what to do. 
 The house was stupefied. Lawyer Wilson spoke 
 up, now, and said, 
 
 " I ask the Chair to read the name signed to that 
 paper." 
 
 That brought the Chair to itself, and it read out 
 the name, 
 
 '"John Wharton Billson:" 
 
43 
 
 " There !" shouted Billson, " what have you got 
 to say for yourself, now ? And what kind of apol- 
 ogy are you going to make to me and to this in- 
 sulted house for the imposture which you have 
 attempted to play here ?" 
 
 " No apologies are due, sir ; and as for the rest 
 of it, I publicly charge you with pilfering my note 
 from Mr. Burgess and substituting a copy of it 
 signed with your own name. There is no other 
 way by which you could have gotten hold of the 
 test -remark; I alone, of living men, possessed the 
 secret of its wording." 
 
 There was likely to be a scandalous state of things 
 if this went on ; everybody noticed with distress 
 that the short-hand scribes were scribbling like mad ; 
 many people were crying " Chair, Chair ! Order! 
 order !" Burgess rapped with his gavel, and said : 
 
 " Let us not forget the proprieties due. There 
 has evidently been a mistake somewhere, but sure- 
 ly that is all. If Mr. Wilson gave me an envelope 
 — and I remember now that he did — I still have it." 
 
 He took one out of his pocket, opened it, glanced 
 at it, looked surprised and worried, and stood silent 
 a few moments. Then he waved his hand in a 
 wandering and mechanical way, and made an effort 
 or two to say something, then gave it up, despond- 
 ently. Several voices cried out : 
 
44 
 
 " Read it ! read it ! What is it ?" 
 
 So he began in a dazed and sleep-walker fashion : 
 
 " ' The remark which I made to the unhappy stran- 
 ger was this : " You are far from being a bad man. 
 [The house gazed at him, marvelling.] Go, and re- 
 form." ' [Murmurs : " Amazing ! what can this 
 mean ?"] This one," said the Chair, " is signed 
 Thurlow G. Wilson." 
 
 " There !" cried Wilson, " I reckon that settles 
 it ! I knew perfectly well my note was pur- 
 loined." 
 
 " Purloined !" retorted Billson. " I'll let you 
 know that neither you nor any man of your kid- 
 ney must venture to — " 
 
 The Chair. " Order, gentlemen, order I Take 
 your seats, both of you, please." 
 
 They obeyed, shaking their heads and grumbhng 
 angrily. The house was profoundly puzzled ; it 
 did not know what to do with this curious emer- 
 gency. Presently Thompson got up. Thompson 
 was the hatter. He would have liked to be a Nine- 
 teener ; but such was not for him ; his stock of hats 
 was not considerable enough for the position. He 
 said : 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, if I may be permitted to make a 
 suggestion, can both of these gentlemen be right? 
 I put it to you, sir, can both have happened to say 
 
45 
 
 the very same words to the stranger? It seems to 
 me — 
 
 The tanner got up and interrupted him. The tan- 
 ner was a disgruntled man ; he believed himself en- 
 titled to be a Nineteener, but he couldn't get rec- 
 ognition. It made him a little unpleasant in his 
 ways and speech. Said he : 
 
 " Sho, that's not the point ! That could happen 
 — twice in a hundred years — but not the other 
 thing. Neither of them gave the twenty dollars !" 
 {A ripple of applause^ 
 
 Billson. "/did!" 
 
 Wilson, "/did!" 
 
 Then each accused the other of pilfering. 
 
 The Chair. " Order ! Sit down, if you please 
 — both of you. Neither of the notes has been out 
 of my possession at any moment." 
 
 A Voice. "Good— that settles ^^«^./" 
 
 The Tanner. " Mr. Chairman, one thing is now 
 plain: one of these men has been eavesdropping 
 under the other one's bed, and filching family se- 
 crets. If it is not unparliamentary to suggest it, I 
 will remark that both are equal to it. \The Chair. 
 "Order! order!"] I withdraw the remark, sir, arid 
 will confine myself to suggesting that ?yone of them 
 has overheard the other reveal the test -remark to 
 his wife, we shall catch him now." 
 
A Voice. "How?" 
 
 The Tanner. " Easily. The two have not quoted 
 the remark in exactly the same words. You would 
 have noticed that, if there hadn't been a consider- 
 able stretch of time and an exciting quarrel inserted 
 between the two readings." 
 
 A Voice. " Name the difference." 
 
 The Tanner. " The word verj/ is in Billson's note, 
 and not in the other." 
 
 Manjf Voices. " That's so — he's right !" 
 
 The Tanner. " And so, if the Chair will examine 
 the test-remark in the sack, we shall know which of 
 these two frauds — \The Chair. "Order!"] — which 
 of these two adventurers — [ The Chair. " Order ! 
 order !"] — which of these two gentlemen — {laughter 
 and applause'\ — is entitled to wear the belt as being 
 the first dishonest blatherskite ever bred in this 
 town — which he has dishonored, and which will be 
 a sultry place for him from now out !" {Vigorous 
 applause.) 
 
 Many Voices. " Open it ! — open the sack !" 
 
 Mr. Burgess made a slit in the sack, slid his hand 
 in and brought out an envelope. In it were a cou- 
 ple of folded notes. He said : 
 
 " One of these is marked, ' Not to be examined 
 until all written communications which have been 
 addressed to the Chair — if any — shall have been 
 
47 
 
 read.' The other is marked ' The Test.' Allow 
 me. It is worded — to wit : , 
 
 " ' I do not require that the first half of the re- 
 mark which was made to me by my benefactor shall 
 be quoted with exactness, for it was not striking, 
 and could be forgotten ; but its closing fifteen words 
 are quite striking, and I think easily rememberable ; 
 unless these shall be accurately reproduced, let the 
 applicant be regarded as an impostor. My bene- 
 factor began by saying he seldom gave advice to 
 any one, but that it always bore the hall-mark of 
 high value when he did give it. Then he said this 
 — and it has never faded from my memory : " You 
 are far from being a bad man— 
 
 Fifty Voices. " That settles it — the money's Wil- 
 son's! Wilson! Wilson! Speech! Speech!" 
 
 People jumped up and crowded around Wilson, 
 wringing his hand and congratulating fervently — 
 meantime the Chair wis hammering with the gavel 
 and shouting: 
 
 " Order, gentlemen ! Order ! Order ! Let me 
 finish reading, please." When quiet was restored, 
 the reading was resumed — as follows : 
 
 " ' " Go, and reform — or, mark my words — some ' 
 day, for your sins, you will die and go to hell or Had- 
 leyburg—TVi AND MAKE IT THE FORMER." ' " 
 
 A ghastly silence followed. First an angry cloud 
 
48 
 
 began to settle darkly upon the faces of the citizen- 
 ship ; after a pause the cloud began to rise, and a 
 tickled expression tried to take its place ; tried so 
 hard that it was only kept under with great and 
 painful difificulty; the reporters, the Brixtonites, 
 and other strangers bent their heads down and 
 shielded their faces with their hands, and managed 
 to hold in by main strength and heroic courtesy. 
 At this most inopportune time burst upon the still- 
 ness the roar of a solitary voice — Jack Halliday's : 
 
 " That's got the hall-mark on it !" 
 
 Then the house let go, strangers and all. Even 
 Mr. Burgess's gravity broke down presently, then 
 the audience considered itself officially absolved 
 from all restraint, and it made the most of its priv- 
 ilege. It was a good long laugh, and a tempestu- 
 ously whole-hearted one, but it ceased at last — ^long 
 enough for Mr. Burgess to try to resume, and for 
 the people to get their eyes partially wiped ; then 
 it broke out again ; and afterward yet again ; then 
 at last Burgess was able to get out these serious 
 words : 
 
 " It is useless to try to disguise the fact — we find 
 ourselves in the presence of a matter of grave im- 
 port. It involves the honor of your town, it strikes 
 at the town's good name. The difference of a single 
 word between the test-remarks offered by Mr. Wil- 
 
49 
 
 son and Mr. Billson was itself a serious thing, since 
 it indicated that one or the other of these gentle- 
 men had committed a theft — " 
 
 The two men were sitting limp, nerveless, crushed ; 
 but at these words both were electrified into move- 
 ment, and started to get up — 
 
 " Sit down !" said the Chair, sharply, and they 
 obeyed. " That, as I have said, was a serious thing. 
 And it was — but for only one of them. But the 
 matter has become graver ; for the honor of both 
 is now in formidable peril. Shall I go even further, 
 and say in inextricable peril? Both left out the 
 crucial fifteen words." He paused. During sev- 
 eral moments he allowed the pervading stillness to 
 gather and deepen its impressive effects, then add- 
 ed : " There would seem to be but one way where- 
 by this could happen. I ask these gentlemen — 
 Was there collusion? — agreement?" 
 
 A low murmer sifted through the house ; its im- 
 port was, " He's got them both." 
 
 Billson was not used to emergencies ; he sat in a 
 helpless collapse. But Wilson was a lawyer. He 
 struggled to his feet, pale and worried, and said : 
 
 " I ask the indulgence of the house while I ex- 
 plain this most painful matter. I am sorry to say 
 what I am about to say, since it must inflict irrepa- 
 rable injury upon Mr. Billson, whom I have always 
 4 
 
50 
 
 esteemed and respected until now, and in whose 
 invulnerability to temptation I entirely believed — 
 as did you all. But for the preservation of my own 
 honor I must speak — and with frankness. I confess 
 with shame — and I now beseech your pardon for it 
 — that I said to the ruined stranger all of the words 
 contained in the test-remark, including the dispar- 
 aging fifteen. {^Sensation.] When the late publica- 
 tion was made I recalled them, and I resolved to 
 claim the sack of coin, for by every right I was en- 
 titled to it. Now I will ask you to consider this 
 point, and weigh it well : that stranger's gratitude 
 to me that night knew no bounds ; he said himself 
 that he could find no words for it that were ade- 
 quate, and that if he should ever be able he would 
 repay me a thousandfold. Now, then, I ask you 
 this : could I expect — could I believe — could I 
 even remotely imagine — that, feeling as he did, he 
 would do so ungrateful a thing as to add those 
 quite unnecessary fifteen words to his test?— set a 
 trap for me ?— expose me as a slanderer of my own 
 town before my own people assembled in a public 
 hall ? It was preposterous ; it was impossible. His 
 test would contain only the kindly opening clause 
 of my remark. Of that I had no shadow of doubt. 
 You would have thought as I did. You would not 
 have expected a base betrayal from one whom you 
 
SI 
 
 had befriended and against whom you had commit- 
 ted no offence. And so, with perfect confidence, 
 perfect trust, I wrote on a piece of paper the open- 
 ing words — ending with ' Go, and reform,' — and 
 signed it. When I was about to put it in an en- 
 velope I was called into my back office, and with- 
 out thinking I left the paper lying open on my 
 desk." He stopped, turned . his head slowly to- 
 ward Billson, waited a moment, then added : " I 
 ask you to note this : when I returned, a little 
 later, Mr. Billson was retiring by my street door." 
 {Sensation?) 
 
 In a moment Billson was on his feet and shouting : 
 
 " It's a lie ! It's an infamous He !" 
 
 The Chair. " Be seated, sir ! Mr. Wilson has the 
 floor." 
 
 Ellison's friends pulled him into his seat and 
 quieted him, and Wilson went on : 
 
 " Those are the simple facts. My note was now 
 lying in a different place on the table from where I 
 had left it. I noticed that, but attached no impor- 
 tance to it, thinking a draught had blown it there. 
 That Mr. Billson would read a private paper was a 
 thing which could not occur to me ; he was an hon- 
 orable man, and he would be above that. If you 
 will allow me to say it, I think his extra word 'very' 
 stands explained ; it is attriliutable to a defect of 
 
52 
 
 memory. I was the only man in the world who 
 could furnish here any detail of the test-mark — by 
 honorable means. I have finished." 
 
 There is nothing in the world like a persuasive 
 speech to fuddle the mental apparatus and upset 
 the convictions and debauch the emotions of an 
 audience not practised in the tricks and delusions 
 'of oratory. Wilson sat down victorious. The house 
 submerged him in tides of approving applause; 
 friends swarmed to him and shook him by the hand 
 and congratulated him, and Billson was shouted 
 down and not allowed to say a word. The Chair 
 hammered and hammered with its gavel, and kept 
 shouting, 
 
 " But let us proceed, gentlemen, let us proceed !" 
 
 At last there was a measurable degree of quiet, 
 and the hatter said, 
 
 " But what is there to proceed with, sir, but to 
 deliver the money ?" 
 
 Voices. " That's it ! That's it ! Come forward, 
 Wilson !" 
 
 The Hatter. " I move three cheers for Mr. Wil- 
 son, Symbol of the special virtue which — " 
 
 The cheers burst forth before he could finish; 
 and in the midst of them — and in the midst of the 
 clamor of the gavel also — some enthusiasts mounted 
 Wilson on a big friend's shoulder and were going to 
 
53 
 
 fetch him in triumph to the platform. The Chair's 
 voice now rose above the noise — 
 
 " Order ! To your places ! You forget that there 
 is still a document to be read." When quiet had 
 been restored he took up the document, and was 
 going to read it, but laid it down again, saying, " I 
 forgot ; this is not to be read until all written com- 
 munications received by me have first been read." 
 He took an envelope out of his pocket, removed its 
 enclosure, glanced at it — seemed astonished — held 
 it out and gazed at it — stared at it. 
 Twenty or thirty voices cried out : 
 " What is it ? Read it ! read it !" 
 And he did — slowly, and wondering : 
 " ' The remark which I made to the stranger — 
 \_Votces. "Hello! how's this?"] — was this: "You 
 are far- from being a bad man. \_Voues. "Great 
 Scott!"] Go, and reform." ' [Voice. " Oh, saw my 
 leg off !"] Signed by Mr. Pinkerton the banker." 
 
 The pandemonium of delight which turned itself 
 loose now was of a sort to make the judicious weep. 
 Those whose withers were unwrung laughed till the 
 tears ran down ; the reporters, in throes of laughter, 
 set down disordered pot-hooks which would never 
 in the world be decipherable ; and a sleeping dog 
 jumped up, scared out of its wits, and barked itself 
 crazy at the turmoil. All manner of cries were 
 
54 
 
 scattered through the din : " We're getting rich— 
 two Symbols of Incorruptibility ! — without count- 
 ing Billson!" " Three ! — count Shadbelly in — we 
 can't have too many !" " All right — Ellison's elect- 
 ed !" "Alas, poor Wilson — victim of tivo thieves!" 
 
 A Powerful Voice. " Silence ! The Chair's fished 
 up something more out of its pocket." 
 
 Voices. " Hurrah ! Is it something fresh ? Read 
 it ! read ! read !" 
 
 The Chair {reading). " ' The remark which I 
 made,' etc. 'You are far from being a bad man. 
 Go,' etc. Signed, ' Gregory Yates.' " 
 
 Tornado of Voices. " Four Symbols !" " 'Rah for 
 Yates !" " Fish again !" 
 
 The house was in a roaring humor now, and 
 ready to get all the fun out of the occasion that 
 might be in it. Several Nineteeners, looking pale 
 and distressed, got up and began to work their way 
 toward the aisles, but a score of shouts went up : 
 
 "The doors, the doors — close the doors; no In- 
 corruptible shall leave this place ! Sit down, every- 
 body !" 
 
 The mandate was obeyed. 
 
 " Fish again ! Read ! read ! 
 
 The Chair fished again, and once more the fa- 
 miliar words began to fall from its lips — " ' You 
 are far from being a bad man — ' " 
 
'THE HOUSE WAS IN A ROARING HUMOR" 
 
55 
 
 " Name ! name ! What's his name ?" 
 
 " * L. Ingoldsby Sargent.' " 
 
 " Five elected ! Pile up the Symbols ! Go on, 
 go on!" 
 
 " ' You are far from being a bad — ' " 
 
 " Name ! name !" 
 
 " ' Nicholas Whitworth.' " 
 
 " Hooray ! hooray ! it's a symbolical day !" 
 
 Somebody wailed in, and began to sing this 
 rhyme (leaving out " it's ") to the lovely " Mikado " 
 tune of " When a man's afraid g^ beautiful maid " ; 
 the audience joined in, with joy ; then, just in time, 
 somebody contributed another line — 
 
 "And don't you this forget — " 
 
 The house roared it out. A third line was at once 
 furnished — 
 
 " Corruptibles far from Hadleyburg are — " 
 
 The house roared that one too. As the last note 
 died. Jack Halliday's voice rose high and clear, 
 freighted with a final line — 
 
 " But the Symbols are here, you bet !" 
 
 That was sung, with booming enthusiasm. Then 
 the happy house started in at the beginning and 
 sang the four lines through twice, with immense 
 
56 
 
 swing and dash, and finished up with a crashing 
 three-times-three and a tiger for " Hadleyburg the 
 Incorruptible and all Symbols of it which we shall 
 find worthy to receive the hall-mark to-night." 
 
 Then the shoutings at the Chair began again, all 
 over the place : 
 
 " Go on ! go on ! Read ! read some more ! Read 
 all you've got !" 
 
 " That's it — go on ! We are winning eternal 
 celebrity !" 
 
 A dozen men got up now and began to protest. 
 They said that this farce was the work of some 
 abandoned joker, and was an insult to the whole 
 community. Without a doubt these signatures 
 were all forgeries — 
 
 " Sit down ! sit down ! Shut up ! You are con- 
 fessing. We'll find your names in the lot." 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, how many of those envelopes 
 have you got ?" 
 
 The Chair counted. 
 
 "Together with those that have been already 
 examined, there are nineteen." 
 
 A storm of derisive applause broke out. 
 
 " Perhaps they all contain the secret. I move 
 that you open them all and read every signature 
 that is attached to a note of that sort — and read 
 also the first eight words of the note." 
 
57 
 
 " Second the motion !" 
 
 It was put and carried — uproariously. Then poor 
 old Richards got up, and his wife rose and stood at 
 his side. Her head was bent down, so that none 
 might see that she was crying. Her husband gave 
 her his arm, and so supporting her, he began to 
 speak in a quavering voice : 
 
 " My friends, you have known us two — Mary and 
 me — all our lives, and I think you have liked Us 
 and respected us — " 
 
 The Chair interrupted him : 
 
 " Allow me. It is quite true — that which you are 
 saying, Mr. Richards ; this town does know you two ; 
 it does like you ; it does respect you ; more — it hon- 
 ors you and loves you — " 
 
 Halliday's voice rang out : 
 
 " That's the hall-marked truth, too ! If the Chair 
 is right, let the house speak up and say it. Rise ! 
 Now, then — hip! hip! hip! — all together!" 
 
 The house rose in mass, faced toward the old 
 couple eagerly, filled the air with a snow-storm of 
 waving handkerchiefs, and delivered the cheers with 
 all its affectionate heart. 
 
 The Chair then continued : 
 
 " What I was going to say is this: We know your 
 good heart, Mr. Richards, but this is not a time for 
 the exercise of charity toward offenders. [Shouts 
 
S8 
 
 of " Right ! right !"] I see your generous purpose 
 in your face, but I cannot allow you to plead for 
 these men — " 
 
 " But I was going to — " 
 
 " Please take your seat, Mr. Richards. We must 
 examine the rest of these notes — simple fairness to 
 the men who have already been exposed requires 
 this. As soon as that has been done — I give you 
 my word for this — you shall be heard." 
 
 Many Voices. "Right! — the Chair is right — no 
 interruption can be permitted at this stage ! Go 
 on! — the names! the names! — according to the 
 terms of the motion !" 
 
 The old couple sat reluctantly down, and the 
 husband whispered to the wife, " It is pitifully hard 
 to have to wait ; the shame will be greater than 
 ever when they find we were only going to plead 
 for ourselves." 
 
 Straightway the jollity broke loose again with the 
 reading of the names. 
 
 " ' You are far from being a bad man-^' Signa- 
 ture, ' Robert J. Titmarsh.' 
 
 " ' You are far from being a bad man — ' Signa- 
 ture, ' Eliphalet Weeks.' 
 
 " ' You are far from being a bad man — ' Signa- 
 ture, 'Oscar B. Wilder.'" 
 
 At this point the house lit upon the idea of tak- 
 
59 
 
 ing the eight words out of the Chairman's hands. 
 He was not unthankful for that. Thenceforward 
 he held up each note in its turn, and waited. The 
 house droned out the eight words in a massed and 
 measured and musical deep volume of sound (with 
 a daringly close resemblance to a well-known church 
 chant) — " ■ You are f-a-r from being a b-a-a-a-d man.' " 
 Then the Chair said, " Signature, ' Archibald Wil- 
 cox.' " And so on, and so on, name after name, and 
 everybody had an increasingly and gloriously good 
 time except the wretched Nineteen. Now and 
 then, when a particularly shining name was called, 
 the house made the Chair wait while it chanted the 
 whole of the test-remark from the beginning to the 
 closing words, " And go to hell or Hadleyburg — 
 try and make it the for-or-m-e-r!" and in these 
 special cases they added a grand and agonized and 
 imposing " A-a.-a.-a-men /" 
 
 The list dwindled, dwindled, dwindled, poor old 
 Richards keeping tally of the count, wincing when 
 a name resembling his own was pronounced, and 
 waiting in miserable suspense for the time to come 
 when it would be his humiliating privilege to rise 
 with Mary and finish his plea, which he was intend- 
 ing to word thus : " . . . for until now we have 
 never done any wrong thing, but have gone our 
 humble way unreproached. We are very poor, we 
 
6o 
 
 are old, and have no chick nor child to help us ; we 
 were sorely tempted, and we fell. It was my pur- 
 pose when I got up before to make confession and 
 beg that my name might not be read out in this 
 public place, for it seemed to us that we could not 
 bear it ; but I was prevented. It was just ; it was 
 our place to suffer with the rest. It has been hard 
 for us. It is the first time we have ever heard our 
 name fall from any one's lips — sullied. Be merciful 
 — for the sake of the better days ; make our shame 
 as light to bear as in your charity you can." At 
 this point in his revery Mary nudged him, perceiv- 
 ing that his mind was absent. The house was chant- 
 ing, " You are f-a-r," etc. 
 
 "Be ready," Mary whispered. "Your name comes 
 now ; he has read eighteen." 
 
 The chant ended. 
 
 " Next ! next ! next !" came volleying from all 
 over the house. 
 
 Burgess put his hand into his pocket. The old 
 couple, trembling, began to rise. Burgess fumbled 
 a moment, then said, 
 
 " I find I have read them all." 
 
 Faint with joy and surprise, the couple sank into 
 their seats, and Mary whispered, 
 
 "Oh, bless God, we are saved ! — he has lost ours 
 — I wouldn't give this for a hundred of those sacks!" 
 
6i 
 
 The house burst out with its " Mikado " travesty, 
 and sang it three times with ever-increasing enthu- 
 siasm, rising to its feet when it reached for the third 
 time the closing line — 
 
 " But the Symbols are here, you bet !" 
 
 and finishing up with cheers and a tiger for " Had- 
 leyburg purity and our eighteen immortal repre- 
 sentatives of it." 
 
 Then Wingate, the saddler, got up and proposed 
 cheers " for the cleanest man in town, the one sol- 
 itary important citizen in it who didn't try to steal 
 that money — Edward Richards." 
 
 They were given with great and moving hearti- 
 ness; then somebody proposed that Richards be 
 elected sole Guardian and Symbol of the now Sa- 
 cred Hadleyburg Tradition, with power and right 
 to stand up and look the whole sarcastic world in 
 the face." 
 
 Passed, by acclamation ; then they sang the 
 " Mikado " again, and ended it with, 
 
 " And there's one Symbol left, you bet !" 
 
 There was a pause ; then — 
 
 A Voice. " Now, then, who's to get the sack?" 
 
 The Tanner {with bitter sarcasm). " That's easy. 
 
62 
 
 The money has to be divided among the eighteen 
 Incorruptibles. They gave the suffering stranger 
 twenty dollars apiece — and that remark — each in 
 his turn — it took twenty-two minutes for the pro- 
 cession to move past. Staked the stranger — total 
 contribution, $360. All they want is just the loan 
 back — and interest — forty thousand dollars alto- 
 gether." 
 
 Many Voices {derisively). " That's it ! Divvy ! 
 diVvy! Be kind to the poor — don't keep them 
 waiting!" 
 
 TAe Chair. " Order ! I now offer the stranger's 
 remaining document. It says : ' If no claimant shall 
 appear [^rand chorus of groans'], I desire that you 
 open the sack and count out the money to the prin- 
 cipal citizens of your town, they to take it in trust 
 [^Cries of" Oh! Oh! Oh!"], and use it in such ways 
 as to them shall seem best for the propagation ahd 
 preservation of your community's noble reputation 
 for incorruptible honesty {more cries] — a reputation 
 to which their names and their efforts will add a 
 new and far-reaching lustre.' {Enthusiastic outburst 
 of sarcastic applause?^ That seems to be all. No — 
 here is a postscript : 
 
 " ' P.S. — Citizens of Hadleyburg : There is no 
 test-remark — nobody made one. {Great sensation.] 
 There wasn't any pauper stranger, nor any twenty- 
 
63 
 
 dollar contribution, nor any accompanying bene- 
 diction and compliment — these are all inventions. 
 {General buzz and hum of astonishment and delight 7[ 
 Allow me to tell my story— it will take but a word 
 or two. I passed through your town at a certain 
 time, and received a deep offence which I had not 
 earned. Any other man would have been content 
 to kill one or two of you and call it square, but to 
 me that would have been a trivial revenge, and in- 
 adequate ; for the dead do not suffer. Besides, I 
 could not kill you all — and, anyway, made as I am, 
 even that would not have satisfied me. I wanted to 
 damage every man in the place, and every woman 
 — and not in their bodies or in their estate, but in 
 their vanity— the place where feeble and foolish 
 people are most vulnerable. So I disguised myself 
 and came back and studied you. You were easy 
 game. You had an old and lofty reputation for 
 honesty, and naturally you were proud of it — it was 
 your treasure of treasures, the very apple of your 
 eye. As soon as I found out that you carefully and 
 vigilantly kept yourselves and your children out of 
 temptation, I knew how to proceed. Why, you 
 simple creatures, the weakest of all weak things is 
 a virtue which has not been tested in the fire. I 
 laid a plan, and gathered a list of names. My proj- 
 ect was to corrupt Hadleyburg the Incorruptible. 
 
_64_ 
 
 My idea was to make liars and thieves of nearly 
 half a hundred smirchless men and women who had 
 never in their lives uttered a lie or stolen a penny. 
 I was afraid of Goodson. He was neither born nor 
 reared in Hadleyburg. I was afraid that if I started 
 to operate my scheme by getting my letter laid be- 
 fore you, you would say to yourselves, " Goodson 
 is the only man among us who would give away 
 twenty dollars to a poor devil " — and then you 
 might not bite at my bait. But Heaven took Good- 
 Son ; then I knew I was safe, and I set my trap and 
 baited it. It may be that I shall not catch all the 
 men to whom I mailed the pretended test secret, 
 but I shall catch the most of them, if I know Had- 
 leyburg nature. [Voices. "Right — he got every 
 last one of them."] I believe they will even steal 
 ostensible gamd/e-moncy, rather than miss, poor, 
 tempted, and mistrained fellows. I am hoping to 
 eternally and everlastingly squelch your vanity and 
 give Hadleyburg a new renown — one that will siick 
 — and spread far. If I have succeeded, open the 
 sack and summon the Committee on Propagation 
 and Preservation of the Hadleyburg Reputation.' " 
 
 A Cyclone of Voices. " Open it ! Open it ! The 
 Eighteen to the front ! Committee on Propagation 
 of the Tradition ! Forward — the Incorruptibles !" 
 
 The Chair ripped the sack wide, and gathered up 
 
65 
 
 a handful of bright, broad, yellow coins, shook 
 them together, then examined them — 
 
 " Friends, they are only gilded disks of lead !" 
 
 There was a crashing outbreak of delight over 
 this news, and when the noise had subsided, the 
 tanner called out : 
 
 " By right of apparent seniority in this business, 
 Mr. Wilson is Chairman of the Committee on Prop- 
 agation of the Tradition. I suggest that he step 
 forward on behalf of his pals, and receive in trust 
 the money." 
 
 A Hundred Voices. " Wilson ! Wilson ! Wilson ! 
 Speech ! Speech !" 
 
 Wilson {in a voice trembling with anger'). " You 
 will allow me to say, and without apologies for my 
 language, damn the money !" 
 
 A Voice. " Oh, and him a Baptist !" 
 
 A Voice. " Seventeen Symbols left ! Step up, 
 gentlemen, and assume your trust !" 
 
 There was a pause — no response. 
 
 The Saddler. "Mr. Chairman, we've got one 
 clean man left, anyway, out of the late aristocracy ; 
 and he needs money, and deserves it. I move that 
 you appoint Jack Halliday to get up there and 
 auction off that sack of gilt twenty- dollar pieces, 
 and give the result to the right man — the man whom 
 Hadleyburg delights to honor— Edward Richards." 
 S 
 
66 
 
 This was received with great enthusiasm, the dog 
 taking a hand again ; the saddler started the bids 
 at a dollar, the Brixton folk and Barnum's repre-' 
 sentative fought hard for it, the peBpkr~Ctieered 
 every jump that the bids made, the excitement 
 climbed moment by moment higher and higher, 
 the bidders got on their mettle and grew steadily 
 more and more daring, more and more determined, 
 the jumps went from a dollar up to five, then to ten, 
 then to twenty, then fifty, then to a hundred, then — 
 
 At the beginning of the auction Richards whis- 
 pered in distress to his wife : " Oh, Mary, can we 
 allow it ? It — it — you see, it is an honor-reward, a 
 testimonial to purity of character, and — and — can 
 we allow it? Hadn't I better get up and — 
 Oh, Mary, what ought we to do ? — what do 
 you think we — " {Halliday s voice. "Fifteen Fm 
 bid! — fifteen for the sack! — twenty! — ah, 
 thanks! — thirty— thanks again! Thirty, thirty, 
 thirty ! — do I hear forty ? — forty it is ! Keep the 
 ball rolling, gentlemen, keep it rolling! — fifty! — 
 thanks, noble Roman! — going at fifty, fifty, fifty ! 
 — seventy ! — ninety ! — splendid! — a hundred !^pile 
 it up, pile it up! — hundred and twenty — forty! — 
 just in time ! — hundred and fifty ! — TWO hundred! 
 — superb ! Do I hear two h — thanks ! — two hundred 
 and fifty!— ") 
 
67 
 
 " It is another temptation, Edward — I'm all in a 
 tremble — but, oh, we've escaped one temptation, and 
 that ought to warn us, to — \^' Six did I hear? 
 — thanks! — six fifty, j?;i; /^ SEVEN hundred !"'[ 
 And yet, Edward, when you think — nobody susp — 
 [" Eight hundred dollars ! — hurrah! — make it' nine! 
 — Mr. Parsons, did I hear you say — thanks! — nine ! 
 — this noble sack of virgin lead going at only nine 
 hundred dollars, gilding and all — come ! do I hear — 
 a thousand! — gratefully yours ! — did some one say 
 eleven f — a sack which is going to be the most cele- 
 brated in the whole Uni — "] Oh, Edward " (begin- 
 ning to sob), "we are so poor! — but — but — do as 
 you think best — do as you think best." 
 
 Edward fell — that is, he sat still ; sat with a con- 
 science which was not satisfied, but which was over- 
 powered by circumstances. 
 
 Meantime a strangen who looked like an ama- 
 teur detective gotten up as an impossible English 
 earl, had been watching the evening's proceedings 
 with manifest interest, and with a contented ex- 
 pression in his face ; and he had been privately 
 commenting to himself. He was now soliloquizing 
 somewhat like this : " None of the Eighteen are 
 bidding ; that is not satisfactory ; I must change 
 that — the dramatic unities require it; they must 
 buy the sack they tried to steal; they must pay a 
 
68 
 
 heavy price, too — some of them are rich. And 
 another thing, when I make a mistake in Hadley- 
 burg nature the man that puts that error upon me 
 is entitled to a high honorarium, and some one 
 must pay it. This poor old Richards has brought 
 my judgment to shame ; he is an honest man : — I 
 don't understand it, but I acknowledge it. Yes, he 
 saw my deuces-and with a straight flush, and by 
 rights the pot is his. And it shall be a jack-pot, 
 too, if I can manage it. He disappointed me, but 
 let that pass." 
 
 He was watching the bidding. At a thousand, 
 the market broke ; the prices tumbled swiftly. He 
 waited — and still watched. One competitor drop- 
 ped out ; then another, and another. He put in a 
 bid or two, now. When the bids had sunk to ten 
 dollars, he added a five ; some one raised him a 
 three ; he waited a moment, then flung in a fifty- 
 dollar jump, and the sack was his — at $1282. The 
 house broke out in cheers — then stopped ; for he 
 was on his feet, and had lifted his hand. He began 
 to speak. 
 
 " I desire to say a word, and ask a favor. I am 
 a speculator in rarities, and I have dealings with 
 persons interested in numismatics all over the 
 world. I can make a profit on this purchase, just 
 as it stands ; but there is a way, if I can get your 
 
69 
 
 approval, whereby I can make every one of these 
 leaden twenty-dollar pieces worth its face in gold, 
 and perhaps more. Grant me that approval, and I 
 will give part of my gains to your Mr. Richards, 
 whose invulnerable probity you have so justly and 
 so cordially recognized to - night ; his share shall 
 be ten thousand dollars, and I will hand him the 
 money to-morrow. [Great applause from the house. 
 But the "invulnerable probity" made the Rich- 
 ardses blush prettily ; however, it went for modesty, 
 and did no harm.] If you will pass my proposition 
 by a good majority — I would like a two-thirds vote 
 — I will regard that as the town's consent, and that 
 is all I ask. Rarities are always helped by any de- 
 vice which will rouse curiosity and compel remark. 
 Now if I may have your permission to stamp upon 
 the faces of each of these ostensible coins the 
 names ot the eighteen gentlemen who — " 
 
 Nine-tenths of the audience were on their feet in 
 a moment — dog and all — and the proposition was 
 carried with a whirlwind of approving applause and 
 laughter. 
 
 They sat down, and all the Symbols except 
 " Dr." Clay Harkness got up, violently protesting 
 against the proposed outrage, and threatening to — 
 
 " I beg you not to threaten me," said the stranger, 
 calmly. " I know my legal rights, and am not ac- 
 
Customed to being frightened at bluster." {Ap. 
 plause.) He sat down. "Dr." Harkness saw an 
 opportunity here. He was one of the two very- 
 rich men of the place, and Pinkerton was the other. 
 Harkness was proprietor of a mint ; that is to say, 
 a popular patent medicine. He was running for 
 the Legislature on one ticket, and Pinkerton on 
 the other. It was a close race and a hot one, and 
 getting hotter every day. Both had strong appe- 
 tites for money ; each had bought a great tract of 
 land, with a purpose ; there was going to be a new 
 railway, and each wanted to be in the Legislature 
 and help locate the route to his own advantage ; a 
 single vote might make the decision, and with it 
 two or three fortunes. The stake was large, and 
 Harkness was a daring speculator. He was sitting 
 close to the stranger. He leaned over while one 
 or another of the other Symbols was entertaining 
 the house with protests and appeals, and asked, in 
 a whisper, 
 
 " What is your price tor the sack ?" 
 
 " Forty thousand dollars." 
 
 " I'll give you twenty." 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Twenty-five." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Say thirty," 
 
71 
 
 " The price is forty thousand dollars ; not a pen- 
 ny less." 
 
 "All right, I'll give it. I will come to the hotel 
 at ten in the morning. I don't want it known ; will 
 see you privately." 
 
 "Very good." Then the stranger got up and 
 said to the house : 
 
 " I find it late. The speeches of these gentlemen 
 are not without merit, not without interest, not with- 
 out grace ; yet if I may be excused I will take my 
 leave. I thank you for the great favor which you 
 have shown me in. granting my petition. I ask the 
 Chair to keep the sack for me until to-morrow, and 
 to hand these three five-hundred-dollar notes to Mr. 
 Richards." They were passed up to the Chair. 
 " At nine I will call for the sack, and at eleven will 
 deliver the rest of the ten thousand to Mr. Richards 
 in person, at his home. Good-night." 
 
 Then he slipped out, and left the audience mak- 
 ing a vast noise, which was composed of a mixture 
 of cheers, the " Mikado" song, dog-disapproval, and 
 the chant, " You are f-a-r from being a b-a-a-d man 
 
 — a-a-a a-men 
 
72 
 
 IV 
 
 At home the Richardses had to endure congratu- 
 lations and compliments until midnight. Then they 
 were left to themselves. They looked a little sad, 
 and they sat silent and thinking. Finally Mary 
 sighed and said, 
 
 " Do you think we are to blame, Edward — much 
 to blame ?" and her eyes wandered to the accusing 
 triplet of big bank-notes lying on the table, where 
 the congratulators had been gloating over them and 
 reverently fingering them. Edward did not answer 
 at once ; then he brought out a sigh and said, hes- 
 itatingly : 
 
 "We — we couldn't help it, Mary. It — well, it 
 was ordered, ^//things are." 
 
 Mary glanced up and looked at him steadily, but 
 he didn't return the look. Presently she said : 
 
 " I thought congratulations and praises always 
 tasted good. But — it seems to me, now — Ed- 
 ward?" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Are you going to stay in the bank ?" 
 
 " N-no." 
 
 " Resign ?" 
 
 " In the morning — by note." 
 
73 
 
 " It does seem best." 
 
 Richards bowed his head in his hands and mut- 
 tered : 
 
 " Before, I was not afraid to let oceans of people's 
 money pour through my hands, but — Mary, I am 
 so tired, so tired — " 
 
 " We will go to bed." 
 
 At nine in the morning the stranger called for 
 the sack and took it to the hotel in a cab. At ten 
 Harkness had a talk with him privately. The stran- 
 ger asked for and got five checks on a metropolitan 
 bank — drawn to "Bearer," — four for $1500 each, 
 and one for $34,000. He put one of the former in 
 his pocket-book, and the remainder, representing 
 $38,500, he put in an envelope, and with these he 
 added a note, which he wrote after Harkness was 
 gone. At eleven he called at the Richards house 
 and knocked. Mrs. Richards peeped through the 
 shutters, then went and received the envelope, and 
 the stranger disappeared without a word. She came 
 back flushed and a little unsteady on her legs, and 
 gasped out : 
 
 " I am sure I recognized him ! Last night it 
 seemed to me that maybe I had seen him some- 
 where before." 
 
 " He is the man that brought the sack here ?" 
 
 " I am almost sure of it." 
 
74 
 
 "Then he is the ostensible Stephenson too, and 
 sold every important citizen in this town with his 
 bogus secret. Now if he has sent checks instead of 
 money, we are sold too, after we thought we had 
 escaped. I was beginning to feel fairly comfortable 
 once more, after my night's rest, but the look of 
 that envelope makes me sick. It isn't fat enough ; 
 $8500 in even the largest bank-notes makes more 
 bulk than that." 
 
 " Edward, why do you object to checks?" 
 
 " Checks signed by Stephenson ! I am resigned 
 to take the $8500 if it could come in bank-notes — 
 for it does seem that it was so ordered, Mary — but 
 I have never had much courage, and I have not the 
 pluck to try to market a check signed with that 
 disastrous name. It would be a trap. That man 
 tried to catch me ; we escaped somehow or oth- 
 er; and now he is trying a new way. If it is 
 checks — " 
 
 " Oh, Edward, it is too bad !" and she held up the 
 checks and began to cry. 
 
 " Put them in the fire ! quick ! . we mustn't be 
 tempted. It is a trick to make the world laugh at 
 us, along with the rest, and — Give them to me, 
 since you can't do it !" He snatched them and 
 tried to hold his grip till he could get to the stove ; 
 but he was human, he was a cashier, and he stopped 
 
75 
 
 a moment to make sure of the signature. Then he 
 came near to fainting. 
 
 "Fan me, Mary, fan me ! They are the same as 
 gold !" 
 
 " Oh, how lovely, Edward ! Why ?" 
 " Signed by Harkness. What can the mystery of 
 that be, Mary.?" 
 
 " Edward, do you think — " 
 "Look here— look at this! Fifteen— fifteen- 
 fifteen— thirty- four. Thirty-eight thousand five 
 hundred ! Mary, the sack isn't worth twelve dol- 
 lars, and Harkness — apparently — has paid about par 
 for it." 
 
 " And does it all come to us, do you think — in- 
 stead of the ten thousand ?" 
 
 " Why, it looks like it. And the checks are made 
 to ' Bearer,' too." 
 
 " Is that good, Edward ? What is it for ?" 
 " A hint to collect them at some distant bank, I 
 reckon. Perhaps Harkness doesn't want the mat- 
 ter known. What is that — a note ?" 
 " Yes. It was with the checks." 
 It was in the " Stephenson " handwriting, but 
 there was no signature. It said : 
 
 " / am a disappointed man. Your honesty is beyond the 
 reach of temptation. T had a different idea about it, but I 
 •wronged you in that, and I beg pardon, and do it sincerely. I 
 
J 
 
 7(> 
 
 honor you — and that is sincere, too. This town is not worthy 
 to kiss the hem of your garment. Dear sir, I made a square 
 bet with myself that there were nineteen debauchable men in 
 your self-righteous community. I have lost. Take the whole 
 pot, you are entitled to it." 
 
 Richards drew a deep sigh, and said : 
 " It seems written with fire — it burns so. Mary 
 — I am miserable again." 
 
 " I, too. Ah, dear, I wish—" 
 " To think, Mary — he believes in me." 
 " Oh, don't, Edward— I can't bear it." 
 " If those beautiful words were deserved, Mary — 
 and God knows I believed I deserved them once — 
 I think I could give the forty thousand dollars for 
 them. And I would put that paper away, as repre- 
 senting more than gold and jewels, and keep it al- 
 ways. But now — We could not live in the shadow 
 of its accusing presence, Mary." 
 He put it in the fire. 
 
 A messenger arrived and delivered an envelope. 
 Richards took from it a note and read it ; it was 
 from Burgess. 
 
 " You saved me, in a difficult time. I saved you last night. 
 It was at cost of a lie, but I made the sacrifice freely, and out 
 of a grateful heart. None in this village knows so well as I 
 know how brave and good and noble you are. At bottom you 
 cannot respect me, knowing as you do of that matter of which 
 
n 
 
 T am accused, and by the general voice condemned; but I beg 
 that you will at least believe that I am a grateful man ; it 
 will help m.e to bear my burden. 
 
 [Szgned] " BURGESS." 
 
 " Saved, once niore. And on such terms !" He 
 put the note in the fire. " I — I wish I were dead, 
 Mary, I wish I were out of it all." 
 
 " Oh, these are bitter, bitter days, Edward. The 
 stabs, through their very generosity, are so deep — 
 and they come so fast !" 
 
 Three days before the election each of two thou- 
 sand voters suddenly found himself in possession of 
 a prized memento — one of the renowned bogus 
 double-eagles. Around one of its faces was stamped 
 these words : " THE REMARK I MADE TO THE POOR 
 STRANGER WAS—" Around the other face was 
 stamped these : " GO, AND REFORM, [signed] pin- 
 KERTON." Thus the entire remaining refuse of the 
 renowned joke was emptied upon a single head, and 
 with calamitous effect. It revived the recent vast 
 laugh and concentrated it upon Pinkerton; and 
 Harkness's election was a walk-over. 
 
 Within twenty-four hours after the Richardses 
 had received their checks their consciences were 
 quieting down, discouraged ; the old couple were 
 learning to reconcile themselves to the sin which 
 they had committed. But they were to learn, now. 
 
78 
 
 ■ / 
 \y^ that a sin tak6s on new and real terrors when there 
 
 seems a chance that it is going to be found out. 
 This gives it a fresh and most substantial and im- 
 portant aspect. At church the morning sermon 
 was of the usual pattern ; it was the same old things 
 said in the same old way ; they had heard them a 
 thousand times and found them innocuous, next to 
 meaningless, and easy to sleep under ; but now it 
 was different : the sermon seemed to bristle with 
 accusations ; it seemed aimed straight and specially 
 at people who were concealing deadly sins. After 
 church they got away from the mob of congratu- 
 lators as soon as they could, and hurried homeward, 
 chilled to the bone at they did not know what — 
 vague, shadowy, indefinite fears. And by chance 
 they caught a glimpse of Mr. Burgess as he turned 
 a corner. He paid no attention to their nod of 
 recognition ! He hadn't seen it ; but they did not 
 know that. What could his conduct mean? It 
 might mean — it might mean — oh, a dozen dread- 
 ful things. Was it possible that he knew that Rich- 
 ards could have cleared him of guilt in that bygone 
 time, and had been silently waiting for a chance to 
 even up accounts ? At home, in their distress they 
 got to imagining that their servant might have 
 been in the next room listening when Richards re- 
 vealed the secret to his wife that he knew of Bur- 
 
79 
 
 gess's innocence ; next, Richards began to imagine 
 that he had heard the swish of a gown in there at 
 that time ; next, he was sure he had heard it. They 
 would call Sarah in, on a pretext, and watch her 
 face : if she had been betraying them to Mr. Bur- 
 gess, it would show in her manner. They asked 
 her some questions — questions which were so ran- 
 dom and incoherent and seemingly purposeless that 
 the girl felt sure that the old people's minds had 
 been affected by their sudden good fortune ; the 
 sharp and watchful gaze which they bent upon her 
 frightened her, and that completed the business. 
 She blushed, she became nervous and confused, 
 and to the old people these were plain signs of guilt 
 — guilt of some fearful sort or other — without doubt 
 she was a spy and a traitor. When they were alone 
 again they began to piece many unrelated things 
 together and get horrible results out of the combi- 
 nation. When things had got about to the worst, 
 Richards was delivered of a sudden gasp, and his 
 wife asked, 
 
 " Oh, what is it ?— what is it ?" 
 
 " The note — Burgess's note ! Its language was 
 sarcastic, I see it now." He quoted : " ' At bottom 
 you cannot respect me, knowing, as you do, of that 
 matter of which I am accused ' — oh, it is perfectly 
 plain, now, God help me ! He knows that I know ! 
 
8o 
 
 You see the ingenuity of the phrasing. It was a 
 trap — and like a fool, I walked into it. And 
 Mary—?" 
 
 "Oh, it is dreadful — I know what you are going 
 to say — he didn't return your transcript of the pre- 
 tended test-remark." 
 
 " No — kept it to destroy us with. Mary, he has 
 exposed us to some already. I know it — I know it 
 well. I saw it in a dozen faces after church. Ah, 
 he wouldn't answer our nod of recognition ^/[^ 
 knew what he had been doing!" 
 
 In the night the doctor was called. The news 
 went around in the morning that the old couple 
 were rather seriously ill — prostrated by the exhaust- 
 ing excitement growing out of their great windfall, 
 the congratulations, and the late hours, the doctor 
 said. : The town was sincerely distressed ; for these 
 old people were about all it had left to be proud of, 
 now. 
 
 Two days later the news was worse. The old 
 couple were delirious, and were doing strange things. 
 By witness of the nurses, Richards had exhibited 
 checks — for $8500? No — for an amazing sum — 
 $38,500! What could be the explanation of this 
 gigantic piece of luck ? 
 
 The following day the nurses had more news — 
 and wonderful. They had concluded to hide the 
 
8i 
 
 checks, lest harm come to them ; but when they 
 searched they were gone from under the patient's 
 pillow — vanished away. The patient said : 
 
 " Let the pillow alone ; what do you want ?' 
 
 " We thought it best that the checks—" 
 
 "You will never see them again — they are de- 
 stroyed. They came from Satan. I saw the hell- 
 brand on them, and I knew they were sent to be- 
 tray me to sin." Then he fell to gabbling strange 
 and dreadful things which were not clearly under- 
 standable, and which the doctor admonished them 
 to keep to themselves. 
 
 Richards was right ; the checks were never seen 
 again. 
 
 A nurse must have talked in her sleep, for within 
 two days the forbidden gabblings were the property 
 of the town ; and they were of a surprising sort. 
 They seemed to indicate that Richards had been a 
 claimant for the sack himself, and that Burgess 
 had concealed that fact and then maliciously be- 
 trayed it. 
 
 Burgess was taxed with this and stoutly denied it. 
 And he said it was not fair to attach weight to the 
 chatter of a sick old man who was out of his mind. 
 Still, suspicion was in the air, and there was much 
 talk. 
 
 After a day or two it was reported that Mrs. 
 6 
 
82 
 
 Richards's delirious deliveries were getting to be 
 duplicates of her husband's. Suspicion flamed up 
 into conviction, now, and the town's pride in the 
 purity of its one undiscredited important citizen 
 began to dim down and flicker toward extinction. 
 
 Six days passed, then came more news. The old 
 couple were dying. Richards's mind cleared in his 
 latest hour, and he sent for Burgess. Burgess 
 said: 
 
 " Let the room be cleared. I think he wishes to 
 say something in privacy." 
 
 " No !" said Richards ; " I want witnesses. I want 
 you all to hear my confession, so that I may die a 
 man, and not a dog. I was clean — artificially — like 
 the rest ; and like the rest I fell when temptation 
 came. I signed a lie, and claimed the miserable 
 sack. Mr. Burgess remembered that I had done 
 him a service, and in gratitude (and ignorance) he 
 suppressed my claim and saved me. You know 
 the thing that was charged .against Burgess years 
 ago. My testimony, and mine alone, could have 
 cleared him, and I was a coward, and left him to 
 suffer disgrace — " 
 
 " No— no— Mr. Richards, you — " 
 
 " My servant betrayed my secret to him — " 
 
 " No one has betrayed anything to me — " 
 
 — " and then he did a natural and justifiable thing , 
 
83 
 
 he repented of the saving kindness which he had 
 done me, and he exposed xnc — as I deserved — " 
 
 " Never ! — I make oath — " 
 
 " Out of my heart I forgive him." 
 
 Burgess's impassioned protestations fell upon 
 deaf ears ; the dying man passed away without 
 knowing that once more he had done poor Burgess 
 a wrong. The old wife died that night. 
 
 The last of the sacred Nineteen had fallen a prey 
 to the fiendish sack ; the town was stripped of the 
 last rag of its ancient glory. Its mourning was not 
 showy, but it was deep. 
 
 By act of the Legislature — upon prayer and pe- 
 tition — Hadleyburg was allowed to change its name 
 to (never mind what — I will not give it away), and 
 leave one word out of the motto that for many gen- 
 erations had graced the town's ofificial seal. 
 
 It is an honest town once more, and the man will 
 have to rise early that catches it napping again. 
 
MY DEBUT AS A LITERARY PERSON 
 
 IN those early days I had already published one 
 little thing ("The Jumping Frog") in an Eastern 
 paper, but I did not consider that that count- 
 ed. In my view, a person who published things in 
 a mere newspaper could not properly claim recog- 
 nition as a Literary Person : he must rise away 
 above that ; he must appear in a magazine. He 
 would then be a Literary Person ; also, he would 
 be famous — right away. These two ambitions 
 were strong upon me. This was in 1866. I pre- 
 pared my contribution, and then looked around for 
 the best magazine to go up to glory in. I select- 
 ed the most important one in New York. The 
 contribution was accepted. I signed it " Mark 
 Twain "; for that name had some currency on the 
 Pacific coast, and it was my idea to spread it all 
 over the world, now, at this one jump. The article 
 appeared in the December number, and I sat up a 
 month waiting for the January number; for that 
 one would contain the year's list of contributors, 
 
85 
 
 my name would be in it, and I should be famous 
 and could give the banquet I was meditating. 
 
 I did not give the banquet. I had not written 
 the " Mark Twain " distinctly ; it was a fresh 
 name to Eastern printers, and they put it " Mike 
 Swain " or " MacSwain," I do not remember which. 
 At any rate, I was not celebrated, and I did not 
 give the banquet. I was a Literary Person, but 
 that was all — a buried one ; buried alive. 
 
 My article was about the burning of the clipper- 
 ship Hornet on the line, May 3, 1866. There were 
 thirty-one men on board at the time, and I was in 
 Honolulu when the fifteen lean and ghostly sur- 
 vivors arrived there after a voyage of forty -three 
 days in an open boat, through the blazing tropics, 
 on ten days ratiQtis of food. A very remarkable 
 trip; but it was conducted by a captain who was a 
 remarkable man, otherwise there would have been 
 no survivors. He was a New- Englander of the 
 best sea -going stock of the old capable times — 
 Captain Josiah Mitchell. 
 
 I was in the islands to write letters for the week- 
 ly edition of the Sacramento Union, a rich and in- 
 fluential daily journal which hadn't any use for 
 them, but could afford to spend twenty dollars a 
 week for nothing. The proprietors were lovable 
 and well -beloved men: long ago dead, no doubt. 
 
86 
 
 but in me there is at least one person who still 
 holds them in grateful remembrance ; for I dearly 
 wanted to see the islands, and they listened to me 
 and gave me the opportunity when there was but 
 slender likelihood that it could profit them in any 
 way. 
 
 I had been in the islands several months when 
 the survivors arrived. I was laid up in my room at 
 the time, and unable to walk. Here was a great 
 occasion to serve my journal, and I not able to 
 take advantage of it. Necessarily I was in deep 
 trouble. But by good luck his Excellency Anson 
 Burlingame was there at the time, on his way to 
 take up his post in China, where he did such good 
 work for the United States. He came and put me 
 on a stretcher and had me carried to the hospital 
 where the shipwrecked men were, and I never 
 needed to ask a question. He attended to all of 
 that himself, and I had nothing to do but make 
 the notes. It was like him to take that trouble. 
 He was a great man and a great American, and it 
 was in his fine nature to come down from his high 
 office and do a friendly turn whenever he could. 
 
 We got through with this work at six in the • 
 evening. I took no dinner, for there was no time 
 to spare if I would beat the other correspondents. 
 I spent four hours arranging the notes in their 
 
8; 
 
 proper order, then wrote all night and beyond it ; 
 with this result : that I had a very long and de- 
 tailed account of the Hornet episode ready at nine 
 in the morning, while the correspondents of the 
 San Francisco journals had nothing but a brief 
 outline report — for they didn't sit up. The now- 
 and - then schooner was to sail for San Francisco 
 about nine ; when I reached the dock she was free 
 forward and was just casting off her stern-line. My 
 fat envelope was thrown by a strong hand, and fell 
 on board all right, and my victory was a safe thing. 
 All in due time the ship reached San Francisco, but 
 it was my complete report which made the stir and 
 was telegraphed to the New York papers, by Mr. 
 Cash ; he was in charge of the Pacific bureau of the 
 New York Herald at the time. 
 
 When I returned to California by-and-by, I went 
 up to Sacramento and presented a bill for general 
 correspondence at twenty dollars a week. It was 
 paid. Then I presented a bill for " special " service 
 on the Hornet matter of three columns of solid non- 
 pareil at a hundred dollars a column. The cashier 
 didn't faint, but he came rather near it. He sent 
 for the proprietors, and they came and never 
 uttered a protest. They only laughed in their 
 jolly fashion, and said it was robbery, but no mat- 
 ter; it was a grand "scoop" (the bill or my Hornet 
 
88 
 
 report, I didn't know which) ; "pay it. It's all 
 right." The best men that ever owned a news- 
 paper. 
 
 The Hornet survivors reached the Sandwich Isl- 
 ands the 15th of June. They were mere skinny 
 skeletons ; their clothes hung limp about them and 
 fitted them no better than a flag fits the flag-staff in 
 a calm. But they were well nursed in the hospital ; 
 the people of Honolulu kept them supplied with 
 all the dainties they could need ; they gathered 
 strength fast, and were presently nearly as good 
 as new. Within a fortnight the most of them 
 took ship for San Francisco; that is, if my dates 
 have not gone astray in my memory. I went in 
 the same ship, a sailing-vessel. Captain Mitchell 
 of the Hornet was along ; also the only passengers 
 the Hornet had carried. These were two young 
 men from Stamford, Connecticut — brothers : Sam- 
 uel Ferguson, aged twenty-eight, a graduate of 
 Trinity College, Hartford, and Henry Ferguson, 
 aged eighteen, a student of the same college. 
 The elder brother had had some trouble with his 
 lungs, which induced his physician to prescribe a 
 long sea-voyage for him. This terrible disaster, 
 however, developed the disease which later ended 
 fatally. The younger brother is still living, and 
 is fifty years old this year (1898). The Hor- 
 
89 
 
 net was a clipper of the first class and a fast sailer ; 
 the young men's quarters were roomy and comfort- 
 able, and were well stocked with books, and also 
 with canned meats and fruits to help out the ship- 
 fare with; and when the ship cleared from New 
 York harbor in the first week of January there was 
 promise that she would make quick and pleasant 
 work of the fourteen or fifteen thousand miles in 
 front of her. As soon as the cold latitudes were 
 left behind and the vessel entered summer weather, 
 the voyage became a holiday picnic. The ship flew 
 southward under a cloud of sail which needed no 
 attention, no modifying or change of any kind, for 
 days together. The young men read, strolled the 
 ample deck, rested and drowsed in the shade of 
 the canvas, took their meals with the captain ; and 
 when the day was done they played dummy whist 
 with him till bedtime. After the snow and ice and 
 tempests of the Horn, the ship bowled northward 
 into summer weather again, and the trip was a pic- 
 nic once more. 
 
 Until the early morning of the 3d of May. Com- 
 puted position of the ship 112° 10' west longitude; 
 latitude 2° above the equator; no wind, no sea — 
 dead calm; temperature' of the atmosphere, tropi- 
 cal, blistering, unimaginable by one who has not 
 been roasted in it. There was a cry of fire. An 
 
90 
 
 unfaithful sailor had disobeyed the rules and gone 
 into the booby- hatch with an open light to draw 
 some varnish from a cask. The proper result fol- 
 lowed, and the vessel's hours were numbered. 
 
 There was not much time to spare, but the cap- 
 tain made the most of it. The three boats were 
 launched — long-boat and two quarter-boats. That 
 the time was very short and the hurry and excite- 
 ment considerable is indicated by the fact that in 
 launching the boats a hole was stove in the side of 
 one of them by some sort of collision, and an oar 
 driven through the side of another. The captain's 
 first care was to have four sick sailors brought up 
 and placed on deck out of harm's way — among 
 them a "Portyghee." This man had not done a 
 day's work on the voyage, but had lain in his ham- 
 mock four months nursing an abscess. When we 
 were taking notes in the Honolulu hospital and a 
 sailor told this to Mr. Burlingame, the third mate, 
 who was lying near, raised his head with an effort, 
 and in a weak voice made this correction — with 
 solemnity and feeling: 
 
 "Raising abscesses! He had a family of them. 
 He done it to keep from standing his watch." 
 
 Any provisions that lay handy were gathered up 
 by the men and the two passengers and brought 
 and dumped on the deck where the "Portyghee" 
 
91 
 
 lay; then they ran for more. The sailor who was 
 telling this to Mr. Burlingame added : 
 
 " We pulled together thirty-two days' rations for 
 the thirty-one men that way." 
 
 The third mate lifted his head again and made 
 another correction — with bitterness : 
 
 " The Portyghee et twenty - two of them while 
 he was soldiering there and nobody noticing. A 
 damned hound." 
 
 The fire spread with great rapidity. The smoke 
 and flame drove the men back, and they had to 
 stop their incomplete work of fetching provisions, 
 and take to the boats with only ten days' rations 
 secured. 
 
 Each boat had a compass, a quadrant, a copy 
 of Bowditch's Navigator, and a nautical almanac, 
 and the captain's and chief mate's boats had chro- 
 nometers. There were thirty-one men all told. The 
 captain took an account of stock, with the follow- 
 ing result : four hams, nearly thirty pounds of salt 
 pork, half -box of raisins, one hundred pounds of 
 bread, twelve two -pound cans of oysters, clams, 
 and assorted meats, a keg containing four pounds 
 of butter, twelve gallons of water in a forty-gallon 
 "scuttle-butt," four one -gallon demijohns full of 
 water, three bottles of brandy (the property of 
 passengers), some pipes, matches, and a hundred 
 
92 
 
 pounds of tobacco. No medicines. Of course the 
 whole party had to go on short rations at once. 
 
 The captain and the two passengers kept diaries. 
 On our voyage to San Francisco we ran into a calm 
 in the middle of the Pacific, and did not move a 
 rod during fourteen days ; this gave me a chance ^ 
 to copy the diaries. Samuel Ferguson's is the full- 
 est; I will draw upon it now. When the following 
 paragraph was written the ship was about one hun- 
 dred and twenty days out from port, and all hands 
 were putting in the lazy time about as usual, as no 
 one was forecasting disaster. 
 
 May 2. Latitude i" 28' N., longitude iii" jS W. An- 
 other hot and sluggish day ; at one time, however, the clouds 
 promised wind, and there came a slight breeze^ust enough 
 to keep us going. The only thing to chronicle to-day is the 
 quantities of fish about ; nine bonitos were caught this fore- 
 noon, and some large albacores seen. After dinner the first 
 mate hooked a fellow which he could not hold, so he let the 
 line go to the captain, who was on the bow. He, holding on, 
 brought the fish to with a jerk, and snap went the line, hook 
 and all. We also saw astern, swimming lazily after us, an 
 enormous shark, which must have been nine or ten feet long. 
 We tried him with all sorts of lines and a piece of pork, but 
 he declined to take hold. I suppose he had appeased his ap- 
 petite on the heads and other remains of the bonitos we had 
 thrown overboard. 
 
 Next day's entry records the disaster. The three 
 boats got away, retired to a short distance, and 
 
93 
 
 Stopped. The two injured ones were leaking bad- 
 ly; some of the men were kept busy bailing, others 
 patched the holes as well as they could. The cap- 
 tain, the two passengers, and eleven men were in 
 the long-boat, with a share of the provisions and 
 water, and with no room to spare, for the boat was 
 only twenty-one feet long, six wide, and three deep. 
 The chief mate and eight men were in one of the 
 small boats, the second mate and seven men in the 
 other. The passengers had saved no clothing but 
 what they had on, excepting their overcoats. The 
 ship, clothed in flame and sending up a vast column 
 of black smoke into the sky, made a grand picture 
 in the solitudes of the sea, and hour after hour the 
 outcasts sat and watched it. Meantime the cap- 
 tain ciphered on the immensity of the distance that 
 stretched between him and the nearest available 
 land, and then scaled the rations down to meet the 
 emergency : half a biscuit for breakfast ; one bis- 
 cuit and some canned meat for dinner; half a bis- 
 cuit for tea; a few swallows of water for each meal. 
 And so hunger began to gnaw while the ship was 
 still burning. 
 
 May 4. The ship burned all night very brightly, and hopes 
 are that some ship has seen the light and is bearing down upon 
 us. None seen, however, this forenoon, so we have determined 
 to go together north and a little west to some islands in z8° or 
 
94 
 
 rg° north latitude and 114° to iij" west longitude, hoping in 
 the meanttme to be picked up by some ship. The ship sank 
 suddenly at about ja.m. We find the sun very hot and scorch- 
 ing, but all try to keep out of it as much as we can. 
 
 They did a quite natural thing now : waited sev- 
 eral hours for that possible ship that might have 
 seen the light to work her slow way to them through 
 the nearly dead calm. Then they gave it up and set 
 about theirplans. If you will look at the mapyouwill 
 say that their course could be easily decided. Albe- 
 marle Island (Galapagos group) lies straight east- 
 ward nearly a thousand miles ; the islands referred 
 to in the diary indefinitely as " some islands" (Re- 
 villagigedo Islands) lie, as they think, in some wide- 
 ly uncertain region northward about one thousand 
 miles and westward one hundred or one hundred 
 and fifty miles, Acapulco, on the Mexican coast, lies 
 about northeast something short of one thousand 
 miles. You will say random rocks in the ocean are 
 not what is wanted; let them strike for Acapulco 
 and the solid continent. That does look like the 
 rational course, but one presently guesses from the 
 diaries that the thing would have been wholly ir- 
 rational — indeed, suicidal. If the boats struck for 
 Albemarle they would be in the doldrums all the 
 way ; and that means a watery perdition, with winds 
 which are wholly crazy, and blow from all points of 
 
95 
 
 the compass at once and also perpendicularly. If 
 the boats tried for Acapulco they would get out of 
 the doldrums when half-way there — in case they 
 ever got half-way — and then they would be in lam- 
 entable case, for there they would meet the north- 
 east trades coming down in their teeth, and these 
 boats were so rigged that they could not sail with- 
 in eight points of the wind. So they wisely started 
 northward, with a slight slant to the west. They 
 had but ten days' short allowance of food ; the 
 long-boat was towing the others ; they could' not 
 depend on making any sort of definite progress in 
 the doldrums, and they had four or five hundred 
 miles of doldrums in front of them yet. They are 
 the real equator, a tossing, roaring, rainy belt, ten 
 or twelve hundred miles broad, which girdles the 
 globe. 
 
 It rained hard the first night, and all got drenched, 
 but they filled -up their water-butt. The brothers 
 were in the stern with the captain, who steered. 
 The quarters were cramped ; no one got much sleep. 
 " Kept on our course till squalls headed us off." 
 
 Stormy and squally the next morning, with drench- 
 ing rains. A heavy and dangerous "cobbling" sea. 
 One marvels how such boats could live in it. It is 
 called a feat of desperate daring when one man and 
 a dog cross the Atlantic in a boat the size of a long- 
 
96 
 
 boat, and indeed it is ; but this long-boat was over- 
 loaded with men and other plunder, and was only 
 three feet deep. " We naturally thought often of 
 all at home, and were glad to remember that it was 
 Sacrament Sunday, and that prayers would go up 
 from our friends for us, although they know not our 
 peril." 
 
 The captain got not even a cat -nap during the 
 first three days and nights, but he got a few winks 
 of sleep the fourth night. "The worst sea yet." 
 About ten at night the captain changed his course 
 and headed east-northeast, hoping to make Clipper- 
 ton Rock. If he failed, no matter ; he would be in 
 a better position to make those other islands. I will 
 mention here that he did not find that rock. 
 
 On the 8th of May no wind all day ; sun blister- 
 ing hot ; they take to the oars. Plenty of dolphins, 
 but they couldn't catch any. " I think we are all 
 beginning to realize more and more the awful sit- 
 uation we are in." " It often takes a ship a week 
 to get through the doldrums ; how much longer, 
 then, such a craft as ours." " We are so crowded 
 that we cannot stretch ourselves out for a good 
 sleep, but have to take it any way we can get it." 
 
 Of course this feature will grow more and more 
 trying, but it will be human nature to cease to set 
 it down ; there will be five weeks of it yet — we must 
 
97 
 
 try to remember that for the diarist ; it will make 
 our beds the softer. 
 
 The 9th of May the sun gives him a warning : 
 " Looking with both eyes, the horizon crossed 
 thus +." " Henry keeps well, but broods over our 
 troubles more than I wish he did." They caught 
 two dolphins ; they tasted well. " The captain be- 
 lieved the compass out of the way, but the long-in- 
 visible north star came out — a welcome sight — and 
 endorsed the compass." 
 
 May 10, "latitude f d 3" N., longitude 111° 32' 
 W." So they have made about three hundred miles 
 of northing in the six days since they left the region 
 of the lost ship. " Drifting in calms all day." And 
 baking hot, of course ; I have been down there, and 
 I remember that detail. " Even as the captain says, 
 all romance has long since vanished, and I think the 
 most of us are beginning to look the fact of our 
 awful situation full in the face." " We are making 
 but little headway on our course." Bad news from 
 the rearmost boat : the men are improvident; "they 
 have eaten up all of the canned meats brought from 
 the ship, and are now growing discontented." Not 
 so with the chief mate's people — they are evidently 
 under the eye of a man. 
 
 Under date of May 11:" Standing still ! or worse; 
 we lost more last night than we made yesterday." 
 7 
 
98 
 
 In fact, they have lost three miles of the three hun- 
 dred of northing they had so laboriously made. 
 " The cock that was rescued and pitched into the 
 boat while the ship was on fire still lives, and crows 
 with the breaking of dawn, cheering us a good deal." 
 What has he been living on for a week? Did the 
 starving men feed him from their dire poverty? 
 " The second mate's boat out of water again, show- 
 ing that they overdrink their allowance. The cap- 
 tain spoke pretty sharply to them." It is true : I 
 have the remark in my old note-book; I got it of 
 the third mate in the hospital at Honolulu. But 
 there is not room for it here, and it is too combus- 
 tible, anyway. Besides, the third mate admired it, 
 and what he admired he was likely to enhance. 
 
 They were still watching hopefully for ships. The 
 captain was a thoughtful man, and probably did not 
 disclose to them that that was substantially a waste 
 of time. " In this latitude the horizon is filled with 
 little upright clouds that look very much like ships." 
 Mr. Ferguson saved three bottles of brandy from 
 his private stores when he left the ship, and the 
 liquor came good in these days. "The captain 
 serves out two table-spoonfuls of brandy and water 
 — half and half — to our crew." He means the watch 
 that is on duty ; they stood regular watches-— four 
 hours on and four off. The chief mate was an excel- 
 
99 
 
 lent officer — a self-possessed, resolute, fine, all-round 
 man. The diarist makes the following note — there 
 is character in it : "I offered one bottle of brandy 
 to the chief mate, but he declined, saying he could 
 keep the after-boat quiet, and we had not enough 
 for all." 
 
 HENRY FERGUSON'S DIARY TO DATE, GIVEN IN FULL 
 
 May 4, j, 6, doldrums. May 7, 8, g, doldrums. May 10, 
 II, 12, doldrums. Tells it all. Never saw, never felt, never 
 heard, never experienced such heat, such darkness, such light- 
 Aing and thunder, and wind and rain, in m.y life before. 
 
 That boy's diary is of the economical sort that a 
 person might properly be expected to keep in such 
 circumstances — and be forgiven for the economy, 
 too. His brother, perishing of consumption, hunger, 
 thirst, blazing heat, drowning rains, loss of sleep, lack 
 of exercise, was persistently faithful and circumstan- 
 tial with his diary from the first day to the last — an 
 instance of noteworthy fidelity and resolution. In 
 spite of the tossing and plunging boat he wrote it 
 close and fine, in a hand as easy to read as print. 
 They can't seem to get north of 7° N. ; they are 
 still there the next day: 
 
 May 12. A good rain last night, and we caught a good 
 deal, though not enough to fill up our tank, pails, etc. Our 
 object is to get out of these doldrums, but it seems as if we 
 
lOO 
 
 cannot do it. To-day we have had it very variable, and hope 
 we are on the northern edge, though we are not much above 
 7°- This morning we all thought we had tnade out a sail ; 
 but it was one of those deceiving clouds. Rained a good deal 
 to-day, making all hands wet and uncomfortable ; we filled 
 up pretty nearly all our water-pots, however. I hope we 
 may have a fine night, for the captain certainly wants rest, 
 and while there is any danger of squalls, or danger of any 
 kind, he is always on hand. I never would have believed 
 that open boats such as ours, with their loads, could live in 
 some of the seas we have had. 
 
 During the night, I2th-i3th, " the cry of A shipl 
 brought us to our feet." It seemed to be the glim- 
 mer of a vessel's signal-lantern rising out of the 
 curve of the sea. There was a season of breath- 
 less hope while they stood watching, with their 
 hands shading their eyes, and their hearts in their 
 throats ; then the promise failed : the light was a 
 rising star. It is a long time ago, — thirty-two 
 years, — and it doesn't matter now, yet one is sorry 
 for their disappointment. " Thought often of those 
 at home to-day, and of the disappointment they 
 will feel next Sunday at not hearing from us by 
 telegraph from San Francisco." It will be many 
 weeks yet before the telegram is received, and it 
 will come as a thunder-clap of joy then, and with 
 the seeming of a miracle, for it will raise from the 
 grave men mourned as dead. " To-day our rations 
 
lOI 
 
 were reduced to a quarter of a biscuit a meal, with 
 about half a pint of water." This is on the 13th of 
 May, with more than a month of voyaging in front 
 of them yet! However, as they do not know 
 that, " we are all feeling pretty cheerful." 
 
 In the afternoon of the 14th there was a thunder- 
 storm, "which toward night seemed to close in 
 around us on every side, making it very dark and 
 squally." "Our situation is becoming more and 
 more desperate," for they were making very little 
 northing, " and every day diminishes our small 
 stock of provisions." They realize that the boats 
 must soon separate, and each fight for its own Hfe. 
 Towing the quarter-boats is a hindering business. 
 
 That night and next day, light and baffling winds 
 and but little progress. Hard to bear, that per- 
 sistent standing still, and the food wasting away. 
 " Everything in a perfect sop ; and all so cramped, 
 and no change of clothes." Soon the sun comes 
 out and roasts them. " Joe caught another dolphin 
 to-day; in his maw we found a flying-fish and two 
 skipjacks." There is an event, now, which rouses 
 an enthusiasm of hope: a land-bird arrives! It 
 rests on the yard for awhile, and they can look at 
 it all they like, and envy it, and thank it for its 
 message. As a subject of talk it is beyond price — 
 a fresh, new topic for tongues tired to death of 
 
102 
 
 talking upon a single theme : Shall we ever see 
 the land again ; and when ? Is the bird from Clip- 
 perton Rock ? They hope so ; and they take heart 
 of grace to believe so. As it turned out, the bird 
 had no message ; it merely came to mock. 
 
 May i6, " the cock still lives, and daily carols 
 forth His praise." It will be a rainy night, " but I 
 do not care if we can fill up our water-butts." 
 
 On the 17th one of those majestic spectres of 
 the deep, a water-spout, stalked by them, and they 
 trembled for their lives. Young Henry set it down 
 in his scanty journal with the judicious comment 
 that " it might have been a fine sight from a ship." 
 
 From Captain Mitchell's log for this day : " Only 
 half a bushel of bread-crumbs left." (And a month 
 to wander the seas yet.) 
 
 It rained all night and all day; everybody un- 
 comfortable. Now came a sword-fish chasing a 
 bonito ; and the poor thing, seeking help and 
 friends, took refuge under the rudder. The big 
 sword-fish kept hovering around, scaring everybody 
 badly. The men's mouths watered for him, for he 
 would have made a whole banquet; but no one 
 dared to touch him, of course, for he would sink a 
 boat promptly if molested. Providence protected 
 the poor bonito from the cruel sword-fish. This 
 was just and right. Providence next befriended 
 
103 
 
 the shipwrecked sailors : they got the bonito. This 
 was also just and right. But in the distribution of 
 mercies the sword-fish himself got overlooked. He 
 now went away; to muse over these subtleties, 
 probably. " The men in all the boats seem pretty 
 well ; the feeblest of the sick ones (not able for a 
 long time to stand his watch on board the ship) is 
 wonderfully recovered." This is the third mate's 
 detested " Portyghee " that raised the family of 
 abscesses. 
 
 Passed a most awful night. Rained hard nearly all the 
 time, and blew in squalls, accompanied by terrific thunder 
 and lightning, from all points of the compass. — Henry's Log. 
 
 Most awful night I ever witnessed. — Captain's Log. 
 
 Latitude, May i8, ii" ii'. So they have aver- 
 aged but forty miles of northing a day during the 
 fortnight. Further talk of separating. " Too bad, 
 but it must be done for the safety of the whole." 
 " At first I never dreamed, but now hardly shut my 
 eyes for a cat-nap without conjuring up something 
 or other — to be accounted for by weakness, I sup- 
 pose." But for their disaster they think they would 
 be arriving in San Francisco about this time. " I 
 
 should have liked to send B the telegram for 
 
 her birthday." This was a young sister. 
 
 On the 19th the captain called up the quarter- 
 
104 
 
 boats and said one would have to go off on its own 
 hook. The long-boat could no longer tow both of 
 them. The second mate refused to go, but the 
 chief mate was ready ; in fact, he was always ready 
 when there was a man's work to the fore. He 
 took the second mate's boat ; six of its crew elected 
 to remain, and two of his own crew came with him 
 (nine in the boat, now, including himself). He 
 sailed away, and toward sunset passed out of sight. 
 The diarist was sorry to see him go. It was nat- 
 ural ; one could have better spared the " Porty- 
 ghee." After thirty-two years I find my prejudice 
 against this "Portyghee" reviving. His very looks 
 have long passed out of my memory ; but no mat- 
 ter, I am coming to hate him as religiously as ever. 
 " Water will now be a scarce article, for as we get 
 out of the doldrums we shall get showers only now 
 and then in the trades. This life is telling severe- 
 ly on my strength. Henry holds out first-rate." 
 Henry did not start well, but under hardships he 
 improved straight along. 
 
 Latitude, Sunday, May 20, 12° o' 9". They 
 ought to be well out of the doldrums now, but 
 they are not. No breeze — the longed-for trades 
 still missing. They are still anxiously watching 
 for a sail, but they have only " visions of ships that 
 come to naught — the shadow without the sub- 
 
I05 
 
 stance." The second mate catches a booby this 
 afternoon, a bird which consists mainly of feathers; 
 " but as they have no other meat, it will go well." 
 
 May 21, they strike the trades at last! The 
 second mate catches three more boobies, and gives 
 the long-boat one. Dinner " half a can of mince- 
 meat divided up and served around, which strength- 
 ened us somewhat." They have to keep a man 
 bailing all the time ; the hole knocked in the boat 
 when she was launched from the burning ship was 
 never efficiently mended. " Heading about north- 
 west now." They hope they have easting enough 
 to make some of those indefinite isles. Failing 
 that, they think they will be in a better position to 
 be picked up. It was an infinitely slender chance, 
 but the captain probably refrained from mention- 
 ing that. 
 
 The next day is to be an eventful one. 
 
 May 33. Last night wind headed us off, so that part of 
 the time we had to steer east-southeast and then west-north- 
 west, and so on. This morning we were all startled by a 
 cry of " Sail ho !" Sure enough, we could see it ! And for 
 a time we cut adrift from the second mate's boat, and steered 
 so as to attract its attention. This was about half -past five 
 A.M. After sailing in a state of high excitement for almost 
 twenty minutes we made it out to be the chief 'mate's boat. 
 Of course we were glad to see them and have them report 
 all well ; but still it was a bitter disappointment to us all. 
 Now that we are in the trades it seems impossible to make 
 
io6 
 
 northing enough to strike the isles. We have determined 
 to do the best we can, and get in the route of vessels. Such 
 being the determination, it becam.e necessary to cast off the 
 other boat, which, after a good deal of unpleasantness, was 
 done, we again dividing water and stores, and taking Cox 
 into our boat. This makes our num.ber fifteen. The second 
 mate's crew wanted to all get in with us and cast the other 
 boat adrift. It was a very painful separation. 
 
 So those isles that they have struggled for so 
 long and so hopefully have to be given up. What 
 with lying birds that come to mock, and isles that 
 are but a dream, and " visions of ships that come to 
 naught," it is a pathetic time they are having, with 
 much heartbreak in it. It was odd that the van- 
 ished boat, three days lost to sight in that vast 
 solitude, should appear again. But it brought 
 Cox — we can't be certain why. But if it hadn't, 
 the diarist would never have seen the land again. 
 
 Our chances as we go west increase in regard to being 
 picked up, but each day our scanty fare is so much reduced. 
 Without the fish, turtle, and birds sent us, I do not know 
 how we should have got along. The other day I offered to 
 read prayers morning and evening for the captain, and last 
 night commenced. The men, although of various nation- 
 alities and religions, are very attentive, and always un- 
 covered. May God grant my weak endeavor its issue. 
 
 Latitude, May 24, 14° 18' N. Five oysters 
 apiece for dinner and three spoonfuls of juice, a gill 
 
107 
 
 of water, and a piece of biscuit the size of a silver 
 dollar. " We are plainly getting weaker — God 
 have mercy upon us all !" That night heavy seas 
 break over the weather side and make everybody 
 wet and uncomfortable, besides requiring constant 
 bailing. 
 
 Next day "nothing particular happened." Per- 
 haps some of us would have regarded it differently. 
 " Passed a spar, but not near enough to see what 
 it was." They saw some whales blow ; there were 
 flying- fish skimming the seas, but none came 
 aboard. Misty weather, with fine rain, very pene- 
 trating. 
 
 Latitude, May 26, 15° 50'. They caught a fly- 
 ing-fish and a booby, but had to eat them raw. 
 " The men grow weaker, and, I think, despondent ; 
 they say very little, though." And so, to all the 
 other imaginable and unimaginable hoifrors, silence 
 is added — the muteness and brooding of coming 
 despair. " It seems our best chance to get in the 
 track of ships, with the hope that some one will 
 run near enough to our speck to see it." He hopes 
 the other boats stood west and have been picked 
 up. (They will never be heard of again in this 
 world.) 
 
 Sunday, May 27. Latitude 16° cf 5": longitude, by chro- 
 nometer, II f 3^. Our fourth Sunday I When we left 
 
Io8 
 
 the ship we reckoned on having about ten days' supplies, and 
 now we hope to be able, by rigid economy, to make them last 
 another week if possible.* Last night the sea was compara- 
 tively quiet; but the wind headed us off to about west-north- 
 west, which has been about our course all day to-day. An- 
 other flying-fish came aboard last night, and one more to- 
 day — both small ones. No birds. A booby is a great catch, 
 and a good large one makes a small dinner for the fifteen of 
 us — that is, of course, as dinners go in the "Hornet's" long- 
 boat. Tried this morning to read the full service to myself, 
 with the communion, but found it too much ; am too wectk, 
 and get sleepy, and cannot give strict attention; sol put off 
 half till this afternoon. I trust God will hear the prayers 
 gone up for us at home to-day, and graciously answer them 
 by sending us succor and help in this our season of deep dis- 
 tress. 
 
 The next day was " a good day for seeing a 
 ship." But none was seen. The diarist " still 
 feels pretty well," though very weak ; his brother 
 Henry " bears up and keeps his strength the best 
 of any on board." " I do not feel despondent at 
 all, for I fully trust that the Almighty will hear 
 our and the home prayers, and He who suffers 
 not a sparrow to fall sees and cares for us, His 
 creatures." 
 
 Considering the situation and circumstances, the 
 record for next day. May 29, is one which has a 
 surprise in it for those dull people who think that 
 
 * There are nineteen days of voyaging ahead yet. — M.T. 
 
109 
 
 nothing but medicines and doctors can cure the 
 sick. A little starvation can really do more for the 
 average sick man than can the best medicines and 
 the best doctors. I do not mean a restricted diet ; 
 I mean total abstention from food for one or two 
 days. I speak from experience ; starvation has 
 been my cold and fever doctor for fifteen years, 
 and has accomplished a cure in all instances. The 
 third mate told me in Honolulu that the " Porty- 
 ghee " had lain in his hammock for months, raising 
 his family of abscesses and feeding like a cannibal. 
 We have seen that in spite of dreadful weather, 
 deprivation of sleep, scorching, drenching, and all 
 manner of miseries, thirteen days of starvation 
 " wonderfully recovered " him. There were four 
 sailors down sick when the ship was burned. 
 Twenty-five days of pitiless starvation have fol- 
 lowed, and now we have this curious record : "All 
 the men are hearty and strong ; even the ones that 
 were down sick are well, except poor Peter." When 
 I wrote an article some months ago urging tem- 
 porary abstention from food as a remedy for an 
 inactive appetite and for disease, I was accused of 
 jesting, but I was in earnest. " We are all won- 
 derfully well and strong, comparatively speaking." 
 On this day the starvation regimen drew its belt a 
 couple of buckle-holes tighter : the bread ration 
 
no 
 
 was reduced from the usual piece of cracker the 
 size of a silver dollar to the half of that, and one 
 meal was abolished from the daily three. This will 
 weaken the men physically, but if there are any 
 diseases of an ordinary sort left in them they will 
 disappear. 
 
 Two quarts bread-crumbs left, one-third of a ham, three 
 small cans of oysters, and twenty gallons of water. — Cap- 
 tain's Log. 
 
 The hopeful tone of the diaries is persistent. It 
 is remarkable. Look at the map and see where 
 the boat is: latitude i6° 44', longitude 119° 20'. 
 It is more than two hundred miles west of the 
 Revillagigedo Islands, so they are quite out of the 
 question against the trades, rigged as this boat is. 
 The nearest land available for such a boat is the 
 American group, six hundred and fifty miles away, 
 westward ; still, there is no note of surrender, none 
 even of discouragement ! Yet, May 30, " we have 
 now left: one can of oysters ; three pounds of raisins ; 
 one can of soup ; one-third of a ham; three pints of 
 biscuit-crumbs'' And fifteen starved men to live 
 on it while they creep and crawl six hundred and 
 fifty miles. " Somehow I feel much encouraged 
 by this change of course (west by north) which we 
 have made to-day." Six hundred and fifty miles 
 
in 
 
 on a hatful of provisions. Let us be thankful, 
 even after thirty-two years, that they are mercifully 
 ignorant of the fact that it isn't six hundred and 
 fifty that they must creep on the hatful, but twenty- 
 two hundred! 
 
 Isn't the situation romantic enough just as it 
 stands? No. Providence added a startling de- 
 tail: pulling an oar in that boat, for common sea- 
 man's wages, was a banished duke — Danish. We 
 hear no more of him ; just that mention, that is all, 
 with the simple remark added that " he is one of 
 our best men " — a high enough compliment for a 
 duke or any other man in those manhood-testing 
 circumstarrces. With that little glimpse of him at 
 his oar, and that fine word of praise, he vanishes 
 out of our knowledge for all time. For all time, 
 unless he should chance upon this note and reveal 
 himself. 
 
 The last day of May is come. And now there 
 is a disaster to report : think of it, reflect upon it, 
 and try to understand how much it means, when 
 you sit down with your family and pass your eye 
 over your breakfast-table. Yesterday there were 
 three pints of bread-crumbs; this morning the 
 little bag is found open and some of the crumbs 
 -missing. " We dislike to suspect any one of such 
 a rascally act, but there is no question that this 
 
112 
 
 grave crime has been committed. Two days will 
 certainly finish the remaining morsels. God grant 
 us strength to reach the American group !" The 
 third mate told me in Honolulu that in these days 
 the men remembered with bitterness that the 
 "Portyghee" had devoured twenty-two days' ra- 
 tions while he lay waiting to be transferred from 
 the burning ship, and that now they cursed him 
 and swore an oath that if it came to cannibalism 
 he should be the first to suffer for the rest. 
 
 The captain has lost his glasses, and therefore he cannot 
 read our pocket prayer-books as much as I think he would 
 like, though he is not familiar with them. 
 
 Further of the captain : " He is a good man, and 
 has been most kind to us — almost fatherly. He 
 says that if he had been offered the command of 
 the ship sooner he should have brought his two 
 daughters with him." It makes one shudder yet 
 to think how narrow an escape it was. 
 
 The two meals {rations) a day are as follows: fourteen rai- 
 sins and a piece of cracker the size of a cent, for tea ; a gill 
 of water, and a piece of ham and a piece of bread, each the 
 size of a cent, for breakfast. — Captain's Log. 
 
 He means a cent in thickness as well as in cir- 
 cumference. Samuel Ferguson's diary says the 
 
"3 
 
 ham was shaved "about as thin as it could be 
 cut." 
 
 June I. Last night and to-day sea very high and cob- 
 bling, breaking over andmaking us allwet and cold. Weather 
 squally, and there is no doubt that only careful management 
 — with God's protecting care— preserved us through both the 
 night and the day ; and really it is most marvellous how every 
 morsel that passes our lips is blessed to us. It makes me 
 think daily of the miracle of the loaves and fishes. Henry 
 keeps up wonderfully, which is a great consolation to me. I 
 somehow have great confidence, and hope that our afflictions 
 will soon be ended, though we are running rapidly across the 
 track of both outward and inward bound vessels, and away 
 from, them ; our chief hope is a whaler, man-of-war, or some 
 Australian ship. The isles we are steering for are put down 
 in Bowditch, but on my map are said to be doubtful. God 
 grant they may be there! 
 
 Hardest day yet. — Captain's Log. 
 
 Doubtful! It was worse than that. A week 
 later they sailed straight over them. 
 
 June 3. Latitude i8° g'. Squally, cloudy, a heavy sea. 
 . . . I cannot help thinking of the cheerful and comfortable 
 time we had aboard the "Hornet." 
 
 Two days' scanty supplies left — ten rations of water apiece 
 and a little morsel of bread. But THE SUN SHINES, AND 
 God is merciful. — Captain's Log. 
 
 Sunday, June 3. Latitude 17° s^ . Heavy sea all night, 
 and from 4 a.m. very wet, the sea breaking over us infrequent 
 sluices, and soaking everything aft, particularly. All day 
 8 
 
114 
 
 the sea has been very high, and it is a wonder that we are not 
 swamped. Heaven grant that it may go down this evening ! 
 Our suspense and condition are getting terrible. I managed 
 this morning to crawl, more than step, to the forward end of 
 the boat, and was surprised to find that I was so weak, es- 
 pecially in the legs and knees. The sun has been out again, 
 and I have dried some things, and hope for a better night. 
 
 fune 4. Latitude 77° 6', longitude iji" jo'. Skipped 
 hardly any seas last night, and to-day the sea has gone down 
 somewhat, although it is still too high for comfort, as we have 
 an occasional retninder that water is wet. The sun has been 
 out all day, and so we have had a good drying. I have been 
 trying for the last ten or twelve days to get a pair of drawers 
 dry enough to put on, and to-day at last succeeded. I mention 
 this to show the state in which We have lived. If our chro- 
 nometer is anywhere near right, we ought to see the American 
 Isles to-morrow or next day. If they are not there, we have 
 only the chance, for a few days, of a stray ship, for we can- 
 not eke out the provisions more than five or six days longer, 
 and our strength is failing very fast. I was much surprised 
 to-day to note how my legs have wasted away above m.y knees : 
 they are hardly thicker than my upper arm used to be. Still, 
 I trust in God's infinite mercy, and feel sure he will do what 
 is best for us. To survive, as we have done, thirty-two days 
 in an open boat, with only about ten days' fair provisions for 
 thirty-one men in the first place, and these divided twice sub- 
 sequently, is more than mere unassisted HUMAN art and 
 strength could have accomplished and endured. 
 
 Bread and raisins all gone. — Captain's Log. 
 
 Men growing dreadfully discontented, and awful grum- 
 bling and unpleasant talk is arising. God save us from all 
 strife of men ; and if we must die now, take us himself, and 
 not embitter our bitter death still more. — Henry's Log. 
 
IIS 
 
 June s- Quiet night and pretty comfortable day, though 
 our sail and block show signs of failing, and need taking 
 down — which latter is something of a job, as it requires the 
 climbing of the mast. We also had news from forward, 
 there being discontent and some threatening complaints of 
 unfair allowances, etc., all as unreasonable as foolish ; still, 
 these things bid us be on our guard. I am getting miserably 
 weak, but try to keep up the best T can. If we cannot find 
 those isles we can only try to make northwest and get in the 
 track of Sandwich Island bound vessels, living as best we 
 can in the meantime. To-day we changed to one meal, and 
 that at about noon, with a small ration of water at 8 or g 
 A.M., another at 12 m., and a third at ^ or 6 p.m. 
 
 Nothing left but a little piece of ham. and a gill of water, 
 all around. — Captain's Log. 
 
 They are down to one meal a day now, — such as 
 it is, — and fifteen hundred miles to crawl yet ! And 
 now the horrors deepen, and though they escaped 
 actual mutiny, the attitude of the men became 
 alarming. Now we seem to see why that curious ac- 
 cident happened, so long ago : I mean Cox's return, 
 after he had been far away and out of sight several 
 days in the chief mate's boat. If he had not come 
 back the captain and the two young passengers 
 might have been slain, now, by these sailors, who 
 were becoming crazed through their sufferings. 
 
 NOTE SECRETLY PASSED BY HENRY TO HIS BROTHER 
 
 Cox told me last night that there is getting to be a good 
 deal of ugly talk among the men against the captain and us 
 
ii6 
 
 aft. They say that the captain is the cause of all ; that he 
 did not try to save the ship at all, nor to get provisions, and 
 even would not let the men put in some they had ; and that 
 partiality is shown us in apportioning our rations aft. 
 
 * * * * asked Cox the other day if he would starve first or eat 
 hum,an flesh. Cox answered he would starve. * * * * then 
 told him he would only be killing himself. If we do not find 
 these islands we would do well to prepare for anything. 
 
 * * Hi * * zi the loudest of all. 
 
 REPLY 
 
 We can depend on *****,/ think, and *****, and Cox, 
 can we not f 
 
 SECOND NOTE 
 
 I guess so, and very likely on *****/ but there is no tell- 
 ing. i(****if and Cox are certain. There is nothing 
 definite said or hinted as yet, as T understand Cox ; but 
 starving men are the same as maniacs. It would be well to 
 keep a watch on your pistol, so as to have it and the car- 
 tridges safe from theft. 
 
 Henry's hog, June ^. Dreadful forebodings. God spare 
 us from all such horrors / Some of the men getting to talk a 
 good deal. Nothing to write down. Heart very sad. 
 
 Henry's Log, fune 6. Passed some sea-weed and some- 
 thing that looked like the trunk of an old tree, but no birds; 
 beginning to be afraid islands not there. To-day it was said 
 to the captain, in the hearing of all, that some of the men 
 would not shrink, when a man was dead, from using the 
 flesh, though they would not kill. Horrible ! God give us 
 all full use of our reason, and spare us from, such things! 
 " From plague, pestilence, and famine ; from battle and mur- 
 der, and from sudden death, good Lord, deliver us I" 
 
"7 
 
 June 6. Latitude i6° jo', longitude {chron.) 1^4°. Dry 
 night and wind steady enough to require no change in sail ; 
 but this A.M. an attempt to lower it proved abortive. First 
 the third mate tried and got up to the block, and fastened a 
 temporary arrangement to reeve the halyards through, but 
 had to come down, weak and almost fainting, before finish- 
 ing ; then Joe tried, and after twice ascending, fixed it and 
 brought down the block ; but it was very exhausting work, 
 and afterward he was good for nothing all day. The clue- 
 iron which we are trying to make serve for the broken block 
 works, however, very indifferently, and will, I am afraid, 
 soon cut the rope. It is very necessary to get everything con- 
 nected with the sail in good, easy running order before we get 
 too weak to do anything with it. 
 
 Only three meals left. — Captain's Log. 
 
 June 7. Latitude 16° jj' N., longitude ij6° jo' W. Night 
 wet and uncomfortable. To-day shows us pretty conclusively 
 that the American Isles are not there, though we have had 
 some signs that looked like them. At noon we decided to 
 abandon looking any farther for them, and to-night haul a 
 little more northerly, so as to get in the way of Sandwich Isl- 
 and vessels, which fortunately come down pretty well this 
 •way — say to latitude ig° to 20° to get the benefit of the trade- 
 winds. Of course all the westing we have made is gain, and 
 I hope the chronometer is wrong in our favor, for I do not 
 see how any such delicate instrument can keep good time with 
 the constant jarring and thumping we get from the sea. 
 With the strong trade we have, T hope that a week from 
 Sunday will put us in sight of the Sandwich Islands, if we 
 are not safe by that time by being picked up. 
 
 It is twelve hundred miles to the Sandwich Isl- 
 
ii8 
 
 ands ; the provisions are virtually exhausted, but 
 not the perishing diarist's pluck. 
 
 June 8. My cough troubled me a good deal last night, and 
 therefore I got hardly any sleep at all. Still, I make out 
 pretty -well, and should not complain. Yesterday the third 
 mate mended the block, and this p.m. the sail, after some dif- 
 ficulty, was got down, and Harry got to the top of the mast 
 and rove the halyards through after some hardship, so that 
 it now works easy and well. This getting up the mast is no 
 easy matter at any time with the sea we have, and is very ex- 
 hausting in our present state. We could only reward Harry 
 by an extra ration of water. We have made good time and 
 course to-day. Heading her up, however, makes the boat ship 
 seas and keeps us all wet; however, it cannot be helped. 
 Writing is a rather precarious thing these times. Our meal 
 to - day for the fifteen consists of half a can of " soup and 
 boullie "; the other half is reserved for to-morrow. Henry 
 still keeps up grandly, and is a great favorite. God grant he 
 may be spared! 
 
 A better feeling prevails among the m.en. — Captain's Log. 
 
 June g. Latitude ly" j-j>'. Finished to-day, I may say, 
 our whole stock of provisions.* We have only left a lower 
 end of a ham-bone, with some of the outer rind and skin on. 
 In regard to the water, however, I think we have got ten 
 days' supply at our present rate of allowance. This, with 
 what nourishment we can get from boot-legs and such chew- 
 able matter, we hope will enable us to weather it out till we 
 get to the Sandwich Islands, or, sailing in the meantime in 
 the track of vessels thither bound, be picked up. My hope is 
 
 * Six days to sail yet, nevertheless. — M. T. 
 
»9 
 
 in the latter, for in all human probability I cannot stand the 
 other. Still, we have been marvellously protected, and God, I 
 hope, will preserve us all in his own good time and way. The 
 men are getting weaker, but are still quiet and orderly. 
 
 Sunday, June lo. Latitude i8° 40', longitude 142" J4'. A 
 pretty good night last night, with some wettings, and again 
 another beautiful Sunday. I cannot but think how we should 
 all enjoy it at home, and what a contrast is here ! How ter- 
 rible their suspense must begin to be ! God grant that it may 
 be relieved before very long, and he certainly seems to be with 
 us in everything we do, and has preserved this boat miracu- 
 lously ; for since we left the ship we have sailed considerably 
 over three thousand miles, which, taking into consideration 
 our meagre stock of provisions, is almost unprecedented. As 
 yet I do not feel the stint of fOod so much as I do that of wa- 
 ter. Even Henry, who is naturally a good water-drinker, 
 can save half of his allowance from, tim.e to time, when I 
 cannot. My diseased throat may have something to do with 
 that, however. 
 
 Nothing is now left which by any flattery can be 
 called food. But they must manage somehow for 
 five days more, for at noon they have still eight 
 hundred miles to go. It is a race for life now. 
 
 This is no time for comments or other interrup- 
 tions from me — every moment is valuable. I will 
 take up the boy brother's diary at this point, and 
 clear the seas before it and let it fly. 
 
 HENRY FERGUSON'S LOG 
 
 Sunday, June 10. Our ham-bone has given us a taste of 
 food to-day, and we have got left a little meat and the re- 
 
mainder of the bone for to - morrow. Certainly, never was 
 there such a sweet knuckle-bone, or one that was so thorough- 
 ly appreciated. . . . I do not know that T feel any worse 
 than I did last Sunday, notwithstanding the reduction of 
 diet; and I trust that we may all have strength given us to 
 sustain the sufferings and hardships of the coining week. 
 We estimate that we are within seven hundred miles of the 
 Sandwich Islands, and that our average, daily, is somewhat 
 over a hundred miles, so that our hopes have some foundation 
 in reason. Heaven send we may all live to see land! 
 
 fune II. Ate the meat and rind of. our ham - bone, and 
 have the bone and the greasy cloth from around the ham. left 
 to eat to-morrow. God send us birds or fish, and let us not 
 perish of hunger, or be brought to the dreadful alternative 
 of feeding on human flesh! As I feel now, I do not think 
 anything could persuade me ; but you cannot tell what you 
 will do when you are reduced by hunger and your mind wan- 
 dering. 'I hope and pray we can make out to reach the isl- 
 ands before we get to this strait ; but we have one or two 
 desperate m.en aboard, though they are quiet enough now. It 
 IS MY FIRM TRUST AND BELIEF THAT WE ARE GOING TO 
 BE SAVED. 
 
 All food gone.— QdcpX-'aXn'^ Log.* 
 
 fune 12. Stiff breeze, and we are fairly flying — dead 
 ahead of it — and toward the islands. Good hope, but the 
 prospects of hunger are awful. Ate ham-bone to-day. It is 
 the captain's birthday ; he is fifty-four years old. 
 
 fune ij. The ham-rags are not quite all gone yet, and the 
 boot-legs, we find, are very palatable after we get the salt out 
 
 * It was at this time discovered that the crazed sailors had gotten 
 the delusion that the captain had a million dollars in gold concealed 
 aft, and they were conspiring to kill him and the two passengers and 
 seize it. — M. T. 
 
121 
 
 of them. A little smoke, I think, does some little good ; but I 
 don't know. 
 
 June 14.. Hunger does not fain us much, but we are dread- 
 fully weak. Our water is getting frightfully low. God grant 
 we may see land soon! Nothing to eat, but feel better than 
 I did yesterday. Toward evening saw a magnificent rainbow — 
 THE FIRST WE HAD SEEN. Captain said, " Cheer up, boys ; 
 it's a prophecy— n'S THE BOW OF PROMISE!" 
 
 June ij. God be forever praised for his infinite mercy ! 
 LAND IN SIGHT! Rapidly neared it and soon were SURE 
 of it . . . . Two noble Kanakas swam, out and took thf 
 boat ashore. We were joyfully received by two white men — 
 Mr. Jones and his steward Charley — and a crowd of native 
 men, women, and children. They treated us splendidly — aid- 
 ed us, and carried us up the bank, and brought us water, poi, 
 bananas, and green cocoanuts ■ iut the white men took care of 
 us and prevented those who would have eaten too much from 
 doing so. Everybody overjoyed to see us, and all sympathy 
 expressed in faces, deeds, and words. We were then helped 
 up to the house ; and help we needed. Mr. Jones and Charley 
 are the only -white m.en here. Treated us splendidly. Gave 
 us first about a teaspoonful of spirits in water, and then to 
 each a cup of warm tea, with a little bread. Takes EVERY 
 care of us. Gave us later another cup of tea, and bread the 
 same, and then let us go to rest. It is the happiest day 
 OF MY life. . . . God in his mercy has heard our prayer. 
 . . . Everybody is so kind. Words cannot tell. 
 
 June 16. Mr. Jones gave us a delightful bed, and we surely 
 had a good night's rest; but not sleep— we were too happy 
 to sleep :^ would keep the reality and not let it turn to a de- 
 lusion-^dreaded that we might wake up and find ourselves in 
 the boat again. 
 
 It is an amazing adventure. There is nothing of 
 
122 
 
 its sort in history that surpasses it in impossibili- 
 ties made possible. In one extraordinary detail — 
 the survival of every person in the boat — it prob- 
 ably stands alone in the history of adventures of 
 its kind. Usually merely a part of a boat's com- 
 pany survive — officers, mainly, and other educated 
 and tenderly reared men, unused to hardship and 
 heavy labor; the untrained, roughly reared hard 
 workers succumb. But in this case even the rudest 
 and roughest stood the privations and miseries of 
 the voyage almost as well as did the college-bred 
 young brothers and the captain. I mean, physi- 
 cally. The minds of most of the sailors broke 
 down in the fourth week and went to temporary 
 ruin, but physically the endurance exhibited was 
 astonishing. Those men did not survive by any 
 merit of their own, of course, but by merit of the 
 character and intelligence of the captain ; they 
 lived by the mastery of his spirit. Without him 
 they would have been children without a nurse; 
 they would have exhausted their provisions in a 
 week, and their pluck would not have lasted even 
 as long as the provisions. 
 
 The boat came near to being wrecked at the last. 
 As it approached the shore the sail was let go, and 
 came down with a run ; then the captain saw that 
 he was drifting swiftly toward an ugly reef, and an 
 
123 
 
 effort was made to hoist the sail again: but it 
 could not be done; the men's strength was wholly 
 exhausted ; they could not even pull an oar. They 
 were helpless, and death imminent. It was .then 
 that they were discovered by the two Kanakas who 
 achieved the rescue. They swam out and manned 
 the boat and piloted her through a narrow and 
 hardly noticeable break in the reef — the only break 
 in it in a stretch of thirty-five miles ! The spot 
 where the landing was made was the only one in 
 that stretch where footing could have been found 
 on the shore ; everywhere else precipices came 
 sheer down into forty fathoms of water. Also, in 
 all that stretch this was the only spot where any- 
 body lived. 
 
 Within ten days after the landing all the men 
 but one were up and creeping about. Properly, 
 they ought to have killed themselves with the 
 " food " of the' last few days — some of them, at any 
 rate — men who had freighted their stomachs with 
 strips of leather from old boots and with chips from 
 the butter-cask; a freightage which they did *not 
 get rid of by digestion, but by other means. The 
 captain and the two passengers did not eat strips 
 and chips, as the sailors did, but scraped the boot- 
 leather and the wood, and made a pulp of the 
 scrapings by moistening them with water. The 
 
124 
 
 third mate told me that the boots were old and full 
 of holes ; then added thoughtfully, " but the holes 
 digested the best." Speaking of digestion, here is 
 a remarkable thing, and worth noting: during this 
 strange voyage, and for a while afterward on shore, 
 the bowels of some of the men virtually ceased 
 from their functions ; in some cases there was no 
 action for twenty and thirty days, and in one case 
 for forty-four ! Sleeping also came to be rare. Yet 
 the men did very well without it. During many 
 days the captain did not sleep at all — twenty-one, 
 I think, on one stretch. 
 
 When the landing was made, all the men were 
 successfully protected from overeating except the 
 " Portyghee "; he escaped the watch and ate an in- 
 credible number of bananas : a hundred and fifty- 
 two, the third mate said, but this was undoubtedly 
 an exaggeration ; I think it was a hundred and fifty- 
 one. He was already nearly full of leather; it was 
 hanging out of his ears. (I do not state this on 
 the third mate's authority, for we have seen what 
 sort of person he was ; I state it on my own.) The 
 " Portyghee " ought to have died, of course, and 
 even now it seems a pity that he didn't; but he got 
 well, and as early as any of them ; and all full of 
 leather, too, the way he was, and butter-timber and 
 handkerchiefs and bananas. Some of the men did 
 
125 
 
 eat handkerchiefs in those last days, also socks; 
 and he was one of them. 
 
 It is to the credit of the men that they did not 
 kill the rooster that crowed so gallantly mornings. 
 He Hved eighteen days, and then stood up and 
 stretched his neck and made a brave, weak effort to 
 do his duty once more, and died in the act. It is 
 a picturesque detail ; and so is that rainbow, too, — 
 the only one seen in the forty-three days, — raising 
 its triumphal arch in the skies for the sturdy fighters 
 to sail under to victory and rescue. 
 
 With ten days' provisions Captain Josiah Mitchell 
 performed this memorable voyage of forty-three 
 days and eight hours in an open boat, sailing four 
 thousand miles in reality and thirty-three hundred 
 and sixty by direct courses, and brought every 
 man safe to land. A bright, simple-hearted, unas- 
 suming, plucky, and most companionable man. I 
 walked the deck with him twenty-eight days, — 
 when I was not copying diaries, — and I remember 
 him with reverent honor. If he is alive he is 
 eighty-six years old now. 
 
 If I remember rightly, Samuel Ferguson died 
 soon after we reached San Francisco. I do not 
 think he lived to see his home again ; his disease 
 had been seriously aggravated by his hardships. 
 
 For a time it was hoped that the two quarter- 
 
126 
 
 boats would presently be heard of, but this hope 
 suffered , disappointment. They went down with 
 all on board, no doubt, not even sparing that 
 knightly chief mate. 
 
 The authors of the diaries allowed me to copy 
 them exactly as they were written, and the ex- 
 tracts that I have given are without any smoothing 
 over or revision. These diaries are finely modesti 
 and unaffected, and with unconscious and uninten- 
 tional art they rise toward the climax with gradu- 
 ated and gathering force and swing and dramatic 
 intensity ; they sweep you along with a cumulative 
 rush, and when the cry rings out at last, " Land in 
 sight!" your heart is in your mouth, and for a mo- 
 ment you think it is you that have been saved. 
 The last two paragraphs are not improvable by 
 anybody's art ; they are literary gold ; and their 
 very pauses and uncompleted sentences have in 
 them an eloquence not reachable by any words. 
 
 The interest of this story is unquenchable ; it is 
 of the sort that time cannot decay. I have not 
 looked at the diaries for thirty-two years, but I find 
 that they have lost nothing in that time. Lost? 
 They have gained ; for by some subtile law all 
 tragic human experiences gain in pathos by the 
 perspective of time. We realize this when in 
 Naples we stand musing over the poor Pompeian 
 
127 
 
 mother, lost in the historic storm of volcanic ashes 
 eighteen centuries ago, who lies with her child 
 gripped close to her breast, trying to save it, and 
 whose despair and grief have been preserved for 
 us by the fiery envelope which took her life but 
 eternalized her form and features. She moves us, 
 she haunts us, she stays in our thoughts for many 
 days, we do not know why, for she is nothing to 
 us, she has been nothing to any one for eighteen 
 centuries; whereas of the like case to-day we 
 should say, " Poor thing ! it is pitiful," and forget 
 it in an hour. 
 
FROM THE "LONDON TIMES" 
 OF 1904 
 
 Correspondence of the " London Times " 
 
 Xhicago, Aprzi I, 1894. 
 
 I RESUME by cable-telephone where I left off 
 yesterday. For many hours, now, this vast city 
 — along with the rest of the globe, of course — 
 has talked of nothing but the extraordinary episode 
 mentioned in my last report. In accordance with 
 your instructions, I will now trace the romance from 
 its beginnings down to the culmination of yester- 
 day — or to-day ; call it which you like. By an odd 
 chance, I was a personal actor in a part of this 
 drama myself. The opening scene plays in Vienna. 
 Date, one o'clock in the morning, March 31, 1898. 
 I had spent the evening at a social entertainment. 
 About midnight I went away, in Company with the 
 military attaches of the British, Italian, and Ameri- 
 
129 
 
 can embassies, to finish with a late smoke. This 
 function had been appointed to take place in the 
 house of Lieutenant Hillyer, the third attache 
 mentioned in the above list. When we arrived 
 there we found several visitors in the room: young 
 Szczepanik ;* Mr. K., his financial backer ; Mr. W., 
 the latter's secretary; and Lieutenant Clayton of 
 the United States army. War was at that time 
 threatening between Spain and our country, and 
 Lieutenant Clayton had been sent to Europe on 
 military business. I was well acquainted with 
 young Szczepanik and his two friends, and I knew 
 Mr. Clayton slightly. I had met him at West 
 Point years before, when he was a cadet. It was 
 when General Merritt was superintendent. He 
 had the reputation of being an able ofificer, and 
 also of being quick-tempered and plain-spoken. 
 
 This smoking-party had been gathered together 
 partly for business. This business was to consider 
 the availability of the telelectroscope for military 
 service. It sounds oddly enough now, but it is 
 nevertheless true that at that time the invention 
 was not taken seriously by any one except its in- 
 ventor. Even his financial supporter regarded it 
 merely as a curious and interesting toy. Indeed, 
 
 * Pronounced (approximately) Ze/3«nik. 
 
I30 
 
 he was so convinced of this that he had actually 
 postponed its use by the general world to the end of 
 the dying century by granting a two years' exclusive 
 lease of it to a syndicate, whose intent was to ex- 
 ploit it at the Paris World's Fair. When we en- 
 tered the smoking-room we found Lieutenant 
 Clayton and Szczepanik engaged in a warm talk 
 over the teleleqtroscope in the German tongue. 
 Clayton was saying : 
 
 "Well, you know my opinion of it, anyway!" 
 and he brought his fist down with emphasis upon 
 the table. 
 
 " And I do not value it," retorted the young in- 
 ventor, with provoking calmness of tone and man- 
 ner. 
 
 Clayton turned to Mr. K., and said : 
 
 " / cannot see why you are wasting money on 
 this toy. In my opinion, the day will never come 
 when it will do a farthing's worth of real service 
 for any human being." 
 
 " That may be ; yes, that may be ; still, I have 
 put the money in it, and am content. I think, my- 
 self, that it is only a toy ; but Szczepanik claims 
 more for it, and I know him well enough to believe 
 that he can see farther than I can — either with his 
 telelectroscope or without it." 
 
 The soft answer did not cool Clayton down ; it 
 
131 
 
 seemed only to irritate him the more ; and he re- 
 peated and emphasized his conviction that the in- 
 vention would never do any man a farthing's worth 
 of real service. He even made it a "brass" farth- 
 ing, this time. Then he laid an English farthing 
 on the table, and added : 
 
 " Take that, Mr. K., and put it away ; and if 
 ever the telelectroscope does any man an actual 
 service — mind, a real service — please mail it to me 
 as a reminder, and I will take back what I have 
 been saying. Will you ?" 
 
 " I will"; and Mr. K. put the coin in his pOcket. 
 
 Mr. Clayton now turned toward Szczepanik, and 
 began with a taunt — a taunt which did not reach a 
 finish ; Szczepanik interrupted it with a hardy re- 
 tort, and followed this with a blow. There was a 
 brisk fight for a moment or two ; then the attaches 
 separated the men. 
 
 The scene now changes to Chicago. Time, the 
 autumn of 1901. As soon as the Paris contract re- 
 leased the telelectroscope, it was delivered to pub- 
 lic use, and was soon connected with the telephonic 
 systems of the whole world. The improved " lim- 
 itless-distance " telephone was presently intro- 
 duced, and the daily doings of the globe made 
 visible to everybody, and audibly discussable, too, 
 by witnesses separated by any number of leagues. 
 
132 
 
 By-and-by Szczepanik arrived in Chicago. Claly- 
 ton (now captain) was serving in that mihtary de- 
 partment at the time. The two men resumed the 
 Viennese quarrel of 1898. On three different oc- 
 casions they quarreled, and were separated by wit- 
 nesses. Then came an interval of two months, 
 during which time Szczepanik was not seen by 
 any of his friends, and it was at first supposed 
 that he had gone off on a sight-seeing tour and 
 would soon be heard from. But no ; no word came 
 from him. Then it was supposed that he had re- 
 turned to Europe. Still, time drifted on, and he 
 was not heard from. Nobody was troubled, for 
 he was like most inventors and other kinds of 
 poets, and went and came in a capricious way, 
 and often without notice. 
 
 Now comes the tragedy. On the 29th of De- 
 cember, in a dark and unused compartment of the 
 cellar under Captain Clayton's house, a corpse was 
 discovered by one of Clayton's maid-servants. It 
 was easily identified as Szczepanik's. The man had 
 died by violence. Clayton was arrested, indicted, 
 and brought to trial, charged with this murder. 
 The evidence against him was perfect in every de- 
 tail, and absolutely unassailable. Clayton admitted 
 this himself. He said that a reasonable man could 
 not examine this testimony with a dispassionate 
 
133 
 
 mind and not be convinced by it ; yet the man 
 would be in error, nevertheless. Clayton swore 
 that he did not commit the murder, and that he 
 had had nothing to do with it. 
 
 As your readers will remember, he was con- 
 demned to death. He had numerous and power- 
 ful friends, and they worked hard to save him, for 
 none of them doubted the truth of his assertion. 
 I did what little I could to help, for I had long 
 since become a close friend of his, and thought I 
 knew that it was not in his character to inveigle an 
 enemy into a corner and assassinate him. During 
 1902 and 1903 he was several times reprieved by 
 the governor ; he was reprieved once more in the 
 beginning of the present year, and the execution 
 day postponed to March 31. 
 
 The governor's situation has been embarrassing, 
 from the day of the condemnation, because of the 
 fact that Clayton's wife is the governor's niece. 
 The marriage took place in 1899, when Clayton 
 was thirty-four and the girl twenty-three, and has 
 been a happy one. There is one child, a little girl 
 three years old. Pity for the poor mother and 
 child kept the mouths of grumblers closed at first ; 
 but this could not last forever, — for in America 
 politics has a hand in everything, — and by-and-by 
 the governor's political opponents began to call 
 
134 
 
 attention to his delay in allowing the law to take 
 its course. These hints have grown more and 
 more frequent of late, and more and more pro- 
 nounced. As a natural result, his own party grew 
 nervous. Its leaders began to visit Springfield and 
 hold long private conferences with him. He was 
 now between two fires. On the one hand, his 
 niece was imploring him to pardon her husband ; 
 on the other were the leaders, insisting that he 
 stand to his plain duty as chief magistrate of the 
 State, and place no further bar to Clayton's execu- 
 tion. Duty won in the struggle, and the governor 
 gave his word that he would not again respite the 
 condemned man. This was two weeks ago. Mrs. 
 Clayton now said : 
 
 " Now that you have given your word, my last 
 hope is gone, for I know you will never go back 
 from it. But you have done the best you could 
 for John, and I have no reproaches for you. You 
 love him, and you love me, and both know that if 
 you could honorably save him, you would doit. I 
 will go to him now, and be what help I can to him, 
 and get what comfort I may out of the few days 
 that are left to us before the night comes which 
 will have no end for me in life. You will be with 
 me that day? You will not let me bear it 
 alone?" 
 
135 
 
 " I will take you to him myself, poor child, and 
 I will be near you to the last." 
 
 By the governor's command, Clayton was now 
 allowed every indulgence he might ask for which 
 could interest his mind and soften the hardships of 
 his imprisonment. His wife and child spent the 
 days with him ; I was his companion by night. He 
 was removed from the narrow cell which he had 
 occupied during such a dreary stretch of time, and 
 given the chief warden's roomy and comfortable 
 quarters. His mind was always busy with the 
 catastrophe of his life, and with the slaughtered 
 inventor, and he now took the fancy that he would 
 like to have the telelectroscope and divert his 
 mind with it. He had his wish. The connection 
 was made with the international telephone-station, 
 and day by day, and night by night, he called up 
 one corner of the globe after another, and looked 
 upon its life, and studied its strange sights, and 
 spoke with its people, and realized that by grace 
 of this marvellous instrument he was almost as 
 free as the birds of the air, although a prisoner 
 under locks and bars. He seldom spoke, and I 
 never interrupted him when he was absorbed in 
 this amusement. I sat in his parlor and read and 
 smoked, and the nights were very quiet and re- 
 posefully sociable, and I found them pleasant. 
 
136 
 
 Now and then I would hear him say, " Give me 
 Yedo " ; next, " Give me Hong-Kong "; next 
 " Give me Melbourne." And I smoked on, and 
 read in comfort, while he wandered about the re- 
 mote under-world, where the sun was shining in 
 the sky, and the people were at their daily work. 
 Sometimes the talk that came from those far re- 
 gions through the microphone attachment inter- 
 ested me, and I listened. 
 
 Yesterday — I keep calling it yesterday, which is 
 quite natural, for certain reasons — the instrument 
 remained unused, and that, also, was natural, for it 
 was the eve of the execution day. It was spent 
 in tears and lamentations and farewells. The 
 governor and the wife and child remained until 
 a quarter past eleven at night, and the scenes I 
 witnessed were pitiful to see. The execution was 
 to take place at four in the morning. A little 
 after eleven a sound of hammering broke out 
 upon the still night, and there was a glare of 
 light, and the child cried out, " What is that, 
 papa ?" and ran to the window before she could be 
 stopped, and clapped her small hands and said, 
 " Oh, come and see, mamma — such a pretty thing 
 they are making !" The mother knew — and faint- 
 ed. It was the gallows ! 
 
 She was carried away to her lodging, poor 
 
137 
 
 woman, and Clayton and I were alone — alone, and 
 thinking, brooding, dreaming. We might have 
 been statues, we sat so motionless and still. It 
 was a wild night, for winter was come again for 
 a moment, after the habit of this region in the 
 early spring. The sky was starless and black, and 
 a strong wind was blowing from the lake. The 
 silence in the room was so deep that all outside 
 sounds seemed exaggerated by contrast with it. 
 These sounds were fitting ones ; they harmonized 
 with the situation and the conditions : the boom 
 and thunder of sudden storm - gusts among the 
 roofs and chimneys, then the dying down into 
 moanings and wailings about the eaves and angles ; 
 now and then a gnashing and lashing rush of sleet 
 along the window-panes ; and always the mufifled 
 and uncanny hammering of the gallows-builders in 
 the court-yard. After an age of this, another 
 sound — far off, and coming smothered and faint 
 through the riot of the tempest — a bell tolling 
 twelve ! Another age, and it was tolled again. 
 By-and-by, again. A dreary, long interval after 
 this, then the spectral sound floated to us once 
 more — one, two, three ; and this time we caught 
 our breath ; sixty minutes of life left ! 
 
 Clayton rose, and stood by the window, and 
 looked up into the black sky, and listened to the 
 
138 
 
 thrashing sleet and the piping wind ; then he said : 
 " That a dying man's last of earth should be — 
 this!" After a little he said: "I must see the 
 sun again — the sun !" and the next moment he 
 was feverishly calling : " China ! Give me China — 
 Peking !" 
 
 I was strangely stirred, and said to myself : " To 
 think that it is a mere human being who does this 
 unimaginable miracle — turns winter into summer, 
 night into day, storm into calm, gives the freedom 
 of the great globe to a prisoner in his cell, and the 
 sun in his naked splendor to a man dying in 
 Egyptian darkness !" 
 
 I was listening. 
 
 " What light ! what brilliancy ! what radiance ! 
 . . . This is Peking ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The time ?" 
 
 " Mid-afternoon." 
 
 " What is the great crowd for, and in such gor- 
 geous costumes? What masses and masses of 
 rich color and barbaric magnificence ! And how 
 they flash and glow and burn in the flooding sun- 
 light ! What is the occasion of it all ?" 
 
 " The coronation of our new emperor — the Czar." 
 
 " But I thought that that was to take place yes- 
 terday." 
 
139 
 
 "This is yesterday — to you." 
 
 " Certainly it is. But my mind is confused, 
 these days ; there are reasons for it; . . . Is this 
 the beginning of the procession ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; it began to move an hour ago." 
 
 " Is there much more of it still to come ?" 
 
 " Two hours of it. Why do you sigh ?" 
 
 " Because I should like to see it all." 
 
 " And why can't you ?" 
 
 " I have to go — presently." 
 
 " You have an engagement ?" 
 
 After a pause, softly : " Yes." After another 
 pause: " Who are these in the splendid pavilion?" 
 
 " The imperial family, and visiting royalties from 
 here and there and yonder in the earth." 
 
 "And who are those in the adjoining pavilions to 
 the right and left ?" 
 
 " Ambassadors and their families and suites to the 
 right ; unofiScial foreigners to the left." 
 
 " If you will be so good, I — " 
 
 Boom. ! That distant bell again, tolling the half- 
 hour faintly through the tempest of wind and sleet. 
 The door opened, and the governor and the mother 
 and child entered — the woman in widow's weeds ! 
 She fell upon her husband's breast in a passion of 
 sobs, and I — I could not stay ; I could not bear it. 
 I went into the bedchamber, and closed the door. 
 
140 
 
 I sat there waiting — waiting — waiting, and listen- 
 ing to the rattling sashes and the blustering of the 
 storm. After what seemed a long, long time, I 
 heard a rustle and movement in the parlor, and 
 knew that the clergyman and the sheriff and the 
 guard were come. There was some low -voiced 
 talking ; then a hush ; then a prayer, with a sound 
 of sobbing; presently, footfalls — the departure for 
 the gallows ; then the child's happy voice : " Don't 
 cry now, mamma, when we've got papa again, and 
 taking him home." 
 
 The door closed; they were gone. I was ashamed: 
 I was the only friend of the dying man that had no 
 spirit, no courage. I stepped into the room, and 
 said I would be a man and would follow. But we 
 are made as we are made, and we cannot help it. I 
 did not go. 
 
 I fidgeted about the room nervously, and pres- 
 ently went to the window, and softly raised it, — 
 drawn by that dread fascination which the terrible 
 and the awful exert, — and looked down Upon the 
 court-yard. By the garish light of the electric lamps 
 I saw the little group of privileged witnesses, the 
 wife crying on her uncle's breast, the condemned 
 man standing on the scaffold with the halter around 
 his neck, his arms strapped to his body, the black 
 cap on his head, the sheriff at his side with his hand 
 
141 
 
 on the drop, the clergyman in front of him with bare 
 head and his book in his hand. 
 
 " I am the resurrection and the life-^" 
 
 I turned away. I could not listen ; I could not 
 look. I did not know whither to go or what to 
 do. Mechanically, and without knowing it, I put 
 my eye to that strange instrument, and there was 
 Peking and the Czar's procession ! The next mo- 
 ment I was leaning out of the window, gasping, 
 suffocating, trying to speak, but dumb from the 
 very imminence of the necessity of speaking. The 
 preacher could speak, but I, who had such need of 
 words — 
 
 "And may God have mercy upon your soul. 
 Amen." 
 
 The sheriff drew down the black cap, and laid 
 his hand upon the lever. I got my voice. 
 
 " Stop, for God's sake ! The man is innocent. 
 Come here and see Szczepanik face to face !" 
 
 Hardly three minutes later the governor had my 
 place at the window, and was saying : 
 
 " Strike off his bonds and set him free !" 
 
 Three minutes later all were in the parlor again. 
 The reader will imagine the scene ; I have no need 
 to describe it. It was a sort of mad orgy of joy. 
 
 A messenger carried word to Szczepanik in the 
 pavilion, and one could see the distressed amaze- 
 
142 
 
 ment dawn in his face as he listened to the tale. 
 Then he came to his end of the line, and talked 
 with Clayton and the governor and the others ; and 
 the wife poured out her gratitude upon him for 
 saving her husband's life, and in her deep thank- 
 fulness she kissed him at twelve thousand miles' 
 range. 
 
 The telelectrophonoscopes of the globe were put 
 to service now, and for many hours the kings and 
 queens of many realms (with here and there a re- 
 porter) talked with Szczepanik, and praised him ; 
 and the few scientific societies which had not al- 
 ready made him an honorary member conferred 
 that grace upon him. 
 
 How had he come to disappear from among us? 
 It was easily explained. He had not grown used 
 to being a world-famous person, and had been 
 forced to break away from the lionizing that was 
 robbing him of all privacy and repose. So he 
 grew a beard, put on colored glasses,' disguised 
 himself a little in other ways, then took a fictitious 
 name, and went off to wander. about the earth in 
 peace. 
 
 Such is the tale of the drama which began with 
 an inconsequential quarrel in Vienna in the spring 
 of 1898, and came near ending as a tragedy in the 
 spring of 1904. 
 
143 
 
 II 
 
 Correspondence of the " London Times" 
 
 Chicago, April 5, 1904. 
 
 To-day, by a clipper of the Electric Line, and the 
 latter's Electric Railway connections, arrived an en- 
 velope from Vienna, for Captain Clayton, contain- 
 ing an English farthing. The receiver of it was a 
 good deal moved. He called up Vienna, and stood 
 face to face with Mr. K., and said : 
 
 " I do not need to say anything ; you can see it 
 all in my face. My wife has the farthing. Do not 
 be afraid — she will not throw it away. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Correspondence of the " London Times " 
 
 Chicago, April 23, 1904. 
 Now that the after developments of the Clayton 
 case have run their course and reached a finish, I 
 will sum them up. Clayton's romantic escape from 
 a shameful death steeped all this region in an en- 
 chantment of wonder and joy — during the prover- 
 bial nine days. Then the sobering process followed, 
 and men began to take thought, and to say : " But 
 
144 
 
 a man was killed, and Clayton killed him." Others 
 replied : " That is true : we have been overlooking 
 that important detail ; we have been led away by 
 excitement." 
 
 The feeling soon became general that Clayton 
 ought to be tried again. Measures were taken ac- 
 cordingly, and the proper representations conveyed 
 to Washington ; for in America, under the new par- 
 agraph added to the Constitution in 1889, second 
 trials are not State affairs, but national, and must 
 be tried by the most august body in the land — the 
 Supreme Court of the United States. The justices 
 were therefore summoned to sit in Chicago. The 
 session was held day before yesterday, and was 
 opened with the usual impressive formalities, the 
 nine judges appearing in their black robes, and the 
 new chief justice (Lemaitre) presiding. In opening 
 the case, the chief justice said : 
 
 " It is my opinion that this matter is quite simple. 
 The prisoner at the bar was charged with murder- 
 ing the man Szczepanik ; he was tried for murder- 
 ing the man Szczepanik ; he was fairly tried, and 
 justly condemned and sentenced to death for mur- 
 dering the man Szczpanik. It turns out that the 
 man Szczepanik was not murdered at all. By the 
 decision of the French courts in the Dreyfus mat- 
 ter, it is established beyond cavil or question that 
 
145 
 
 the decisions of courts are permanent and cannot 
 be revised. We are obliged to respect and adopt 
 this precedent. It is upon precedents that the en- 
 during edifice of jurisprudence is reared. The pris- 
 oner at the bar has been fairly and righteously con- 
 demned to death for the murder of the man Szcze- 
 panik, and, in my opinion, there is but one course 
 to pursue in the matter : he must be hanged." 
 
 Mr. Justice Crawford ^aid : 
 
 " But, your Excellency, he was pardoned on the 
 scaffold for that." 
 
 "The pardon is not valid, and cannot stand, be- 
 cause he was pardoned for killing a man whom he 
 had not killed. A man cannot be pardoned for a 
 crime which he has not committed ; it would be an 
 absurdity." 
 
 " But, your Excellency, he did kill a man." 
 
 " That is an extraneous detail ; we have nothing 
 to do with it. The court cannot take up this crime 
 until the prisoner has expiated the other one." 
 
 Mr. Justice Halleck said: 
 
 " If we order his execution, your Excellency, we 
 shall bring about a miscarriage of justice ; for the 
 governor will pardon him again." 
 
 "He will not have the power. He cannot pardon 
 a man for a crime which he has not committed. As 
 I observed before, it would be an absurdity." 
 
146 
 
 After a consultation, Mr. Justice Wadsworth 
 said: 
 
 " Several of us have arrived at the conclusion, 
 your Excellency, that it would be an error to hang 
 the prisoner for killing Szczepanik, but only for 
 killing the other man, since it is proven that he did 
 not kill Szczepanik." 
 
 " On the contrary, it is proven that he did kill 
 Szczepanik. By the Frenph precedent, it is plain 
 that we must abide by the finding of the court." 
 
 " But Szczepanik is still alive." 
 
 " So is Dreyfus." 
 
 In the end it was found impossible to ignore or 
 get around the French precedent. There could be 
 but one result : Clayton was delivered over to the 
 executioner. It made an immense excitement ; 
 the State rose as one man and clamored for Clay- 
 ton's pardon and retrial. The governor issued the 
 pardon, but the Supreme Court was in duty bound 
 to annul it, and did so, and poor Clayton was 
 hanged yesterday. The city is draped in black, 
 and, indeed, the like may be said of the State. All 
 America is vocal with scorn of " French justice," 
 and of the malignant little soldiers who invented it 
 and inflicted it upon the other Christian lands. 
 
AT THE APPETITE-CURE 
 
 THIS establishment's name is Hochberghaus. 
 It is in Bohemia, a short day's journey from 
 Vienna, and being in the Austrian empire is 
 of course a health resort. The empire is made up 
 of health resorts ; it distributes health to the whole 
 world. Its waters are all medicinal. They are 
 bottled and sent throughout the earth ; the natives 
 themselves drink beer. This is self-sacrifice, ap- 
 parently — but outlanders who have drunk Vienna 
 beer have another idea about it. Particularly the 
 Pilsner which one gets in a small cellar up an ob- 
 scure back lane in the First Bezirk — the name has 
 escaped me, but the place is easily found : You 
 inquire for the Greek church ; and when you get to 
 it, go right along by — the next house is that little 
 beer-mill. It is remote from all trafific and all noise; 
 it is always Sunday there. There are two small 
 
148 
 
 rooms, with low ceilings supported by massive 
 arches ; the arches and ceilings are whitewashed, 
 otherwise the rooms would pass for cells in the 
 dungeons of a bastile. The furniture is plain and 
 cheap, there is no ornamentation anywhere ; yet 
 it is a heaven for the self-sacrificers, for the beer 
 there is incomparable ; there is nothing like it else- 
 where in the world. In the first room you will 
 find twelve or fifteen ladies and gentlemen of civil- 
 ian quality ; in the other one a dozen generals and 
 ambassadors. One may live in Vienna many 
 months and not hear of this place ; but having 
 once heard of it and sampled it, the sampler will 
 afterward infest it. 
 
 However, this is all incidental — a mere passing 
 note of gratitude for blessings received — it has 
 nothing to do with my subject. My subject is 
 health resorts. All unhealthy people ought to 
 domicile themselves in Vienna, and use that as a 
 base, making flights from time to time to the out- 
 lying resorts, according to need. A flight to 
 Marienbad to get rid of fat ; a flight to Carlsbad 
 to get rid of rheumatism ; a flight to Kaltenleut- 
 geben to take the water cure and get rid of the rest 
 of the diseases. It is all so handy. You can stand 
 in Vienna and toss a biscuit into Kaltenleutgeben, 
 with a twelve-inch gun. You can run out thither 
 
149 
 
 at any time of the day ; you go by the phenom- 
 enally slow trains, and yet inside of an hour you 
 have exchanged the glare and swelter of the city 
 for wooded hills, and shady forest paths, and soft 
 cool airs, and the music of birds, and the repose 
 and peace of paradise. 
 
 And there are plenty of other health resorts at 
 your service and convenient to get at from Vienna; 
 charming places, all of them ; Vienna sits in the 
 centre of a beautiful world of mountains with now 
 and then a lake and forests ; in fact, no other city 
 is so fortunately situated. 
 
 There are abundance of health resorts, as I have 
 said. Among them this place — Hochberghaus. It 
 stands solitary on the top of a densely wooded 
 mountain, and is a building of great size. It is 
 called the Appetite Anstallt, and people who have 
 lost their appetites come here to get them restored. 
 When I arrived I was taken by Professor Haim- 
 berger to his consulting-room and questioned : 
 
 " It is six o'clock. When did you eat last." 
 
 "At noon." 
 
 "What did you eat?" 
 
 "Next to nothing." 
 
 "What was on the table?" 
 
 " The usual things." 
 
 "Chops, chickens, vegetables, and so on?" 
 
"SO 
 
 "Yes ; but don't mention them — ^ can't bear it." 
 
 "Are you tired of them ?" 
 
 " Oh, utterly. I wish I might never hear of 
 them again." 
 
 " The mere sight of food offends you, does it ?" 
 
 " More, it revolts me." 
 
 The doctor considered awhile, then got out a 
 long menu and ran his eye slowly down it. 
 
 " I think," said he, " that what you need to eat 
 is — but here, choose for yourself." 
 
 I glanced at the list, and my stomach threw a hand- 
 spring. Of all the barbarous layouts that were ever 
 contrived, this was the most atrocious. At the top 
 stood " tough, underdone, overdue tripe, garnished 
 with garlic"; half-way down the bill stood "young 
 cat ; old cat ; scrambled cat " ; at the bottom 
 stood "sailor-boots, softened with tallow — served 
 raw." The wide intervals of the bill were pack- 
 ed with dishes calculated to insult a cannibal. I 
 said: 
 
 " Doctor, it is not fair to joke over so serious a 
 case as mine. I came here to get an appetite, not 
 to throw away the remnant that's left." 
 
 He said gravely : " I am not joking ; why should 
 I joke?" 
 
 " But I can't eat these horrors." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
He said it with a naivete that was admirable, 
 whether it was real or assumed. 
 
 "Why not? Because — why, doctor, for months 
 I have seldom been able to endure anything more 
 substantial than omelettes and custards. These un- 
 speakable dishes of yours — " 
 
 " Oh, you will come to like them. They are very 
 good. And you must eat them. It is the rule of 
 the place, and is strict. I cannot permit any depart- 
 ure from it." 
 
 I said, smiling: "Well, then, doctor, you will 
 have to permit the departure of the patient. I am 
 going." 
 
 He looked hurt, and said in a way which changed 
 the aspect of things : 
 
 " I am sure you would not do me that injustice. 
 I accepted you in good faith — you will not shame 
 that confidence. This appetite-cure is my whole 
 living. If you should go forth from it with the 
 sort of appetite which you now have, it could be- 
 come known, and you can see, yourself, that peo- 
 ple would say my cure failed in your case and 
 hence can fail in other cases. You will not go ; you 
 will not do me this hurt." 
 
 I apologized and said I would stay. 
 
 " That is right. I was sure you would not go ; it 
 would take the food from my family's mouths." 
 
152 
 
 " Would they mind that ? Do they eat these 
 fiendish things?" 
 
 "They? My family?" His eyes were full of 
 gentle Wonder. "Of course not." 
 
 " Oh, they don't ! Do you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " I see. It's another case of a physician who 
 doesn't take his own medicine." 
 
 " I don't need it. It is six hours since you 
 lunched. Will you have supper now — or later?" 
 
 " I am not hungry, but now is as good a time as 
 any, and I would like to be done with it and have 
 it off my mind. It is about my usual time, and 
 regularity is commanded by all the authorities. 
 Yes, I will try to nibble a little now — I wish a light 
 horsewhipping would answer instead." 
 
 The professor handed me that odious menu. 
 
 "Choose — or will you have it later?" 
 
 " Oh, dear me, show me to my room ; I forgot 
 your hard rule." 
 
 " Wait just a moment before you finally decide. 
 There is another rule. If you choose now, the 
 order will be filled at once ; but if you wait, you 
 will have to await my pleasure. You cannot get 
 a dish from that entire bill until I consent." 
 
 " All right. Show me to my room, and send the 
 cook to bed ; there is not going to be any hurry." 
 
153 
 
 The professor took me up one flight of stairs 
 and showed me into a most inviting and comfort- 
 able apartment consisting of parlor, bedchamber, 
 and bathroom. 
 
 The front windows looked out over a far-reaching 
 spread of green glades and valleys, and tumbled 
 hills clothed with forests — a noble solitude un- 
 vexed by the fussy world. In the parlor were 
 many shelves filled with books. The professor 
 said he would now leave me to myself ; and 
 added : 
 
 " Smoke and read as much as you please, drink 
 all the water you like. When you get hungry, 
 ring and give your order, and I will decide whether 
 it shall he filled or not. Yours is a stubborn, bad 
 case, and I think the first fourteen dishes in the 
 bill are each and all too delicate for its needs. I 
 ask you as a favor to restrain yourself and not call 
 for them." 
 
 "Restrain myself, is it? Give yourself no un- 
 easiness. You are going to save money by me. 
 The idea of coaxing a sick man's appetite back 
 with this buzzard-fare is clear insanity." 
 
 I said it with bitterness, for I felt outraged by 
 this calm, cold talk over these heartless new en- 
 gines of assassination. The doctor looked grieved, 
 but not offended. He laid the bill of fare on the 
 
'54 
 
 commode at my bed's head, " so that it would be 
 handy," and said : 
 
 " Yours is not the worst case I have encountered, 
 by any means ; still it is a bad one andrequires 
 robust treatment ; therefore I shall be gratified if 
 you will restrain yourself and skip down to No. 15 
 and begin with that." 
 
 Then he left me and I began to undress, for I 
 was dog-tired and very sleepy. I slept fifteen 
 hours and woke up finely refreshed at ten the next 
 morning. Vienna coffee ! It was the first thing I 
 thought of — that unapproachable luxury — that 
 sumptuous coffee - house coffee, compared with 
 which all other European coffee and all American 
 hotel coffee is mere fluid poverty. I rang, and 
 ordered it ; also Vienna bread, that delicious inven- 
 tion. The servant spoke through the wicket in the 
 door and said — but you know what he said. He 
 referred me to the bill of fare. I allowed him to 
 go — I had no further use for him. 
 
 After the bath I dressed and started for a walk, 
 and got as far as the door. It was locked on the 
 outside. I rang and the servant came and explained 
 that it was another rule. The seclusion of the 
 patient was required until after the first meal. I 
 had not been particularly anxious to get out be- 
 fore; but it was different now. Being locked in 
 
155 
 
 makes a person wishful to get out. I soon began 
 to find it difficult to put in the time. At two 
 o'clock I had been twenty-six hours without food. 
 I had been growing hungry for some time ; I recog- 
 nized that I was not only hungry now, but hungry 
 with a strong adjective in front of it. Yet I was 
 not hungry enough to face the bill of fare. 
 
 I must put in the time somehow. I would read 
 and smoke. I did it ; hour by hour. The books 
 were all of one breed — shipwrecks ; people lost in 
 deserts ; people shut up in caved-in mines ; people 
 starving in besieged cities. I read about all the 
 revolting dishes that ever famishing men had 
 stayed their hunger with. During the first hours 
 these things nauseated me : hours followed in which 
 they did not so affect me ; still other hours followed 
 in which I found myself smacking my lips over 
 some tolerably infernal messes. When I had been 
 without food forty-five hours I ran eagerly to the 
 bell and ordered the second dish in the bill, which 
 was a sort of dumplings containing a compost 
 made of caviar and tar. 
 
 It was refused me. During the next fifteen 
 hours I visited the bell every now and then and 
 ordered a dish that was further down the list. 
 Always a refusal. But I was conquering prejudice 
 after prejudice, right along; I was making sure 
 
156 
 
 progress ; I was creeping up on No. 1 5 with deadly 
 certainty, and my heart beat faster and faster, my 
 hopes rose higher and higher. 
 
 At last when food had not passed my lips for 
 sixty hours, victory was mine, and I ordered No. 15 : 
 
 " Soft-boiled spring chicken — in the egg ; six 
 dozen, hot and fragrant !" 
 
 In fifteen minutes it was there ; and the doctor 
 along with it, rubbing his hands with joy. He 
 said with great excitement : 
 
 " It's a cure, it's a cure ! I knew I could do it. 
 Dear sir, my grand system never fails — never. 
 You've got your appetite back — you know you 
 have ; say it and make me happy." 
 
 " Bringing on your carrion — I can eat anything 
 in the bill !" 
 
 " Oh, this is noble, this is splendid — but I knew 
 I could do it, the system never fails. How are the 
 birds?" 
 
 " Never was anything so delicious in the world ; 
 and yet as a rule I don't care for game. But don't 
 interrupt me, don't — I can't spare my mouth, I 
 really can't." 
 
 Then the doctor said : 
 
 " The cure is perfect. There is no more doubt 
 nor danger. Let the poultry alone; I can trust 
 you with a beefsteak, now." 
 
157 
 
 The beefsteak came — as much as a basketful of 
 it — with potatoes, and Vienna bread and coffee; 
 and I ate a meal then that was worth all the costly 
 preparation I had made for it. And dripped tears 
 of gratitude into the gravy all the time — gratitude 
 to the doctor for putting a little plain common- 
 sense into me when I had been empty of it so many, 
 many years. 
 
 n 
 
 Thirty years ago Haimberger went off on a long 
 voyage in a sailing-ship. There were fifteen pas- 
 sengers on board. The table-fare was of the regu- 
 lation pattern of the day: At 7 in the morning, a 
 cup of bad coffee in bed ; at 9, breakfast : bad 
 coffee, with condensed milk; soggy rolls, crackers, 
 salt fish ; at i P.M., luncheon : cold tongue, cold 
 ham, cold corned beef, soggy cold rolls, crackers; 
 5 P.M., dinner : thick pea soup, salt fish, hot corned 
 beef and sour kraut, boiled pork and beans, pud- 
 ding ; 9 till II P.M., supper: tea, with condensed 
 milk, cold tongue, cold ham, pickles, sea-biscuit, 
 pickled oysters, pickled pig's feet, grilled bones, 
 golden buck. 
 
 At the end of the first week eating had ceased, 
 nibbling had taken its place. The passengers came 
 
158 
 
 to the table, but it was partly to put in the time, 
 and partly because the wisdom of the ages com- 
 manded them to be regular in their meals. They 
 were tired of the coarse and monotonous fare, 
 and took no interest in it, had no appetite for it. 
 All day and every day they roamed the ship half 
 hungry, plagued by their gnawing stomachs, moody, 
 untalkative, miserable. Among them were three 
 confirmed dyspeptics. These became shadows in 
 the course of three weeks. There was also a bed- 
 ridden invalid ; he lived on boiled rice ; he could 
 not look at the regular dishes. 
 
 Now came shipwreck and life in open boats, with 
 the usual paucity of food. Provisions ran lower 
 and lower. The appetites improved, then. When 
 nothing was left but raw ham and the ration of 
 that was down to two ounces a day per person, the 
 appetites were perfect. At the end of fifteen days 
 the dyspeptics, the invalid, and the most delicate 
 ladies in the party were chewing sailor-boots in 
 ecstasy, and only complaining because the supply 
 of them was limited. Yet these were the same 
 people who couldn't endure the ship's tedious 
 corned beef and sour kraut and other crudities. 
 They were rescued by an English vessel. Within 
 ten days the whole fifteen were in as good condi- 
 tion as they had been when the shipwreck occurred. 
 
159 
 
 " They had suffered no damage by their advent- 
 ure," said the professor. " Do you note that ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Do you note it well?" 
 
 " Yes— I think I do." 
 
 "But you don't. You hesitate. You don't rise 
 to the importance of it. I will say it again — with 
 emphasis — not one of them suffered any damage." 
 
 " Now I begin to see. Yes, it was indeed re- 
 markable." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind. It was perfectly natural. 
 There was no reason why they should suffer 
 damage. They were undergoing Nature's Appe- 
 tite Cure, the best and wisest in the world." 
 
 " Is that where you got your idea?" 
 
 " That is where I got it." 
 
 " It taught those people a valuable lesson." 
 
 *' What makes you think that ?" 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ? You seem to think it taught 
 you one." 
 
 "That is nothing to the point. I am not a 
 fool." 
 
 " I see. Were they fools ?" 
 
 " They were human beings." 
 
 " Is it the same thing?" 
 
 " Why do you ask ? You know it yourself. As 
 regards his health — and the rest of the things — the 
 
i6o 
 
 average man is what his environment and his 
 superstitions have made him; and their function 
 is to make him an ass. He can't add up three or 
 four new circumstances together and perceive what 
 they mean ; it is beyond him. He is not capable 
 of observing for himself ; he has to get everything 
 at second-hand. If what are miscalled the lower 
 animals were as silly as man is, they would all 
 perish from the earth in a year." 
 
 " Those passengers learned no lesson, then?" 
 " Not a sign of it. 'They went to their regular 
 meals in the English ship, and pretty soon they 
 were nibbling again — nibbling, appetiteless, disgust- 
 ed with the food, moody, miserable, half hungry, 
 their outraged stomachs cursing and swearing and 
 whining and supplicating all day long. And in 
 vain, for they were the stomachs of fools." 
 "Then, as I understand it, your scheme is — " 
 " Quite simple. Don't eat till you are hungry. 
 If the food fails to taste good, fails to satisfy 
 you, rejoice you, comfort you, don't eat again 
 until you are very hungry. Then it will rejoice 
 you — and do you good, too." 
 
 " And I observe no regularity, as to hours?" 
 " When you are conquering a bad appetite — no. 
 After it is conquered, regularity is no harm, so 
 long as the appetite remains good. As soon as 
 
i6i 
 
 the appetite wavers, apply the corrective again — 
 which is starvation, long or short according to the 
 needs of the case." 
 
 " The best diet, I suppose — I mean the whole- 
 somest — " 
 
 " All diets are wholesome. Some are wholesomer 
 than others, but all the ordinary diets are whole- 
 some enough for the people who use them. Wheth- 
 er the food be fine or coarse it will taste good and 
 it will nourish if a watch be kept upon the appetite 
 and a little starvation introduced every time it 
 weakens. Nansen was used to fine fare, but when 
 his meals were restricted to bear-meat months at 
 a time he suffered no damage and no discomfort, 
 because his appetite was kept at par through the 
 difificulty of getting his bear-meat regularly." 
 
 " But doctors arrange carefully considered and 
 delicate diets for invalids." 
 
 " They can't help it. The invalid is full of in- 
 herited superstitions and won't starve himself. He 
 believes it would certainly kill him." 
 
 " It would weaken him, wouldn't it?" 
 
 " Nothing to hurt. Look at the invalids in our 
 shipwreck. They lived fifteen days on pinches of 
 raw ham, a suck at sailor-boots, and general starva- 
 tion. It weakened them, but it didn't hurt them. 
 It put them in fine shape to eat heartily of hearty 
 
1 62 
 
 food and build themselves up to a condition of 
 robust health. But they do not perceive that; 
 they lost their opportunity ; they remained in- 
 valids ; it served them right. Do you know the 
 tricks that the health-resort doctors play?" 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " My system disguised — covert starvation. Grape- 
 cure, bath-cure, mud-cure — it is all the same. The 
 grape and the bath and the mud make a show and 
 do a trifle of the work — the real work is done by 
 the surreptitious starvation. The patient accus- 
 tomed to four meals and late hours — at both ends 
 of the day — now consider what he has to do at a 
 health resort. He gets up at 6 in the morning. 
 Eats one egg. Tramps up and down a promenade 
 two hours with the other fools. Eats a butterfly. 
 Slowly drinks a glass of filtered sewage that smells 
 like a buzzard's breath. Promenades another two 
 hours, but alone ; if you speak to him he says anx- 
 iously, ' My water ! — I am walking off my water ! — 
 please don't interrupt,' and goes stumping along 
 again. Eats a candied rose-leaf. Lies at rest in 
 the silence and solitude of his room for hours; 
 mustn't read, mustn't smoke. The doctor comes 
 and feels of his heart, now, and his pulse, and thumps 
 his breast and his back and his stomach, and 
 listens for results through a penny flageolet ; then 
 
i63 
 
 orders the man's bath — half a degree, Reamur, 
 cooler than yesterday. After the bath another 
 egg. A glass of sewage at 3 or 4 in the afternoon, 
 and promenade solemnly with the other freaks. 
 Dinner at 6 — half a doughnut and a cup of tea. 
 Walk again. Half-past 8, supper — more butterfly ; 
 at 9, to bed. Six weeks of this regime — think of 
 it. It starves a man out and puts him in splendid 
 condition. It would have the same effect in Lon- 
 don, New York, Jericho — anywhere." 
 
 " How long does it take to put a person in con- 
 dition here?" 
 
 " It ought to take but a day or two ; but in 
 fact it takes from one to six weeks, according to 
 the character and mentality of the patient." 
 
 " How is that ?" 
 
 " Do you see that crowd of women playing 
 football, and boxing, and jumping fences yonder? 
 They have been here six or seven weeks. They 
 were spectral poor weaklings when they came. 
 They were accustomed to nibbling at dainties and 
 delicacies at set hours four times a day, and they 
 had no appetite for anything. I questioned them, 
 and then locked them into their rooms — the frailest 
 ones to starve nine or ten hours, the others twelve 
 or fifteen. Before long they began to beg; and 
 indeed they suffered a good deal. They complained 
 
i64 
 
 of nausea, headache, and so on. It was good to 
 see them eat when the time was up. They could 
 not remember when the devouring of a meal had 
 afforded them such rapture — that was their word. 
 Now, then, that ought to have ended their cure, 
 but it didn't. They were free to go to any meals 
 in the house, and they chose their accustomed 
 four. Within a day or two I had to interfere. 
 Their appetites were weakening. I made them 
 knock out a meal. That set them up again. Then 
 they resumed the four. I begged them to learn 
 to knock out a meal themselves, without waiting 
 for me. Up to a fortnight ago they couldn't ; 
 they really hadn't manhood enough ; but they 
 were gaining it, and now I think they are safe. 
 They drop out a meal every now and then of 
 their own accord. They are in fine condition now, 
 and they might safely go home, I think, but their 
 confidence is not quite perfect yet, so they are 
 waiting awhile." 
 
 " Other cases are different ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. Sometimes a man learns the whole 
 trick in a week. Learns to regulate his appetite 
 and keep it in perfect order. Learns to drop out 
 a meal with frequency and not mind it." 
 
 " But why drop the entire meal out ? Why not 
 a part of it?" 
 
i6s 
 
 " It's a poor device, and inadequate. If the 
 stomach doesn't call vigorously — with a shout, as 
 you may say — it is better not to pester it but just 
 give it a real rest. Some people can eat more meals 
 than others, and still thrive. There are all sorts of 
 people, and all sorts of appetites. I will show you 
 a man presently who was accustomed to nibble at 
 eight meals a day. It was beyond the proper gait 
 of his appetite by two. I have got him down to 
 six a day, now, and he is all right, and enjoys life. 
 How many meals do you affect per day?" 
 
 " Formerly — for twenty-two years — a meal and a 
 half ; during the past two years, two and a half : 
 coffee and a roll at 9, luncheon at i, dinner at 7.30 
 or 8." 
 
 " Formerly a meal and a half — that is, coffee and 
 a roll at 9, dinner in the evening, nothing between 
 —is that it ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why did you add a meal ?" 
 
 " It was the family's idea. They were uneasy. 
 They thought I was killing myself." 
 
 " You found a meal and a half per day enough, 
 all through the twenty-two years ?" 
 
 " Plenty." 
 
 " Your present poor condition is due to the extra 
 meal. Drop it out. You are trying to eat oftener 
 
i66 
 
 than your stomach demands. You don't gain, you 
 lose. You eat less food now, in a day, on two and 
 a half meals, than you formerly ate on one and a 
 half." 
 
 "True — a good deal less; for in those old days 
 my dinner was a very sizable thing." 
 
 " Put yourself on a single meal a day, now — din- 
 ner — for a few days, till you secure a good, sound, 
 regular, trustworthy appetite, then take to your 
 one and a half permanently, and don't listen to the 
 family any more. When you have any ordinary 
 ailment, particularly of a feverish sort, eat nothing 
 at all during twenty-four hours. That will cure it. 
 It will cure the stubbornest cold in the head, too. 
 No cold in the head can survive twenty-four hours' 
 unmodified starvation." 
 
 " I know it. I have proved it many a time." 
 
MY FIRST LIE, AND HOW I GOT 
 OUT OF IT 
 
 AS I understand it, what you desire is informa- 
 /^ tion about " my first lie, and how I got out 
 of it." I was born in 1835 ; I am well along, 
 and my memory is not as good as it was. If you 
 had asked about my first truth it would have been 
 easier for me and kinder of you, for I remember 
 that fairly well ; I remember it as if it were last 
 week. The family think it was week before, but 
 that is flattery and probably has a selfish project 
 back of it. When a person has become seasoned 
 by experience and has reached the age of sixty- 
 four, which is the age of discretfon, he likes a fam- 
 ily compliment as well as ever, but he does not 
 lose his head over it as in the old innocent days. 
 
 I do not remember my first lie, it is too far back; 
 but I remember my second one very well. I was 
 nine days old at the time, and had noticed that if 
 a pin was sticking in me and I advertised it in the 
 usual fashion, I was lovingly petted and coddled 
 
1 68 
 
 and pitie3 in a most agreeable way and got a ration 
 between meals besides. 
 
 It was human nature to want to get these riches, 
 and I fell. I lied about the pin — advertising one 
 when there wasn't any. You would have done it ; 
 George Washington did it, anybody would have 
 done it. During the first half of my life I never 
 knew a child that was able to rise above that temp- 
 tation and keep from telling that lie. Up to 1867 
 all the civilized children that were ever born into 
 the world were liars — including George. Then the 
 safety-pin came in and blocked the game. But is 
 that reform worth anything ? No ; for it is reform 
 by force and has no virtue in it ; it merely stops 
 that form of lying, it doesn't impair the disposition 
 to lie, by a shade. It is the cradle application of 
 conversion by fire and sword, or of the temperance 
 principle through prohibition. 
 
 To return to that early He. They found no pin 
 and they realized that another liar had been added 
 to the world's supply. For by grace of a rare in- 
 spiration a quite commonplace but seldom noticed 
 fact was borne in upon their understandings — that 
 almost all lies are acts, and speech has no part in 
 them. Then, if they examined a little further they 
 recognized that all people are liars from the cradle 
 onward, without exception, and that they begin to 
 
169 
 
 lie as soon as they wake in the morning, and keep 
 it up without rest or refreshment until they go to 
 sleep at night. If they arrived at that truth it 
 probably grieved them — did, if they had been heed- 
 lessly and ignorantly educated by their books and 
 teachers ; for why should a person grieve over a 
 thing which by the eternal law of his make he can- 
 not help ? He didn't invent the law ; it is merely 
 his business to obey it and keep still ; Join the uni- 
 versal conspiracy and keep so still that he shall de- 
 ceive his fellow-conspirators into imagining that he 
 doesn't know that the law exists. It is what we all 
 do — we that know. I am speaking of the lie of 
 silent assertion ; we can tell it without saying a 
 word, and we all do it — we that know. In the mag- 
 nitude of its territorial spread it is one of the most 
 majestic lies that the civihzations make it their 
 sacred and anxious care to guard and watch and 
 propagate. 
 
 For instance. It would not be possible for a 
 humane and intelligent person to invent a rational 
 excuse for slavery ; yet you will remember that in 
 the early days of the emancipation agitation in the 
 North the agitators got but small help or counte- 
 nance from any one. Argue and plead and pray 
 as they might, they could not break the universal 
 stillness that reigned, from pulpit and press all the 
 
170 
 
 way down to the bottom of society — the clammy 
 stillness created and maintained by the lie of silent 
 assertion — the silent assertion that there wasn't any- 
 thing going on in which humane and intelligent 
 people were interested. 
 
 From the beginning of the Dreyfus case to the 
 end of it all France, except a couple of dozen moral 
 paladins, lay under the smother of the silent -asser- 
 tion lie that no wrong was being done to a perse- 
 cuted and unoffending man. The like smother was 
 over England lately, a good half of the population 
 silently letting on that they were not aware that 
 Mr. Chamberlain was trying to manufacture a war 
 in South Africa and was willing to pay fancy prices 
 for the materials. 
 
 Now there we have instances of three prominent 
 ostensible civilizations working the silent -assertion 
 lie. Could one find other instances in the three 
 countries ? I think so. Not so very many, per- 
 haps, but say a billion — just so as to keep within 
 bounds. Are those countries working that kind of 
 lie, day in and day out, in thousands and thousands 
 of varieties, without ever resting? Yes, we know that 
 to be true. The universal conspiracy of the silent- 
 assertion lie is hard at work always and everywhere, 
 and always in the interest of a stupidity or a sham, 
 never in the interest of a thing fine or respectable. 
 
171 
 
 Is it the most timid and shabby of all lies ? It 
 seems to have the look of it. For ages and ages it 
 has mutely labored in the interest of despotisms 
 and aristocracies and chattel slaveries, and military 
 slaveries, and religious slaveries, and has kept them 
 alive; keeps them alive yet, here and there and 
 yonder, all about the globe ; and will go on keep- 
 ing them alive until the silent -assertion lie retires 
 from business — the silent assertion that nothing is 
 gping on which fair and intelligent men are aware 
 of and are engaged by their duty to try to stop. 
 
 What I am arriving at is this : When whole races 
 and peoples conspire to propagate gigantic mute 
 lies in the interest of tyrannies and shams, why 
 should we care anything about the trifling lies told 
 by individuals? Why should we try to make it 
 appear that abstention from lying is a virtue ? Why 
 should we want to beguile ourselves in that way? 
 Why should we without shame help the nation lie, 
 and then be ashamed to do a little lying on our 
 own account ? Why shouldn't we be honest and 
 honorable, and lie every time we get a chance? 
 That is to say, why shouldn't we be consistent, and 
 either lie all the time or not at all ? Why should 
 we help the nation lie the whole day long and then 
 object to telling one little individual private lie in 
 our own interest to go to bed on? Just for the re- 
 
172 
 
 freshment of it, I mean, and to take the rancid taste 
 out of our mouth. 
 
 Here in England they have the oddest ways. 
 They won't tell a spoken lie — nothing can persuade 
 them. Except in a large moral interest, like pol- 
 itics or religion, I mean. To tell a spoken lie to 
 get even the poorest little personal advantage out 
 of it is a thing which is impossible to them. They 
 make me ashamed of myself sometimes, they are 
 so bigoted. They will not even tell a lie for the 
 fun of it ; they will not tell it when it hasn't even a 
 suggestion of damage or advantage in it for any 
 one. This has a restraining influence upon me in 
 spite of reason, and I am always getting out of 
 practice. 
 
 Of course, they tell all sorts of little unspoken 
 lies, just like anybody ; but they don't notice it 
 until their attention is called to it. They have got 
 me so that sometimes I never tell a verbal lie now 
 except in a modified form ; and even in the modi- 
 fied form they don't approve of it. Still, that is as 
 far as I can go in the interest of the growing friend- 
 ly relations between the two countries ; I must keep 
 some of my self-respect — and my health. I can live 
 on a pretty low diet, but I can't get along on no 
 sustenance at all. 
 
 Of course, there are times when these people 
 
173 
 
 have to come out with a spoken lie, for that is a 
 thing which happens to everybody once in a while, 
 and would happen to the angels if they came down 
 here much. Particularly to the angels, in fact, for 
 the lies I speak of are self-sacrificing ones told for 
 a generous object, not a mean one ; but even when 
 these people tell a lie of that sort it seems to scare 
 them and unsettle their minds. It is a wonderful 
 thing to see, and shows that they are all insane. 
 In fact, it is a country which is full of the most in- 
 teresting superstitions. 
 
 I have an English friend of twenty- five years' 
 standing, and yesterday when we were coming 
 down-town on top of the 'bus I happened to tell 
 him a lie — a modified one, of course ; a half-breed, 
 a mulatto ; I can't seem to tell any other kind now, 
 the market is so flat. I was explaining to him how 
 I got out of an embarrassment in Austria last year. 
 I do not know what might have become of me if 
 I hadn't happened to remember to tell the police 
 that I belonged to the same family as the Prince of 
 Wales. That made everything pleasant and they 
 let me go ; and apologized, too, and were ever so 
 kind and obliging and polite, and couldn't do too 
 much for me, and explained how the mistake came 
 to be made, and promised to hang the officer that 
 did it, and hoped I would let bygones be bygones 
 
174 
 
 and not say anything about it ; and I said they 
 could depend on me. My friend said, austerely : 
 
 " You call it a modified lie ? Where is the mod- 
 ification ?" 
 
 I explained that it lay in the form of my state- 
 ment to the police. 
 
 "I didn't say I belonged to the royal family; I 
 only said I belonged to the same family as the 
 Prince — meaning the human family, of course ; 
 and if those people had had any penetration they 
 would have known it. I can't go around furnish- 
 ing brains to the police ; it is not to be ex- 
 pected." 
 
 " How did you feel after that performance ?" 
 
 " Well, of course I was distressed to find that the 
 police had misunderstood me, but as long as I had 
 not told any lie I knew there was no occasion to sit 
 up nights and worry about it." 
 
 My friend struggled with the case several min- 
 utes, turning it over and examining it in his mind, 
 then he said that so far as he could see the mod- 
 ification was itself a lie, it being a misleading reser- 
 vation of an explanatory fact, and so I had told 
 two lies instead of only one. 
 
 " I wouldn't have done it," said he ; " I have 
 never told a lie, and I should be very sorry to do 
 such a thing." 
 
I7S 
 
 Just then he lifted his hat and smiled a basketful 
 of surprised and delighted smiles down at a gentle- 
 man who was passing in a hansom. 
 
 "Who was that, G ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Then why did you do that ?" 
 
 " Because I saw he thought he knew me and was 
 expecting it of me. If I hadn't done it he would 
 have been hurt. I didn't want to embarrass him 
 before the whole street." 
 
 " Well, your heart was right, G , and your act 
 
 was right. What you did was kindly and courteous 
 and beautiful ; I would have done it myself ; but it 
 was a lie." 
 
 "A lie? I didn't say a word. How do you make 
 it out?" 
 
 " I know you didn't speak, still you said to him 
 very plainly and enthusiastically in dumb show, 
 ' Hello ! you in town ? Awful glad to see you, old 
 fellow ; when did you get back ?' Concealed in your 
 actions was what you have called ' a misleading res- 
 ervation of an explanatory fact ' — the fact that you 
 had never seen him before. You expressed joy in 
 encountering him — a lie; and you made that res- 
 ervation — another lie. It was my pair over again. 
 But don't be troubled — we all do it." 
 
 Two hours later, at dinner, when quite other mat- 
 
176 
 
 ters were being discussed, he told how he happened 
 along once just in the nick of time to do a great ser- 
 vice for a family who were old friends of his. The 
 head of it had suddenly died in circumstances and 
 surroundings of a ruinously disgraceful character. 
 If known the facts would break the hearts of the 
 innocent family and put upon them a load of unen- 
 durable shame. There was no help but in a giant 
 lie, and he girded up his loins and told it. 
 
 "The family never found out, G ?" 
 
 " Never. In all these years they have never sus- 
 pected. They were proud of him and always had 
 reason to be ; they are proud of him yet, and to 
 them his memory is sacred and stainless and beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " They had a narrow escape, G ." 
 
 " Indeed they had." 
 
 " For the very next man that came along might 
 have been one of these heartless and shameless 
 truth-mongers. You have told the truth a million 
 
 times in your life, G , but that one golden lie 
 
 atones for it all. Persevere." 
 
 Some may think me not strict enough in my 
 morals, but that position is hardly tenable. There 
 are many kinds of lying which I do not approve. 
 I do not like an injurious lie, except when it in- 
 jures somebody else ; and I dp not like the lie of 
 
177 
 
 bravado, nor the lie of virtuous ecstasy ; the latter 
 was affected by Bryant, the former by Carlyle. 
 
 Mr. Bryant said, " Truth crushed to earth will 
 rise again." I have taken medals at thirteen world's 
 fairs, and may claim to be not without capacity, but 
 I never told as big a one as that Mr. Bryant was 
 playing to the gallery ; we all do it. Carlyle said, 
 in substance, this — I do not remember the exact 
 words: "This gospel is eternal — that a lie shall 
 not live." I have a reverent affection for Carlyle's 
 books, and have read his Revolution eight times; 
 and so I prefer to think he was not entirely at him- 
 self when he told that one. To me it is plain that 
 he said it in a moment of excitement, when chasing 
 Americans out of his back -yard with brickbats. 
 They used to go there and worship. At bottom 
 he was probably fond of them, but he was always 
 able to conceal it. He kept bricks for them, but 
 he was not a good shot, and it is matter of history 
 that when he fired they dodged, and carried off the 
 brick ; for as a nation we like relics, and so long as 
 we get them we do not much care what the reli- 
 quary thinks about it. I am quite sure that when 
 he told that large one about a lie not being able to 
 live he had just missed an American and was over- 
 excited. He told it above thirty years ago, but it 
 is alive yet; alive, and very healthy and hearty, and 
 
178 
 
 likely to outlive any fact in history. Carlyle was 
 truthful when calm, but give him Americans enough 
 and bricks enough and he could have taken medals 
 himself. 
 
 As regards that time that George Washington 
 told the truth, a word must be said, of course. It 
 is the principal jewel in the crown of America, and 
 it is but natural that we should work it for all it is 
 worth, as Milton says in his " Lay of the Last Min- 
 strel." It was a timely and judicious truth, and I 
 should have told it myself in the circumstances. 
 But I should have stopped there. It was a stately 
 truth, a lofty truth — a Tower; and I think it was 
 a mistake to go on and distract attention from its 
 sublimity by building another Tower alongside of 
 it fourteen times as high. I refer to his remark 
 that he "could not lie." I should have fed that to 
 the marines ; or left it to Carlyle ; it is just in his 
 style. It would have taken a medal at any Euro- 
 pean fair, and would have got an Honorable Men- 
 tion even at Chicago if it had been saved up. But 
 let it pass ; the Father of his Country was excited. 
 I have been in those circumstances, and I recollect. 
 
 With the truth he told I have no objection to 
 offer, as already indicated. I think it was not pre- 
 meditated, but an inspiration. With his fine mil- 
 itary mind, he had probably arranged to let his 
 
179 
 
 brother Edward in for the cherry-tree results, but 
 by an inspiraton he saw his opportunity in time and 
 took advantage of it. By telling the truth he could 
 astonish his father ; his father would tell the neigh- 
 bors ; the neighbors would spread it ; it would travel 
 to all firesides ; in the end it would make him Pres- 
 ident, and not only that, but First President. He 
 was a far-seeing boy and would be likely to think 
 of these things. Therefore, to my mind, he stands 
 justified for what he did. But not for the other 
 Tower; it was a mistake. Still, I don't know about 
 that ; upon reflection I think perhaps it wasn't. For 
 indeed it is that Tower that makes the other one 
 live. If he hadn't said " I cannot tell a lie" there 
 would have been no convulsion. That was the earth- 
 quake that rocked the planet. That is the kind of 
 statement that lives forever, and a fact barnacled 
 to it has a good chance to share its immortality. 
 
 To sum up, on the whole I am satisfied with 
 things the way they are. There is a prejudice 
 against the spoken lie, but none against any other, 
 and by examination and mathematical computa- 
 tion I find that the proportion of the spoken lie to 
 the other varities is as i to 22,894. Therefore the 
 spoken lie is of no consequence, and it is not worth 
 while to go around fussing about it and trying to 
 make believe that it is an important matter. The 
 
i8o 
 
 silent colossal National Lie that is the support and 
 confederate of all the tyrannies and shams and in- 
 equalities and unfairnesses that afHict the peoples 
 — that is the one to throw bricks and sermons 
 at. But let us be judicious and let somebody else 
 begin. 
 
 And then — But I have wandered from my text. 
 How did I get out of my second lie ? I think I got 
 out with honor, but I cannot be sure, for it was a 
 long time ago and some of the details have faded 
 out of my memory. I recollect that I was reversed 
 and stretched across some one's knee, and that 
 something happened, but I cannot now remember 
 what it was. I think there was music ; but it is all 
 dim now and blurred by the lapse of time, and this 
 may be only a senile fancy. 
 
IS HE LIVING OR IS HE DEAD? 
 
 I WAS spending the month of March, 1892, at 
 Mentone, in the Riviera. At this retired spot 
 one has all the advantages, privately, which 
 are to be had at Monte Carlo and Nice, a few 
 miles farther along, publicly. That is to say, one 
 has the flooding sunshine, the balmy air, and the 
 brilliant blue sea, without the marring additions of 
 human pow-wow and fuss and feathers and dis- 
 play. Mentone is quiet, simple, restful, unpreten- 
 tious ; the rich and the gaudy do not come there. 
 As a rule, I mean, the rich do not come there. 
 Now and then a rich man comes, and I presently 
 got acquainted with one of these. Partially to 
 disguise him I will call him Smith. One day, in 
 the H6tel des Anglais, at the second breakfast, he 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Quick ! Cast your eye on the man going out 
 at the door. Take in every detail of him." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Do you know who he is ?" 
 
l82 
 
 " Yes. He spent several days here before you 
 came. He is an old, retired, and very rich silk 
 manufacturer from Lyons, they say, and I guess 
 he is alone in the world, for he always looks sad 
 and dreamy, and doesn't talk with anybody. His 
 name is Theophile Magnan." 
 
 I supposed that Smith would now proceed to Jus- 
 tify the large interest which he had shown in Mon- 
 sieur Magnan, but, instead, he dropped into a brown 
 study, and was apparently lost to me and to the 
 rest of the world during some minutes. Now and 
 then he passed his fingers through his flossy white 
 hair, to assist his thinking, and meantime he al- 
 lowed his breakfast to go on coohng. At last he 
 said : 
 
 " No, it's gone ; I can't call it back." 
 
 " Can't call what back ?" 
 
 " It's one of Hans Andersen's beautiful little 
 stories. But it's gone from me. Part of it is like 
 this : A child has a caged bird, which it loves, but 
 thoughtlessly neglects. The bird pours out its 
 song unheard and unheeded ; but, in time, hunger 
 and thirst assail the creature, and its song grows 
 plaintive and feeble and finally ceases — the bird 
 dies. The child comes, and is smitten to the heart 
 with remorse ; then, with bitter tears and lamenta- 
 tions, it calls its mates, and they bury the bird 
 
i83 
 
 with elaborate pomp and the tenderest grief, with- 
 out knowing, poor things, that it isn't children 
 only who starve poets to death and then spend 
 enough on their funerals and monuments to have 
 kept them alive and made them easy and comfort- 
 able. Now — " 
 
 But here we were interrupted. About ten that 
 evening I ran across Smith, and he asked me up 
 to his parlor to help him smoke and drink hot 
 Scotch. It was a cosy place, with its comfortable 
 chairs, its cheerful lamps, and its friendly open fire 
 of seasoned olive-wood. To make everything per- 
 fect, there was the muflfled booming of the surf 
 outside. After the second Scotch and much lazy 
 and contented chat. Smith said : 
 
 "Now we are properly primed — I to tell a 
 curious history, and you to listen to it. It has 
 been a secret for many years — a secret between 
 me and three others ; but I am going to break the 
 seal now. Are you comfortable ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. Go on." 
 
 Here follows what he told me : 
 
 "A long time ago I was a young artist — a very 
 young artist, in fact — and I wandered about the 
 country parts of France, sketching here and 
 sketching there, and was presently joined by a 
 couple of darling young Frenchmen who were at 
 
the same kind of thing that I was doing. We 
 were as happy as we were poor, or as poor as we 
 were happy — phrase it to suit yourself. Claude 
 Frfere and Carl Boulanger — these are the names of 
 those boys; dear, dear fellows, and the sunniest 
 spirits that ever laughed at poverty and had a 
 noble good time in all weathers. 
 
 " At last we ran hard aground in a Breton village, 
 and an artist as poor as ourselves took us in and 
 literally saved us from starving — Francois Millet — 
 
 " ' What ! the great Francois Millet ?' 
 
 " Great ? He wasn't any greater than we were, 
 then. He hadn't any fame, even in his own vil- 
 lage ; and he was so poor that he hadn't anything 
 to feed us on but turnips, and even the turnips 
 failed us sometimes. We four became fast friends, 
 doting friends, inseparables. We painted away to- 
 gether with all our might, piling up stock, piling 
 up stock, but very seldom getting rid of any of it. 
 We had lovely times together ; but, O my soul ! 
 how we were pinched now and then ! 
 
 " For a little over two years this went on. At 
 last, one day, Claude said : 
 
 " ' Boys, we've come to the end. Do you under- 
 stand that? — absolutely to the end. Everybody 
 has struck — there's a league formed against us. 
 I've been all around the village and it's just as I 
 
i85 
 
 tell you. They refuse to credit us for another cen- 
 time until all the odds and ends are paid up.' 
 
 " This struck us cold. Every face was blank with 
 dismay. We realized that our circumstances were 
 desperate, now. There was a long silence. Finally, 
 Millet said, with a sigh : 
 
 " ' Nothing occurs to me — nothing. Suggest 
 something, lads.' 
 
 " There was no response, unless a mournful si- 
 lence may be called a response. Carl got up, 
 and walked nervously up and down a while, then 
 said: 
 
 " ' It's a shame ! Look at these canvases : 
 stacks and stacks of as good pictures as anybody 
 in Europe paints — I don't care who he is. Yes, 
 and plenty of lounging strangers have said the 
 same — or nearly that, anyway.' 
 
 " ' But didn't buy,' Millet said. 
 
 " ' No matter, they said it ; and it's true, too. 
 Look at your "Angelus" there! Will anybody 
 tell me — ' 
 
 " ' Pah, Carl — my "Angelus" ! I was offered five 
 francs for it.' 
 
 " ' When ?' 
 
 " ' Who offered it ?' 
 
 " ' Where is he ?' 
 
 « « Why didn't you take it ?' 
 
1 86 
 
 " ' Come — don't all speak at once. I thought 
 he would give more — I was sure of it — he looked 
 it — so I asked him eight.' 
 
 " ' Well— and then ?' 
 
 " ' He said he would call again.' 
 
 " 'Thunder and lightning ! Why, Fran5ois — ' 
 
 " ' Oh, I know — I know ! It was a mistake, and 
 I was a fool. Boys, I meant for the best ; you'll 
 grant me that, and I — ' 
 
 " ' Why, certainly, we know that, bless your dear 
 heart ; but don't you be a fool again.' 
 
 " ' I ? I wi.sh somebody would come along and 
 offer us a cabbage for it — you'd see !' 
 
 " ' A cabbage ! Oh, don't name it — ^it makes my 
 mouth water. Talk of things less trying.' 
 
 " ' Boys,' said Carl, ' do these pictures lack merit ? 
 Answer me that.' 
 
 "'No!' 
 
 " ' Aren't they of very great and high merit ? 
 Answer me that.' 
 
 "'Yes.' 
 
 " ' Of such great and high merit that, if an illus- 
 trious name were attached to them, they would 
 sell at splendid prices. Isn't it so ?' 
 
 " ' Certainly it is. Nobody doubts that.' 
 
 " ' But — I'm not joking — isn't it so ?' 
 
 " ' Why, of course it's so — and we are not joking. 
 
i87 
 
 But what of it? What of it? How does that 
 concern us?' 
 
 " ' In this way, comrades — we'll attach an illus- 
 trious name to them !' 
 
 "The lively conversation stopped. The faces 
 were turned inquiringly upon Carl. What sort of 
 riddle might this be ? Where was an illustrious 
 name to be borrowed? And who was to bor- 
 row it ? 
 
 " Carl sat down, and said : 
 
 " ' Now, I have a perfectly serious thing to pro- 
 pose. I think it is the only way to keep us out of 
 the almshouse, and I believe it to be a perfectly 
 sure way. I base this opinion upon certain mul- 
 titudinous and long -established facts in human 
 history. I believe my project will make us all 
 rich.' 
 
 " ' Rich ! You've lost your mind.' 
 
 " ' No, I haven't.' 
 
 " ' Yes, you have — you've lost your mind. What 
 do you call rich ?' 
 
 " ' A hundred thousand francs apiece.' 
 
 " ' He has lost his mind. I knew it.' 
 
 " ' Yes, he has. Carl, privation has been too 
 much for you, and — ' 
 
 " ' Carl, you want to take a pill and get right to 
 bed.' 
 
i88 
 
 " ' Bandage him first — bandage his head, and 
 then—' 
 
 " ' No, bandage his heels ; his brains have been 
 settling for weeks — I've noticed it.' 
 
 " ' Shut up !' said Millet, with ostensible severity, 
 ' and let the boy say his say. Now, then — come 
 out with your project, Carl. What is it ?' 
 
 " ' Well, then, by way of preamble I will ask you 
 to note this fact in hurnan history : that the merit 
 of many a great artist has never been acknowledged 
 until after he was starved and dead. This has hap- 
 pened so often that I make bold to found a law 
 upon it. This law : that the merit of every great 
 unknown and neglected artist must and will be 
 recognized, and his pictures climb to high prices 
 after his death. My project is this : we must cast 
 lots — one of us must die.' 
 
 " The remark fell so calmly and so unexpectedly 
 that we almost forgot to jump. Then there was a 
 wild chorus of advice again — medical advice — for 
 the help of Carl's brain ; but he waited patiently 
 for the hilarity to calm down, then went on again 
 with his project : 
 
 " 'Yes, one of us must die, to save the others — 
 and himself. We will cast lots. The one chosen 
 shall be illustrious, all of us shall be rich. Hold 
 still, now — hold still ; don't interrupt — I tell you I 
 
189 
 
 know what I am talking about. Here is the idea. 
 During the next three months the one who is to 
 die shall paint with all his might, enlarge his stock 
 all he can — not pictures, no! skeleton sketches, 
 studies, parts of studies, fragments of studies, a 
 dozen dabs of the brush on each — meaningless, of 
 course, but his, with his cipher on them ; turn out 
 fifty a day, each to contain some peculiarity or man- 
 nerism easily detectable as his — they're the things 
 that sell, you know, and are collected at fabulous 
 prices for the world's museums, after the great man 
 is gone ; we'll have a ton of them ready — a ton ! 
 And all that time the rest of us will be busy sup- 
 porting the moribund, and working Paris and the 
 dealers — preparations for the coming event, you 
 know ; and when everything is hot and just right, 
 we'll spring the death on them and have the 
 notorious funeral. You get the idea ?' 
 
 " ' N-o ; at least, not qu — ' 
 
 " ' Not quite ? Don't you see ? The man doesn't 
 really die ; he changes his name and vanishes ; we 
 bury a dummy, and cry over it, with all the world 
 to help. And I—' 
 
 " But he wasn't allowed to finish. Everybody 
 broke out into a rousing hurrah of applause ; and 
 all jumped up and capered about the room and 
 fell on each other's necks in transports of gratitude 
 
1 90 
 
 and joy. For hours we talked over the great plan, 
 without ever feeling hungry ; and at last, when all 
 the details had been arranged satisfactorily, we cast 
 lots and Millet was elected — elected to die, as we 
 called it. Then we scraped together those things 
 which one never parts with until he is betting them 
 against future wealth — keepsake trinkets and such-i 
 like — and these we pawned for enough to furnish 
 us a frugal farewell supper and breakfast, and leave 
 us a few francs over for travel, and a stake of tur- 
 nips and such for Millet to live on for a few days. 
 
 " Next morning, early, the three of us cleared 
 out, straightway after breakfast — on foot, of course. 
 Each of us carried a dozen of Millet's small pict- 
 ures, purposing to market them. Carl struck for 
 Paris, where he would start the work of building 
 up Millet's fame against the coming great day. 
 Claude and I were to separate, and scatter abroad 
 over France. 
 
 " Now, it will surprise you to know what an easy 
 and comfortable thing we had. I walked two days 
 before I began business. Then I began to sketch 
 a villa in the outskirts of a big town — because I 
 saw the proprietor standing on an upper veranda. 
 He came down to look on— I thought he would. 
 I worked swiftly, intending to keep him interested. 
 Occasionally he fired off a little ejaculation of ap- 
 
191 
 
 probation, and by - and - by he spoke up with en- 
 thusiasm, and said I was a master ! 
 
 " I put down my brush, reached into my satchel, 
 fetched out a Millet, and pointed to the cipher in 
 the corner. I said, proudly : 
 
 "'I suppose you recognize that? Well, he 
 taught me ! I should think I ought to know my 
 trade!' 
 
 " The man looked guiltily embarrassed, and was 
 silent. I said, sorrowfully : 
 
 "'You don't mean to intimate that you don't 
 know the cipher of Francois Millet !' 
 
 "Of course he didn't know that cipher; but he 
 was the gratefullest man you ever saw, just the 
 same, for being let out of an uncomfortable place 
 on such easy terms. He said : 
 
 "'No! Why, it is Millet's, sure enough! I 
 don't know what I could have been thinking of, 
 Of course I recognize it now.' 
 
 " Next, he wanted to buy it ; blit I said that 
 although I wasn't rich I wasn't that poor. How- 
 ever, at last, I let him have it for eight hundred 
 francs." 
 
 " Eight hundred !" 
 
 "Yes. Millet would have sold it for a pork, 
 chop. Yes, I got eight hundred francs for that little 
 thing. I wish I could get it back for eighty thou- 
 
192 
 
 sand. But that time's gone by. I made a very 
 nice picture of that man's house, and I wanted to 
 offer it to him for ten francs, but that wouldn't 
 answer, seeing I was the pupil of such a master, 
 so I sold it to him for a hundred. I sent the 
 eight hundred francs straight back to Millet from 
 that town and struck out again next day. 
 
 " But I didn't walk — no. I rode. I have ridden 
 ever since. I sold one picture every day, and 
 never tried to sell two. I always said to my 
 customer: 
 
 " ' I am a fool to sell a picture of Frangois Mil- 
 let's at all, for that man is not going to live three 
 months, and when he dies his pictures can't be 
 had for love or money.' 
 
 " I took care to spread that little fact as far as I 
 could, and prepare the world for the event. 
 
 " I take credit to myself for our plan of selling 
 the pictures — it was mine. I suggested it that last 
 evening when ^ve were laying out our campaign, 
 and all three of us agreed to give it a good fair 
 trial before giving it up for some other. It suc- 
 ceeded with all of us. I walked only two days, 
 Claude walked two — both of us afraid to make 
 Millet celebrated too close to home — but Carl 
 walked only half a day, the bright, conscienceless 
 rascal, and after that he travelled like a duke. 
 
193 
 
 " Every now and then we got in with a country 
 editor and started an item around through the 
 press ; not an item announcing that a new painter 
 had been discovered, but an item which let on that 
 everybody knew Francois Millet; not an item 
 praising him in any way, but merely a word con- 
 cerning the present condition of the " master " 
 
 sometimes hopeful, sometimes despondent, but 
 always tinged with fears for the worst. We 
 always marked these paragraphs, and sent the 
 papers to all the people who had bought pictures 
 of us. 
 
 "Carl was soon in Paris, and he worked things 
 with a high hand. He made friends with the cor- 
 respondents, and got Millet's condition reported to 
 England and all over the continent, and America, 
 and everywhere. 
 
 "At the end of six weeks from the start, we three 
 met in Paris and called a halt, and stopped send- 
 ing back to Millet for additional pictures. The 
 boom was so high, and everything so ripe, that we 
 saw that it would be a mistake not to strike now, 
 right away, without waiting any longer. So we 
 wrote Millet to go to bed and begin to waste away 
 pretty fast, for we should like him to die in ten 
 days if he could get ready. 
 
 " Then we figured up and found that among us 
 13 
 
194 
 
 we had sold eighty-five small pictures and studies, 
 and had sixty-nine thousand francs to show for it. 
 Carl had made the last sale and the most brilliant 
 one of all. He sold the ' Angelas ' for twenty-two 
 hundred francs. How we did glorify him ! — not 
 foreseeing that a day was coming by-and-by when 
 France would struggle to own it and a stranger 
 would capture it for five hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand, cash. 
 
 " We had a wind-up champagne supper that night, 
 and next day Claude and I packed up and went 
 off to nurse Millet through his last days and keep 
 busybodies out of the house and send daily bulle- 
 tins to Carl in Paris for publication in the papers 
 of several continents for the information of a wait- 
 ing world. The sad end came at last, and Carl 
 was there in time to help in the final mournful 
 rites. 
 
 "You remember that great funeral, and what a 
 stir it made all over the globe, and how the illus- 
 trious of two worlds came to attend it and testify 
 their sorrow. We four — still inseparable — carried 
 the cofiSn, and would allow none to help. And we 
 were right about that, because it hadn't anything 
 in it but a wax figure, and any other cofifin-bearers 
 would have found fault with the weight. Yes, we 
 same old four, who had lovingly shared privation 
 
195 
 
 together in the old hard times now gone forever, 
 carried the cof — " 
 
 "Which four?" 
 
 "We four — for Millet helped to carry his own 
 coffin. In disguise, you know. Disguised as a 
 relative — distant relative." 
 
 " Astonishing !" 
 
 " But true, just the same. Well, you remember 
 how the pictures went up. Money? We didn't 
 know what to do with it. There's a man in Paris 
 to-day who owns seventy Millet pictures. He 
 paid us two million francs for them. And as for 
 the bushels of sketches and studies which Millet 
 shovelled out during the six weeks that we were 
 on the road, well, it would astonish you to know 
 the figure we sell them at nowadays — that is, 
 when we consent to let one go !" 
 
 " It is' a wonderful history, perfectly wonderful !" 
 
 " Yes — it amounts to that." 
 
 " Whatever became of Millet ?" 
 
 " Can you keep a secret?" 
 
 " I can." 
 
 " Do you remember the man I called your atten- 
 tion to in the dining-room to-day? TAat was 
 Frangois Millet." 
 
 " Great—" 
 
 " Scott ! Yes. For once they didn't starve a 
 
196 
 
 genius to death and then put into other pockets 
 the rewards he should have had himself. This 
 song-bird was not allowed to pipe out its heart un- 
 heard and then be paid with the cold pomp of a 
 big funeral. We looked out for that." 
 
THE ESQUIMAU MAIDEN'S ROMANCE 
 
 YES, I will tell you anything about my life 
 that you would like to know, Mr. Twain," 
 she said, in her soft voice, and letting her 
 honest eyes rest placidly upon my face, " for it is 
 kind and good of you to like me and care to 
 know about me." 
 
 She had been absently scraping blubber-grease 
 from her cheeks with a small bone-knife and trans- 
 ferring it to her fur sleeve, while she Watched the 
 Aurora Borealis swing its flaming streamers out of 
 the sky and wash the lonely snow-plain and the 
 templed icebergs with the rich hues of the prism, a 
 spectacle of almost intolerable splendor and beauty ; 
 but now she shook off her reverie and prepared to 
 give me the humble little history I had asked for. 
 She settled herself comfortably op the block of ice 
 which we were using as a sofa, and I made ready 
 to listen. 
 
 She was a beautiful creature. I speak from the 
 Esquimaux point of view. Others would have 
 
198 
 
 thought her a trifle over-plump. She was just 
 twenty years old, and was held to be by far the 
 most bewitching girl in her tribe. Even now, in 
 the open air, with her cumbersome and shapeless 
 fur coat and trousers and boots and vast hood, the 
 beauty of her face was at least apparent ; but her 
 figure had to be taken on trust. Among all the 
 guests who came and went, I had seen no girl at 
 her father's hospitable trough who could be called 
 her equal. Yet she was not spoiled. She was 
 sweet and natural and sincere, and if she was aware 
 that she was a belle, there was nothing about her 
 ways to show that she possessed that knowledge. 
 
 She had been my daily comrade for a week now, 
 and the better I knew her the better I liked her. 
 She had been tenderly and carefully brought up, 
 in an atmosphere of singularly rare refinement for 
 the polar regions, for her father was the most im- 
 portant man of his tribe and ranked at the top of 
 Esquimau cultivation. I made long dog- sledge 
 trips across the mighty ice floes with Lasca — that 
 was her name — and found her company always 
 pleasant and her conversation agreeable. I went 
 fishing with her, but not in her perilous boat : I 
 merely followed along on the ice and watched her 
 strike her game with her fatally accurate spear. 
 We went sealing together; several times I stood 
 
199 
 
 by while she and the family dug blubber from a 
 stranded whale, and once I went part of the way 
 when she was hunting a bear, but turned back be- 
 fore the finish, because at bottom I am afraid of 
 bears. 
 
 However, she was ready to begin her story, now, 
 and this is what she said : 
 
 " Our tribe had always been used to wander about 
 from place to place over the frozen seas, like the 
 other tribes, but my father got tired of that, two 
 years ago, and built this great mansion of frozen 
 snow-blocks — look at it ; it is seven feet high and 
 three or four times as long as any of the others — 
 and here we have stayed ever since. He was very 
 proud of his house, and that was reasonable, for 
 if you have examined it with care you must have 
 noticed how much finer and completer it is than 
 houses usually are. But if you have not, you must, 
 for you will find it has luxurious appointments that 
 are quite beyond the common. For instance, in that 
 end of it which you have called the 'parlor,' the 
 raised platform for the accommodation of guests 
 and the family at meals is the largest you have ever 
 seen in any house — is it not so ?" 
 
 " Yes, you are quite right, Lasca ; it is the larg- 
 est ; we have nothing resembling it in even the fin- 
 est houses in the United States." This admission 
 
200 
 
 made her eyes sparkle with pride and pleasure. I 
 noted that, and took my cue. 
 
 " I thought it must have surprised you," she said. 
 " And another thing : it is bedded far deeper in furs 
 than is usual; all kinds of furs — seal, sea -otter, 
 silver-gray fox, bear, marten, sable — every kind of 
 fur in profusion ; and the same with the ice-block 
 sleeping-benches along the walls, which you call 
 ' beds.' Are your platforms and sleeping-benches 
 better provided at home ?" 
 
 " Indeed, they are not, Lasca — they do not be- 
 gin to be." That pleased her again. All she was 
 thinking of was the number of furs her aesthetic 
 father took the trouble to keep on hand, not their 
 value. I could have told her that those masses of 
 rich furs constituted wealth — or would in my coun- 
 try — but she would not have understood that; 
 those were not the kind of things that ranked as 
 riches with her people. I could have told her that 
 the clothes she had on, or the every-day clothes of 
 the commonest person about her, were worth twelve 
 or fifteen hundred dollars, and that I was not ac- 
 quainted with anybody at home who wore twelve- 
 hundred dollar toilets to go fishing in ; but she 
 would not have understood it, so I said nothing. 
 She resumed : 
 
 " And then the slop-tubs. We have two in the 
 
201 
 
 parlor, and two in the rest of the house. It is very 
 seldom that one has two in the parlor. Have you 
 two in the parlor at home?" 
 
 The memory of those tubs made me gasp, but I 
 recovered myself before she noticed, and said with 
 effusion : 
 
 " Why, Lasca, it is a shame of me to expose my 
 country, and you must not let it go further, for I 
 am speaking to you in confidence ; but I give you 
 my word of honor that not even the richest man in 
 the city of New York has two slop -tubs in his 
 drawing-room." 
 
 She clapped her fur-clad hands in innocent de- 
 light, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, but you* cannot mean it, you cannot 
 mean it !" 
 
 " Indeed, I am in earnest, dear. There is Van- 
 derbilt. Vanderbilt is almost the richest man in 
 the whole world. Now, if. I were on my dying 
 bed, I could say to you that not even he has two 
 in his drawing-room. Why, he hasn't even one — I 
 wish I may die in my tracks if it isn't true." 
 
 Her lovely eyes stood wide with amazement, 
 and she said, slowly, and with a sort of awe in her 
 voice : 
 
 " How strange — how incredible — one is not able 
 to realize it. Is he penurious ?" 
 
" No — it isn't that. It isn't the expense he 
 minds, but — er — well, you know, it would look 
 like showing off. Yes, that is it, that is the idea ; 
 he is a plain man in his way, and shrinks from dis- 
 play." 
 
 " Why, that humility is right enough," said 
 Lasca, " if one does not carry it too far — but what 
 does the place look like ?" 
 
 " Well, necessarily it looks pretty barren and un- 
 finished, but — " 
 
 " I should think so ! I never heard anything 
 like it. Is it a fine house — that is, otherwise?" 
 
 " Pretty fine, yes. It is very well thought of." 
 
 The girl was silent awhile, and sat dreamily 
 gnawing a candle-end, apparently trying to think 
 the thing out. At last she gave her head a little 
 toss and spoke out her opinion with decision : 
 
 " Well, to my mind there's a breed of humility 
 which is itself a species of showing-off , when you 
 get down to the marrow of it ; and when a man is 
 able to afford two slop-tubs in his parlor, and don't 
 do it, it may be that he is truly humble-minded, but 
 it's a hundred times more likely that he is just try- 
 ing to strike the public eye. In my judgment, 
 your Mr. Vanderbilt knows what he is about." 
 
 I tried to modify this verdict, feeling that a 
 double slop-tub standard was not a fair one to try 
 
203 
 
 everybody by, although a sound enough one in its 
 own habitat ; but the girl's head was set, and 
 she was not to be persuaded. Presently she 
 said : 
 
 " Do the rich people, with you, have as good 
 sleeping-benches as ours, and made out of as nice 
 broad ice-blocks ?" 
 
 " Well, they are pretty good — good enough — 
 but they are not made of ice-blocks." 
 
 " I want to know ! Why aren't they made of 
 ice-blocks ?" 
 
 I explained the difficulties in the way, and the 
 expensiveness of ice in a country where you have 
 to keep a sharp eye on your ice-man or your ice- 
 bill will weigh more than your ice. Then she cried 
 out: 
 
 " Dear me, do you buy your ice?" 
 
 "We most surely do, dear." 
 
 She burst into a gale of guileless laughter, and 
 said : 
 
 " Oh, I never heard of anything so silly ! My, 
 there's plenty of it — it isn't worth anything. 
 Why, there is a hundred miles of it in sight, right 
 now. I wouldn't give a fish-bladder for the whole 
 of it." 
 
 " Well, it's because you don't know how to value 
 it, you little provincial muggins. If you had it in 
 
204 
 
 New York in midsummer, you could buy all the 
 whales in the market with it." 
 
 She looked at me doubtfully, and said : 
 
 " Are you speaking true ?" 
 
 " Absolutely. I take my oath to it." 
 
 This made her thoughful. Presently she said, 
 with a little sigh : 
 
 " I wish / could live there." 
 
 I had merely meant to furnish her a standard of 
 values which she could understand ; but my pur- 
 pose had miscarried. I had only given her the im- 
 pression that whales were cheap and plenty in New 
 York, and set her mouth to watering for them. It 
 seemed best to try to mitigate the evil which I had 
 done, so I said : 
 
 " But you wouldn't care for whale-meat if you 
 lived there. Nobody does." 
 
 " What !" 
 
 " Indeed they don't." 
 
 " Why don't they ?" 
 
 "Wel-1-1, I hardly know. It's prejudice, I 
 think. Yes, that is it — just prejudice. I reckon 
 somebody that hadn't anything better to do started 
 a prejudice against it, some time or other, and once 
 you get a caprice like that fairly going, you know, 
 it will last no end of time." 
 
 " That is trne— perfectly true," said the girl, re- 
 
205 
 
 flectively. " Like our prejudice against soap, here — 
 our tribes had a prejudice against soap at first, you 
 know." 
 
 I glanced at her to see if she was in earnest. 
 Evidently she was. I hesitated, then said, cau- 
 tiously : 
 
 " But pardon me. They had a prejudice against 
 soap ? Had ?" — with falling inflection. 
 
 " Yes — but that was only at first ; nobody would 
 eat it." 
 
 " Oh — I understand. I didn't get your idea be- 
 fore." 
 
 She resumed : 
 
 " It was just a prejudice. The first time soap 
 came here from the foreigners, nobody liked it ; 
 but as soon as it got to be fashionable, everybody 
 hked it, and now everybody has it that can afford 
 it. Are you fond of it ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed; I should die if I couldn't have 
 it — especially here. Do you like it ?" 
 
 " I just adore it ! Do you like candles ?" 
 
 " I regard them as an absolute necessity. Are 
 you fond of them ?" 
 
 Her eyes fairly danced, and she exclaimed : 
 
 "Oh! Don't mention it! Candles! — and 
 soap! — 
 
 " And fish-interiors ! — " 
 
206 
 
 "And train-oil!—" 
 
 " And slush !— " 
 
 " And whale-blubber !— " 
 
 " And carrion ! and sour-krout ! and beeswax ! 
 and tar ! and turpentine ! and molasses ! and — " 
 
 " Don't — oh, don't — I shall expire with ec- 
 stasy ! — " 
 
 " And then serve it all up in a slush-bucket, and 
 invite the neighbors and sail in !" 
 
 But this vision of an ideal feast was too much for 
 her, and she swooned away, poor thing. I rubbed 
 snow in her face and brought her to, and after 
 a while got her excitement cooled down. By-and- 
 by she drifted into her story again: 
 
 " So we began to live here, in the fine house. 
 But I was not happy. The reason was this : I was 
 born for love ; for me there could be no true hap- 
 piness without it. I wanted to be loved for myself 
 alone. I wanted an idol, and I wanted to be my 
 idol's idol ; nothing less than mutual idolatry would 
 satisfy my fervent nature. I had suitors in plenty — 
 in over -plenty, indeed — but in each and every 
 case they had a fatal defect ; sooner or later I dis- 
 covered that defect — not one of them failed to 
 betray it — it was not me they wanted, but my 
 wealth." 
 
 " Your wealth ?" 
 
207 
 
 " Yes ; for my father is much the richest man in 
 this tribe — or in any tribe in these regions." 
 
 I wondered what her father's wealth consisted 
 of. It couldn't be the house — anybody could build 
 its mate. It couldn't be the furs — they were not 
 valued. It couldn't be the sledge, the dogs, the 
 harpoons, the boat, the bone fish-hooks and needles, 
 and such things — no, these were not wealth. Then 
 what could it be that made this man so rich and 
 brought this swarm of sordid suitors to his house ? 
 It seemed to me, finally, that the best way to find 
 out would be to ask. So I did it. The girl was so 
 manifestly gratified by the question that I saw she 
 had been aching to have me ask it. She was suffer- 
 ing fully as much to tell as I was to know. She 
 snuggled confidentially up to me and said : 
 
 " Guess how much he is worth — you never can !" 
 
 I pretended to consider the matter deeply, she 
 watching my anxious and laboring countenance with 
 a devouring and delighted interest ; and when, at 
 last, I gave it up and begged her to appease my long- 
 ing by telling me herself how much this polar Van- 
 derbilt was worth, she put her mouth close to my 
 ear and whispered, impressively : 
 
 " Twenty-two fish-hooks — not bone, but foreign — 
 made out of real iron !" 
 
 Then she sprang back dramatically, to observe 
 
2o8 
 
 the effect. I did my level best not to disappoint 
 her. I turned pale and murmured : 
 
 " Great Scott !" 
 
 " It's as true as you live, Mr. Twain !" 
 
 " Lasca, you are deceiving me — you cannot 
 mean it." 
 
 She was frightened and troubled. She ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Mr. Twain, every word of it is true — every 
 word. You believe me — you do believe me, now 
 dont you ? Say you believe me — do say you be- 
 lieve me !" 
 
 " I — well, yes, I do — I am trying to. But it was 
 all so sudden. So sudden and prostrating. You 
 shouldn't do such a thing in that sudden way. 
 It—" 
 
 " Oh, I'm so sorry! If I had only thought—" 
 
 "Well, it's all right, and I don't blame you any 
 more, for you are young and thoughtless, and of 
 course you couldn't foresee what an effect — " 
 
 " But oh, dear, I ought certainly to have known 
 better. Why—" 
 
 "You see, Lasca, if you had said five or six 
 hooks, to start with, and then gradually — " 
 
 "Oh, I see, I see — then gradually added one, 
 and then two, and then — ah, why couldn't I have 
 thought of that !" 
 
209 
 
 " Never mind, child, it's all right— I am better 
 now — I shall be over it in a little while. But— to 
 spring the whole twenty-two on a person unpre- 
 pa'red and not very strong anyway — " 
 
 " Oh, it was a crime ! But you forgive me — say 
 you forgive me. Do !" 
 
 After harvesting a good deal of very pleasant 
 coaxing and petting and persuading, I forgave her 
 and she was happy again, and by-and-by she got 
 under way with her narrative once more. I pres- 
 ently discovered that the family treasury contained 
 still another feature — a jewel of some sort, appar- 
 ently — and that she was trying to get around speak- 
 ing squarely about it, lest I get paralyzed again. 
 But I wanted to know about that thing, too, and 
 urged her to tell me what it was. She was afraid. 
 But I insisted, and said I would brace myself this 
 time and be prepared, then the shock would not 
 hurt me. She was full of misgivings, but the temp- 
 tation to reveal that marvel to me and enjoy my 
 astonishment and admiration was too strong for 
 her, and she confessed that she had it on her per- 
 son, and said that if I was sure I was prepared — 
 and so on and so on — and with that she reached 
 into her bosom and brought out a battered square 
 of brass, watching my eye anxiously the while. I 
 fell over against her in a quite well-acted faint, 
 14 
 
2IO 
 
 which delighted her heart and nearly frightened it 
 out of her, too, at the same time. When I came 
 to and got calm, she was eager to know what I 
 thought of her jewel. 
 
 " What do I think of it ? I think it is the most 
 exquisite thing I ever saw." 
 
 " Do you really ? How nice of you to say that ! 
 But it is a love, now isn't it?" 
 
 " Well, I should say so ! I'd rather own it than 
 the equator." 
 
 " I thought you would admire it," she said. " I 
 think it is so lovely. And there isn't another one 
 in all these latitudes. People have come all the 
 way from the Open Polar Sea to look at it. Did 
 you ever see one before ?" 
 
 I said no, this was the first one I had ever seen. 
 It cost me a pang to tell that generous lie, for I 
 had seen a million of them in my time, this hum- 
 ble jewel of hers being nothing but a battered old 
 New York Central baggage-check. 
 
 "Land !" said I, "you don't go about with it on 
 your person this way, alone and with no protec- 
 tion, not even a dog?" 
 
 " Ssh ! not so loud," she said. " Nobody knows 
 I carry it with me. They think it is in papa's 
 treasury. That is where it generally is." 
 
 " Where is the treasury ?" 
 
It was a blunt question, and for a moment she 
 looked startled and a little suspicious, but I said : 
 
 " Oh, come, don't you be afraid about me. At 
 home we have seventy millions of people, and al- 
 though I say it myself that shouldn't, there is not 
 one person among them all but would trust me 
 with untold fish-hooks." 
 
 This reassured her, and she told me where the 
 hooks were hidden in the house. Then she wan- 
 dered from her course to brag a little about the 
 size of the sheets of transparent ice that formed 
 the windows of the mansion, and asked me if I 
 had ever seen their like at home, and I came right 
 out frankly and confessed that I hadn't, which 
 pleased her more than she could find words to 
 dress her gratification in. It was so easy to please 
 her, and such a pleasure to do it that I went on 
 and said — 
 
 " Ah, Lasca, you are a fortunate girl ! — this beau- 
 tiful house, this dainty jewel, that rich treasure, all 
 this elegant snow, and sumptuous icebergs and 
 limitless sterility, and public bears and walruses, 
 and noble freedom and largeness, and everybody's 
 admiring eyes upon you, and everybody's homage 
 and respect at your command without the asking ; 
 young, rich, beautiful, sought, courted, envied, not 
 a requirement unsatisfied, not a desire ungratified, 
 
212 
 
 nothing to wish for that you cannot have — it is im- 
 measurable good-fortune ! I have seen myriads of 
 girls, but none of whom these extraordinary things 
 could be truthfully said but you alone. And you 
 are worthy — worthy of it all, Lasca — I believe it 
 in my heart." 
 
 It made her infinitely proud and happy to hear 
 me say this, and she thanked me over and over 
 again for that closing remark, and her voice and 
 eyes showed that she was touched. Presently she 
 said : 
 
 "Still, it is not all sunshine — there is a cloudy 
 side. The burden of wealth is a heavy one to 
 bear. Sometimes I have doubted if it were not 
 better to be poor — at least not inordinately rich. 
 It pains me to see neighboring tribesmen stare as 
 they pass by, and overhear them say, reverently, 
 one to another, ' There — that is she — the million- 
 aire's daughter!' And sometimes they say sor- 
 rowfully, ' She is rolling in fish-hooks, and I — I 
 have nothing.' It breaks my heart. When I was 
 a child and we were poor, we slept with the door 
 open, if we chose, but now — now we have to have 
 a night-watchman. In those days my father was 
 gentle and courteous to all ; but now he is austere 
 and haughty, and cannot abide familiarity. Once 
 his family were his sole thought, but now he goes 
 
213 
 
 about thinking of his fish-hooks all the time. And 
 his wealth makes everybody cringing and obse- 
 quious to him. Formerly nobody laughed at his 
 jokes, they being always stale and far-fetched and 
 poor, and destitute of the one element that can 
 really justify a joke — the element of humor; but 
 now everybody laughs and cackles at those dismal 
 things, and if any fails to do it my father is deeply 
 displeased, and shows it. Formerly his opinion 
 was not sought upon any matter and was not valu- 
 able when he volunteered it ; it has that infirmity 
 yet, but, nevertheless, it is sought by all and ap- 
 plauded by all — and he h«lps do the applauding 
 himself, having no true delicacy and a plentiful 
 want of tact. He has lowered the tone of all our 
 tribe. Once they were a frank and manly race, now 
 they are measly hypocrites, and sodden with ser- 
 vility. In my heart of hearts I hate all the ways 
 of millionaires ! Our tribe was once plain, simple 
 folk, and content with the bone fish-hooks of their 
 fathers ; now they are eaten up with avarice and 
 would sacrifice every sentiment of honor and 
 honesty to possess themselves of the debasing iron 
 fish-hooks of the foreigner. However, I must not 
 dwell on these sad things. As I have said, it was 
 my dream to be loved for myself alone. 
 
 "At last, this dream seemed about to be fulfilled. 
 
214 
 
 A stranger came by, one day, who said his name 
 was Kalula. I told him my name, and he said he 
 loved me. My heart gave a great bound of grati- 
 tude and pleasure, for I had loved him at sight, and 
 now I said so. He took me to his breast and said 
 he would not wish to be happier than he was now. 
 We went strolling together far over the ice-floes, 
 telling all about each other, and planning, oh, the 
 loveliest future ! When we were tired at last we 
 sat down and ate, for he had soap and candles 
 and I had brought along some blubber. We were 
 hungry, and nothing was ever so good. 
 
 " He belonged to a tribe whose haunts were far 
 to the north, and I found that he had never heard 
 of my father, which rejoiced me exceedingly. I 
 mean he had heard of the millionaire, but had 
 never heard his name — so, you see, he could not 
 know that I was the heiress. You may be sure 
 that I did not tell him. I was loved for myself at 
 last, and was satisfied. I was so happy — oh, hap- 
 pier than you can think ! 
 
 " By-and-by it was toward supper time, and I 
 led him home. As we approached our house he 
 was amazed, and cried out : 
 
 " ' How splendid ! Is that your father's ?' 
 
 " It gave me a pang to hear that tone and see 
 that admiring light in his eye, but the feeling 
 
215 
 
 quickly passed away, for I loved him so, and he 
 looked so handsome and noble. All my family of 
 aunts and uncles and cousins were pleased with 
 him, and many guests were called in, and the 
 house was shut up tight and the rag lamps lighted, 
 and when everything was hot and comfortable and 
 suffocating, we began a joyous feast in celebration 
 of my betrothal. 
 
 " When the feast was over, my father's vanity 
 overcame him, and he could not resist the tempta- 
 tion to show off his riches and let Kalula see what 
 grand good -fortune he had stumbled into — and 
 mainly, of course, he wanted to enjoy the poor 
 man's amazement. I could have cried — but it 
 would have done no good to try to dissuade my 
 father, so I said nothing, but merely sat there and 
 suffered. 
 
 " My father went straight to the hiding-place, 
 in full sight of everybody, and got out the fish- 
 hooks and brought them and flung them scat- 
 teringly over my head, so that they fell in glit- 
 tering confusion on the platform at my lover's 
 knee. 
 
 " Of course, the astounding spectacle took the 
 poor lad's breath away. He could only stare in 
 stupid astonishment, and wonder how a single 
 individual could possess such incredible riches. 
 
2l6 
 
 Then presently he glanced brilliantly up and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " ' Ah, it is you who are the renowned million- 
 aire !' 
 
 " My father and all the rest burst into shouts of 
 happy laughter, and when my father gathered the 
 treasure carelessly up as if it might be mere rub- 
 bish and of no consequence, and carried it back to 
 its place, poor Kalula's surprise was a study. He 
 said : 
 
 " ' Is it possible that you put such things away 
 without counting them ?' 
 
 " My father delivered a vain-glorious horse-laugh, 
 and said : 
 
 " ' Well, truly, a body may know you have never 
 been rich, since a mere matter of a fish-hook or 
 two is such a mighty matter in your eyes.' 
 
 " Kalula was confused, and hung his head, but 
 said: 
 
 '"Ah, indeed, sir, I was never worth the value of 
 the barb of one of those precious things, and I 
 have never seen any man before who was so rich in 
 them as to render the counting of his hoard worth 
 while, since the wealthiest man I have ever known, 
 till now, was possessed of but three.' 
 
 " My fooHsh father roared again with jejune de- 
 light, and allowed the impression to remain that 
 
217 
 
 he was not accustomed to count his hooks and 
 keep sharp watch over them. He was showing off, 
 you see. Count them ? Why, he counted them 
 every day ! 
 
 " I had met and got acquainted with my darling 
 just at dawn ; I had brought him home just at 
 dark, three hours afterward — for the days were 
 shortening toward the six - months night at that 
 time. We kept up the festivities many hours; 
 then, at last, the guests departed and the rest of us 
 distributed ourselves along the walls on sleeping- 
 benches, and soon all were steeped in dreams but 
 me. I was too happy, too excited, to sleep. After 
 I had lain quiet a long, long time, a dim form 
 passed by me and was swallowed up in the gloom 
 that pervaded the farther end of the house. I 
 could not make out who it was, or whether it was 
 man or woman. Presently that figure or another 
 one passed me going the other way. I wondered 
 what it all meant, but wondering did no good ; and 
 while I was still wondering I fell asleep. 
 
 " I do not know how long I slept, but at last I 
 came suddenly broad awake and heard my father 
 say in a terrible voice, ' By the great Snow God, 
 there's a fish-hook gone !' Something told me that 
 that meant sorrow for me, and the blood in my 
 veins turned cold. The presentiment was con- 
 
2l8 
 
 firmed in the same instant : my father shouted, 
 ' Up, everybody, and seize the stranger !' Then 
 there was an outburst of cries and curses from all 
 sides, and a wild rush of dim forms through the 
 obscurity. I flew to my beloved's help, but what 
 could I do but wait and wring my hands? — he was 
 already fenced away from me by a living wall, he 
 was being bound hand and foot. Not until he was 
 secured would they let me get to him. I flung 
 myself upon his poor insulted form and cried my 
 grief out upon his breast while my father and all 
 my family scoffed at me and heaped threats and 
 shameful epithets upon him. He bore his ill usage 
 with a tranquil dignity which endeared him to me 
 more than ever and made me proud and happy to 
 suffer with him and for him. I heard my father 
 order that the elders of the tribe be called together 
 to try my Kalula for his life. 
 
 " ' What ?' I said, ' before any search has been 
 made for the lost hook?' 
 
 " ' Lost hook !' they all shouted, in derision ; and 
 my father added, mockingly, ' Stand back, every- 
 body, and be properly serious — she is going to 
 hunt up that lost hook ; oh, without doubt she will 
 find it !' — whereat they all laughed again. 
 
 " I was not disturbed — I had no fears, no doubts. 
 I said : 
 
219 
 
 " ' It is for you to laugh now ; it is your turn. 
 But ours is coming ; wait and see.' 
 
 " I got a rag-lamp. I thought I should find that 
 miserable thing in one little moment ; and I set 
 about the matter with such confidence that those 
 people grew grave, beginning to suspect that perhaps 
 they had been too hasty. But, alas and alas! — oh, 
 the bitterness of that search! There was deep si- 
 lence while one might count his fingers ten or twelve 
 times, then my heart began to sink, and around me 
 the mockings began again, and grew steadily loud- 
 er and more assured, until at last, when I gave up, 
 they burst into volley after volley of cruel laughter. 
 
 " None will ever know what I suffered then. 
 But my love was my support and my strength, and 
 I took my rightful place at my Kalula's side, and 
 put my arm about his neck, and whispered in his 
 ear, saying : 
 
 " ' You are innocent, my own — that I know ; but 
 say it to me yourself, for my comfort, then I can 
 bear whatever is in store for us.' 
 
 "He answered : 
 
 " ' As surely as I stand upon the brink of death 
 at this moment, I am innocent. Be comforted, 
 then, O bruised heart ; be at peace, O thou breath 
 of my nostrils, life of my life !' 
 
 " ' Now, then, let the elders come !' — ^and as I 
 
220 
 
 said the words there was a gathering sound of 
 crunching snow outside, and then a vision of stoop- 
 ing form's filing in at the door — the elders. 
 
 " My father formally accused the prisoner, and 
 detailed the happenings of the night. He said that 
 the watchman was outside the door, and that in the 
 house were none but the family and the stranger. 
 ' Would the family steal their own property ?' He 
 paused. The elders sat silent many minutes ; at 
 last, one after another said to his neighbor, ' This 
 looks bad for the stranger ' — sorrowful words for 
 me to hear. Then my father sat down. O misera- 
 ble, miserable me! at that very moment I could have 
 proved my darhng innocent, but I did not know it ! 
 
 " The chief of the court asked : 
 
 " ' Is there any here to defend the prisoner?' 
 
 " I rose and said : 
 
 " ' Why should he steal that hook, or any or all 
 of them ? In another day he would have been 
 heir to the whole !' 
 
 " I stood waiting. There was a long silence, the 
 steam from the many breaths rising about me like 
 a fog. At last, one elder after another nodded his 
 head slowly several times, and muttered, ' There is 
 force in what the child has said.' Oh, the heart- 
 lift that was in those words ! — so transient, but, oh, 
 so precious ! I sat down. 
 
" ' If any would say further, let him speak now, 
 or after hold his peace,' said the chief of the 
 court. 
 
 " My father rose and said : 
 
 " ' In the night a form passed by me in the gloom, 
 going toward the treasury, and presently returned. 
 I think, now, it was the stranger.' 
 
 " Oh, I was like to swoon ! I had supposed that 
 that was my secret ; not the grip of the great Ice 
 God himself could have dragged it out of my heart. 
 The chief of the court said sternly to my poor 
 Kalula:. 
 
 "'Speak!' 
 
 " Kalula hesitated, then answered : 
 
 " ' It was I. I could not sleep for thinking of 
 the beautiful hooks. I went there and kissed 
 them and fondled them, to appease my spirit 
 and drown it in a harmless joy, then I put them 
 back. I may have dropped one, but I stole 
 none.' 
 
 " Oh, a fatal admission to make in such a place ! 
 There was an awful hush. I knew he had pro- 
 nounced his own doom, and that all was over. On 
 every face you could see the words hieroglyphed : 
 ' It is a confession ! — and paltr)', lame, and thin.' 
 
 " I sat drawing in my breath in faint gasps — 
 and waiting. Presently, I heard the solemn words 
 
I knew were coming ; and each word, as it came, 
 was a knife in my heart : 
 
 " ' It is the command of the court that the ac- 
 cused be subjected to the trial by water.' 
 
 " Oh, curses be upon the head of him who 
 brought ' trial by water ' to our land ! It came, 
 generations ago, from some far country that lies 
 none knows where. Before that, our fathers used 
 augury and other unsure methods of trial, and 
 doubtless some poor, guilty creatures escaped with 
 their lives sometimes ; but it is not so with trial by 
 water, which is an invention by wiser men than we 
 poor, ignorant savages are. By it the innocent are 
 proved innocent, without doubt or question, for 
 they drown ; and the guilty are proven guilty with 
 the same certainty, for they do not drown. My 
 heart was breaking in my bosom, for I said, ' He 
 is innocent, and he will go down under the waves 
 and I shall never see him more.' 
 
 " I never left his side after that. I mourned in 
 his arms all the precious hours, and he poured out 
 the deep stream of his love upon me, and oh, I was 
 so miserable and so happy ! At last, they tore him 
 from me, and I followed sobbing after them, and 
 saw them fling him into the sea — then I covered 
 my face with my hands. Agony? Oh, I know 
 the deepest deeps of that word ! 
 
223 
 
 " The next moment the people burst into a 
 shout of malicious joy, and I took away my hands, 
 startled. Oh, bitter sight — he was swimming ! 
 My heart turned instantly to stone, to ice. I said, 
 ' He was guilty, and he lied to me !' I turned my 
 back in scorn and went my way homeward. 
 
 " They took him far out to sea and set him on 
 an iceberg that was drifting southward in the great 
 waters. Then my family came home, and my 
 father said to me : 
 
 " ' Your thief sent his dying message to you, 
 saying, " Tell her I am innocent, and that all the 
 days and all the hours and all the minutes while I 
 starve and perish I shall love her and think of her 
 and bless the day that gave me sight of her sweet 
 face." Quite pretty, even poetical !' 
 
 " I said, ' He is dirt — let me never hear mention 
 of him again.' And oh, to think — he was innocent 
 all the time ! 
 
 " Nine months — nine dull, sad months — went by, 
 and at last came the day of the Great Annual Sac- 
 rifice, when all the maidens of the tribe wash their 
 faces and comb their-hair. With the first sweep of 
 my comb, out came the fatal fish-hook from where 
 it had been all those months nestling, and I fell 
 fainting into the arms of my remorseful father ! 
 Groaning, he said, ' We murdered him, and I shall 
 
224 
 
 never smile again !' He has kept his word. Listen: 
 from that day to this not a month goes by that I 
 do not comb my hair. But oh, where is the good 
 of it all now !" 
 
 So ended the poor maid's humble little tale — 
 whereby we learn that since a hundred million dol- 
 lars in New York and twenty-two fish-hooks on the 
 border of the Arctic Circle represent the same 
 financial supremacy, a man in straitened circum- 
 stances is a fool to stay in New York when he can 
 buy ten cents' worth of fish-hooks and emigrate. 
 
HOW TO TELL A STORY 
 
 The Humorous Story an American Development — 
 Its Difference from Comic and Witty Stories 
 
 I DO not claim that I can tell a story as it ought 
 to be told. I only claim to know how a story 
 ought to be told, for I have been almost daily in 
 the company of the most expert story-tellers for 
 many years. 
 
 There are several kinds of stories, but only one 
 difificult kind — the humorous. I will talk mainly 
 about that one. The humorous story is Ameri- 
 can, the comic story is Enghsh, the witty story is 
 French. The humorous story depends for its effect 
 upon the manner of the telling; the comic story 
 and the witty story upon the matter. 
 
 The humorous story may be spun out to great 
 length, and may wander around as much as it 
 pleases, and arrive nowhere in particular ; but the 
 comic and witty stories must be brief and end with 
 a point. The humorous story bubbles gently along, 
 the others burst. 
 
 15 ;. 
 
326 
 
 The humorous story is strictly a work of art — 
 high and delicate art — and only an artist can tell 
 it ; but no art is necessary in telling the comic and 
 the witty story; anybody can do it. The art of 
 telling a humorous story — understand, I mean by 
 word of mouth, not print — was created in America, 
 and has remained at home. 
 
 The humorous story is told gravely; the teller 
 does his best to conceal the fact that he even dim- 
 ly suspects that there is anything funny about it ; 
 but the teller of the comic story tells you before- 
 hand that it is one of the funniest things he has 
 ever heard, then tells it with eager delight, and is 
 the first person to laugh when he gets through. 
 And sometimes, if he has had good success, he is 
 so glad and happy that he will repeat the "nub" of 
 it and glance around from face to face, collecting 
 applause, and then repeat it again. It is a pathetic 
 thing to see. 
 
 Very often, of course, the rambling and disjointed 
 humorous story finishes with a nub, point, snapper, 
 or whatever you like to call it. Then the listener 
 must be alert, for in many cases the teller will divert 
 attention from that nub by dropping it in a care- 
 fully casual and indifferent way, with the pretence 
 that he does not know it is a nub. 
 
 Artemus Ward used that trick a good deal ; then, 
 
227 
 
 when the belated audience presently caught the 
 joke, he would look up with innocent surprise, as if 
 wondering what they had found to laugh at. Dan 
 Setchell used it before him, Nye and Rilfey and 
 others use it to-day. 
 
 But the teller of the comic story does not slur the 
 nub ; he shouts it at you — every time. And when 
 he prints it, in England, France, Germany, and 
 Italy, he italicizes it, puts some whooping exclama- 
 tion-points after it, and sometimes explains it in a 
 parenthesis. All of which is very depressing, and 
 makes one want to renounce joking and lead a 
 better life. 
 
 Let me set down an instance of the comic 
 method, using an anecdote which has been popu- 
 lar all over the world for twelve or fifteen hundred 
 years. The teller tells it in this way : 
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER 
 In the course of a certain battle a soldier whose 
 leg had been shot off appealed to another soldier 
 who was hurrying by to carry him to the rear, in- 
 forming him at the same time of the loss which he 
 had sustained; whereupon the generous son of 
 Mars, shouldering the unfortunate, proceeded to 
 carry out his desire. The bullets and cannon-balls 
 were flying in all directions, and presently one of 
 
228 
 
 the latter took the wounded man's head off — with- 
 out, however, his deUverer being aware of it. In 
 no long time he was hailed by an oiificer, who said : 
 " Where are you going with that carcass?" 
 " To the rear, sir — he's lost his leg !" 
 " His leg, forsooth ?" responded the astonished 
 officer ; " you mean his head, you booby." 
 
 Whereupon the soldier dispossessed himself of 
 his burden, and stood looking down upon it in 
 great perplexity. At length he said : 
 
 " It is true, sir, just as you have said." Then 
 after a pause he added, " But he TOLD me IT WAS 
 HIS LEG! ! ! ! !" 
 
 Here the narrator bursts into explosion after ex- 
 plosion of thunderous horse -laughter, repeating that 
 nub from time to time through his gaspings and 
 shriekings and suffocatings. 
 
 It takes only a minute and a half to tell that in 
 its comic-story form ; and isn't worth the telling, 
 after all. Put into the humorous-story form it 
 takes ten minutes, and is about the funniest thing 
 I have ever listened to — as James Whitcomb Riley 
 tells it. 
 
 He tells it in the character of a dull-witted old 
 farmer who has just heard it for the first time, 
 thinks it is unspeakably funny, and is trying to re- 
 
229 
 
 peat it to a neighbor. But he can't remember it ; 
 so he gets all mixed up and wanders hopelessly 
 round and round, putting in tedious details that 
 don't belong in the tale and only retard it ; taking 
 them out conscientiously and putting in others 
 that are just as useless ; making minor mistakes 
 now and then and stopping to correct them and 
 explain how he came to make them ; remembering 
 things which he forgot to put in in their proper 
 place and going back to put them in there ; stop- . 
 ping his narrative a good while in order to try to 
 recall the name of the soldier that was hurt, and 
 finally remembering that the soldier's name was not 
 mentioned, and remarking placidly that the name 
 is of no real importance, anyway — better, of course, 
 if one knew it, but not essential, after all — and so 
 on, and so on, and so on. 
 
 The teller is innocent and happy and pleased 
 with himself, and has to stop every little while to 
 hold himself in and keep from laughing outright ; 
 and does hold in, but his body quakes in a jelly- 
 like way with interior chuckles ; and at the end of 
 the ten minutes the audience have laughed until 
 they are exhausted, and the tears are running down 
 their faces. 
 
 The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and 
 unconsciousness of the old farmer are perfectly 
 
230 
 
 simulated, and the result is a performance which is 
 thoroughly charming and delicious. This is art — 
 and fine and beautiful, and only a master can 
 compass it; but a machine could tell the other 
 story. 
 
 To string incongruities and absurdities together 
 in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, 
 and seem innocently unaware that they are absurd- 
 ities, is the basis of the American art, if my posi- 
 tion is correct. Another feature is the slurring of 
 the point. A third is the dropping of a studied 
 remark apparently without knowing it, as if one 
 were thinking aloud. The fourth and last i s the 
 pause. ^ 
 
 Artemus Ward dealt in numbers three and four 
 a good deal. He would begin to tell with great 
 animation something which he seemed to think 
 was wonderful ; then lose confidence, and after an 
 apparently absent-minded pause add an incongru- 
 ous remark in a soliloquizing way; and that was 
 the remark intended to explode the mine — and it 
 did. 
 
 For instance, he would say eagerly, excitedly, 
 " I once knew a man in New Zealand who hadn't 
 a tooth in his head " — here his animation would 
 die out ; a silent, reflective pause would follow, 
 then he would say dreamily, and as if to himself, 
 
231 
 
 " and yet that man could beat a drum better than 
 any man I ever saw." 
 
 The pause is an exceedingly important feature in 
 any kind of story, and a frequently recurring feat- 
 ure, too. It is a dainty thing, and delicate, and 
 also uncertain and treacherous; 'for it must be ex- 
 actly the right length — no more and no less — or it 
 fails of its purpose and makes trouble. If the 
 pause is too short the impressive point is passed, 
 and the audience have had time to divine that a 
 surprise is intended— and then you can't surprise 
 them, of course. 
 
 On the platform I used to tell a negro ghost 
 story that had a pause in front of the snapper on 
 the end, and that pause was the most important 
 thing in the whole story. If I got it the right 
 length precisely, I could spring the finishing ejacu- 
 lation with effect enough to make some impress- 
 ible girl deliver a startled little yelp and jump out 
 of her seat — and that was what I was after. This 
 story was called " The Golden Arm," and was told 
 in this fashion. You can practise with it yourself 
 — and mind you look out for the pause and get it 
 
 right. 
 
 THE GOLDEN ARM 
 
 Once 'pon a time dey wuz a monsus mean man, 
 en he live 'way out in de prairie all 'lone by his- 
 
232 
 
 self, 'cep'n he had a wife. En bimeby she died, 
 en he tuk en toted her way out dah in de prairie 
 en buried her. Well, she had a golden arm — all 
 solid gold, f urn de shoulder down. He wuz pow'ful 
 mean — pow'ful ; en dat night he couldn't sleep, 
 caze he want dat golden arm so bad. 
 
 When it come midnight he couldn't stan' it no 
 mo' ; so he git up, he did, en tuck his lantern en 
 shoved out thoo de storm en dug her up en got de 
 golden arm ; en he bent his head down 'gin de 
 win', en plowed en plowed en plowed thoo de 
 snow. Den all on a sudden he stop (make a con- 
 siderable pause here, and look startled, and take 
 a listening attitude) en say : " My Ian' , what's 
 dat !" 
 
 En he listen — en listen — en de win' say (set your 
 teeth together and imitate the wailing and wheez- 
 ing singsong of the wind), " Bzzz-z-zzz " — en den, 
 way back yonder whah de grave is, he hear a voice ! 
 — he hear a voice all mix' up in de win' — can't 
 hardly tell 'em 'part — " Bzzz-zzz — W-h-o — g-o-t^ — 
 m-y — ^g-o-l-d-e-n arm ? — zzz — zzz — W-h-o g-o-t m-y 
 g-o-l-d-e-n arm f" (You must begin to shiver vio- 
 lently now.) 
 
 En he begin to shiver en shake, en say, " Oh, 
 my ! Oh, my Ian' !" en de win' blow de lantern out, 
 en de snow en sleet blow in his face en mos' choke 
 
233 
 
 him, en he start a-plowin' knee-deep toward home 
 mos' dead, he so sk'yerd — en pooty soon he hear 
 de voice agin, en (pause) it 'us comin' after him ! 
 " Bzzz — zzz — zzz — W-h-o — g-o-t — m-y — g-o-I-d-e-n 
 — arm f 
 
 When he git to de pasture he hear it agin — closter 
 now, en a.-comin ! — a-comin' back dah in de dark en 
 de storm — (repeat the wind and the voice). When 
 he git to de house he rush up-stairs en jump in de 
 bed en kiver up, head and years, en lay dah shiverin' 
 en shakin' — en den way out dah he hear it agin! 
 — en 3.-comin! En bimeby he hear (pause — awed, 
 listening attitude) — pat — pat — pat — hit's a-comin 
 upstairs! Den he hear de latch, en he know it's in 
 de room ! 
 
 Den pooty soon he know it's Zrstannin' by de bed! 
 (Pause.) Den — he know it's a-bendin' down over 
 him — en he cain't skasely git his breath ! Den — 
 den — he seem to feel someth'n c-o-l-d, right down 
 'most agin his head ! (Pause.) 
 
 Den de voice say, right at his year, " W-h-o — g-o-t 
 — m-y — g-o-l-d-e-n arm?" (You must wail it out 
 very plaintively and accusingly ; then you stare 
 steadily and impressively into the face of the farthest- 
 gone auditor — a girl, preferably — and let that awe- 
 inspiring pause begin to build itself in the deep 
 hush. When it has reached exactly the right length, 
 
434 
 
 jump suddenly at that girl and yell, " You've 
 got it!" 
 
 If you've got ih& pause right, she'll fetch a dear 
 little yelp and spring right out of her shoes. But 
 you must get the pause right ; and you will find it 
 the most troublesome and aggravating and uncertain 
 thing you ever undertook.) 
 
ABOUT PLAY-ACTING 
 
 I HAVE a project to suggest. But first I will 
 write a chapter of introduction. 
 I have just been witnessing a remarkable play, 
 here at the Burg Theatre in Vienna. I do not 
 know of any play that much resembles it. In fact, 
 it is such a departure from the common laws of the 
 drama that the name "play" doesn't seem to fit 
 it quite snugly. However, whatever else it may 
 be, it is in any case a great and stately metaphys- 
 ical poem, and deeply fascinating. " Deeply fasci- 
 nating" is the right term: for the audience sat 
 four hours and five minutes without thrice break- 
 ing into applause, except at the close of each act ; 
 sat rapt and silent — fascinated. This piece is "The 
 Master of Palmyra." It is twenty years old ; yet 
 I doubt if you have ever heard of it. It is by Wil- 
 brandt, and is his masterpiece and the work which 
 is to make his name permanent in German litera- 
 
236 
 
 ture. It has never been played anywhere except 
 in Berlin and in the great Burg Theatre in Vienna. 
 Yet whenever it is put on the stage it packs the 
 house, and the free list is suspended. I know peo- 
 ple who have seen it ten times ; they know the 
 most of it by heart ; they do not tire of it ; and 
 they say they shall still be quite willing to go and 
 sit under its spell whenever they get the oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 There is a dash of metempsychosis in it — and it 
 is the strength of the piece. The play gave me the 
 sense of the passage of a dimly connected proces- 
 sion of dream-pictures. The scene of it is Palmyra 
 in Roman times. It covers a wide stretch of time 
 — I don't know how many years — and in the course 
 of it the chief actress is reincarnated several times: 
 four times she is a more or less young woman, and 
 once she is a lad. In the first act she is Zoe — a 
 Christian girl who has wandered across the desert 
 from Damascus to try to Christianize the Zeus- 
 worshipping pagans of Palmyra. In this character 
 she is wholly spiritual, a religious enthusiast, a de- 
 votee who covets martyrdom — and gets it. 
 
 After many years she appears in the second act 
 as Phoebe, a graceful and beautiful young light-o'- 
 love from Rome, whose soul is all for the shows 
 and luxuries and delights of this life — a dainty and 
 
237 
 
 capricious featherhead, a creature of shower and 
 sunshine, a spoiled child, but a charming one. In 
 the third act, after an interval of many years, she re- 
 appears as Persida, mother of a daughter in the fresh 
 bloom of youth. She is now a sort of combination 
 of her two earlier selves: in religious loyalty and 
 subjection she is Zoe ; in triviality of character and 
 shallowness of judgment — -together with a touch of 
 vanity in dress — she is Phoebe. 
 
 After a lapse of years she appears in the fourth 
 act as Nymphas, a beautiful boy, in whose character 
 the previous incarnations are engagingly mixed. 
 
 And after another stretch of years all these he- 
 redities are joined in the Zenobia of the fifth act — 
 a person of gravity, dignity, sweetness, with a heart 
 filled with compassion for all who suffer, and a hand 
 prompt to put into practical form the heart's be- 
 nignant impulses. 
 
 You will easily concede that the actress who pro- 
 poses to discriminate nicely these five characters, 
 and play them to the satisfaction of a cultivated 
 and exacting audience, has her work cut out for her. 
 Mme. Hohenfels has made these parts her peculiar 
 property; and she is well able to meet all the re- 
 quirements. You perceive, now, where the chief 
 part of the absorbing fascination of this piece lies ; 
 it is in watching this extraordinary artist melt these 
 
238 
 
 five characters into each other — grow, shade by 
 shade, out of one and into another through a 
 stretch of four hours and five minutes. 
 
 There are a number of curious and interesting 
 features in this piece. For instance, its hero, Ap. 
 pelles, young, handsome, vigorous, in the first act, 
 remains so all through the long ilight of years cov- 
 ered by the five acts. Other men, young in the 
 first act, are touched with gray in the second, are 
 old and racked with infirmities in the third; in the 
 fourth, all but one are gone to their long home, 
 and he is a blind and helpless hulk of ninety or a 
 hundred years. It indicates that the stretch of time 
 covered by the piece is seventy years or more. The 
 scenery undergoes decay, too — the decay of age, as- 
 sisted and perfected by a conflagration. The fine 
 new temples and palaces of the second act are by- 
 and-by a wreck of crumbled walls and prostrate col- 
 umns, mouldy, grass-grown, and desolate ; but their 
 former selves are still recognizable in their ruins. 
 The aging men and the aging scenery together con- 
 vey a profound illusion of that long lapse of time : 
 they make you live it yourself! You leave the 
 theatre with the weight of a century upon you. 
 
 Another strong effect : Death, in person, walks 
 about the stage in every act. So far as I could 
 make out, he was supposedly not visible to any ex- 
 
239 
 
 cepting two persons — the one he came for and Ap- 
 pelles. He used various costumes : but there was 
 always more black about them than any other tint ; 
 and so they were always sombre. Also they were 
 always deeply impressive and, indeed, awe-inspir- 
 ing. The face was not subjected to changes, but 
 remained the same, first and last — a ghastly white. 
 To me he was always welcome, he seemed so real 
 — the actual Death, not a play-acting artificiality. 
 He was of a solemn and stately carriage ; and he 
 had a deep voice, and used it with a noble dignity. 
 Wherever there was a turmoil of merry-making or 
 fighting or feasting or chaffing or quarrelling, or a 
 gilded pageant, or other manifestation of our trivial 
 and fleeting life, into it drifted that black figure 
 with the corpse -face, and looked its fateful look 
 and passed on ; leaving its victim shuddering and 
 smitten. And always its coming made the fussy 
 human pack seem infinitely pitiful and shabby and 
 hardly worth the attention of either saving or 
 damning. 
 
 In the beginning of the first act the young girl 
 Zoe appears by some great rocks in the desert, and 
 sits down, exhausted, to rest. Presently arrive a 
 pauper couple, stricken with age and infirmities; 
 and they begin to mumble and pray to the Spirit 
 of Life, who is said to inhabit that spot. The 
 
240 
 
 Spirit of Life appears; also Death — uninvited. 
 They are (supposably) invisible. Death, tall, black- 
 robed, corpse-faced, stands motionless and waits. 
 The aged couple pray to the Spirit of Life for a 
 means to prop up their existence and continue it. 
 Their prayer fails. The Spirit of Life prophesies 
 Zoes martyrdom : it will take place before night. 
 Soon Appelles arrives, young and vigorous and full 
 of enthusiasm ; he has led a host against the Per- 
 sians and won the battle ; he is the pet of fortune, 
 rich, honored, beloved, " Master of Palmyra." He 
 has heard that whoever stretches himself out on 
 one of those rocks there, and asks for a deathless 
 life, can have his wish. He laughs at the tradition, 
 but wants to make the trial anyway. The invisible 
 Spirit of Life warns him : " Life without end can 
 be regret without end." But he persists: let him 
 keep his youth, his strength, and his mental facul- 
 ties unimpaired, and he will take all the risks. He 
 has his desire. 
 
 From this time forth, act after act, the troubles 
 and sorrows and misfortunes and humiliations of 
 life beat upon him without pity or respite ; but he 
 will not give up, he will not confess his mistake. 
 Whenever he meets Death he still furiously defies 
 him — but Death patiently waits. He, the healer 
 of sorrows, is man's best friend : the recognition of 
 
241 
 
 this will come. As the years drag on, and on, and 
 on, the friends of the Master s youth grow old ; and 
 one by one they totter to the grave : he goes on 
 with his proud fight, and will not yield. At length 
 he is wholly alone in the world ; all his friends are 
 dead ; last of all, his darling of darlings, his son, 
 the lad Nymphas, who dies in his arms. His pride 
 is broken now ; and he would welcome Death, if 
 Death would come, if Death would hear his prayers 
 and give him peace. The closing act is fine and 
 pathetic. Appelles meets Zenobia, the helper of all 
 who suffer, and tells her his story, which moves 
 her pity. By common report she is endowed with 
 more than earthly powers ; and, since he cannot 
 have the boon of death, he appeals to her to 
 drown his memory in forgetfulness of his griefs 
 — forgetfulness, " which is death's equivalent." 
 She says (roughly translated), in an exaltation of 
 compassion : 
 
 "Come to me! 
 Kneel ; and may the power be granted me 
 To cool the fires of this poor, tortured brain, 
 And bring it peace and healing." 
 
 Me kneels. From her hand, which she lays upon 
 his head, a my.sterious influence steals through 
 him ; and he sinks into a dreamy tranquillity. 
 i6 
 
242 
 
 " Oh, if I could but so drift 
 Through this soft twilight into the night of peace, 
 Never to wake again ! 
 (Raising his hand, as if in benediction^ 
 O mother earth, farewell ! 
 Gracious thou wert to me. Farewell ! 
 Appelles goes to rest." 
 
 Death appears behind him and encloses the up- 
 lifted hand in his. Appelles shudders, wearily and 
 slowly turns, and recognizes his life-long adver- 
 sary. He smiles and puts all his gratitude into 
 one simple and touching sentence, " Ich danke 
 dir," and dies. 
 
 Nothing, I think, could be more moving, more 
 beautiful, than this close. This piece is just one 
 long, soulful, sardonic laugh at human life. Its 
 title might properly be "Is Life a Failure?" and 
 leave the five acts to play with the answer. I am 
 not at all sure that the author meant to laugh at 
 life. I only notice that he has done it. Without 
 putting into words any ungracious or discourteous 
 things about life, the episodes in the piece seem to 
 be saying all the time, inarticulately : " Note what 
 a silly, poor thing human life is ; how childish its 
 ambitions, how ridiculous its pomps, how trivial its 
 dignities, how cheap its heroisms, how capricious 
 its course, how brief its flight, how stingy in hap- 
 piness, how opulent in miseries, how few its prides, 
 
243 
 
 how multitudinous its humiliations, how comic its 
 tragedies, how tragic its comedies, how wearisome 
 and monotonous its repetition of its stupid history- 
 through the ages, with never the introduction of a 
 new detail, how hard it has tried, from the Creation 
 down, to play itself upon its possessor as a boon, 
 and has never proved its case in a single in- 
 stance !" 
 
 Take note of some of the details of the piece. 
 Each of the five acts contains an independent trag- 
 edy of its own. In each act somebody's edifice of 
 hope, or of ambition, or of happiness, goes down in 
 ruins. Even Appelles' perennial youth is only a 
 long tragedy, and his life a failure. There are two 
 martyrdoms in the piece ; and they are curiously 
 and sarcastically contrasted. In the first act the 
 pagans persecute Zoe, the Christian girl, and a pagan 
 mob slaughters her. In the fourth act those same 
 pagans — now very old and zealous — are become 
 Christians, and they persecute the pagans : a mob 
 of them slaughters the pagan youth, Nymphas, who 
 is standing up for the old gods of his fathers. No 
 remark is made about this picturesque failure of 
 civilization ; but there it stands, as an unworded 
 suggestion that civilization, even when Christian- 
 ized, was not able wholly to subdue the natural man 
 in that old day — ^just as in our day the spectacle of 
 
244 
 
 a shipwrecked French crew clubbing women and 
 children who tried to climb into the lifeboats sug- 
 gests that civilization has not succeeded in entirely- 
 obliterating the natural man even yet. Common 
 sailors ! A year ago, in Paris, at a fire, the aristoc- 
 racy of the same nation clubbed girls and women 
 out of the way to save themselves. Civilization 
 tested at top and bottom both, you see. And in 
 still another panic of fright we have this same 
 " tough " civilization saving its honor by condemn- 
 ing an innocent man to multiform death, and'hug- 
 ging and whitewashing the guilty one. 
 
 In the second act a grand Roman official is not 
 above trying to blast Appellis reputation by falsely 
 charging him with misappropriating public moneys. 
 Appelles, who is too proud to endure even the sus- 
 picion of irregularity, strips himself to naked pov- 
 erty to square the unfair account ; and his troubles 
 begin : the blight which is to continue and spread 
 strikes his life ; for the frivolous, pretty creature 
 whom he has brought from Rome has no taste for 
 poverty, and agrees to elope with a more competent 
 candidate. Her presence in the house has pre- 
 viously brought down the pride and broken the 
 heart of Appelles' poor old mother ; and her life is 
 a failure. Death comes for her, but is willing to 
 trade her for the Roman girl ; so the bargain is 
 
245 
 
 struck with Appelles, and the mother is spared for 
 the present. 
 
 No one's Hfe escapes the bhght. Timoleus, the 
 gay satirist of the first two acts, who scoffed at the 
 pious hypocrisies and money-grubbing ways of the 
 great Roman lords, is grown old and fat and blear- 
 eyed and racked with disease in the third, has lost 
 his stately purities, and watered the acid of his wit. 
 Hisliie has suffered defeat. Unthinkingly he swears 
 by Zeus — from ancient habit^and then quakes with 
 fright; for a fellow- communicant is passing by. 
 Reproached by a pagan friend of his youth for his 
 apostasy, he confesses that principle, when unsup- 
 ported by an assenting stomach, has to climb down. 
 One must have bread ; and " the bread is Chris- 
 tian now." Then the poor old wreck, once so 
 proud of his iron rectitude, hobbles away, cough- 
 ing and barking. 
 
 In that same act Appelles gives his sweet young 
 Christian daughter and her fine young pagan lover 
 his consent and blessing, and makes them utterly 
 happy — for five minutes. Then the priest and the 
 mob come, to tear them apart and put the girl in a 
 nunnery ; for marriage between the sects is forbid- 
 den. Appelles^ wife could dissolve the rule ; and 
 she wants to do it ; but under priestly pressure 
 she wavers ; then, fearing that in providing happi- 
 
246 
 
 ness for her child she would be committing a sin 
 dangerous to herself, she goes over to the opposi- 
 tion, and throws the casting vote for the nunnery. 
 The blight has fallen upon the young couple, and 
 their life is a failure. 
 
 In the fourth act, Longinus, who made such a 
 prosperous and enviable start in the first act, is left 
 alone in the desert, sick, blind, helpless, incredibly 
 old, to die : not a friend left in the world — another 
 ruined life. And in that act, also, Appelles' wor- 
 shipped boy, Nymphas, done to death by the mob, 
 breathes out his last sigh in his father's arms — one 
 more failure. In the fifth act, Appelles himself dies, 
 and is glad to do it ; he who so ignorantly rejoiced, 
 only four acts before, over the splendid present of 
 an earthly immortality — the very worst failure of 
 the lot ! 
 
247 
 
 II 
 
 Now I approach my project. Here is the thea- 
 tre-list for Saturday, May 7, 1898— cut from the 
 advertising columns of a New York paper: 
 
 PROCTOR'S CONTo'l» 
 
 9SI>S!r.^ BEFINED VAUDEVILLE. 
 
 Vw-':TL.'^w'e»*Jle debut of 
 . CSAXUSa A. GABDKEK & CO.; 
 
 Arfitnr and JeDnie Inmn, Puilliietti and Piqao, Haeb- 
 
 er Doneherty. Nichols ffiBtorB, Oeorve Evans, otbers. 
 
 SBNSA.TIONA3:. £DISOi( WAXUQBkpH. 
 
 BAI/JQIOES, ase. ORCHESTRA. 60c. 
 
 PASTOR'S 
 
 cojinsvovs 
 
 . PKRFORMAMCES. 
 
 18:30 to 11 P. H. Seats SO and 30 Cento. 
 
 .EDXSON^S woni>¥:bfui. wab-scope. 
 
 CAfiFIELD&CA^ElLETON. ELLINORE SISTERS, 
 • JOHNNY CARROLL, CURTIS A GORDON. 
 
 1 4.THST. THEATRE, Dr. 6th av. Good seats, 60c 
 j.-xi xfloS. E. SHEA In the great naval play, 
 TH E BI AJT-O'-WAS'S MAN, 
 SILVER SOUVENIRS at Wed. & Sat. Matinees. 
 
 ELECTRICAL SHOW. 
 
 S to 11 P. BL- Admission, £0c Children, 2Sc. 
 MADISON SQUABE GARDEN. 
 
 SEAMON'S .._ 
 
 RoRersBros., Haude Rimnond, Joe Welch, 
 Raymqod & Kurkamp. Gardner & Gilmore; others. 
 
 I VP r 1 1 M 4>^ ^^^- & ^<l St. Begins 8:30. 
 
 &. I UCU m. Daniel Frohman, Manage^. 
 
 Ke lcer-Shannon Go. in Clyde Fitch's 
 
 rrHE Hoxn: and the fia.me. 
 
 STAB, THE WHTTB SQUADRON. Oal. 15c. 
 
 IntrodacingBoht.BUUftrd&LanzaBigEar. Bal.2Sa. 
 
 Next Week^"Tl)e Mikado." Orch. 50c. 
 
 rTH .AVE. THEATRE. Broadffa7and28thSt, 
 
 ^ MRSa rISKE Sat.Mat.at2. 
 " In LOVE FINDS THE' WAY 
 and A BIT OF OLD CHELSEA. 
 
 Ki\W% CONTINUOUS PERFORMANCE, 
 
 Ilk 1 1 II U . 25c., 50c.. Noon to 11 P. M, 
 
 BIOGBAPH, ISBASSjES DICKSON & CO.. i CO- 
 HANS, JOaNSTOHE BENNETT. OEOBGE W. LES- 
 LIE. SMITH AND CAMPB£XL, GARDNER AND 
 
 HA R I P M OPERA HOUSE. 
 
 Mn I. & m Eto. S:J5. Mat. Sat. 2-, 
 
 HENBY HHLLEB— THE MASTEB. 
 
 Next Week— THE HIGHWAYMAN. 
 
 P^fi^= CONTINUOUS '^J'^- 
 ALAl/tf PEBFOBMANCE. SD AVE 
 X.EW DOCKSTADEB. 
 
 Hilton and DoUle Nobles. Ivan Oreboff, Cushman 
 
 and Holcombe, C. W. Uttlefleld; otbers. 
 
 JSDISON WAX-GItAPH. <NEW VIEWS). 
 
 Come any time. 1:80 to 11 P. M. 
 
 VfC*» S5o. .^TS, ■ 95&, £0o. EVGS. 
 
 ACADEMY OP MVSIO. 14th St. & Irvini? A 
 A STITPENIM>US SrcCEBS. 
 
 BATTLES o'S. NATION. 
 
 Mats. Wed. & Sat., 2. Eve. 8:15. 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 SAM T. JACK'S THEATRE, 
 
 BBOADWAY & 89TU ST. 
 
 2 BIG SHOWS EVERY DAY, 2 and «. 
 Jennie Yeamans & French Importations. 
 
 WERER a FIELDS'. gYS° MAT. TO-DAY. 
 POUSSE CAFE i^ CON-CURERS. 
 
 MISS BESSIE CLAYTON, the Queen of Daccera. 
 
 Bl I n II Matinee To-day at 2. 
 
 IJU U To-niKbtat8:15. 
 
 Last Two Perrormances of 
 
 MY FRIEND FROM INDIA. 
 
 NEXT WEEK— THE TAERYTOWH WipOW. 
 
 lUCDinill "ll o^i' <uid <2d It. Tel. 3117^. 
 
 AmtnluAll ^^1^01^ IIAT;\7ES. <:SAI.2, 
 
 ™„ ,. .^<'"''»S<in«reOi)eraOomp«nj-. 
 
 mSnth %r'S^ THE DE66AR STUDENT. 
 
 ENTIRE HOUSE. 25, 60, 75. Mat. To dav. M & 60. 
 NEXT WEEK— FAUST ON ENOLlSH)., 
 
 EMPIRE THEATRE. B'way and 40th at. 
 
 T CRANE I HoToR THE MAYOR. 
 
 Evenings at6:30. Mats. To-day and Wed. at 2:16. 
 
 OLYMPIA 
 
 MOSIO HALL. Mat. TcMtay. 
 Ani^lP Marguerite S;lTa, 
 ^UOIC, ftsjothers. 
 
 ^^ToSf- "WAR BURBLES." 
 
 Patriotic Extravagana . 
 
 KNICKERBOCKGB. B'WaY & 38TH,' 
 
 EVENINGS AT 8:15. MAT. TO-DAY AT 2.15. 
 
 SOUSA'S 
 
 NEW OPERAi 
 
 THE BRIOE-ELEGT 
 
 MAT. TO-BA'X. 
 ADELE BITCHIE |n "AU BAIN." 
 
 Truly Shattuck, Gerome Edwardy, and othera_ 
 
 WAIXACK'S Evgs. 8:15. Mat. Todiay, %. 
 
 t^ll; THE BOSTONIANS 
 IN THE SERENADE. 
 
 JHE CIRCUS GIRL. 
 
 Virginia Earl. James Powers, ftCk 
 "A trump card : very bricht."— Herald. . ' 
 "^enliiff oC uaallored eajoym6iit^"i-T)ilr. . 
 
24S 
 
 Now I arrive at my project, and make my sug- 
 gestion. From the look of this lightsome feast, I 
 conclude that what you need is a tonic. Send for 
 " The Master of Palmyra." You are trying to 
 make yourself believe that life is a comedy, that 
 its sole business is fun, that there is nothing serious 
 in it. You are ignoring the skeleton in your closet. 
 Send for " The Master of Palmyra." You are 
 neglecting a valuable side of your life ; presently 
 it will be atrophied. You are eating too much 
 mental sugar ; you will bring on Bright's disease of 
 the intellect. You need a tonic ; you need it very 
 much. Send for "The Master of Palmyra." You 
 will not need to translate it : its story is as plain 
 as a procession of pictures. 
 
 I have made my suggestion. Now I wish to put 
 an annex to it. And that is this : It is right and 
 wholesome to have those light comedies and enter- 
 taining shows ; and I shouldn't wish to see them 
 diminished. But none of us is always in the 
 comedy spirit ; we have our graver moods ; they 
 come to us all ; the lightest of us cannot escape 
 them. These moods have their appetites — healthy 
 and legitimate appetites — and there ought to be 
 some way of satisfying them. It seems to me that 
 New York ought to have one theatre devoted to 
 tragedy. With her three millions of population, 
 
249 
 
 and seventy outside millions to draw upon, she can 
 afford it, she can support it. America devotes 
 more time, labor, money, and attention to distrib- 
 uting literary and musical culture atnong the gen- 
 eral public than does any other nation, perhaps; 
 yet here you find her neglecting what is possibly 
 the most effective of all the breeders and nurses 
 and disseminators of high literary taste and lofty 
 emotion — the tragic stage. To leave that power- 
 ful agency out is to haul the culture-wagon with a 
 crippled team. Nowadays, when a mood comes 
 which only Shakspeare can set to music, what must 
 we do? Read Shakspeare ourselves! Isn't it 
 pitiful? It is playing an organ solo on a jew's- 
 harp. We can't read. None but the Booths can 
 doit. 
 
 Thirty years ago Edwin Booth played " Hamlet " 
 a hundred nights in New York. With three times 
 the population, how often is " Hamlet " played 
 now in a year? If Booth were back now in his 
 prime, how often could he play it in New York ? 
 Some will say twenty -five nights. I will say 
 three hundred, and say it with confidence. The 
 tragedians are dead ; but I think that the taste 
 and intelligence which made their market are 
 not. 
 
 What kas come over us English-speaking people? 
 
250 
 
 During the first lialf of this century tragedies and 
 great tragedians were as common with us as farce 
 and comedy; and it was the same in England. 
 Now we have not a tragedian, I believe ; and Lon- 
 don, with her fifty shows and theatres, has but 
 three, I think. It is an astonishing thing, when you 
 come to consider it. Vienna remains upon the 
 ancient basis : there has been no change. She 
 sticks to the former proportions : a number of 
 rollicking comedies, admirably played, every night ; 
 and also every night at the Burg Theatre — that 
 wonder of the world for grace and beauty and rich- 
 ness and splendor and costliness — a majestic drama 
 of depth and seriousness, or a standard old tragedy. 
 It is only within the last dozen years that men have 
 learned to do miracles on the stage in the way of 
 grand and enchanting scenic effects ; and it is at 
 such a time as this that we have reduced our 
 scenery mainly to different breeds of parlors and 
 varying aspects of furniture and rugs. I think we 
 must have a Burg in New York, and Burg scenery, 
 and a great company like the Burg company. Then, 
 with a tragedy-tonic once or twice a month, we shall 
 enjoy the comedies all the better. Comedy keeps 
 the heart sweet ; but we all know that there is 
 wholesome refreshment for both mind and heart in 
 an occasional climb among the pomps of the Intel- 
 
251 
 
 lectual snow-summits built by Shakspeare and those 
 others. Do I seem to be preaching? It is out of 
 my Une : I only do it because the rest of the clergy 
 seem to be on vacation. 
 
CONCERNING THE JEWS 
 
 SOME months ago I published a magazine ar- 
 ticle* descriptive of a remarkable scene in the 
 Imperial Parliament in Vienna. Since then I 
 have received from Jews in America several letters 
 of inquiry. They were difficult letters to answer, 
 for they were not very definite. But at last I have 
 received a definite one. It is from a lawyer, and 
 he really asks the questions which the other writers 
 probably believed they were asking. By help of 
 this text I will do the best I can to pubHcly answer 
 this correspondent, and also the others — at the same 
 time apologizing for having failed to reply privately. 
 The lawyer's letter reads as follows : 
 
 " I have read ' Stirring Times in Austria.' One point in 
 particular is of vital import to not a few thousand people, 
 including myself, being a point about which I have often 
 wanted to address a question to some disinterested person. 
 The show of military force in the Austrian Parliament, 
 which precipitated the riots, was not introduced by any Jew. 
 
 *See Harper's Magazine for March, 1898, 
 
253 
 
 No Jew was a member of that body. No Jewish question 
 was involved in the Ausgleich or in the language proposi- 
 tion. No Jew was insulting anybody. In short, no Jew 
 was doing any mischief toward anybody whatsoever. In 
 fact, the Jews were the only ones of the nineteen different 
 races in Austria which did not have a party— they are ab- 
 solutely non-participants. Yet in your article you say that 
 in the rioting which followed, all classes of people were 
 unanimous only on one thing, viz., in being against the 
 Jews. Now will you kindly tell me why, in your judgment, 
 the Jews have thus ever been, and are even now, in these 
 days of supposed intelligence, the butt of baseless, vicious 
 animosities ? I dare say that for centuries there has been 
 no more quiet, undisturbing, and well-behaving citizen, as 
 a class, than that same Jew. It seems to me that ignorance 
 and fanaticism cannot alone account for these horrible and 
 unjust persecutions. 
 
 " Tell me, therefore, from your vantage-point of cold view, 
 what in your mind is the cause. Can American Jews do 
 anything to correct it either in America or abroad ? Will 
 it ever come to an end ? Will a Jew be permitted to live 
 honestly, decently, and peaceably like the rest of mankind ? 
 What has become of the Golden Rule .'" 
 
 I will begin by saying that if I thought myself 
 prejudiced against the Jew, I should hold it fairest 
 to leave this subject to a person not crippled in 
 that way. But I think I have no such prejudice. 
 A few years ago a Jew observed to me that there 
 was no uncourteous reference to his people in my 
 books, and asked how it happened. It happened 
 because the disposition was lacking. I am quite 
 
254 
 
 sure that (bar one) I have no race prejudices, and 
 I think I have no color prejudices nor caste preju- 
 dices nor creed prejudices. Indeed, I know it. I 
 can stand any society. All that I care to know is 
 that a man is a human being — that is enough for 
 me ; he can't be any worse. I have no special re- 
 gard for Satan ; but I can at least claim that I have 
 no prejudice against him. It may even be that I 
 lean a little his way, on account of his not having 
 a fair show. All religions issue bibles against him, 
 and say the most injurious things about him, but 
 we never hear his side. We have none but the 
 evidence for the prosecution, and yet we have ren, 
 dered the verdict. To my mind, this is irregular, 
 It is un-English ; it is un-American ; it is French. 
 Without this precedent Dreyfus could not have 
 been condemned. Of course Satan has some kind 
 of a case, it goes without saying. It may be' a 
 poor one, but that is nothing; that can be said 
 about any of us. As soon as I can get at the facts 
 I will undertake his rehabilitation myself, if I can 
 find an unpolitic publisher. It is a thing which we 
 ought to be willing to do for any one who is under 
 a cloud. We may not pay him reverence, for that 
 would be indiscreet, but we can at least respect his 
 talents. A person who has for untold centuries 
 maintained the imposing position of spiritual head 
 
255 
 
 of four-fifths of the human race, and political head 
 of the whole of it, must be granted the possession 
 of executive abilities of the loftiest order. In his 
 large presence the other popes and politicians 
 shrink to midges for the microscope. I would 
 like to see him. I would rather see him and shake 
 him by the tail than any other member of the 
 European Concert. In the present paper I shall 
 allow myself to use the word Jew as if it stood for 
 both religion and race. It is handy ; and, besides, 
 that is what the term means to the general world. 
 In the above letter one notes these points : 
 
 1. The Jew is a well-behaved citizen. 
 
 2. Can ignorance and fanaticism alone account 
 for his unjust treatment ? 
 
 3. Can Jews do anything to improve the situa- 
 tion? 
 
 4. The Jews have no party; they are non-par- 
 ticipants. 
 
 5. Will the persecution ever come to an end? 
 
 6. What has become of the Golden Rule ? 
 Point No. I. — We must grant proposition No. i 
 
 for several sufficient reasons. The Jew is not a 
 disturber of the peace of any country. Even his 
 enemies will concede that. He is not a loafer, he 
 is not a sot, he is not noisy, he is not a brawler nor 
 a rioter, he is not quarrelsome. In the statistics of 
 
2S6 
 
 crime his presence is conspicuously rare — in all 
 countries. With murder and other crimes of vio- 
 lence he has but little to do : he is a stiranger to 
 the hangman. In the police court's daily long roll 
 of " assaults " and " drunk and disorderlies " his 
 name seldom appears. That the Jewish home is a 
 home in the truest sense is a fact which no one 
 \vill dispute. The family is knitted together by the 
 strongest affections ; its members show each other 
 every due respect ; and reverence for the elders is 
 an inviolate law of the house. The Jew is not a 
 burden on the charities of the state nor of the city ; 
 these could cease from their functions without af- 
 fecting him. When he is well enough, he works ; 
 when he is incapacitated, his own people take care 
 of him. And not in a poor and stingy way, but 
 with a fine and large benevolence. His race is en- 
 titled to be called the most benevolent of all the 
 races of men. A Jewish beggar is not impossible, 
 perhaps ; such a thing may exist, but there are 
 few men that can say they have seen that spectacle. 
 The Jew has been staged in many uncompliment- 
 ary forms, but, so far as I know, no dramatist has 
 done him the injustice to stage him as a beggar. 
 Whenever a Jew has real need to beg, his people 
 save him from the necessity of doing it. The 
 charitable institutions of the Jews are supported 
 
2S7 
 
 by Jewish money, and amply. The Jews make no 
 noise about it ; it is done quietly ; they do not nag 
 and pester and harass us for contributions ; they 
 give us peace, and set us an example — an example 
 which we have not found ourselves able to follow ; 
 for by nature we are not free givers, and have to 
 be patiently and persistently hunted down in the 
 interest of the unfortunate. 
 
 These facts are all on the credit side of the 
 proposition that the Jew is a good and orderly cit- 
 izen. Summed up, they certify that he is quiet, 
 peaceable, industrious, unaddicted to high crimes 
 and brutal dispositions ; that his family life is com- 
 mendable ; that he is not a burden upon public 
 charities ; that he is not a beggar ; that in benevo- 
 lence he is above the reach of competition. These 
 are the very quint - essentials of good citizenship. 
 If you can add that he is as honest as the average 
 of his neighbors — But I think that question is 
 affirmatively answered by the fact that he is a suc- 
 cessful business man. The basis of successful busi- 
 ness is honesty; a business cannot thrive where 
 the parties to it cannot trust each other. In the 
 matter of numbers the Jew counts for little in the 
 overwhelming population of New York ; but that 
 his honesty counts for much is guaranteed by the 
 fact that the immense wholesale business houses of 
 17 
 
2S8 
 
 Broadway, from the Battery to Union Square, is 
 substantially in his hands. 
 
 I suppose that the most picturesque example in 
 history of a trader's trust in his fellow-trader was 
 one where it was not Christian trusting Christian, 
 but Christian trusting Jew. That Hessian Duke 
 who used to sell his subjects to George III. to fight 
 George Washington with got rich at it ; and by- 
 and-by, when the wars engendered by the French 
 Revolution made his throne too warm for him, he 
 was obliged to fly the country. He was in a hurry, 
 and had to leave his earnings behind — $9,000,000. 
 He had to risk the money with some one without 
 security. He did not select a Christian, but a Jew 
 — a Jew of only modest means, but of high charac- 
 ter ; a character so high that it left him lonesome — 
 Rothschild of Frankfort. Thirty years later, when 
 Europe had become quiet and safe again, the Duke 
 came back from overseas, and the Jew returned 
 the loan, with interest added.* 
 
 * Here is another piece of picturesque history ; and it reminds us 
 that shabbiness and dishonesty are not the monopoly of any race or ■ 
 creed, but are merely human : 
 
 "Congress has passed a bill to pay $379.56 to Moses Pender- 
 grass, of Libertyville, Missouri. The story of the reason of this lib- 
 erality is pathetically interesting, and shows the sort of pickle that 
 an honest man may get into who undertakes to do an honest job of 
 work for Uncle Sam. In 1886 Moses Pen'dergrass put in a bid for 
 
259 
 
 The Jew has his other side. He has some dis- 
 creditable ways, though he has not a monopoly of 
 them, because he cannot get entirely rid of vexa- 
 
 the contract to carry the mail on the route from Knob Lick to Lib- 
 ertyville and Coffman, thirty miles a day, from July i, 1887, for 
 one year. He got the postmaster at Knob Lick to write the letter 
 for him, and while Moses intended that his bid should be $400, his 
 scribe carelessly made it $4. Moses got the contract, and did not 
 find out about the mistake until the end of the first quarter, when 
 he got his first pay. When he found at what rate he was working 
 he was sorely cast down, and opened communication with the Post- 
 OfBce Department. The department informed him that he must 
 either carry out his contract or throw it up, and that if he threw it 
 up his bondsmen would have to pay the government $1459.85 dam- 
 ages. So Moses carried out his contract, walked thirty miles every 
 week-day for a year, and carried the mail, and received for his labor 
 $4 — or, to be accurate, $6.84 ; for, the route being extended after 
 his bid was accepted, the pay was proportionately increased. Now, 
 after ten years, a bill was finally passed to pay to Moses the difference 
 between what he earned in that unlucky year and what he received. " 
 
 The Sun, which tells the above story, says that bills were intro- 
 duced in three or four Congresses for Moses' relief, and that com- 
 mittees repeatedly investigated his claim. 
 
 It took six Congresses, containing in their persons the compressed 
 virtues of 70,000,000 of people, and cautiously and carefully giving 
 expression to those virtues in the fear of God and the next election, 
 eleven years to find out some way to cheat a fellow-Christian out of 
 about $13 on his honestly executed contract, and out of nearly $300 
 due him on its enlarged terms. And they succeeded. During the 
 same time they paid out $1,000,000,000 in pensions — a third of it 
 unearned and undeserved. This indicates a. splendid all-around 
 competency in theft, for it starts with farthings, and works its in- 
 dustries all the way up to ship-loads. It may be possible that the 
 Jews can beat this, but the man that bets on it is taking chances. 
 
2faO 
 
 tious Christian competition. We have seen that he 
 seldom transgresses the laws against crimes of vio- 
 lence. Indeed, his dealings with courts are almost 
 restricted to matters connected with commerce. 
 He has a reputation for various small forms of 
 cheating, and for practising oppressive usury, and 
 for burning himself out to get the insurance, and 
 for arranging cunning contracts which leave him an 
 exit but lock the other man in, and for smart eva- 
 sions which find him safe and comfortable just 
 within the strict letter of the law, when court and 
 jury know very well that he has violated the spirit 
 of it. He is a frequent and faithful and capable 
 officer in the civil service, but he is charged with 
 an unpatriotic disinclination to stand by the flag as 
 a soldier — like the Christian Quaker. 
 
 Now if you offset these discreditable features by 
 the creditable ones summarized in a preceding para- 
 graph beginning with the words, " These facts are all 
 on the credit side," and strike a balance, what must 
 the verdict be ? This, I think : that, the merits and 
 demerits being fairly weighed and measured on 
 both sides, the Christian can claim no superiority 
 over the Jew in the matter of good citizenship. 
 
 Yet in all countries, from the dawn of history, 
 the Jew has been persistently and implacably hated, 
 and with frequency persecuted. 
 
26l 
 
 Point No. 2. — " Can fanaticism alone account for 
 this?" 
 
 Years ago I used to think that it was responsible 
 for nearly all of it, but latterly I have come to 
 think that this was an error. Indeed, it is now my 
 conviction that it is responsible for hardly any 
 of it. 
 
 In this Connection I call to mind Genesis, chap- 
 ter xlvii. 
 
 We have all thoughtfully — or unthoughtfully — 
 read the pathetic story of the years of plenty and 
 the years of famine in Egypt, and how Joseph, 
 with that opportunity, made a corner in broken 
 hearts, and the crusts of the poor, and human lib- 
 erty — a corner whereby he took a nation's money 
 all away, to the last penny ; took a nation's live- 
 stock all away, to the last hoof ; took a nation's 
 land away, to the last acre ; then took the nation 
 itself, buying it for bread, man by man, woman by 
 woman, child by child, till all were slaves ; a corner 
 which took everything, left nothing; a corner so 
 stupendous that, by comparison with it, the most 
 gigantic corners in subsequent history are but baby 
 things, for it dealt in hundreds of millions of bush- 
 els, and its profits were reckonable by hundreds of 
 millions of dollars, and it was a disaster so crushing 
 that its effects have not wholly disappeared from 
 
262 
 
 Egypt to-day, more than three thousand years 
 after the event. 
 
 Is it presumable that the eye of Egypt was upon 
 Joseph the foreign Jew all this time ? I think it 
 likely. Was it friendly ? We must doubt it. Was 
 Joseph establishing a character for his race which 
 would survive long in Egypt? and in time would 
 his name come to be familiarly used to express 
 that character — like Shylock's ? It is hardly to be 
 doubted. Let us remember that this was centuries 
 before the crucifixion. 
 
 I wish to come down eighteen hundred years 
 later and refer to a remark made by one of the 
 Latin historians. I read it in a translation many 
 years ago, and it comes back to me now with force. 
 It was alluding to a time when people were still 
 living who could have seen the Savior in the flesh. 
 Christianity was so new that the people of Rome 
 had hardly heard of it, and had but confused no- 
 tions of what it was. The substance of the remark 
 was this : Some Christians were persecuted in Rome 
 through error, they being " mistaken for Jews." 
 
 The meaning seems plain. These pagans had 
 nothing against Christians, but they were quite 
 ready to persecute Jews. For some reason or 
 other they hated a Jew before they even knew 
 what a Christian was. May I not assume, then. 
 
263 
 
 that the persecution of Jews is a thing which ante- 
 dates Christianity and was not born of Christianity? 
 I think so. What was the origin of the feeHng? ' 
 
 When I was a boy, in the back settlements of 
 the Mississippi Valley, where a gracious and beau- 
 tiful Sunday-school simplicity and unpracticality 
 prevailed, the " Yankee " (citizen of the New Eng- 
 land States) was hated with a splendid energy. 
 But religion had nothing to do with it. In a trade, 
 the Yankee was held to be about five times the 
 match of the Westerner. His shrewdness, his in- 
 sight, his judgment, his knowledge, his enterprise, 
 and his formidable cleverness in applying these 
 forces were frankly confessed, and most compe- 
 tently cursed. 
 
 In the cotton States, after the war, the simple 
 and ignorant negroes made the crops for the white 
 planter on shares. The Jew came down in force, 
 set up shop on the plantation, supplied all the 
 negro's wants on credit, and at the end of the sea- 
 son was proprietor of the negro's share of the pres- 
 ent crop and of part of his share of the next one. 
 Before long, the whites detested the Jew, and it is 
 doubtful if the negro loved him. 
 
 The Jew is being legislated out of Russia. The 
 reason is not concealed. The movement was in- 
 stituted because the Christian peasant and villager 
 
264 
 
 ^^'stood no chance against his commercial abilities. 
 He was always ready to lend money on a crop, 
 and sell vodka and other necessaries of life on 
 credit while the crop was growing. When settle- 
 ment day came he owned the crop ; and next 
 year or year after he owned the farm, like Jo- 
 seph. 
 
 In the dull and ignorant England of John's time 
 everybody got into debt to the Jew. He gathered 
 all lucrative enterprises into his hands ; he was the 
 king of commerce ; he was ready to be helpful in 
 all profitable ways ; he even financed crusades for 
 the rescue of the Sepulchre. To wipe out his ac- 
 count with the nation and restore business to its 
 natural and incompetent channels he had to be 
 banished the realm. 
 
 For the like reasons Spain had to banish him 
 four hundred years ago, and Austria about a couple 
 of centuries later. , 
 
 In all the ages Christian Europe has been obliged 
 to curtail his activities. If he entered upon a 
 mechanical trade, the Christian had to retire from 
 it. If he set up as a doctor, he was the best one, 
 and he took the business. If he exploited agricult- 
 ure, the other farmers had to get at something 
 else. Since there was no way to successfully com- 
 pete with him in any vocation, the law had to step 
 
265 
 
 in and save the Christian from the poor-house. 
 Trade after trade was taken away from the Jew by 
 statute till practically none was left. He was for- 
 bidden to engage in agriculture ; he was forbidden 
 to practise law; he was forbidden to practise 
 medicine, except among Jews; he was forbidden 
 the handicrafts. Even the seats of learning and 
 the schools of science had to be closed against this 
 tremendous antagonist. Still, almost bereft of em- 
 ployments, he found ways to make money, even 
 ways to get rich. Also ways to invest his takings 
 well, for usury was not denied him. In the hard 
 conditions suggested, the Jew without brains could 
 not survive, and the Jew with brains had to keepi^" 
 them in good training and well sharpened up, or 
 starve. Ages of restriction to the one tool which 
 the law was not able to take from him — his brain 
 — have made that tool singularly competent ; ages 
 of compulsory disuse of his hands have atrophied 
 them, and he never uses them now. This history 
 has a very, very commercial look, a most sordid 
 and practical commercial look, the business aspect 
 of a Chinese cheap-labor crusade. Religious prej- 
 udices may account for one part of it, but not for 
 the other nine. 
 
 Protestants have persecuted Catholics, but they 
 did not take their livelihoods away from them. 
 
266 
 
 The Catholics have persecuted the Protestants 
 with bloody and awful bitterness, but they n«ver 
 closed agriculture and the handicrafts against them. 
 Why was that ? That has the candid look of gen- 
 uine religious persecution, not a trade-union boy- 
 cott in a religious disguise. 
 
 The Jews are harried and obstructed in Austria 
 and Germany, and lately in France ; but England 
 and America give them an open field and yet sur- 
 vive. Scotland ofTers them an unembarrassed field 
 too, but there are not many takers. There are a 
 few Jews in Glasgow, and one in Aberdeen ; but 
 that is because they can't earn enough to get away. 
 The Scotch pay themselves that compliment, but it 
 is authentic. 
 
 I feel convinced that the Crucifixion has not 
 much to do with the world's attitude towards the 
 Jew; that the reasons for it are older than that 
 event, as suggested by Egypt's experience and by 
 Rome's regret for having persecuted an unknown 
 quantity called a Christian, under the mistaken im- 
 pression that she was merely persecuting a Jew. 
 Merely a Jew — a skinned eel who was used to it, 
 presumably. I am persuaded that in Russia, Aus- 
 tria, and Germany nine-tenths of the hostihty to 
 the Jew comes from the average Christian's in- 
 ability to compete successfully with the average 
 
267 
 
 Jew in business— in either straight business or the 
 questionable sort. 
 
 In Berlin, a few years ago, I read a speech which 
 frankly urged the expulsion of the Jews from Ger- 
 many, and the agitator's reason was as frank as his 
 proposition. It was this: that eighty- five per cent. 
 of the successful lawyers of Berlin were Jews, and 
 that about the same percentage of the great and 
 lucrative businesses of all sorts in Germany were in 
 the hands of the Jewish race ! Isn't it an amazing 
 confession? It was but another way of saying 
 that in a population of 48,000,000, of whom only 
 500,000 were registered as Jews, eighty-five per 
 cent, of the brains and honesty of the whole was 
 lodged in the Jews. I must insist upon the honesty 
 — it is an essential of successful business, taken by 
 and large. Of course it does not rule out rascals 
 entirely, even among Christians, but it is a good 
 working rule, nevertheless. The speaker's figures 
 may have been inexact, but the motive of persecu- 
 tion stands out as clear as day. 
 
 The man claimed that in Berlin the banks, the 
 newspapers, the theatres, the great mercantile, 
 shipping, mining, and manufacturing interests, the 
 big army and city contracts, the tramways, and 
 pretty much all other properties of high value, and 
 also the small businesses, were in the hands of the 
 
268 
 
 Jews. He said the Jew was pushing the Christian 
 to the wall all along the line ; that it was all a 
 Christian could do to scrape together a living ; and 
 that the Jew must be banished, and soon — there 
 was no other way of saving the Christian. Here 
 in Vienna, last autumn, an agitator said that all 
 these disastrous details were true of Austria-Hun- 
 gary also ; and in fierce language he demanded the 
 expulsion of the Jews. When politicians come 
 out without a blush and read the baby act in this 
 frank way, unrebuked, it is a very good indication 
 that they have a market back of them, and know 
 where to fish for votes. 
 
 You note the crucial point of the mentioned 
 agitation ; the argument is that the Christian can- 
 not compete with the Jew, and that hence his very 
 bread is in peril. To human beings this is a much 
 more hate-inspiring thing than is any detail con- 
 nected with religion. With most people, of a 
 necessity, bread and meat take first rank, religion 
 second. I am convinced that the persecution of 
 the Jew is not due in any large degree to religious 
 prejudice. 
 
 No, the Jew is a money-getter; and in getting 
 his money he is a very serious obstruction to less 
 capable neighbors who are on the same quest. I 
 think that that is the trouble. In estimating 
 
209 
 
 worldly values the Jew is not shallow, but deep. 
 With precocious wisdom he found out in the morn- 
 ing of time that some men worship rank, some 
 worship heroes, some worship power, some worship 
 God, and that over these ideals they dispute and can- 
 not unite — but that they all worship money ; so he 
 made it the end and aim of his life to get it. He 
 was at it in Egypt thirty-six centuries ago ; he was 
 at it in Rome when that Christian got persecuted 
 by mistake for him ; he has been at it ever since. 
 The cost to him has been heavy; his success has 
 made the whole human race his enemy— but it has 
 paid, for it has brought him envy, and that is the 
 only thing which men will sell both soul and body 
 to get. He long ago observed that a millionaire 
 commands respect, a two-millionaire homage, a 
 multi-millionaire the deepest deeps of adoration. 
 We all know that feeling ; we have seen it express 
 itself. We have noticed that when the average 
 man mentions the name of a multi-millionaire he 
 does it with that mixture in his voice of awe 
 and reverence and lust which burns in a French- 
 man's eye when it falls on another man's cen- 
 time. 
 
 Point No. 4. — " The Jews have no party ; they 
 are non-participants." 
 
 Perhaps you have let the secret out and given 
 
270 
 
 yourself away. It seems hardly a credit to the 
 race that it is able to say that ; or to you, sir, that 
 you can say it without remorse ; more that you 
 should offer it as a plea against maltreatment, in- 
 justice, and oppression. Who gives the Jew the 
 right, who gives any race the right, to sit still, in a 
 free country, and let somebody else look after its 
 safety? The oppressed Jew was entitled to all 
 pity in the former times under brutal autocracies, 
 for he was weak and friendless, and had no way 
 to help his case. But he has ways now, and he 
 has had them for a century, but I do not see that 
 he has tried to make serious use of them. When 
 the Revolution set him free in France it was an 
 act of grace — the grace of other people ; he does 
 not appear in it as a helper. I do not know that 
 he helped when England set him free. Among 
 the Twelve Sane Men of France who have stepped 
 forward with great Zola at their head to fight 
 (and win, I hope and believe*) the battle for the 
 most infamously misused Jew of modern times, 
 do you find a great or rich or illustrious Jew 
 helping? In the United States he was created 
 free in the beginning — he did not need to help, 
 of course. In Austria and Germany and France 
 
 * The article was written in the summer of 1898. — Ed. 
 
271 
 
 he has a vote, but of what considerable use is 
 it to him? He doesn't seem to know how to 
 apply it to the best effect. With all his splen- 
 did capacities and all his fat wealth he is to-day not 
 politically important in any country. In America, 
 as early as 1854, the ignorant Irish hod-carrier, who 
 had a spirit of his own and a way of exposing it to 
 the weather, made it apparent to all that he must 
 be politically reckoned with ; yet fifteen years be- 
 fore that we hardly knew what an Irishman looked 
 like. As an intelligent force and numerically, he 
 has always been away down, but he has governed 
 the country just the same. It was because he was 
 organized. It made his vote valuable — in fact, 
 essential. 
 
 You will say the Jew is everywhere numerically 
 feeble. That is nothing to the point — with the 
 Irishman's history for an object-lesson. But I am 
 coming to your numerical feebleness presently. In 
 all parhamentary countries you could no doubt 
 elect Jews to the legislatures — and even one mem- 
 ber in such a body is sometimes a force which 
 counts. How deeply have you concerned your- 
 selves about this in Austria, France, and Germany ? 
 Or even in America, for that matter? You remark 
 that the Jews were not to blame for the riots in 
 this Reichsrath here, and you add with satisfaction 
 
272 
 
 that there wasn't one in that body. That is not 
 strictly correct ; if it were, would it not be in order 
 for you to explain it and apologize for it, not try 
 to make a merit of it ? But I think that the Jew 
 was by no means in as large force there as he 
 ought to have been, with his chances. Austria 
 opens the suffrage to him on fairly liberal terms, 
 and it must surely be his own fault that he is so 
 much in the background politically. 
 
 As to your numerical weakness. I mentioned 
 some figures awhile ago — 500,000 — as the Jewish 
 population of Germany. I will add some more — 
 6,000,000 in Russia, 5,000,000 in Austria, 250,000 
 in the United States. I take them from memory ; 
 I read them in the Cyclopczdia Britannica ten or 
 twelve years ago. Still, I am entirely sure of them. 
 If those statistics are correct, my argument is not 
 as strong as it ought to be as concerns America, but 
 it still has strength. It is plenty strong enough as 
 concerns Austria, for ten years ago 5,000,000 was 
 nine per cent, of the empire's population. The 
 Irish would govern the Kingdom of Heaven if they 
 had a strength there like that. 
 
 I have some suspicions ; I got them at second- 
 hand, but they have remained with me these ten or 
 twelve years. When I read in the C. B. that the 
 Jewish population of the United States was 250,- 
 
27a 
 
 ooo, I wrote the editor, and explained to him that 
 I was personally acquainted with more Jews than 
 that in my country, and that his iigures were with- 
 out a doubt a misprint for 25,000,000. I also added 
 that I was personally acquainted with that many 
 there ; but that was only to raise his confidence in 
 me, for it was not true. His answer miscarried, 
 and I never got it ; but I went around talking 
 about the matter, and people told me they had rea- 
 son to suspect that for business reasons many Jews 
 whose dealings were mainly with the Christians did 
 not report themselves as Jews in the census. It 
 looked plausible ; it looks plausible yet. Look at 
 the city of New York ; and look at Boston, and 
 Philadelphia, and New Orleans, and Chicago, and 
 Cincinnati, and San Francisco — how your race 
 swarms in those places ! — and everywhere else in 
 America, down to the least little village. Read 
 the signs on the marts of commerce and on the 
 shops; Goldstein (gold stone), Edelstein (precious 
 stone), Blumenthal (flower-vale), Rosenthal (rose- 
 vale), Veilchenduft (violet odor), Singvogel (song- 
 bird), Rosenzweig (rose branch), and all the amazing 
 list of beautiful and enviable names which Prussia 
 and Austria glorified you with so long ago. It is 
 another instance of Europe's coarse and cruel per- 
 secution of your race ; not that it was coarse and 
 18 
 
274 
 
 cruel to outfit it with pretty and poetical names 
 like those, but that it was coarse and cruel to make 
 it pay for them or else take such hideous and often 
 indecent names that to-day their owners never use 
 them ; or, if they do, only on official papers. And 
 it was the many, not the few, who got the odious 
 names, they being too poor to bribe the officials to 
 grant them better ones. 
 
 Now why was the race renamed? I have been 
 told that in Prussia it was given to using fictitious 
 names, and often changing them, so as to beat the 
 tax-gatherer, escape military service, and so on ; 
 and that finally the idea was hit upon of furnishing 
 all the inmates of a house with one and the same 
 surname, and then holding the house responsible 
 right along for those inmates, and accountable for 
 any disappearances that might occur ; it made the 
 Jews keep track of each other, for self-interest's 
 sake, and saved the government the trouble.* 
 
 * In Austria the renaming was merely done because the Jews in 
 some newly acquired regions had no surnames, but were mostly 
 named Abraham and Moses, and therefore the tax-gatherer could 
 not tell t'other from which, and was likely to lose his reason over 
 the matter. The renaming was put into the hands of the War De- 
 partment, and a charming mess the graceless young lieutenants 
 made of it. To them a Jew was of no sort of consequence, and 
 they labelled the race in a way to make the angels weep. As an 
 example, take these two: Abraham Bellyache and Schmul Godbe- 
 damned. — Culled from "Namens-Studien," by Karl Emil Franzos. 
 
275 
 
 If that explanation of how the Jews of Prussia 
 came to be renamed is correct, if it is true that 
 they fictitiously registered themselves to gain cer- 
 tain advantages, it may possibly be true that in 
 America they refrain from registering themselves as 
 Jews to fend off the damaging prejudices of the 
 Christian customer. I have no way of knowing 
 whether this notion is well founded or not. There 
 may be other and better ways of explaining why 
 only that poor little 250,000 of our Jews got into 
 the Cyclopcedia. I may, of course, be mistaken, but 
 I am strongly of the opinion that we have an im- 
 mense Jewish population in America. 
 
 Point No. 3. — " Can Jews do anything to improve 
 the situation ?" 
 
 I think so. If I may make a suggestion without 
 seeming to be trying to teach my grandmother how 
 to suck eggs, I will offer it. In our days we have 
 learned the value of combination. We apply it 
 everywhere — in railway systems, in trusts, in trade 
 unions, in Salvation Armies, in minor politics, in 
 major politics, in European Concerts. Whatever 
 our strength may be, big or little, we organize it. 
 We have found out that that is the only way to 
 get the most out of it that is in it. We know the 
 weakness of individual sticks, and the strength of 
 the concentrated fagot. Suppose you try a scheme 
 
276 
 
 like this, for instance. In England and America 
 put every Jew on the census-book as a Jew (in case 
 you have not been doing that). Get up volunteer 
 regiments composed of Jews solely, and, when the 
 drum beats, fall in and go to the front, so as to re- 
 move the reproach that you have few Mass6nas 
 among you, and that you feed on a country but 
 don't like to fight for it. Next, in politics, organ- 
 ize you strength, band together, and deliver the 
 casting vote where you can, and, where you can't, 
 compel as good terms as possible. You huddle to 
 yourselves already in all countries, but you huddle 
 to no sufficient purpose, politically speaking. You 
 do not seem to be organized, except for your char- 
 ities. There you are omnipotent ; there you com- 
 pel your due of recognition — you do not have to 
 beg for it. It shows what you can do when you 
 band together for a definite purpose. 
 
 And then from America and England you can 
 encourage your race in Austria, France, and Ger- 
 many, and materially help it. It was a pathetic 
 tale that was told by a poor Jew in Galicia a fort^ 
 night ago during the riots, after he had been raided 
 by the Christian peasantry and despoiled of every- 
 thing he had. He said his vote was of no value 
 to him, and he wished he could be excused from 
 casting it, for, indeed, casting it was a sure damage 
 
277 
 
 to him, since no matter which party he voted for, 
 the other party would come straight and take its 
 revenge out of him. Nine per cent, of the popu- 
 lation of the empire, these Jews, and apparently 
 they cannot put a plank into any candidate's plat^ 
 form ! If you will send our Irish lads over here I 
 think they will organize your race and change the 
 aspect of the Reichsrath. 
 
 You seem to think that the Jews take no hand 
 in politics here, that they are " absolutely non-par- 
 ticipants." I am assured by men competent to 
 speak that this is a very large error, that the Jews 
 are exceedingly active in politics all over the em- 
 pire, but that they scatter their work and their 
 votes among the numerous parties, and thus lose 
 the advantages to be had by concentration. I 
 think that in America they scatter too, but you 
 know more about that than I do. 
 
 Speaking of concentration, Dr. Herzl has a clear 
 insight into the value of that. Have you heard of 
 his plan? He wishes to gather the Jews of the 
 world together in Palestine, with a government of 
 their own — under the suzerainty of the Sultan, I 
 suppose. At the Convention of Berne, last year, 
 there were delegates from everywhere, and the 
 proposal was received with decided favor. I am 
 not the Sultan, and I am not objecting ; but if that 
 
278 
 
 concentration of the cunningest brains in the world 
 were going to be made in a free country (bar Scot- 
 land), I think it would be politic to stop it. It will 
 not be well to let the race find out its strength. 
 If the horses knew theirs, we should not ride any 
 more. 
 
 Point No. 5. — " Will the persecution of the Jews 
 ever come to an end?" 
 
 On the score of religion, I think it has already 
 come to an encj. On the score of race prejudice 
 and trade, I have the idea that it will continue. 
 That is, here and there in spots about the world, 
 where a barbarous ignorance and a sort of mere 
 animal civilization prevail ; but I do not think that 
 elsewhere the Jew need now stand in any fear of 
 being robbed and raided. Among the high civili- 
 zations he seems to be very comfortably situated 
 indeed, and to have more than his proportionate 
 share of the prosperities going. It has that look 
 in Vienna. I suppose the race prejudice cannot 
 be removed ; but he can stand that ; it is no par- 
 ticular matter. By his make and ways he is sub- 
 stantially a foreigner wherever he may be, and even 
 the angels dislike a foreigner. I am using this word 
 foreigner in the German sense — stranger. Nearly 
 all of us have an antipathy to a stranger, even of 
 our own nationality. We pile gripsacks in a vacant 
 
279 
 
 seat to keep him from getting it ; and a dog goes 
 further, and does as a savage would — challenges 
 him on the spot. The German dictionary seems 
 to make no distinction between a stranger and a 
 foreigner ; in its view a stranger is a foreigner — a 
 sound position, I think. You will always be by 
 ways and habits and predilections substantially 
 strangers — foreigners — wherever you are, and that 
 will probably keep the race prejudice against you 
 alive. 
 
 But you were the favorites of Heaven originally, 
 and your manifold and unfair prosperities convince 
 me that you have crowded back into that snug 
 place again. Here is an incident that is significant. 
 Last week in Vienna a hailstorm struck the pro- 
 digious Central Cemetery and made wasteful de- 
 struction there. In the Christian part of it, accord- 
 ing to the official figures, 621 window-panes were 
 broken ; more than 900 singing-birds were killed ; 
 five great trees and many small ones were torn to 
 shreds and the shreds scattered far and wide by 
 the wind ; the ornamental plants and other decora- 
 tions of the graves were ruined, and more than a 
 hundred tomb-lanterns shattered ; and it took the 
 cemetery's whole force of 300 laborers more than 
 three days to clear away the storm's wreckage. In 
 the report occurs this remark— and in its italics 
 
28o 
 
 you can hear it grit its Christian teeth : " . . . le- 
 diglich die israelitische Abtheilung des Friedhofes 
 vom Hagelwetter ganzlich verschont worden war." 
 Not a hailstone hit the Jewish reservation ! Such 
 nepotism makes me tired. 
 
 Point No. 6. — " What has become of the Golden 
 Rule?" 
 
 It exists, it continues to sparkle, and is well taken 
 care of. It is Exhibit A in the Church's assets, 
 and we pull it out every Sunday and give it an 
 airing. But you are not permitted to try to smug- 
 gle it into this discussion, where it is irrelevant 
 and would not feel at home. It is strictly religious 
 furniture, like an acolyte, or a contribution-plate, 
 or any of those things. It has never been intruded 
 into business ; and Jewish persecution is not a re- 
 ligious passion, it is a business passion. 
 
 7!? conclude. — If the statistics are right, the Jews 
 constitute but one per cent, of the human race. It 
 suggests a nebulous dim puff of star-dust lost in 
 the blaze of the Milky Way. Properly the Jew 
 ought hardly to be heard of ; but he is heard of, 
 has always been heard of. He is as prominent on 
 the planet as any other people, and his commer- 
 cial importance is extravagantly out of proportion 
 to the smallness of his bulk. His contributions to 
 the world's list of great names in literature, science, 
 
28 1 
 
 art, music, finance, medicine, and abstruse learning 
 are also away out of proportion to the weakness 
 of his numbers. He has made a marvellous fight 
 in this world, in all the ages ; and has done it with 
 his hands tied behind him. He could be vain of 
 himself, and be excused for it. The Egyptian, 
 the Babylonian, and the Persian rose, filled the 
 planet with sound and splendor, then faded to 
 dream-stuff and passed away ; the Greek and the 
 Roman followed, and made a vast noise, and they 
 are gone ; other peoples have sprung up and held 
 their torch high for a time, but it burned out, and 
 they sit in twilight now, or have vanished. The 
 Jew saw them all, beat them all, and is now what 
 he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no in- 
 firmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slow- 
 ing of his energies, no dulling of his alert and 
 aggressive mind. All things are mortal but the 
 Jew ; all other forces pass, but he remains. What 
 is the secret of his immortality? 
 
 Postscript — The Jew as Soldier 
 
 When I published the above article in Harper's 
 Monthly, I was ignorant — like the rest of the 
 Christian world — of the fact that the Jew had a 
 record as a soldier. I have since seen the official 
 
282 
 
 statistics, and I find that he furnished soldiers and 
 high officers to the Revolution, the War of 1812, 
 and the Mexican War. In the Civil War he was 
 represented in the armies and navies of both the 
 North and the South by 10 per cent, of his numer- 
 ical strength — the same percentage that was fur- 
 nished by the Christian populations of the two sec- 
 tions. This large fact means more than it seems 
 to mean ; for it means that the Jew's patriotism 
 was not merely level with the Christian's, but over- 
 passed it. When the Christian volunteer arrived in 
 camp he got a welcome and applause, but as a rule 
 the Jew got a snub. His company was not de- 
 sired, and he was made to feel it. That he never- 
 theless conquered his wounded pride and sacrificed 
 both that and his blood for his flag raises the aver- 
 age and quality of his patriotism above the Chris- 
 tian's. His record for capacity, for fidelity, and for 
 gallant soldiership in the field ,is as good as any 
 one's. This is true of the Jewish private soldiers 
 and the Jewish generals alike. Major- General 
 O. O. Howard speaks of one of his Jewish staff- 
 officers as being " of the bravest and best "; of an- 
 other — killed at Chancellorsville — as being " a true 
 friend and a brave officer"; he highly praises two 
 of his Jewish brigadier-generals ; finally, he uses 
 these strong words : " Intrinsically there are no 
 
283 
 
 more patriotic men to be found in the country 
 than those who claim to be of Hebrew descent, 
 and who served with me in parallel commands or 
 more directly under my instructions." 
 
 Fourteen Jewish Confederate and Union families 
 contributed, between them, fifty-one soldiers to the 
 war. Among these, a father and three sons ; and 
 another, a father and four sons. 
 
 In the above article I was not able to endorse 
 the common reproach that the Jew is willing to 
 feed upon a country but not to fight for it, be- 
 cause I did not know whether it was true or false. 
 I supposed it to be true, but it is not allowable to 
 endorse wandering maxims upon supposition — ex- 
 cept when one is trying to make out a case. That 
 slur upon the Jew cannot hold up its head in pres- 
 ence of the figures of the War Department. It 
 has done its work, and done it long and faithfully, 
 and with high approval : it ought to be pensioned 
 off now, and retired from active service. 
 
STIRRING TIMES IN AUSTRIA 
 
 I. — The Government in the Frying-pan 
 
 HERE in Vienna in these closing days of 1897 
 one's blood gets no chance to stagnate. The 
 atmosphere is brimful of political electricity. 
 All conversation is political ; every man is a battery, 
 with brushes overworn, and gives out blue sparks 
 when you set him going' on the common topic. 
 Everybody has an opinion, and lets you have it 
 frank and hot, and out of this multitude of counsel 
 you get merely confusion and despair. For no one 
 really understands this political situation, or can 
 tell you what is going to be the outcome of it. 
 
 Things have happened here recently which would 
 set any country but Austria on fire from end to 
 end, and upset the government to a certainty ; but 
 no one feels confident that such results will follow 
 here. Here, apparently, one must wait and see 
 what will happen, then he will know, and not be- 
 fore ; guessing is idle ; guessing cannot help the 
 
285 
 
 matter. This is what the wise tell you ; they all 
 say it ; they say it every day, and it is the sole 
 detail upon which they all agree. 
 
 There is some approach to agreement upon an- 
 other point : that there will be no revolution. Men 
 say : " Look at our history — revolutions have not 
 been in our line ; and look at our political map — its 
 construction is unfavorable to an organized upris- 
 ing, and without unity what could a revolt accom- 
 plish? It is rfi^union which has held our empire 
 together for centuries, and what it has done in the 
 past it may continue to do now and in the future." 
 
 The most intelligible sketch I have encountered 
 of this unintelligible arrangement of things was 
 contributed to the Traveler's Record by Mr. Forrest 
 Morgan, of Hartford, three years ago. He says': 
 
 " The Austro - Hungarian Monarchy is the patchworlc 
 quilt, the Midway Plaisance, the national chain-gang of 
 Europe ; a state that is not a nation, but a collection of na- 
 tions, some with national memories and aspirations and 
 others without, some occupying distinct provinces almost 
 purely their own, and others mixed with alien races, but 
 each with a different language and each mostly holding 
 the others foreigners as much as if the link of a common 
 government did not exist. Only one of its races even now 
 comprises so much as one-fourth of the whole, and not an- 
 other so much as one-sixth; and each has remained for 
 ages as unchanged in isolation, however mingled together 
 in locality, as globules of oil in water. There is nothing 
 
286 
 
 else in the modern world that is nearly like it, though there 
 have been plenty in past ages ; it seems unreal and impos- 
 sible even though we know it is true ; it violates all our 
 feeling as to what a country should be in order to have 
 a right to exist; and it seems as though it was too ram- 
 shackle to go on holding together any length of time. Yet 
 it has survived, much in its present shape, two centuries of 
 storms that have swept perfectly unified countries from ex- 
 istence and others that have brought it to the verge of ruin, 
 has survived formidable European coalitions to dismember 
 it, and has steadily gained force after each ; forever chang- 
 ing in its exact make-up, losing in the West but gaining in 
 the East, the changes leave the structure as firm as ever, 
 like the dropping off and adding on of logs in a raft, its 
 mechanical union of pieces showing all the vitality of genu- 
 ine national life." 
 
 That seems to confirm and justify the prevalent 
 Austrian faith that in this confusion of unrelated 
 and irreconcilable elements, this condition of incur- 
 able disunion, there is strength — for the govern- 
 ment. Nearly every day some one explains to me 
 that a revolution would not succeed here. " It 
 couldn't, you know. Broadly speaking, all the na- 
 tions in the empire hate the government — but 
 they all hate each other too, and with devoted 
 and enthusiastic bitterness; no two of them can 
 combine ; the nation that rises must rise alone ; 
 then the others would joyfully join the govern- 
 ment against her, and she would have just a fly's 
 chance against a combination of spiders. This 
 
28; 
 
 government is entirely independent. It can go its 
 own road, and do as it pleases ; it has nothing to 
 fear. In countries like England and America, 
 where there is one tongue and the public interests 
 are common, the government must take account of 
 public opinion ; but in Austria-Hungary there are 
 nineteen public opinions — one for each state. No 
 — two or three for each state, since there are two 
 or three nationalities in each. A government can- 
 not satisfy all these public opinions ; it can only go 
 through the motions of trying. This government 
 does that. It goes through the motions, and they 
 do not succeed ; but that does not worry the gov- 
 ernment much." 
 
 The next man will give you some further infor- 
 mation. "The government has a policy — a wise 
 one — and sticks steadily to it. This policy is- — 
 tranquillity : keep this hive of excitable nations as 
 quiet as possible ; encourage them to amuse them- 
 selves with things less inflammatory than politics. 
 To this end it furnishes them an abundance of 
 Catholic priests to teach them to be docile and 
 obedient, and to be diligent in acquiring ignorance 
 about things here below, and knowledge about the 
 kingdom of heaven, to whose historic delights they 
 are going to add the charm of their society by-and- 
 by ; and further — to this same end — it cools off the 
 
288 
 
 newspapers every morning at five o'clock, whenever 
 warm events are happening." There is a censor of 
 the press, and apparently he is always on duty and 
 hard at work. A copy of each morning paper is 
 brought to him at five o'clock. His official wagons 
 wait at the doors of the newspaper offices and scud 
 to him with the first copies that come from the 
 press. His company of assistants read every line 
 
 Sjps-^ 
 
 5 lrfifitcr=Bfitoi S 
 
 
 ^<^^' .S^Moraan &cr oftsrrridlifdjai Soyilfcemofr jti ^ -.^ ?^ 
 
 FAC-SIMILE OF A CENSORED NEWSPAPER 
 
 in these papers, and mark everything which seems 
 to have a dangerous look ; then he passes final 
 judgment upon these markings. Two things con- 
 spire to give to the results a capricious and unbal- 
 anced look : his assistants have diversified notions 
 as to what is dangerous and what isn't; he can't 
 get time to examine their criticisms in much detail ; 
 
289 
 
 and so sometimes the very same matter which is 
 suppressed in one paper fails to be damned in an- 
 other one, and gets published in full feather and 
 unmodified. Then the paper in which it was sup- 
 pressed blandly copies the forbidden matter into its 
 evening edition — provokingly giving credit and de- 
 tailing all the circumstances in courteous and inof- 
 fensive language — and of course the censor cannot 
 say a word. 
 
 Sometimes the censor sucks all the blood out of 
 a newspaper and leaves it colorless and inane; 
 sometimes he leaves it undisturbed, and lets it talk 
 out its opinions with a frankness and vigor hardly 
 to be surpassed, I think, in the journals of any 
 country. Apparently the censor sometimes revises 
 his verdicts upon second thought, for several times 
 lately he has suppressed journals after their issue 
 and partial distribution. The distributed copies are 
 then sent for by the censor and destroyed. I have 
 two of these, but at the time they were sent for I 
 could not remember what I had done with them. 
 
 If the censor did his work before the morning 
 edition was printed, he would be less of an incon- 
 venience than he is ; but, of course, the papers can- 
 not wait many minutes after five o'clock to get his 
 verdict ; they might as well go out of business as 
 do that ; so they print and take the chances. Then, 
 19 
 
290 
 
 if they get caught by a suppression, they must strike 
 out the condemned matter and print the edition 
 over again. That delays the issue several hours, 
 and is expensive besides. The government gets the 
 suppressed edition for nothing. If it bought it, 
 that would be joyful, and would give great satisfac- 
 tion. Also, the edition would be larger. Some of 
 the papers do not replace the condemned para- 
 graphs with other matter ; they merely snatch them 
 out and leave blanks behind — mourning blanks, 
 marked " Confiscated." 
 
 The government discourages the dissemination 
 of newspaper information in other ways. For in- 
 stance, it does not allow newspapers to be sold on 
 the streets ; therefore the newsboy is unknown in- 
 Vienna. And there is a stamp duty of nearly a 
 cent upon each copy of a newspaper's issue. Every 
 American paper that reaches me has a stamp upon 
 it, which has been pasted there in the post-office or 
 downstairs in the hotel office ; but no matter who 
 put it there, I have to pay for it, and that is the 
 main thing. Sometimes friends send me so many 
 papers that it takes all I can earn that week to keep 
 this government going. 
 
 I must take passing notice of another point in 
 the government's measures for maintaining tran- 
 quillity. Everybody says it does not like to see 
 
291 
 
 any individual attain to commanding influence in 
 the country, since such a man can become a dis- 
 turber and an inconvenience. " We have as much 
 talent as the other nations," says the citizen, re- 
 signedly, and without bitterness, " but for the sake 
 of the general good of the country we are discour- 
 aged from making it over-conspicuous ; and not 
 only discouraged, but tactfully and skilfully pre- 
 vented from doing it, if we show too much persist- 
 ence. Consequently we have no renowned men ; 
 in centuries we have seldom produced one — that is, 
 seldom allowed one to produce himself. We can 
 say to-day what no other nation of first importance 
 in the family of Christian civilization can say — 
 that there exists no Austrian who has made an en- 
 during name for himself which is familiar all around 
 the globe." 
 
 Another helper toward tranquillity is the army. 
 It is as pervasive as the atmosphere. It is every- 
 where. All the mentioned creators, promoters, and 
 preservers of the public tranquillity do their several 
 shares in the quieting work. They make a restful 
 and comfortable serenity and reposefulness. This 
 is disturbed sometimes for a little while : a mob 
 assembles to protest against something; it gets 
 noisy — noisier — still noisier — finally too noisy ; then 
 the persuasive soldiery come charging down upon 
 
292 
 
 it, and in a few minutes all is quiet again, and there 
 is no mob. 
 
 There is a Constitution and there is a Parliament. 
 The House draws its membership of 425 deputies 
 from the nineteen or twenty states heretofore 
 mentioned. These men represent peoples who 
 speak eleven languages. That means eleven dis- 
 tinct varieties of jealousies, hostilities, and warring 
 interests. This could be expected to furnish forth 
 a parliament of a pretty inharmonious sort, and 
 make legislation diiificult at times — and it does that. 
 The parliament is split up into many parties — the 
 Clericals, the Progressists, the German National- 
 ists, the Young Czechs, the Social Democrats, the 
 Christian Socialists, and some others — and it is 
 difficult to get up working combinations among 
 them. They prefer to fight apart sometimes. 
 
 The recent troubles have grown out of Count 
 Badeni's necessities. He could not carry on his 
 government without a majority vote in the House 
 at his back, and in order to secure it he had to 
 make a trade of some sort. He made it with the 
 Czechs — the Bohemians. The terms were not easy 
 for him : he must pass a bill making the Czech 
 tongue the official language in Bohemia in place of 
 the German. This created a storm. All the Ger- 
 mans in Austria were incensed. In numbers they 
 
293 
 
 form but a fourth part of the empire's population, 
 but they urge that the country's pubHc business 
 should be conducted in one common tongue, 
 and that tongue a world language — which Ger- 
 man is. 
 
 However, Badeni secured his majority. The Ger- 
 man element in parliament was apparently become 
 helpless. The Czech deputies were exultant. 
 
 Then the music began. Bedani's voyage, instead 
 of being smooth, was disappointingly rough from 
 the start. The government must get the. Ausgleick 
 through. It must not fail. Bedani's majority was 
 ready to carry it through ; but the minority was 
 determined to obstruct it and delay it until the ob- 
 noxious Czech-language measure should be shelved. 
 
 The Ausgleich is an Adjustment, Arrangement, 
 Settlement, which holds Austria and Hungary to- 
 gether. It dates from 1867, and has to be renewed 
 every ten years. It establishes the share which 
 Hungary must pay toward the expenses of the im- 
 perial government. Hungary is a kingdom (the 
 Emperor of Austria is its King), and has its own 
 parhament and governmental machinery. But it 
 has no foreign ofifice, and it has no army — at least 
 its army is a part of the imperial army, is paid out 
 of the imperial treasury, and is under the control 
 of the imperial war office. 
 
294 
 
 The ten-year rearrangement was due a year ago, 
 but failed to connect. At least con:pletely. A 
 year's compromise was arranged. A new arrange- 
 ment must be effected before the last day of this 
 year. Otherwise the two countries become separate 
 entities. The Emperor would still be King of 
 Hungary — that is, King of an independent foreign 
 country. There would be Hungarian custom- 
 houses on the Austrian frontier, and there would 
 be a Hungarian army and a Hungarian foreign 
 ofifice. Both countries would be weakened by this, 
 both would suffer damage. 
 
 The Opposition in the House, although in the 
 minority, had a good weapon to fight with in the 
 pending A usg-letck. If it could delay the Ausgleich 
 a few weeks, the government would doubtless have 
 to withdraw the hated language bill or lose Hun- 
 gary. 
 
 The Opposition began its fight. Its arms were 
 the Rules of the House. It was soon manifest 
 that by applying these Rules ingeniously it could 
 make the majority helpless, and keep it so as long 
 as it pleased. It could shut off business every now 
 and then with a motion to adjourn. It could re- 
 quire the ayes and noes on the motion, and use up 
 thirty minutes on that detail. It could call for the 
 reading and verification of the minutes of the pre- 
 
295 
 
 ceding meeting, and use up half a day in that way. 
 It could require that several of its members be en- 
 tered upon the list of permitted speakers pre- 
 viously to the opening of a sitting ; and as there 
 is no time limit, further delays could thus be ac- 
 complished. 
 
 These were all lawful weapons, and the men of 
 the Opposition (technically called the Left) were 
 within their rights in using them. They used them 
 to such dire purpose that all parliamentary business 
 was paralyzed. The Right (the government side) 
 could accomplish nothing. Then it had a saving 
 idea. This idea was a curious one. It was to 
 have the Presidents and Vice - Presidents of the 
 parliament trample the Rules under foot upon oc- 
 
 casion 
 
 This, for a profoundly embittered minority con- 
 structed out of fire and gun-cotton ! It was time 
 for idle strangers to go and ask leave to look down 
 out of a gallery and see what would be the result 
 of it. 
 
 II. — A Memorable Sitting 
 
 And now took place that memorable sitting of 
 the House which broke two records. It lasted the 
 best part of two days and a night, surpassing by 
 half an hour the longest sitting known to the 
 
296 
 
 world's previous parliamentary history, and break- 
 ing the long -speech record with Dr. Lecher's 
 twelve-hour effort, the longest flow of unbroken 
 talk that ever came out of one mouth since the 
 world began. 
 
 At 8.45, on the evening of the 28th of October, 
 when the House had been sitting a few minutes 
 short of ten hours, Dr. Lecher was granted the 
 floor. It was a good place for theatrical effects. I 
 think that no other Senate House is so shapely as 
 this one, or so richly and showily decorated. Its 
 plan is that of an opera-house. Up toward the 
 straight side of it — the stage side — rise a couple of 
 terraces of desks for the ministry, and the official 
 clerks or secretaries — terraces thirty feet long, and 
 each supporting about 'half a dozen desks with 
 spaces between them. Above these is the Presi- 
 dent's terrace, against the wall. Along it are dis- 
 tributed the proper accommodations for the pre- 
 siding officer and his assistants. The wall is of 
 richly colored marble highly polished, its panelled 
 sweep relieved by fluted columns and pilasters of 
 distinguished grace and dignity, which glow softly 
 and frostily in the electric light. Around the 
 spacious half -circle of the floor bends the great 
 two-storied curve of the boxes, its frontage elabo- 
 rately ornamented and sumptuously gilded. On the 
 
297 
 
 floor of the House the 425 desks radiate fanwise 
 from the President's tribune. 
 
 The galleries are crowded on this particular even- 
 ing, for word has gone about that the Ausgleich is 
 before the House ; that the President, Ritter von 
 Abrahamowicz, has been throttling the Rules ; that 
 the Opposition are in an inflammable state in con- 
 sequence, and that the night session is likely to be 
 of an exciting sort. 
 
 The gallery guests are fashionably dressed, and 
 the finery of the women makes a bright and pretty 
 show under the strong electric light. But down 
 on the floor there is no costumery. 
 
 The deputies are dressed in day clothes ; some 
 of the clothes neat and trim, others, not ; there may 
 be three members in evening dress, but not more. 
 There are several Catholic priests in their long 
 black gowns, and with crucifixes hanging from 
 their necks. No member wears his hat. One may 
 see by these details that the aspects are not those 
 of an evening sitting of an English House of Com- 
 mons, but rather those of a sitting of our House of 
 Representatives. 
 
 In his high place sits the President, Abrahamo- 
 wicz, object of the Opposition's limitless hatred. 
 He is sunk back in the depths of his arm-chair, and 
 has his chin down. He brings the ends of his 
 
298 
 
 spread fingers together in front of his breast, and 
 reflectively taps them together, with the air of one 
 who would like to begin business but must wait, 
 and be as patient as he can. It makes you think 
 of Richelieu. Now and then he swings his head 
 up to the left or to the right and answers some- 
 thing which some one has bent down to say to him. 
 Then he taps his fingers again. He looks tired, 
 and maybe a trifle harassed. He is a gray - haired, 
 long, slender man, with a colorless long face, which, 
 in repose, suggests a death-mask ; but when not in 
 repose is tossed and rippled by a turbulent smile 
 which washes this way and that, and is not easy to 
 keep up with — a pious smile, a holy smile, a saintly 
 smile, a deprecating smile, a beseeching and suppli- 
 cating smile ; and when it is at work the large mouth 
 opens, and the flexible lips crumple, and unfold, 
 and crumple again, and move around in a genial 
 and persuasive and angelic way, and expose large 
 glimpses of the teeth ; and that interrupts the 
 sacredness of the smile and gives it momentarily a 
 mixed worldly and political and satanic cast. It is 
 a most interesting face to watch. And then the 
 long hands and the body — they furnish great and 
 frequent help to the face in the business of adding 
 to the force of the statesman's words. 
 
 To change the tense. At the time of which I 
 
^99 
 
 have just been speaking the crowds in the galleries 
 were gazing at the stage and the pit with rapt in- 
 terest and expectancy. One half of the great fan 
 of desks was in effect empty, vacant ; in the other 
 half several hundred members were bunched and 
 jammed together as solidly as the bristles in a 
 brush ; and they also were waiting and expecting. 
 Presently the Chair delivered this utterance : 
 
 " Dr. Lecher has the floor." 
 
 Then burst out such another wild and frantic 
 and deafening clamor as has not been heard on this 
 planet since the last time the Comanches surprised 
 a white settlement at midnight. Yells from the 
 Left, counter-yells from the Right, explosions of 
 yells from all sides at once, and all the air sawed 
 and pawed and clawed and cloven by a writhing 
 confusion of gesturing arms and hands. Out of 
 the midst of this thunder and turmoil and tempest 
 rose Dr. Lecher, serene and collected, and the 
 providential length of him enabled his head to 
 show out above it. He began his twelve-hour 
 speech. At any rate, his lips could be seen to 
 move, and that was evidence. On high sat the 
 President, imploring order, with his long hands put 
 together as in prayer, and his lips visibly but not 
 bearably speaking. At intervals he grasped his 
 bell and swung it up and down with vigor, adding 
 
300 
 
 its keen clamor to the storm weltering there 
 below. 
 
 Dr. Lecher went on with his pantomime speech, 
 contented, untroubled. Here and there and now 
 and then powerful voices burst above the din, and 
 delivered an ejaculation that was heard. Then the 
 din ceased for a moment or two, and gave oppor- 
 tunity to hear what the Chair might answer ; then 
 the noise broke out again. Apparently the Presi- 
 dent was being charged with all sorts of illegal 
 exercises of power in the interest of the Right (the 
 government side): among these, with arbitrarily 
 closing an Order of Business before it was finished; 
 with an unfair distribution of the right to the floor; 
 with refusal of the floor, upon quibble and protest, 
 to members entitled to it ; with stopping a speak- 
 er's speech upon quibble and protest ; and with 
 other transgressions of the Rules of the House. 
 One of the interrupters who made himself heard 
 was a young fellow of slight build and neat dress, 
 who stood a little apart from the solid crowd and 
 leaned negligently, with folded arms and feet 
 crossed, against a desk. Trim and handsome; 
 strong face and thin features ; black hair roughed 
 up ; parsimonious mustache ; resonant great voice, 
 of good tone and pitch. It is Wolf, capable and 
 hospitable with sword and pistol; fighter of the 
 
DR. ORTON LECHER 
 
301 
 
 recent duel with Count Badeni, the head of the 
 government. He shot Badeni through the arm, 
 and then walked over in the politest way and in- 
 spected his game, shook hands, expressed regret, 
 and all that. Out of him came early this thunder- 
 ing peal, audible above the storm : 
 
 " I demand the floor. I wish to offer a motion." 
 
 In the sudden lull which followed, the President 
 answered, " Dr. Lecher has the floor." 
 
 Wolf. " I move the close of the sitting !" 
 
 P. " Representative Lecher has the floor." 
 [Stormy outburst from the Left — that is, the Op- 
 position.] 
 
 Wolf. " I demand the floor for the introduction 
 of a formal motion. [Pause.] Mr. President, are 
 you going to grant it, or not ? [Crash of approval 
 from the Left.] I will keep on demanding the 
 floor till I get it." 
 
 P. " I call Representative Wolf to order. Dr. 
 Lecher has the floor." 
 
 Wolf. " Mr. President, are you going to observe 
 the Rules of this House?" [Tempest of applause 
 and confused ejaculations from the Left — a boom 
 and roar which long endured, and stopped all busi- 
 ness for the time being.] 
 
 Dr. von Pessler. " By the Rules motions are in 
 order, and the Chair must put them to vote." 
 
302 
 
 For answer the President (who is a Pole — I make 
 this remark in passing) began to jangle his bell with 
 energy at the moment that that wild pandemonium 
 of voices burst out again. 
 
 Wolf (bearable above the storm). " Mr. Presi- 
 dent, I demand the floor. We intend to find out, 
 here and now, which is the hardest, a Pole's skull 
 or a Germans !" 
 
 This brought out a perfect cyclone of satisfaction 
 from the Left. In the midst of it some one again 
 moved an adjournment. The President blandly an- 
 swered that Dr. Lecher had the floor. Which was 
 true ; and he was speaking, too, calmly, earnestly, 
 and argumentatively; and the official stenographers 
 had left their places and were at his elbows taking 
 down his words, he leaning and orating into their 
 ears — a most curious and interesting scene. 
 
 Dr. von Pessler (to the Chair). " Do not drive 
 us to extremities !" 
 
 The tempest burst out again : yells of approval 
 from the Left, catcalls and ironical laughter from 
 the Right. At this point a new and most effective 
 noise-maker was pressed into service. Each desk 
 has an extension, consi-sting of a removable board 
 eighteen inches long, six wide, and a half-inch thick. 
 A member pulled one of these out and began to 
 belabor the top of his desk with it. Instantly 
 
303 
 
 other members followed suit, and perhaps you can 
 imagine the result. Of all conceivable rackets it is 
 the most ear-splitting, intolerable, and altogether 
 fiendish. 
 
 The persecuted President leaned back in his 
 chair, closed his eyes, clasped his hands in his lap, 
 and a look of pathetic resignation crept over his 
 long face. It is the way a country schoolmaster 
 used to look in days long past when he had refused 
 his school a holiday and it had risen against him 
 in ill-mannered riot and violence and insurrection. 
 Twice a motion to adjourn had been offered — a mo- 
 tion always in order in other Houses, and doubtless 
 so in this one also. The President had refused to 
 put these motions. By consequence, he was not in 
 a pleasant place now, and was having a right hard 
 time. Votes upon motions, whether carried or de- 
 feated, could make endless delay, and postpone the 
 Ausgleich to next century. 
 
 In the midst of these sorrowful circumstances 
 and this hurricane of yells and screams and satanic 
 clatter of desk-boards. Representative Dr. Krona- 
 wetter unfeelingly reminds the Chair that a mo- 
 tion has been offered, and adds : " Say yes, or no ! 
 What do you sit there for, and give no answer ?" 
 
 P. " Aiter I have given a speaker the floor, I 
 cannot give it to another. After Dr. Lecher is 
 
304 
 
 though, I will put your motion." [Storm of indig- 
 nation from the Left.] 
 
 Wolf (to the Chair). " Thunder and lightning ! 
 look at the Rule governing the case !" 
 
 Kronawetter. " I move the close of the sitting ! 
 And I demand the ayes and noes !" 
 
 Dr. Lecher. " Mr. President, have I the floor?" 
 
 P. " You have the floor." 
 
 Wolf (to the Chair, in a stentorian voice which 
 cleaves its way through the storm). " It is by such 
 brutalities as these that you drive us to extremi- 
 ties! Are you waiting till some one shall throw 
 into your face the word that shall describe what 
 you are bringing about ? * [Tempest of insulted 
 fury from the Right.] Is that what you are waiting 
 for, old Grayheadf [Long-continued clatter of 
 desk-boards from the Left, with shouts of "The 
 vote ! the vote !" An ironical shout from the 
 Right, " Wolf is boss !"] 
 
 Wolf keeps on demanding the floor for his mo- 
 tion. At length — 
 
 P. " I call Representative Wolf to order ! Your 
 conduct is unheard of, sir ! You forget that you 
 are in a parhament ; you must remember where you 
 are, sir." [Applause from the Right. Dr. Lecher 
 
 * That is, revolution. 
 
305 
 
 is still peacefully speaking, the stenographers listen- 
 ing at his lips.J 
 
 Wolf {haLnging on his desk with his desk-board). 
 " I demand the floor for my motion ! I won't 
 stand this trampling of the Rules under foot — no, 
 not if I die for it ! I will never yield ! You have 
 got to stop me by force. Have I the floor?" 
 
 P. " Representative Wolf, what kind of behavior 
 is this? I call you to order again. You should 
 have some regard for your dignity." 
 
 Dr. Lecher speaks on. Wolf turns upon him 
 with an offensive innuendo. 
 
 Br. Lecher. " Mr. Wolf, I beg you to refrain 
 from that sort of suggestions." [Storm of hand- 
 clapping from the Right.] 
 
 This was applause from the enemy, for Lecher 
 himself, like Wolf, was an Obstructionist. 
 
 Wolf growls to Lecher, " You can scribble that 
 applause in your album !" 
 
 P. " Once more I call Representative Wolf to 
 order ! Do not forget that you are a Representa- 
 tive, sir." 
 
 fFi?^ (slam-banging with his desk-board). " I will 
 force this matter ! Are you going to grant me the 
 floor, or not ?" 
 
 And still the sergeant-at-arms did not appear. It 
 was because there wasn't any. It is a curious thing, 
 
 30 
 
3o6 
 
 but the Chair has no effectual means of compelling 
 order. 
 
 After some more interruptions : 
 
 Wolf (banging with his board). " I demand the 
 floor. I will not yield !" 
 
 P. "I have no recourse against Representative 
 Wolf. In the presence of behavior like this it is 
 to be regretted that such is the case." [A shout 
 from the Right, "Throw him out !"] 
 
 It is true, he had no effective recourse. He had 
 an ofificial called an " Ordner," whose help he could 
 invoke in desperate cases, but apparently the Ord- 
 ner is only a persuader, not a compeller. Appar- 
 ently he is a sergeant-at-arms who is not loaded ; a 
 good enough gun to look at, but not valuable for 
 business. 
 
 For another twenty or thirty minutes Wolf went 
 on banging with his board and demanding his 
 rights ; then at last the weary President threatened 
 to summon the dread order-maker. But both his 
 manner and his words were reluctant. Evidently 
 it grieved him to have to resort to this dire ex- 
 tremity. He said to Wolf, " If this goes on, I 
 shall feel obliged to summon the Ordner, and beg 
 him to restore order in the House." 
 
 Wolf. " I'd like to see you do it ! Suppose you 
 fetch in a few policemen too ! [Great tumult.] 
 
307 
 
 Are you going to put my motion to adjourn, or 
 not?" 
 
 Dr. Lecher continues his speech. Wolf accom- 
 panies him with his board-clatter. 
 
 The President despatches the Ordner, Dr. Lang 
 (himself a deputy), on his order-restoring mission. 
 Wolf, with his board uplifted for defence, confronts 
 the Ordner with a remark which Boss Tweed might 
 have translated into " Now let's see what you are 
 going to do about it !" [Noise and tumult all over 
 the House.] 
 
 Wolf stands upon his rights, and says he will 
 maintain them till he is killed in his tracks. Then 
 he resumes his banging, the President jangles his 
 bell and begs for order, and the rest of the House 
 augment the racket the best it can. 
 
 Wolf. " I require an adjournment, because I find 
 myself personally threatened. [Laughter from the 
 Right.] Not that I fear for myself; I am only 
 anxious about what will happen to the man who 
 touches me." 
 
 The Ordner. " I am not going to fight with you." 
 
 Nothing came of the efforts of the angel of peace, 
 and he presently melted out of the scene and dis- 
 appeared. Wolf went on with his noise and with 
 his demands that he be granted the floor, resting 
 his board at intervals to discharge criticisms and 
 
3o8 
 
 epithets at the Chair. Once he reminded the 
 Chairman of his violated promise to grant him 
 (Wolf) the floor, and said, " Whence I came, we 
 call promise-breakers rascals !" And he advised the 
 Chairman to take his conscience to bed with him 
 and use it as a pillow. Another time he said that 
 the Chair was making itself ridiculous before all 
 Europe. In fact, some of Wolf's language was al- 
 most unparliamentary. By-and-by he struck the 
 idea of beating out a tune with his board. Later 
 he decided to stop asking for the floor, and to con- 
 fer it upon himself. And so he and Dr. Lecher 
 now spoke at the same time, and mingled their 
 speeches with the other noises, and nobody heard 
 either of them. Wolf rested himself now and then 
 from speech-making by reading, in his clarion voice, 
 from a pamphlet. 
 
 I will explain that Dr. Lecher was not making a 
 twelve-hour speech for pastime, but for an impor- 
 tant purpose. It was the government's intention 
 to push the Ausgleich through its preliminary stages 
 in this one sitting (for which it was the Order of 
 the Day), and then by vote refer it to a select com- 
 mittee. It was the Majority's scheme — as charged 
 by the Opposition — to drown debate upon the bill 
 by pure noise — drown it out and stop it. The de- 
 bate being thus ended, the vote upon the reference 
 
309 
 
 would follow — with victory for the government. 
 But into the government's calculations had not 
 entered the possibility of a single-barrelled speech 
 which would occupy the entire time-limit of the 
 sitting, and also get itself delivered in spite of all 
 the noise. Goliath was not expecting David. But 
 David was there; and during twelve hours he tran- 
 quilly pulled statistical, historical, and argumen- 
 tative pebbles out of his scrip and slung them at 
 the giant ; and when he was done he was victor, 
 and the day was saved. 
 
 In the English House an obstructionist has held 
 the floor with Bible -readings and other outside 
 matters ; but Dr. Lecher could not have that rest- 
 ful and recuperative privilege — he must confine 
 himself strictly to the subject before the House. 
 More than once when the President could not hear 
 him because of the general tumult, he sent persons 
 to listen and report as to whether the orator was 
 speaking to the subject or not. 
 
 The subject was a peculiarly difficult one, and it 
 would have troubled any other deputy to stick to 
 it three hours without exhausting his ammunition, 
 because it required a vast and intimate knowledge 
 — detailed and particularized knowledge — of the 
 commercial, railroading, financial, and international 
 banking relations existing between two great sov- 
 
3IO 
 
 ereignties, Hungary and the Empire. But Dr. 
 Lecher is President of the Board of Trade of his 
 city of Brunn, and was master of the situation. 
 His speech was not formally prepared. He had a 
 few notes jotted down for his guidance ; he had his 
 facts in his head ; his heart was in his work ; and 
 for twelve hours he stood there, undisturbed by 
 the clamor around him, and with grace and ease 
 and confidence poured out the riches of his mind, 
 in closely reasoned arguments, clothed in eloquent 
 and faultless phrasing. 
 
 He is a young man of thirty-seven. He is tall 
 and well-proportioned, and has cultivated and for- 
 tified his muscle by mountain-climbing. If he were 
 a little handsomer he would sufficiently reproduce 
 for me the Chauncey Depew of the great New Eng- 
 land dinner nights of some years ago ; he has De- 
 pew's charm of manner and graces of language and 
 delivery. 
 
 There was but one way for Dr. Lecher to hold 
 the floor — he must stay on his legs. If he should 
 sit down to rest a moment, the floor would be taken 
 from him by the enemy in the Chair. When he 
 had been talking three or four hours he himself 
 proposed an adjournment, in order that he might 
 get some rest from his wearing labors ; but he lim- 
 ited his motion with the condition that if it was 
 
311 
 
 lost he should be allowed to continue his speech, 
 and if it carried he should have the floor at the next 
 sitting. Wolf was now appeased, and withdrew his 
 own thousand-times-offered motion, and Dr. Lech- 
 er's was voted upon — and lost. So he went on 
 speaking. 
 
 By one o'clock in the morning, excitement and 
 noise-making had tired out nearly everybody but 
 the orator. Gradually the seats of the Right un- 
 derwent depopulation ; the occupants had slipped 
 out to the refreshment-rooms to eat and drink, or 
 to the corridors to chat. Some one remarked that 
 there was no longer a quorum present, and moved 
 a call of the House. The Chair (Vice-President 
 Dr. Kramarz) refused to put it to vote. There was 
 a small dispute over the legality of this ruling, but 
 the Chair held its ground. 
 
 The Left remained on the battle-field to support 
 their champion. He went steadily on with his 
 speech ; and always it was strong, virile, felicitous, 
 and to the point. He was earning applause, and 
 this enabled his party to turn that fact to account. 
 Now and then they applauded him a couple of 
 minutes on a stretch, and during that time he could 
 stop speaking and rest his voice without having the 
 floor taken from him. 
 
 At a quarter to two a member of the Left de- 
 
312 
 
 manded that Dr. Lecher be allowed a recess for 
 rest, and said that the Chairman was " heartless." 
 Dr. Lecher himself asked for ten minutes. The 
 Chair allowed him five. Before the time had run 
 out Dr. Lecher was on his feet again. 
 
 Wolf burst out again with a motion to adjourn. 
 Refused by the Chair. Wolf said the whole par- 
 liament wasn't worth a pinch of powder. The Chair 
 retorted that that was true in a case where a single 
 member was able to make all parliamentary busi- 
 ness impossible. Dr. Lecher continued his speech. 
 
 The members of the Majority went out by de- 
 tachments from time to time and took naps upon 
 sofas in the reception-rooms ; and also refreshed 
 themselves with food and drink — in quantities 
 nearly unbelievable — but the Minority stayed loy- 
 ally by their champion. Some distinguished dep- 
 uties of the Majority stayed by him too, compelled 
 thereto by admiration of his great performance. 
 When a man has been speaking eight hours, is it 
 conceivable that he can still be interesting, still 
 fascinating ? When Dr. Lecher had been speaking 
 eight hours he was still compactly surrounded by 
 friends who would not leave him and by foes (of 
 all parties) who could not ; and all hung enchanted 
 and wondering upon his words, and all testified 
 their admiration with constant and cordial out- 
 
313 
 
 bursts of applause. Surely this was a triumph with- 
 out precedent in history. 
 
 During the twelve-hour effort friends brought to 
 the orator three glasses of wine, four cups of coffee, 
 and one glass of beer — a most stingy re-enforce- 
 ment of his wasting tissues, but the hostile Chair 
 would permit no addition to it. But, no matter, 
 the Chair could not beat that man. He was a 
 garrison holding a fort, and was not to be starved 
 out. 
 
 When he had been speaking eight hours his pulse 
 was 72 ; when he had spoken twelve, it was 100. 
 
 He finished his long speech in these terms, as 
 nearly as a permissibly free translation can convey 
 them : 
 
 " I will now hasten to close my examination of 
 the subject. I conceive that we of the Left have 
 made it clear to the honorable gentlemen of the 
 other side of the House that we are stirred by no 
 intemperate enthusiasm for this measure in its 
 present shape. . . . 
 
 " What we require, and shall fight for with all 
 lawful weapons, is a formal, comprehensive, and 
 definitive solution and settlement of these vexed 
 matters. We desire the restoration of the earlier 
 condition of things ; the cancellation of all this in- 
 capable government's pernicious trades with Hun- 
 
314 
 
 gary ; and then — release from the sorry burden of 
 the Badeni ministry ! 
 
 " I voice the hope — I know not if it will be ful- 
 filled — I voice the deep and sincere and patriotic 
 hope that the committee into whose hands this bill 
 will eventually be committed will take its stand 
 upon high ground, and will return the Ausgleich- 
 Provisorium to this House in a form which shall 
 make it the protector and promoter alike of the 
 great interests involved and of the honor of our 
 fatherland." After a pause, turning toward the 
 government benches : " But in any case, gentlemen 
 of the Majority, make sure of this : henceforth, 
 as before, you will find us at our post. The 
 Germans of Austria will neither surrender nor 
 die!" 
 
 Then burst a storm of applause which rose and 
 fell, rose and fell, burst out again and again and 
 again, explosion after explosion, hurricane after 
 hurricane, with no apparent promise of ever com- 
 ing to an end ; and meantime the whole Left was 
 surging and weltering about the champion, all bent 
 upon wringing his hand and congratulating him 
 and glorifying him. 
 
 Finally he got away, and went home and ate five 
 loaves and twelve baskets of fishes, read the morn- 
 ing papers, slept three hours, took a short drive. 
 
315 
 
 then returned to the House and sat out the rest of 
 the thirty-three-hour session. 
 
 To merely stand up in one spot twelve hours on 
 a stretch is a feat which very few men could 
 achieve ; to add to the task the utterance of a hun- 
 dred thousand words would be beyond the possi- 
 bilities of the most of those few ; to superimpose 
 the requirement that the words should be put into 
 the form of a compact, coherent, and symmetrical 
 oration would probably rule out the rest of the 
 few, bar Dr. Lecher. 
 
 III. — Curious Parliamentary Etiquette 
 
 In consequence of Dr. Lecher's twelve -hour 
 speech and the other obstructions furnished by the 
 Minority, the famous thirty-three-hour sitting of 
 the House accomplished nothing. The govern- 
 ment side had made a supreme effort, assisting it- 
 self with all the helps at hand, both lawful and un- 
 lawful, yet had failed to get the Ausgleich into the 
 hands of a committee. This was a severe defeat. 
 The Right was mortified, the Left jubilant. 
 
 Parliament was adjourned for a week — to let 
 the members cool off, perhaps — a sacrifice of pre- 
 cious time, for but two months remained in which 
 to carry the all-important Ausgleich to a consum- 
 mation. 
 
3i6 
 
 If I have reported the behavior of the House in- 
 telligibly, the reader has been surprised at it, and 
 has wondered whence these law-makers come and 
 what they are made of ; and he has probably sup- 
 posed that the conduct exhibited at the Long Sit- 
 ting was far out of the common, and due to special 
 excitement and irritation. As to the make-up of 
 the House, it is this : the deputies come from all 
 the walks of life and frpm all the grades of society. 
 There are princes, counts, barons, priests, peasants, 
 mechanics, laborers, lawyers, judges, physicians, 
 professors, merchants, bankers, shopkeepers. They 
 are religious men, they are earnest, sincere, devoted, 
 and they hate the Je^ys. The title of Doctor is so 
 common in the House that one may almost say 
 that the. deputy who does not bear it is by that 
 reason conspicuous. I am assured that it is not a 
 self-granted title, and not an honorary one, but an 
 earned one ; that in Austria it is very seldom con- 
 ferred as a mere compliment ; that in Austria the 
 degrees of Doctor of Music, Doctor of Philosophy, 
 and so on, are not conferred by the seats of learn- 
 ing ; and so, when an Austrian is called Doctor 
 it means that he is either a lawyer or a physician, 
 and that he is not a self-educated man, but is col- 
 lege-bred, and has been diplomaed for merit. 
 
 That answers the question of the constitution of 
 
317 
 
 the House. Now as to the House's curious man- 
 ners. The manners exhibited by this convention 
 of Doctors were not at that time being tried as a 
 wholly new experiment. I will go back to a pre- 
 vious sitting in order to show that the deputies had 
 already had some practice. 
 
 There had been an incident. The dignity of the 
 House had been wounded by improprieties indulged 
 in in its presence by a couple of its members. 
 This matter was placed in the hands of a committee 
 to determine where the guilt lay, and the degree 
 of it, and also to suggest the punishment. The 
 chairman of the committee brought in his report. 
 By this it appeared that, in the course of a speech, 
 Deputy Schrammel said that religion had no 
 proper place in the public schools — it was a private 
 matter. Whereupon Deputy Gregorig shouted, 
 " How about free love !" 
 
 To this, Deputy Iro flung out this retort : " Soda- 
 water at the Wimberger !" 
 
 This appeared to deeply offend Deputy Grego- 
 rig, who shouted back at Iro, " You cowardly blath- 
 erskite, say that again !" 
 
 The committee had sat three hours. Gregorig 
 had apologized ; Iro had explained. Iro explained 
 that he didn't say anything about soda-water at 
 the Wimberger. He explained in writing, and was 
 
_3i8_ 
 
 very explicit : " I declare upon my word of honor 
 that I did not say the words attributed to me." 
 
 Unhappily for his word of honor, it was proved 
 by the official stenographers and by the testimony 
 of several deputies that he did say them. 
 
 The committee did not officially know why the 
 apparently inconsequential reference to soda-water 
 at the Wimberger should move Deputy Gregorig 
 to call the utterer of it a cowardly blatherskite ; 
 still, after proper deliberation, it was of the opinion 
 that the House ought to formally censure the whole 
 business. This verdict seems to have been regard- 
 ed as sharply severe. I think so because Deputy 
 Dr. Lueger, Biirgermeister of Vienna, felt it a duty 
 to soften the blow to his friend Gregorig by show- 
 ing that the soda-water remark was not so innocu- 
 ous as it might look ; that, indeed, Gregorig's tough 
 retort was justifiable — and he proceeded to explain 
 why. He read a number of scandalous post-cards 
 which he intimated had proceeded from Iro, as 
 indicated by the handwriting, though they were 
 anonymous. Some of them were posted to Grego- 
 rig at his place of business, and could have been read 
 by all his subordinates ; the others were posted to 
 Gregorig's wife. Lueger did not say — but every- 
 body knew — that the cards referred to a matter of 
 town gossip which made Mr. Gregorig a chief actor 
 
319 
 
 in a tavern scene where siphon-squirting played a 
 prominent and humorous part, and wherin women 
 had a share. 
 
 There were several of the cards ; more than sev- 
 eral, in fact ; no fewer than five were sent in one 
 day. Dr. Lueger read some of them, and described 
 others. Some of them had pictures on them ; one 
 a picture of a hog with a monstrous snout, and be- 
 side it a squirting soda-siphon ; below it some sar- 
 castic doggerel. 
 
 Gregorig deals in shirts, cravats, etc. One of the 
 cards bore these words : " Much-respected Deputy 
 and collar-sewer — or stealer." 
 
 Another : " Hurrah for the Christian-Social work 
 among the women-assemblages ! Hurrah for the 
 soda-squirter !" Comment by Dr. Lueger ; " I can- 
 not venture to read the rest of that one, nor the 
 signature, either." 
 
 Another: "Would you mind telling me if . . ." 
 Comment by Dr. Lueger : " The rest of it is not 
 properly readable." 
 
 To Deputy Gregorig's wife: " Much -respected 
 Madam Gregorig, — The undersigned desires an in- 
 vitation to the next soda-squirt." Comment by 
 Dr. Lueger : " Neither the rest of the card nor the 
 signature can I venture to read to the House, so 
 vulgar are they." 
 
320 
 
 The purpose of this card — to expose Gregorig to 
 his family — was repeated in others of these anony- 
 mous missives. 
 
 The House, by vote, censured the two improper 
 deputies. 
 
 This may have had a modifying effect upon the 
 phraseology of the membership for a while, and 
 upon its general exuberance also, but it was not for 
 long. As has been seen, it had become lively once 
 more on the nigh^ of the Long Sitting. At the 
 next sitting after the long one there was certainly 
 no lack of liveliness. The President was persistent- 
 ly ignoring the Rules of the House in the interest 
 of the government side, and the Minority were in 
 an unappeasable fury about it. The ceaseless din 
 and uproar, the shouting and stamping and desk- 
 banging, were deafening, but through it all burst 
 voices now and then that made themselves heard. 
 Some of the remarks were of a very candid sort, 
 and I believe that if they had been uttered in 
 our House of Representatives they would have 
 attracted attention. I will insert some samples 
 here. Not in their order, but selected on their 
 merits : 
 
 Dr. Mayreder (to the President). " You have 
 lied ! You conceded the floor to me ; make it 
 good, or you have Hed !" 
 
321 
 
 Mr. Glockner (to the President). " Leave ! Get 
 out !" 
 
 Wolf (indicating the President). " There sits a 
 man to whom a certain title belongs !" 
 
 Unto Wolf, who is continuously reading, in a 
 powerful voice, from a newspaper, arrive these per- 
 sonal remarks from' the Majority : " Oh, shut your 
 mouth!" "Put him out!" "Out with him!" 
 Wolf stops reading a moment to shout at Dr. Lue- 
 ger, who has the floor but cannot get a hearing, 
 " Please, Betrayer of the People, begin !" 
 
 Dr. Lueger. " Meine Herren— " [" Oho !" and 
 groans.] 
 
 Wolf. " That's the holy light of the Christian 
 Socialists !" 
 
 Mr. Kletzenbauer (Christian Socialist). " Dam-^ 
 nation ! are you ever going to quiet down ?" 
 
 Wolf discharges a galling remark at Mr. Wohl- 
 meyer. 
 
 Wohlmeyer (responding). " You Jew, you !" 
 
 There is a moment's lull, and Dr. Lueger begins 
 his speech. Graceful, handsome man, with win- 
 ning manners and attractive bearing, a bright and 
 easy speaker, and is said to know how to trim his 
 political sails to catch any favoring wind that 
 blows. He manages to say a few words, then the 
 tempest overwhelms him again. 
 
322 
 
 Wolf stops reading his paper a moment to say a 
 drastic thing about Lueger and his Christian-So- 
 cial pieties, which sets the C. S.'s in a sort of 
 frenzy. 
 
 Mr. Vielohlawek. " You leave the Christian So- 
 cialists alone, you word -of -honor -breaker! Ob- 
 struct all you want to, but you leave tkem alone ! 
 You've no business in this House ; you belong in a 
 gin-mill !" 
 
 Mr. Prochazka. " In a lunatic - asylum you 
 mean !" 
 
 Vielohlawek. " It's a pity that such a man should 
 be leader of the Germans; he disgraces the Ger- 
 man name !" 
 
 Dr. Scheicher. " It's a shame that the like of 
 him should insult us." 
 
 Strohbach (to Wolf). "Contemptible cub — we will 
 bounce thee out of this !" [It is inferable that the 
 "thee" is not intended to indicate affection this 
 time, but to re-enforce and emphasize Mr. Stroh- 
 bach's scorn.] 
 
 Dr. Scheicher. " His insults are of no conse- 
 quence. He wants his ears boxed." 
 
 Dr. Lueger (to Wolf). " You'd better worry a 
 trifle over your Iro's word of honor. You are be- 
 having like a street arab." 
 
 Dr. Scheicher. " It is infamous !" 
 
323 
 
 Dr. Lueger. " And these shameless creatures are 
 the leaders of the German People's Party !" 
 
 Meantime Wolf goes whooping along with his 
 newspaper readings in great contentment. 
 
 Dr. Pattai. " Shut up ! Shut up ! Shut u/> ! 
 You haven't the floor !" 
 
 Strohbach. " The miserable cub !" 
 
 Dr. Lueger (to Wolf, raising his voice strenuously 
 above the storm). "You are a wholly honorless 
 street brat !" [A voice, " Fire the rapscallion out !" 
 But Wolf's soul goes marching noisily on just the 
 same.] 
 
 Schonerer (vast and muscular, and endowed with 
 the most powerful voice in the Reichsrath ; comes 
 ploughing down through the standing crowds, red, 
 and choking with anger; halts before Deputy 
 Wohlmeyer, grabs a rule and smashes it with a 
 blow upon a desk, threatens Wohlmeyer's face with 
 his fist, and bellows out some personalities, and a 
 promise). " Only you wait — we'll teach you." [A 
 whirlwind of offensive retorts assails him from the 
 band of meek and humble Christian Socialists com- 
 pacted around their leader, that distinguished re- 
 ligious expert. Dr. Lueger, Burgermeister of Vienna. 
 Our breath comes in excited gasps now, and we are 
 full of hope. We imagine that we are back fifty 
 years ago in the Arkansas Legislature, and we think 
 
324 
 
 we know what is going to happen, and are glad we 
 came, and glad we are up in the gallery, out of the 
 way, where we can see the whole thing and yet not 
 have to supply any of the material for the inquest. 
 However, as it turns out, our confidence is abused, 
 our hopes are misplaced.] 
 
 Dr. Pattai (wildly excited). " You quiet down, or 
 we shall turn ourselves loose ! There will be cuffing 
 of ears !" 
 
 Prochazka (in a fury). " No — not ear-boxing, but 
 genuine blows !" 
 
 Vielohlawek. " I would rather take my hat off to 
 a Jew than to Wolf !" 
 
 Strohbach (to Wolf). " Jew flunky ! Here we 
 have been fighting the Jews for ten years, and now 
 you are helping them to power again. How much 
 do you get for it ?" 
 
 Holansky. " What he wants is a strait-jacket !" 
 
 Wolf continues his readings. It is a market re- 
 port now. 
 
 Remark flung across the House to Schonerer: 
 '^ Die Grossmutter auf dem Misthaufen erzeugt 
 warden!" 
 
 It will be judicious not to translate that. Its 
 flavor is pretty high, in any case, but it becomes 
 particularly gamy when you remember that the 
 first gallery was well stocked with ladies. 
 
CARLOS WOLF 
 
3^5 
 
 Apparently it was a great hit. It fetched thun- 
 ders of joyous enthusiam out of the Christian 
 Socialists, and in their rapture they flung biting 
 epithets with wasteful liberality at specially de- 
 tested members of the Opposition ; among others, 
 this one at Schonerer: " Bordell in der Kruger- 
 strasse /" Then they added these words, which 
 they whooped, howled, and also even sang, in a 
 deep-voiced chorus : " Schmul Leeb Kohn ! Schmul 
 Leeb Kohn! Schmul Leeb Kohn! and made it 
 splendidly audible above the banging of desk- 
 boards and the rest of the roaring cyclone of fiend- 
 ish noises. [A gallery witticism comes flitting by 
 from mouth to mouth around the great curve : 
 "The swan-song of Austrian representative gov- 
 ernment !" You can note its progress by the 
 applausive smiles and nods it gets as it skims 
 along.J 
 
 Kletzenbauer. " Holofernes, where is Judith ?" 
 [Storm of laughter.] 
 
 Gregorig (the shirt - merchant ). "This Wolf- 
 Theatre is costing 6000 florins !" 
 
 Wolf (with sweetness). " Notice him, gentlemen ; 
 it is Mr. Gregorig." [Laughter.] 
 
 Vielohlawek (to Wolf). " You Judas !" 
 
 Schneider. " Brothel-knight !" 
 
 Chorus of Voices. " East-German offal tub !" 
 
326 
 
 And so the war of epithets crashes along, with 
 never-diminishing energy for a couple of hours. 
 
 The ladies in the gallery were learning. That 
 was well ; for by-and-by ladies will form a part of 
 the membership of all the legislatures in the world ; 
 as soon as they can prove competency they will be 
 admitted. At present men only are competent to 
 legislate ; therefore they look down upon women, 
 and would feel degraded if they had to have them 
 for colleagues in their high calling. 
 
 Wolf is yelling another market report now. 
 
 Gessman. " Shut up, infamous louse-brat !" 
 
 During a momentary lull Dr. Lueger gets a hear- 
 ing for three sentences of his speech. They de- 
 mand and require that the President shall suppress 
 the four noisiest members of the Opposition. 
 
 Wolf (with a that-settles-it toss of the head). 
 " The shifty trickster of Vienna has spoken !" 
 
 Iro belonged to Schonerer's party. The word-of- 
 honor incident has given it a new name. Gregorig 
 is a Christian Socialist, and hero of the post-cards 
 and the Wimberger soda-squirting incident. He 
 stands vast and conspicuous, and conceited and 
 self-satisfied, and roosterish and inconsequential, at 
 Lueger's elbow, and is proud and cocky to be in 
 such great company. He looks very well indeed ; 
 really majestic, and aware of it: He crows out his 
 
327 
 
 little empty remark now and then, and looks as 
 pleased as if he had been delivered of the Ausgleich. 
 Indeed, he does look notably fine. He wears al- 
 most the only dress vest on the floor ; it exposes a 
 continental spread of white shirt-front ; his hands 
 are posed at ease in the lips of his trousers pockets ; 
 his head is tilted back complacently ; he is attitu- 
 dinizing; he is playing to the gallery. However, 
 they are all doing that. It is curious to see. Men 
 who only vote, and can't make speeches, and don't 
 know how to invent witty ejaculations, wander 
 about the vacated parts of the floor, and stop in a 
 good place and strike attitudes — attitudes sugges- 
 tive of weighty thought, mostly — and glance fur- 
 tively up at the galleries to se^ how it works ; or a 
 couple will come together and shake hands in an 
 artificial way, and laugh a gay manufactured laugh, 
 and do some constrained and self-conscious attitu- 
 dinizing ; and they steal glances at the galleries to 
 see if they are getting notice. It is like a scene 
 on the stage — by-play by minor actors at the back 
 while the stars do the great work at the front. 
 Even Count Badeni attitudinizes for a mofnent ; 
 strikes a reflective Napoleonic attitude of fine pict- 
 uresqueness — but soon thinks better of it and de- 
 sists. There are two who do not attitudinize — 
 poor harried and insulted President Abrahamowicz, 
 
328 
 
 who seems wholly miserable, and can find no way 
 to put in the dreary time but by swinging his bell 
 and by discharging occasional remarks which no- 
 body can hear ; and a resigned and patient priest, 
 who sits lonely in a great vacancy on Majority ter- 
 ritory and munches an apple. 
 
 Schonerer uplifts his fog-horn of a voice and 
 shakes the roof with an insult discharged at the 
 Majority. 
 
 Dr. Leuger. " The Honorless Party would better 
 keep still here !" 
 
 Gregorig (the echo, swelling out his shirt-front). 
 " Yes, keep quiet, pimp !" 
 
 Schonerer (to Lueger). " Political mountebank !" 
 
 Prochazka (to Schonerer). " Drunken clown !" 
 
 During the final hour of the sitting many happy 
 phrases were distributed through the proceedings. 
 Among them were these — and they are strikingly 
 good ones : 
 
 " Blatherskite !" 
 
 " Blackguard !" 
 
 " Scoundrel !" 
 
 " Brothel-daddy !" 
 
 This last was the contribution of Dr. Gessman, 
 and gave great satisfaction. And deservedly. It 
 seems to me that it was one of the most sparkling 
 things that was said during the whole evening. 
 
329 
 
 At half past two in the morning the House ad- 
 journed. The victory was with the Opposition. 
 No ; not quite that. The effective part of it was 
 snatched away from them by an unlawful exercise 
 of Presidential force — another contribution tow- 
 ard driving the mistreated Minority out of their 
 minds. 
 
 At other sittings of the parliament, gentlemen 
 of the Opposition, shaking their fists toward the 
 President, addressed him as " Polish Dog." At one 
 sitting an angry deputy turned upon a colleague 
 and shouted, 
 
 You must try to imagine what it was. If I 
 should offer it even in the original it would prob- 
 ably not get by the Magazine editor's blue pencil ; 
 to offer a translation would be to waste my ink, of 
 course. This remark was frankly printed in its en- 
 tirety by one of the Vienna dailies, but the others 
 disguised the toughest half of it with stars. 
 
 If the reader will go back over this chapter and 
 gather its array of extraordinary epithets into a 
 bunch and examine them, he will marvel at two 
 things: how this convention of gentlemen could 
 consent to use such gross terms; and why the 
 users were allowed to get out of the place alive. 
 There is no way to understand this strange situa- 
 
330 
 
 tion. If every man in the House were a profes- 
 sional blackguard, and had his home in a sailor 
 boarding-house, one could still not understand it; 
 for although that sort do use such terms, they 
 never take them. These men are not professional 
 blackguards ; they are mainly gentlemen, and edu- 
 cated ; yet they use the terms, and take them too. 
 They really seem to attach no consequence to 
 them. One cannot say that they act like school- 
 boys ; for that is only almost true, not entirely. 
 Schoolboys blackguard each other fiercely, and by 
 the hour, and one would think that nothing would 
 ever come of it but noise ; but that would be a 
 mistake. Up to a certain limit the result would be 
 noise only, but, that limit overstepped, trouble 
 would follow right away. There are certain phrases 
 — phrases of a peculiar character — phrases of the 
 nature of that reference to Schonerer's grand- 
 mother, for instance — which not even the most 
 spiritless schoolboy in the English-speaking world 
 would allow to pass unavenged. One difference 
 between schoolboys and the law-makers of the 
 Reichsrath seems to be that the law-makers have 
 no limit, no danger-line. Apparently they may 
 call each other what they please, and go home un- 
 mutilated. 
 
 Now, in fact, they did have a scufHe on two oc- 
 
331 
 
 casions, but it was not on account of names called. 
 There has been no scuffle where that was the 
 cause. 
 
 It is not to be inferred that the House lacks a 
 sense of honor because it lacks delicacy. That 
 would be an error. Iro was caught in a lie, and it 
 profoundly disgraced him. The House cut him, 
 turned its back upon him. He resigned his seat ; 
 otherwise he would have been expelled. But it 
 was lenient with Gregorig, who had called Iro a 
 cowardly blatherskite in debate. It merely went 
 through the form of mildly censuring him. That 
 did not trouble Gregorig. 
 
 The Viennese say of themselves that they are 
 an easy-going, pleasure-loving community, making 
 the best of life, and not taking it very seriously. 
 Nevertheless, they are grieved about the ways of 
 their parliament, and say quite frankly that they 
 are ashamed. They claim that the low condition 
 of the parliament's manners is new, not old. A 
 gentleman who was at the head of the government 
 twenty years ago confirms this, and says that in his 
 time the parliament was orderly and well-behaved. 
 An English gentleman of long residence here en- 
 dorses this, and says that a low order of politicians 
 originated the present forms of questionable speech 
 on the stump some years ago, and imported them 
 
332 
 
 into the parliament.* However, some day there 
 will be a Minister of Etiquette and a sergeant-at- 
 arms, and then things will go better. I mean if 
 parliament and the Constitution survive the present 
 storm. 
 
 IV. — The Historic Climax 
 
 During the whole of November things went 
 from bad to worse. The all-important Ausgleich 
 remained hard aground, and could not be sparred 
 off. Badeni's government could not withdraw the 
 Language Ordinance and keep its majority, and 
 the Opposition could not be placated on easier 
 terms. One night, while the customary pandemo- 
 nium was crashing and thundering along at its 
 best, a fire broke out. It was a surging, strug- 
 gling, shoulder -to -shoulder scramble. A great 
 many blows were struck. Twice Schonerer lifted 
 one of the heavy ministerial fauteuils— some say 
 with one hand — and threatened members of the 
 Majority with it, but it was wrenched away from 
 him ; a member hammered Wolf over the head 
 
 * " In that gracious bygone time when a mild and good-tempered 
 spirit was the atmosphere of our House, when the manner of our 
 speakers was studiously formal and academic, and the storms and 
 explosions of to-day were wholly unknown," etc. — Translation of 
 the opening remark of an editorial in this morning's Neue Freie 
 Presse, December ii. 
 
333 
 
 with the President's bell, and another member 
 choked him ; a professor was flung down and be- 
 labored with fists and choked ; he held up an open 
 penknife as a defence against the blows; it was 
 snatched from him and flung to a distance ; it hit a 
 peaceful Christian Socialist who wasn't doing any- 
 thing, and brought blood from his hand. This was 
 the only blood drawn. The men who got ham- 
 mered and choked looked sound and well next 
 day. The fists and the bell were not properly han- 
 dled, or better results would have been apparent. 
 I am quite sure that the fighters were not in earnest. 
 
 On Thanksgiving Day the sitting was a history- 
 making one. On that day the harried, bedeviled 
 and despairing government went insane. In order 
 to free itself from the thraldom of the Opposition it 
 committed this curiously juvenile crime : it moved 
 an important change of the Rules of the House, 
 forbade debate upon the motion, put it to a stand- 
 up vote instead of ayes and noes, and then gravely 
 claimed that it had been adopted ; whereas, to even 
 the dullest witness — if I without immodesty may 
 pretend to that place — it was plain that nothing 
 legitimately to be called a vote had been taken 
 at all. 
 
 I think that Saltpeter never uttered a truer 
 thing than when he said, " Whom the gods would 
 
334 
 
 destroy they first make mad." Evidently the 
 government's mind was tottering when this bald 
 insult to the House was the best way it could con- 
 trive for getting out of the frying-pan. 
 
 The episode would have been funny if the mat- 
 ter at stake had been a trifle ; but in the circum- 
 stances it was pathetic. The usual storm was rag- 
 ing in the House. As usual, many of the Majority 
 and the most of the Minority were standing up — 
 to have a better chance to exchange epithets and 
 make other noises. Into this storm Count Falken- 
 hayn entered, with his paper in his hand ; and at 
 once there was a rush to get near him and hear 
 him read his motion. In a moment he was walled 
 in by listeners. The several clauses of his motion 
 were loudly applauded by these allies, and as 
 loudly disapplauded^if I may invent a word — by 
 such of the Opposition as could hear his voice. 
 When he took his seat the President promptly put 
 the motion — persons desiring to vote in the afflrma- 
 tive, stand up ! The House was already standing 
 up ; had been standing for an hour ; and before a 
 third of it had found out what the President had 
 been saying, he had proclaimed the adoption of the 
 motion! And only a few heard that. In fact, 
 when that House is legislating you can't tell it 
 from artillery practice. 
 
335 
 
 You will realize what a happy idea it was to side- 
 track the lawful ayes and noes and substitute a 
 stand-up vote by this fact : that a little later, when 
 a deputation of deputies waited upon the President 
 and asked him if he was actually willing to claim 
 that that measure had been passed, he answered, 
 "Yes — and unanimously." It shows that in effect 
 the whole House was on its feet when that trick 
 was sprung. 
 
 The "Lex Falkenhayn," thus strangely born, 
 gave the President power to suspend for three 
 days any deputy who should continue to be dis- 
 orderly after being called to order twice, and it 
 also placed at his disposal such force as might be 
 necessary to make the suspension effective. So 
 the House had a sergeant -at-arms at last, and a 
 more formidable one, as to power, than any other 
 legislature in Christendom had ever possessed. 
 The Lex Falkenhayn also gave the House itself 
 authority to suspend members for thirty days. 
 
 On these terms the Ausgleich could be put 
 through in an hour — apparently. The Opposition 
 would have to sit meek and quiet, and stop ob- 
 structing, or be turned into the street, deputy after 
 deputy, leaving the Majority an unvexed field for 
 its work. 
 
 Certainly the thing looked well. The govern- 
 
336 
 
 ment was out of the frying-pan at last. It con- 
 gratulated itself, and was almost girlishly happy. 
 Its stock rose suddenly from less than nothing to 
 a premium. It confessed to itself, with pride, that 
 its Lex Falkenhayn was a master-stroke — a work 
 of genius. 
 
 However, there were doubters — men who were 
 troubled, and believed that a grave mistake had 
 been made. It might be that the Opposition was 
 crushed, and profitably for the country, too ; but the 
 manner of it — the manner of it! That was the 
 serious part. It could have far-reaching results ; 
 results whose gravity might transcend all guessing. 
 It might be the initial step toward a return to 
 government by force, a restoration of the irrespon- 
 sible methods of obsolete times. 
 
 There were no vacant seats in the galleries next 
 day. In fact, standing-room outside the building 
 was at a premium. There were crowds there, and 
 a glittering array of helmeted and brass-buttoned 
 police, on foot and on horseback, to keep them from 
 getting too much excited. No one could guess 
 what was going to happen, but every one felt that 
 something was going to happen, and hoped he 
 might have a chance to see it, or at least get the 
 news of it while it was fresh. 
 
 At noon the House was empty — for I do not 
 
337 
 
 count myself. Half an hour later the two galleries 
 were sohdly packed, the floor still empty. An- 
 other half-hour later Wolf entered and passed to 
 his place ; then other deputies began to stream in, 
 among them many forms and faces grown familiar 
 of late. By one o'clock the membership was pres- 
 ent in full force. A band of Socialists stood grouped 
 against the ministerial desks, in the shadow of the 
 Presidential tribune. It was observable that these 
 official strongholds were now protected against 
 rushes by bolted gates, and that these were in ward 
 of servants wearing the House's livery. Also the 
 removable desk-boards had been taken away, and 
 nothing left for disorderly members to slat with. 
 
 There was a pervading, anxious hush — at least 
 what stood very well for a hush in that House. It 
 was believed by many that the Opposition was 
 cowed, and that there would be no more obstruc- 
 tion, no more noise. That was an error. 
 
 Presently the President entered by the distant 
 door to the right, followed by Vice-President Fuchs, 
 and the two took their way down past the Polish 
 benches toward the tribune. Instantly the cus- 
 tomary storm of noises burst out, and rose higher 
 and higher, and wilder and wilder, and really seemed 
 to surpass anything that had gone before it in that 
 place. The President took his seat, and begged 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 for order, but no one could hear him. His lips 
 moved — one could see that; he bowed his body 
 forward appealingly, and spread his great hand 
 eloquently over his breast — one could see that ; but 
 as concerned his uttered words, he probably could 
 not hear them himself. Below him was that crowd 
 of two dozen Socialists glaring up at him, shaking 
 their fists at him, roaring imprecations and insult- 
 ing epithets at him. This went on for some time. 
 Suddenly the Socialists burst through the gates 
 and stormed up through the ministerial benches, 
 and a man in a red cravat reached up and snatched 
 the documents that lay on the President's desk 
 and flung them abroad. The next moment he and 
 his allies were struggling and fighting with the 
 half-dozen uniformed servants who were there to 
 protect the new gates. Meantime a detail of So- 
 cialists had swarmed up the side steps and over- 
 flowed the President and the Vice, and were crowd- 
 ing and shouldering and shoving them out of the 
 place. They crowded them out, and down the 
 steps and across the House, past the Polish benches; 
 and all about them swarmed hostile Poles and 
 Czechs, who resisted them. One could see fists 
 go up and come down, with other signs and shows 
 of a heady fight ; then the President and the Vice 
 disappeared through the door of entrance, and the 
 
339 
 
 victorious Socialists turned and marched back, 
 mounted the tribune, flung the President's bell 
 and his remaining papers abroad, and then stood 
 there in a compact little crowd, eleven strong, and 
 held the place as if it were a fortress. Their friends 
 on the floor were in a frenzy of triumph, and mani- 
 fested it in their deafening way. The whole House 
 was on its feet, amazed and wondering. 
 
 It was an astonishing situation, and imposingly 
 dramatic. Nobody had looked for this. The un- 
 expected had happened. What next ? But there 
 can be no next ; the play is over ; the grand climax 
 is reached ; the possibilities are exhausted ; ring 
 down the curtain. 
 
 Not yet. That distant door opens again. And 
 now we see what history will be talking of five cen- 
 turies hence : a uniformed and helmeted battalion 
 of bronzed and stalwart men marching in double 
 file down the floor of the House — a free parliament 
 profaned by an invasion of brute force ! 
 
 It was an odious spectacle — odious and awful. 
 For one moment it was an unbelievable thing — a 
 thing beyond all credibility ; it must be a delusion, 
 a dream, a nightmare. But no, it was real — piti- 
 fully real, shamefully real, hideously real. These 
 sixty policemen had been soldiers, and they wei^t 
 at their work with the cold unsentimentality of 
 
340 
 
 their trade. They ascended the steps of the trib- 
 une, laid their hands upon the inviolable persons 
 of the representatives of a nation, and dragged and 
 tugged and hauled them down the steps and out 
 at the door; then ranged themselves in stately- 
 military array in front of the ministerial estrade, 
 and so stood. 
 
 It was a tremendous episode. The memory of 
 it will outlast all the thrones that exist to-day. In 
 the whole history of free parliaments the like 
 of it had been seen but three times before. It 
 takes its imposing place among the world's un- 
 forgettable things. I think that in my lifetime 
 I have not twice seen abiding history made be- 
 fore my eyes, but I know that I have seen it 
 once. 
 
 Some of the results of this wild freak followed 
 instantly. The Badeni government came down 
 with a crash ; there was a popular outbreak or two 
 in Vienna ; there were three or four days of furious 
 rioting in Prague, followed by the establishing there 
 of martial law ; the Jews and Germans were har- 
 ried and plundered, and their houses destroyed ; 
 in other Bohemian towns there was rioting — in some 
 cases the Germans being the rioters, in others the 
 Czechs — and in all cases the Jew had to roast, no 
 matter which side he was on. We are well along 
 
341 
 
 in December now;* the next new Minister-Presi- 
 dent has not been able to patch up a peace among 
 the warring factions of the parliament, therefore 
 there is no use in calling it together again for the 
 present ; public opinion believes that parliamen- 
 tary government and the Constitution are actually 
 threatened with extinction, and that the perma- 
 nency of the monarchy itsejf is a not absolutely 
 certain thing! 
 
 Yes, the Lex Falkenhayn was a great invention, 
 and did what was claimed for it — it got the gov- 
 ernment out of the frying-pan. 
 
 * It is the gth.— M. T. 
 
THE AUSTRIAN EDISON KEEPING 
 SCHOOL AGAIN 
 
 BY a paragraph in the Freie Presse it appears 
 that Jan Szczepanik, the youthful inventor 
 of the " telelectroscope " (for seeing at great 
 distances) and some other scientific marvels, has 
 been having an odd adventure, by help of the state. 
 Vienna is hospitably ready to smile whenever 
 there is an opportunity, and this seems to be a fair 
 one. Three or four years ago, when Szczepanik 
 was nineteen or twenty years old, he was a school- 
 master in a Moravian village, on a salary of — I 
 forget the amount, but no matter ; there was not 
 enough of it to remember. His head was full of 
 inventions, and in his odd hours he began to plan 
 them out. He soon perfected an ingenious inven- 
 tion for applying photography to pattern-designing 
 as used in the textile industries, whereby he pro- 
 posed to reduce the customary outlay of time, 
 labor, and money expended on that department of 
 loom-work to next to nothing. He wanted to 
 
343 
 
 carry his project to Vienna and market it, and, as 
 he could not get leave of absence, he made his trip 
 without leave. This lost him his place, but did 
 not gain him his market. When his money ran 
 out he went back home, and was presently rein- 
 stated. By -and -by he deserted once more, and 
 went to Vienna, and this time he made some friends 
 who assisted him, and his invention was sold to 
 England and Germany for a great sum. During 
 the past three years he has been experimenting 
 and investigating in velvety comfort. His most 
 picturesque achievement is his telelectroscope, a 
 device which a number of able men — including Mr. 
 Edison, I think-r-had already tried their hands at, 
 with prospects of eventual success. A Frenchman 
 came near to solving the difficult and intricate 
 problem fifteen years ago, but an essential detail 
 was lacking which he could not master, and he suf- 
 fered defeat. Szczepanik's experiments with his 
 pattern-designing project revealed to him the secret 
 of the lacking detail. He perfected his invention, 
 and a French syndicate has bought it, and saved 
 it for exhibition and fortune - making at the Paris 
 world's fair. 
 
 As a schoolmaster Szczepanik was exempt from 
 military duty. When he ceased from teaching, 
 being an educated man he could have had himself 
 
344 
 
 enrolled as a one-year volunteer; but he forgot 
 to do it, and this exposed him to the privilege, 
 and also the necessity, of serving three years in the 
 army. In the course of duty, the other day, an 
 ofificial discovered the inventor's indebtedness to 
 the state, and took the proper measures to col- 
 lect. At first there seemed to be no way for the 
 inventor (and the state) out of the difficulty. The 
 authorities were loath to take the young man out 
 of his great laboratory, where he was helping to 
 shove the whole human race along on its road to 
 new prosperities and scientific conquests, and sus- 
 pend operations in his mental Klondike three years, 
 while he punched the empty air with a bayonet in 
 a time of peace ; but there was the law, and how 
 was it to be helped ? It was a difficult puzzle, but 
 the authorities labored at it until they found a for- 
 gotten law some wherewhich furnished a loop-hole — 
 a large one, and a long one, too, as it looks to me. 
 By this piece of good-luck Szczepanik is saved from 
 soldiering, but he becomes a schoolmaster again; 
 and it is a sufficiently picturesque billet, when you 
 examine it. He must go back to his village every 
 two months, and teach his school half a day — from 
 early in the morning until noon ; and, to the best of 
 my understanding of the published terms, he must 
 keep this up the rest of his life ! I hope so, just for 
 
345 
 
 the romantic poeticalness of it. He is twenty-four, 
 strongly and compactly built, and comes of an 
 ancestry accustomed to waiting to see its great- 
 grandchildren married. It is almost certain that 
 he will live to be ninety. I hope so. This prom- 
 ises him sixty-six years of useful school service. 
 Dissected, it gives him a chance to teach school 
 396 half-days, make 396 railway trips going, and 
 396 back, pay bed and board 396 times in the vil- 
 lage, and lose possibly 1200 days from his labora- 
 tory work — that is to say, three years and three 
 months or so. And he already owes three years to 
 this same account. This has been overlooked ; I 
 shall call the attention of the authorities to it. It 
 may be possible for him to get a compromise on 
 this compromise by doing his three years in the 
 army, and saving one ; but I think it can't happen. 
 This government " holds the age " on him ; it has 
 what is technically called a " good thing " in finan- 
 cial circles, and knows a good thing when it sees it. 
 I know the inventor very well, and he has my 
 sympathy. This is friendship. But I am throw- 
 ing my influence with the government. This is 
 politics. 
 
 Szczepanik left for his village in Moravia day be- 
 fore yesterday to " do time " for the first time 
 under his sentence. Early yesterday morning he 
 
346 
 
 started for the school in a fine carriage, which was 
 stocked with fruits, cakes, toys, and all sorts of 
 knick-knacks, rarities, and surprises for the children, 
 and was met on the road by the school and a body 
 of schoolmasters from the neighboring districts, 
 marching in column, with the village authorities at 
 the head, and was received with the enthusiastic 
 welcome proper to the man who had made their 
 village's name celebrated, and conducted in state 
 to the humble doors which had been shut against 
 him as a deserter three years before. It is out of 
 materials like these that romances are woven ; and 
 when the romancer has done his best, he has not 
 improved upon the unpainted facts. Szczepanik 
 put the sapless school-books aside, and led the 
 children a holiday dance through the enchanted 
 lands of science and invention, explaining to them 
 some of the curious things which he had contrived, 
 and the laws which governed their construction 
 and performance, and illustrating these matters 
 with pictures and models and other helps to a clear 
 understanding of their fascinating mysteries. After 
 this there was play and a distribution of the fruits 
 and toys and things ; and after this, again, some 
 more science, including the story of the invention 
 of the telephone, and an explanation of its char- 
 acter and laws, for the convict had brought a tele- 
 
347 
 
 phone along. The children saw that wonder for 
 the first time, and they also personally tested its 
 powers and verified them. 
 
 Then school " let out " ; the teacher got his cer- 
 tificate, all signed, stamped, taxed, and so on, said 
 good-bye, and drove off in his carriage under a 
 storm of " Do widzenia .'" {" Au revoir /") from the 
 children, who will resume their customary sobrieties 
 until he comes in August and uncorks his flask of 
 scientific fire-water again. 
 
TRAVELLING WITH A REFORMER 
 
 LAST spring I went out to Chicago to see the 
 Fair, and although I did not see it my trip 
 was not wholly lost — there were compen- 
 sations. In New York I was introduced to a major 
 in the regular army who said he was going to the 
 Fair, and we agreed to go together. I had to go to 
 Boston first, but that did not interfere ; he said he 
 would go along and put in the time. He was a 
 handsome man, and built like a gladiator. But his 
 ways were gentle, and his speech was soft and per- 
 suasive. He was companionable, but exceedingly 
 reposeful. Yes, and wholly destitute of the sense 
 of humor. He was full of interest in everything 
 that went on around him, but his serenity was in- 
 destructible ; nothing disturbed him, nothing ex- 
 cited him. 
 
 But before the day was done I found that deep 
 down in him somewhere he had a passion, quiet as 
 he was — a passion for reforming petty public 
 abuses. He stood for citizenship — it was his 
 
349 
 
 hobby. His idea was that every citizen of the re- 
 public ought to consider himself an unofficial 
 policeman, and keep unsalaried watch and ward 
 over the laws and their execution. He thought 
 that the only effective way of preserving and pro- 
 tecting public rights was for each citizen to do 
 his share in preventing or punishing such in- 
 fringements of them as came under his personal 
 notice. 
 
 It was a good scheme, but I thought it would 
 keep a body in trouble all the time ; it seemed to 
 me that one would be always trying to get offend- 
 ing little officials discharged, and perhaps getting 
 laughed at for all reward. But he said no, I had 
 the wrong idea ; that there was no occasion to get 
 anybody discharged ; that in fact you mustn't get 
 anybody discharged ; that that would itself be a 
 failure ; no, one must reform the man — reform him 
 and make him useful where he was. 
 
 " Must one report the offender and then beg his 
 superior not to discharge him, but reprimand him 
 and keep him ?" 
 
 " No, that is not the idea ; you don't report him 
 at all, for then you risk his bread and butter. You 
 can act as if you are going to report him — when 
 nothing else will answer. But that's an extreme 
 case. That is a sort of force, and force is bad. 
 
35° 
 
 Diplomacy is the effective thing. Now if a man 
 has tact — if a man will exercise diplomacy — " 
 
 For two minutes we had been standing at a tele- 
 graph wicket, and during all this time the Major 
 had been trying to get the attention of one of the 
 young operators, but they were all busy skylarking. 
 The Major spoke now, and asked one of them to 
 take his telegram. He got for reply : 
 
 " I reckon you can wait a minute, can't you ?" 
 and the skylarking went on. 
 
 The Major said yes, he was not in a hurry. 
 Then he wrote another telegram : 
 
 " President Western Union Tel. Co. . 
 
 " Come and dine with me this evening. I can tell you 
 how business is conducted in one of your branches." 
 
 Presently the young fellow who had spoken so 
 pertly a little before reached out and took the tele- 
 gram, and when he read it he lost color and began 
 to apologize and explain. He said he would lose 
 his place if this deadly telegram was sent, and he 
 might never get another. If he could be let off 
 this time he would give no cause of complaint 
 again. The compromise was accepted. 
 As we walked away, the Major said : 
 " Now, you see, that was diplomacy — and you 
 see how it worked. It wouldn't do any good to 
 
351 
 
 bluster, the way people are always doing— that boy 
 can always give you as good as you send, and you'll 
 come out defeated and ashamed of yourself pretty 
 nearly always. But you see he stands no chance 
 against diplomacy. Gentle words and diplomacy — 
 those are the tools to work with." 
 
 " Yes, I see ; but everybody wouldn't have had 
 your opportunity. It isn't everybody that is on 
 those familiar terms with the president of the 
 Western Union." 
 
 " Oh, you misunderstand. I don't know the 
 president — I only use him diplomatically. It is for 
 his good and for the public good. There's no 
 harm in it." 
 
 I said, with hesitation and diffidence : 
 " But is it ever right or noble to tell a lie ?" 
 He took no note of the delicate self-righteous- 
 ness of the question, but answered, with undis- 
 turbed gravity and simplicity : 
 
 " Yes, sometimes. Lies told to injure a person 
 and lies told to profit yourself are not justifiable, 
 but lies told to help another person, and lies told 
 in the public interest — oh, well, that is quite an- 
 other matter. Anybody knows that. But never 
 mind about the methods : you see the result. That 
 youth is going to be useful now, and well-behaved. 
 He had a good face. He was worth saving. Why, 
 
352 
 
 he was worth saving on his mother's account if not 
 his own. Of course, he has a mother — sisters, too. 
 Damn these people who are always forgetting that ! 
 Do you know, I've never fought a duel in my life 
 — never once — and yet have been challenged, like 
 other people. I could always see the other man's 
 unoffending women folks or his little children stand- 
 ing between him and me. They hadn't done any- 
 thing — I couldn't break their hearts you know." 
 
 He corrected a good many little abuses in the 
 course of the day, and always without friction— 
 always with a fine and dainty " diplomacy " which 
 left no sting behind ; and he got such happiness 
 and such contentment out of these performances 
 that I was obliged to envy him his trade — and 
 perhaps would have adopted it if I could have 
 managed the necessary deflections from fact as 
 confidently with my mouth as I believe I could 
 with a pen, behind the shelter of print, after a little 
 practice. 
 
 Away late that night we were coming up-town 
 in a horse-car when three boisterous roughs got 
 aboard, and began to fling hilarious obscenities and 
 profanities right and left among the timid passen- 
 gers, some of whom were women and children. 
 Nobody resisted or retorted ; the conductor tried 
 soothing words and moral suasion, but the roughs 
 
353 
 
 only called him names and laughed at him. Very 
 soon I saw that the Major realized that this was a 
 matter which was in his line; evidently he was 
 turning over his stock of diplomacy in his mind 
 and getting ready. I felt that the first diplomatic 
 remark he made in this place would bring down 
 a landslide of ridicule upon him, and maybe some- 
 thing worse; but before I could whisper to him 
 and check him he had begun, and it was too late. 
 He said, in a level and dispassionate tone : 
 
 " Conductor, you must put these swine out. I 
 will help you." 
 
 I was not looking for that. In a flash the three 
 roughs plunged at him. But none of them arrived. 
 He delivered three such blows as one could not 
 expect to encounter outside the prize-ring, and 
 neither of the men had life enough left in him to 
 get up from where he fell. The Major dragged 
 them out and threw them off the car, and we got 
 under way again. 
 
 I was astonished ; astonished to see a lamb act 
 so; astonished at the strength displayed, and the 
 clean and comprehensive result ; astonished at the 
 brisk and business-like style of the whole thing. 
 The situation had a humorous side to it, consider- 
 ing how much I had been hearing about mild per- 
 suasion and gentle diplomacy all day from this 
 23 
 
354 
 
 pile-driver, and I would have liked to call his atten- 
 tion to that feature and do some sarcasms about 
 it ; but when I looked at him I saw that it would 
 be of no use — his placid and contented face had no 
 ray of humor in it; he would not have understood. 
 When we left the car, I said : 
 
 " That was a good stroke of diplomacy — three 
 good strokes of diplomacy, in fact." 
 
 " That ? That wasn't diplomacy. You are quite 
 in the wrong. Diplomacy is a wholly different 
 thing. One cannot apply it to that sort, they 
 would not understand it. No, that was not diplo- 
 macy ; it was force." 
 
 " Now that you mention it, I — yes, I think per- 
 haps you are right." 
 
 " Right ? Of course I am right. It was just 
 force." 
 
 " I think, myself, it had the outside aspect of it. 
 Do you often have to reform people in that way ?" 
 
 " Far from it. It hardly ever happens. Not 
 oftener than once in half a year, at the outside." 
 
 "Those men will get well ? " 
 
 "Get well? Why certainly they will. They' 
 are not in any danger. I know how to hit and 
 where to hit. You noticed that I did not hit them 
 under the jaw. That would have killed them." 
 
 I believed that. I remarked — rather wittily, as I 
 
355 
 
 thought— that he had been a lamb all day, but now 
 had all of a sudden developed into a ram — batter- 
 ing-ram ; but with dulcet frankness and simplicity 
 he said no, a battering-ram was quite a different 
 thing and not in use now. This was maddening, 
 and I came near bursting out and saying he had no 
 more appreciation of wit than a jackass— in fact, I 
 had it right on my tongue, but did not say it, 
 knowing there was no hurry and I could say it just 
 as well some other time over the telephone. 
 
 We started to Boston the next afternoon. The 
 smoking - compartment in the parlor- car was full, 
 and we went into the regular smoker. Across the 
 aisle in the front seat sat a meek, farmer-looking 
 old man with a sickly pallor in his face, and he was 
 holding the door open with his foot to get the air. 
 Presently a big brakeman came rushing through, 
 and when he got to the door he stopped, gave the 
 farmer an ugly scowl, then wrenched the door to 
 with such energy as to almost snatch the old man's 
 boot off. Then on he plunged about his business. 
 Several passengers laughed, and the old gentleman 
 looked pathetically pained and grieved. 
 
 After a little the conductor passed along, and 
 the Major stopped him and asked him a question 
 in his habitually courteous way : 
 
 " Conductor, where does one report the mis- 
 
356 
 
 conduct of a brakeman? Does one report to 
 you ?" 
 
 " You can report him at New Haven if you want 
 to. What has he been doing?" 
 
 The Major told the story. The conductor 
 seemed amused. He said, with just a touch of 
 sarcasm in his bland tones : 
 
 " As I understand you, the brakeman didn't say 
 anything." 
 
 " No, he didn't say anything." 
 
 " But he scowled, you say." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And snatched the door loose in a rough way." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That's the whole business, is it ?" 
 
 " Yes, that is the whole of it." 
 
 The conductor smiled pleasantly, and said : 
 
 " Well, if you want to report him, all right, but I 
 don't quite make out what it's going to amount to. 
 You'll say — as I understand you — that the brake- 
 man insulted this old gentleman. They'll ask you 
 what he said. You'll say he didn't say anything at 
 all. I reckon they'll say, how are you going to 
 make out an insult when you acknowledge your- 
 self that he didn't say a word." » 
 
 There was a murmur of applause at the conduc- 
 tor's compact reasoning, and it gave him pleasure — • 
 
357 
 
 you could see it in his face. But the Major was 
 not disturbed. He said : 
 
 "There — now you have touched upon a crying 
 defect in the complaint-system. The railway offi- 
 cials — as the public think and as you also seem to 
 think — are not aware that there are any kind of 
 insults except spoken ones. So nobody goes to 
 headquarters and reports insults of manner, insults 
 of gesture, look, and so forth ; and yet these are 
 sometimes harder to bear than any words. They 
 are bitter hard to bear because there is nothing 
 tangible to take hold of; and the insulter can 
 always say, if called before the railway officials, 
 that he never dreamed of intending any offence. 
 It seems to me that the officials ought to specially 
 and urgently request the public to report unworded 
 affronts and incivilities." 
 
 The conductor laughed, and said: 
 
 "Well, that would be trimming it pretty fine, 
 sure!" 
 
 " But not too fine, I think. I will report this 
 matter at New Haven, and I have an idea that I'll 
 be thanked for it." 
 
 The conductor's face lost something of its 
 complacency; in fact, it settled to a quite so- 
 ber cast as the owner of it moved away. I 
 said : 
 
35« 
 
 _ " You are not really going to bother with that 
 trifle, are you?" 
 
 " It isn't a trifle. Such things ought always to 
 be reported. It is a public duty, and no citizen 
 has a right to shirk it. But I sha'n't have to report 
 this case." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " It won't be necessary. Diplomacy will do the 
 business. You'll see." 
 
 Presently the conductor came on his rounds 
 again, and when he reached the Major he leaned 
 over and said : 
 
 " That's all right. You needn't report him. He's 
 responsible to me, and if he does it again I'll give 
 him a talking to." 
 
 The Major's response was cordial : 
 
 " Now that is what I like ! You mustn't think 
 that I was moved by any vengeful spirit, for that 
 wasn't the case. It was duty — just a sense of duty, 
 that was all. My brother-in-law is one of the di- 
 rectors of the road, and when he learns that you 
 are going to reason with your brakeman the very 
 next time he brutally insults an unoffending old 
 man it will please him, you may be sure of 
 that." 
 
 The conductor did not look as joyous as one 
 might have thought "he would, but on the contrary 
 
359 
 
 looked sickly and uncomfortable. He stood around 
 a little ; then said : 
 
 " / think something ought to be done to him 
 now. I'll discharge him." 
 
 " Discharge him ? What good would that do ? 
 Don't you think it would be better wisdom to 
 teach him better ways and keep him?" 
 
 " Well, there's something in that. What would 
 you suggest?" 
 
 " He insulted the old gentleman in presence of 
 all these people. How would it do to have him 
 come and apologize in their presence ?" 
 
 " I'll have him here right off. And I want to 
 say this: If people would do as you've done, and 
 report such things to me instead of keeping mum 
 and going off and blackguarding the road, you'd 
 see a different state of things pretty .soon. I'm 
 much obliged to you." 
 
 The brakeman came and apologized. After he 
 was gone the Major said : 
 
 " Now, you see how simple and easy that was. 
 The ordinary citizen would liave accomplished 
 nothing — the brother-in-law of a director can ac- 
 complish anything he wants to." 
 
 "But are you really the brother-in-law of a 
 director ?" 
 
 " Always. Always when the public interests re- 
 
360 
 
 quire it. I have a brother - in - law on all the 
 boards — everywhere. It saves me a world of 
 trouble." 
 
 " It is a good wide relationship." 
 
 " Yes. I have over three hundred of them." 
 
 "Is the relationship never doubted by a con- 
 ductor ?" 
 
 " I have never met with a case. It is the honest 
 truth — I never have." 
 
 " Why didn't you let him go ahead and discharge 
 the brakeman, in spite of your favorite policy? 
 You know he deserved it." 
 
 The Major answered with something which 
 really had a sort of distant resemblance to impa- 
 tience : 
 
 " If you would stop and think a moment you 
 wouldn't ask such a question as that. Is a brake- 
 man a dog, that nothing but a dog's methods will 
 do for him ? He is a man, and has a man's fight 
 for life. And he always has a sister, or a mother, 
 or wife and children to support. Always — there 
 are no exceptions. When you take his living away 
 from him you take theirs away too — and what have 
 they done to you ? Nothing. And where is the 
 profit in discharging an uncourteous brakeman and 
 hiring another just like him? It's unwisdom. 
 Don't you see that the rational thing to do is to 
 
3^1 
 
 reform the brakeman and keep him? Of course 
 it is." 
 
 Then he quoted with admiration the conduct of 
 a certain division superintendent of the Consoli- 
 dated road, in a case where a switchman of two 
 years' experience was negligent once and threw a 
 train off the track and killed several people. Citi- 
 zens came in a passion to urge the man's dismissal, 
 but the superintendent said : 
 
 " No, you are wrong. He has learned his lesson, 
 he will throw no more trains off the track. He is 
 twice as valuable as he was before. I shall keep 
 him." 
 
 We had only one more adventure on the trip. 
 Between Hartford and Springfield the train-boy 
 came shouting in with an armful of literature and 
 dropped a sample into a slumbering gentleman's 
 lap, and the man woke up with a start. He was 
 very angry, and he and a couple of friends dis- 
 cussed the outrage with much heat. They sent for 
 the parlor-car conductor and described the matter, 
 and were determined to have the boy expelled 
 from his situation. The three complainants were 
 wealthy Holyoke merchants, and it was evident 
 that the conductor stood in some awe of them. 
 He tried to pacify them, and explained that the 
 boy was not under his authority, but under that of 
 
362 
 
 one of the news companies ; but he accomplished 
 nothing. 
 
 Then the Major volunteered some testimony for 
 the defence. He said : 
 
 " I saw it all. You gentlemen have not meant 
 to exaggerate the circumstances, but still that is 
 what you have done. The boy has done nothing 
 more than all train-boys do. If you want to get 
 his ways softened down and his manners reformed, 
 I am with you and ready to help, but it isn't fair to 
 get him discharged without giving him a chance." 
 
 But they were angry, and would hear of no com- 
 promise. They were well acquainted with the pres- 
 ident of the Boston & Albany, they said, and would 
 put everything aside next day and go up to Boston 
 and fix that boy. 
 
 The Major said he would be on hand too, and 
 would do what he could to save the boy. One of 
 the gentlemen looked him over, and said : 
 
 " Apparently it is going to be a matter of who 
 can wield the most influence with the president. 
 Do you know Mr. Bliss personally?" 
 
 The Major said, with composure : 
 
 " Yes ; he is my uncle." 
 
 The effect was satisfactory. There was an awk- 
 ward silence for a minute or more ; then the hedg- 
 ing and the half-confessions of over-haste and ex- 
 
363 
 
 aggerated resentment began, and soon everything 
 was smooth and friendly and sociable, and it was 
 resolved to drop the matter and leave the boy's 
 bread and butter unmolested. 
 
 It turned out as I had expected : the president 
 of the road was not the Major's uncle at all — ex- 
 cept by adoption, and for this day and train 
 only. 
 
 We got into no episodes on the return journey. 
 Probably it was because we took a night train and 
 slept all the way. 
 
 We left New York Saturday night by the Penn- 
 sylvania road. After breakfast the next morning 
 we went into the parlor-car, but found it a dull 
 place and dreary. There were but few people in 
 it and nothing going on. Then we went into the 
 little smoking-compartment of the same car and 
 found three gentlemen in there. Two of them 
 were grumbling over one of the rules of the road 
 — a rule which forbade card-playing on the trains 
 on Sunday. They had started an innocent game 
 of high-low-jack and been stopped. The Major 
 was interested. He said to the third gentleman : 
 
 " Did you object to the game ?" 
 
 " Not at all. I am a Yale professor and a re- 
 ligious man, but my prejudices are not extensive." 
 
 Then the Major said to the others : 
 
3^4 
 
 " You are at perfect liberty to resume your game, 
 gentlemen ; no one here objects." 
 
 One of them declined the risk, but the other one 
 said he would like to begin again if the .Major would 
 join him. So they spread an overcoat over their 
 knees and the game proceeded. Pretty soon the 
 parlor-car conductor arrived, and said, brusquely : 
 
 " There, there, gentlemen, that won't do. Put 
 up the cards — it's not allowed." 
 
 The Major was shuffling. He continued to 
 shuffle, and said : 
 
 " By whose order is it forbidden ?" 
 
 " It's my order. I forbid it." 
 
 The dealing began. The Major asked : 
 
 " Did you invent the idea ?" 
 
 "What idea?" 
 
 " The idea of forbidding card-playing on Sunday." 
 
 " No — of course not." 
 
 " Who did ?" 
 
 " The company." 
 
 " Then it isn't your order, after all, but the com- 
 pany's. Is that it ?" 
 
 " Yes. But you don't stop playing ; I have to 
 require you to stop playing immediately." 
 
 " Nothing is gained by hurry, and often much is 
 lost. Who authorized the company to issue such 
 an order ?" 
 
365 
 
 " My dear sir, that is a matter of no consequence 
 to me, and — " 
 
 " But you forget that you are the only person 
 concerned. It may be a matter of consequence to 
 me. It is, indeed, a matter of very great impor- 
 tance to me. I cannot violate a legal requirement 
 of my country without dishonoring myself ; I can- 
 not allow any man or corporation to hamper my 
 liberties with illegal rules — a thing which railway 
 companies are always trying to do — without dis- 
 honoring my citizenship. So I come back to that 
 question : By whose authority has the company 
 issued this order ?" 
 
 " I don't know. That's their affair." 
 
 " Mine, too. I doubt if the company has any 
 right to issue such a rule. This road runs through 
 several States. Do you know what State we are 
 in now, and what its laws are in matters of this 
 kind?" 
 
 " Its laws do not concern me, but the company's 
 orders do. It is my duty to stop this game, gen- 
 tlemen, and it must be stopped." 
 
 " Possibly ; but still there is no hurry. In hotels 
 they post certain rules in the rooms, but they 
 always quote passages from the State law as 
 authority for these requirements. I see nothing 
 posted here of this sort. Please produce your 
 
366 
 
 authority and let us arrive at a decision, for you 
 see yourself that you are marring the game." 
 
 " I have nothing of the kind, but I have my 
 orders, and that is sufficient. They must be 
 obeyed." 
 
 " Let us not jump to conclusions. It will be 
 better all around to examine into the matter with- 
 out heat or haste, and see just where we stand be- 
 fore either of us makes a mistake — for the curtail- 
 ing of the liberties of a citizen of the United 
 States is a much more serious matter than you 
 and the railroads seem to think, and it cannot be 
 done in my person until the curtailer proves his 
 right to do so. Now — " 
 
 " My dear sir, will you put down those cards?" 
 
 " All in good time, perhaps. It depends. You 
 say this order must be obeyed. Must. It is a 
 strong word. You see yourself how strong it is. 
 A wise company would not arm you with so drastic 
 an order as this, of course, without appointing a 
 penalty for its infringement. Otherwise it runs 
 the risk of being a dead letter and a thing to laugh 
 at. What is the appointed penalty for an infringe- 
 ment of this law ?" 
 
 " Penalty? I never heard of any." 
 
 " Unquestionably you must be mistaken. Your 
 company orders you to come here and rudely break 
 
367 
 
 up an innocent amusement, and furnishes you no 
 way to enforce the order ? Don't you see that that 
 is nonsense ? What do you do when people refuse 
 to obey this order ? Do you take the cards away 
 from them ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Do you put the offender off at the next station?" 
 
 "Well, no — of course we couldn't if he had a 
 ticket." 
 
 " Do you have him up before a court ?" 
 
 The conductor was silent and apparently troub- 
 led. The Major started a new deal, and said : 
 
 "You see that you are helpless, and that the 
 company has placed you in a foolish position. 
 You are furnished with an arrogant order, and you 
 deliver it in a blustering way, and when you come 
 to look into the matter you find you haven't any 
 way of enforcing obedience." 
 
 The conductor said, with chill dignity : 
 
 " Gentlemen, you have heard the order, and my 
 duty is ended. As to obeying it or not, you will 
 do as you think fit." And he turned to leave. 
 
 " But wait. The matter is not yet finished. I 
 think you are mistaken about your duty being 
 ended ; but if it really is, I myself have a duty to 
 perform yet." 
 
 " How do you mean ? 
 
368 
 
 "Are you going to report my disobedience at 
 headquarters in Pittsburg?" 
 
 " No. What good would that do ?" 
 
 " You must report me, or I will report you." 
 
 " Report me for what ?" 
 
 " For disobeying the company's orders in not 
 stopping this game. As a citizen it is my duty to 
 help the railway companies keep their servants to 
 their work." 
 
 " Are you in earnest ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am in earnest. I have nothing against 
 you as a man, but I have this against you as an 
 officer — that you have not carried out that order, 
 and if you don't report me I must report you. 
 And I will." 
 
 The conductor looked puzzled, and was thought- 
 ful a moment ; then he burst out with : 
 
 " I seem to be getting myself into a scrape ! It's 
 all a muddle ; I can't make head or tail of it ; it's 
 never happened before ; they always knocked 
 under and never said a word, and so / never saw 
 how ridiculoiis that stupid order with no penalty 
 is. / don't want to report anybody, and I don't 
 want to be reported — why, it might do me no end 
 of harm. Now do go on with the game — play the 
 whole day if you want to — and don't let's have any 
 more trouble about it !" 
 
369 
 
 " No, I only sat down here to establish this gen- 
 tleman's rights — he can have his place now. But 
 before you go won't you tell me what you think 
 the company made this rule for? Can you imagine 
 an excuse for it ? I mean a rational one — an ex- 
 cuse that is not on its face silly, and the invention 
 of an idiot ?" 
 
 " Well, surely I can. The reason it was made is 
 plain enough. It is to save the feehngs of the 
 other passengers — the religious ones among them, 
 I mean. They would not like it, to have the Sab- 
 bath desecrated by card-playing on the train." 
 
 " I just thought as much. They are willing to 
 desecrate it themselves by travelling on Sunday, 
 but they are not willing that other people — " 
 
 " By gracious, you've hit it ! I never thought of 
 that before. The fact is, it is a silly rule when you 
 come to look into it." 
 
 At this point the train -conductor arrived, and 
 was going to shut down the game in a very high- 
 handed fashion, but the parlor-car conductor stop- 
 ped him, and took him aside to explain. Nothing 
 more was heard of the matter. 
 
 I was ill in bed eleven days in Chicago, and got 
 
 no glimpse of the Fair, for I was obliged to return 
 
 East as soon as I was able to travel. The Major 
 
 secured and paid for a state-room in a sleeper the 
 
 24 
 
370 
 
 day before we left, so that I could have plenty of 
 room and be comfortable ; but when we arrived at 
 the station a mistake had been made and our car 
 had not been put on. The conductor had reserved 
 a section for us — it was the best he could do, he 
 said. But the Major said we were not in a hurry, 
 and would wait for the car to be put on. The con- 
 ductor responded, with pleasant irony : 
 
 " It may be that you are not in a hurry, just as 
 you say^ but we are. Come, get aboard, gentle- 
 men, get aboard — don't keep us waiting." 
 
 But the Major would not get aboard himself nor 
 allow me to do it. He wanted his car, and said 
 he must have it. This made the hurried and per- 
 spiring conductor impatient, and he said : 
 
 " It's the best we can do — we can't do impossi- 
 bilities. You will take the section or go without. 
 A mistake has been made and can't be rectified 
 at this late hour. It's a thing that happens now 
 and then, and there is nothing for it but to put 
 up with it and make the best of it. Other people 
 do." 
 
 Ah, that is just it, you see. If they had stuck 
 to their rights and enforced them you wouldn't be 
 trying to trample mine underfoot in this bland 
 way now. I haven't any disposition to give you 
 unnecessary trouble, but it is my duty to protect 
 
371 
 
 the next man from this kind of imposition. So I 
 must have my car. Otherwise I will wait in Chi- 
 cago and sue the company for violating its con- 
 tract." 
 
 " Sue the company? — for a thing like that !" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Do you really mean that ? 
 
 " Indeed I do." 
 
 The conductor looked the Major over wonder- 
 ingly, and then said : 
 
 " It beats me — it's bran-new — I've never struck 
 the mate to it before. But I swear I think you'd 
 do it. Look here, I'll send for the station-master." 
 
 When the station-master came he was a good deal 
 annoyed — at the Major, not at the person who had 
 made the mistake. He was rather brusque, and 
 took the same position which the conductor had 
 taken in the beginning ; but he failed to move the 
 soft-spoken artilleryman, who still insisted that he 
 must have his car. However, it was plain that there 
 was only one strong side in this case, and that that 
 side was the Major's. The station-master banished 
 his annoyed manner, and became pleasant and even 
 half-apologetic. This made a good opening for a 
 compromise, and the Major made a concession. He 
 said he would give up the engaged state-room, but 
 he must have a state-room. After a deal of ran- 
 
372 
 
 sacking, one was found whose owner was persuad- 
 able ; he exchanged it for our section, and we got 
 away at last. The conductor called on us in the 
 evening, and was kind and courteous and obliging, 
 and we had a long talk and got to be good friends. 
 He said he wished the public would make trouble 
 oftener^ — it would have a good effect. He said that 
 the railroads could not be expected to do their 
 whole duty by the traveller unless the traveller 
 would take some interest in the matter himself. 
 
 I hoped that we were done reforming for the trip 
 now, but it was not so. In the hotel-car, in the 
 morning, the Major called for broiled chicken. The 
 waiter said : 
 
 It's not in the bill of fare, sir ; we do not serve 
 anything but what is in the bill." 
 
 "That gentleman yonder is eating a broiled 
 chicken." 
 
 " Yes, but that is different. He is one of the 
 superintendents of the road." 
 
 " Then all the more must I have broiled chicken. 
 I do not like these discriminations. Please hurry 
 — bring me a broiled chicken." 
 
 The waiter brought the steward, who explained 
 in a low and polite voice that the thing was impos- 
 sible — it was against the rule, and the rule was 
 rigid. 
 
373 
 
 " Very well, then, you nmst either apply it im- 
 partially or break it impartially. You must take 
 that gentleman's chicken away from him or bring 
 me one." 
 
 The steward was puzzled, and did not quite know 
 what to do. He began an incrherent argument, 
 but the conductor came alopg just then, and asked 
 what the difficulty was. The steward explained 
 that here was a gentleman who was insisting on 
 having a chicken when it was dead against the rule 
 and not in the bill. The conductor said : 
 
 " Stick by your rules — you haven't any option. 
 Wait a moment — is this the gentleman ?" Then he 
 laughed and said : " Nev?r mind your rules — it's 
 my advice, and sound ; give him anything he wants 
 — don't get him started on his rights. Give him 
 whatever he asks for ; and if you haven't got it, 
 stop the train and get it." 
 
 The Major ate the chicken,. but said he did it 
 from a sense of duty and to establish a principle, 
 for he did not like chicken. 
 
 I missed the Fair it is true, but I picked up some 
 diplomatic tricks which I and the reader may find 
 handy and useful as we go along. 
 
PRIVATE HISTORY OF THE "JUMP- 
 ING FROG" STORY 
 
 FIVE or six years ago a lady from Finland asked 
 me to tell her a story in our negro dialect, so 
 that she could get a^n idea of what that variety 
 of speech was like. I told her one of Hopkinson 
 Smith's negro stories, and gave her a copy of 
 Harper's Monthly containing it. She translated it 
 for a Swedish newspaper, but by an oversight 
 named me as the author of it instead of Smith. I 
 was very sorry for that, because I got a good lash- 
 ing in the Swedish press, which would have fallen 
 to his share but for that mistake ; for it was shown 
 that Boccaccio had told that very story, in his curt 
 and meagre fashion, five hundred years before 
 Smith took hold of it and made a good and tell- 
 able thing out of it. 
 
 I have always been sorry for Smith. But my own 
 turn has come now. A few weeks ago Professor 
 Van Dyke, of Princeton, asked this question : 
 
375 
 
 "Do you know how old your 'Jumping Frog' 
 story is ?" 
 
 And I answered : 
 
 " Yes— forty-five years. The thing happened in 
 Calaveras County, in the spring of 1849." 
 
 " No ; it happened earlier — a couple of thousand 
 years earlier; it is a Greek story." 
 
 I was astonished — and hurt. I said : 
 
 " I am willing to be a literary thief if it has been 
 so ordained ; I am even willing to be caught robbing 
 the ancient dead alongside of Hopkinson Smith, 
 for he is my friend and a good fellow, and I think 
 would be as honest as any one if he could do it 
 without occasioning remark ; but I am not willing 
 to antedate his crimes by fifteen hundred years. I 
 must ask you to knock off part of that." 
 
 But the professor was not chaffing ; he was in 
 earnest, and could not abate a century. He named 
 the Greek author, and offered to get the book and 
 send it to me and the college text-book containing 
 the English translation also. I thought I would 
 like the translation best, because Greek makes me 
 tired. January 30th he sent me the English ver- 
 sion, and I will presently insert it in this article. 
 It is my " Jumping Frog " tale in every essential. 
 It is not strung out as I have strung it out, but it 
 is all there. 
 
376 
 
 To me this is very curious and interesting. Curi- 
 ous for several reasons. For instance : 
 
 I heard the story told by a man who was not 
 telling it to his hearers as a thing new to them, 
 but as a thing which they had witnessed and would 
 remember. He was a dull person, and ignorant ; 
 he had no gift as a story-teller, and no invention ; 
 in his mouth this episode was merely history — his- 
 tory and statistics ; and the gravest sort of history, 
 too ; he was entirely serious, for he was dealing 
 with what to him were austere facts, and they in- 
 terested him solely because they were facts; he 
 was drawing on his memory, not his mind ; he saw 
 no humor in his tale, neither did his listeners; 
 neither he nor they ever smiled or laughed ; in my 
 time I have not attended a more solemn conference. 
 To him and to his fellow gold-miners there were 
 just two things in the story that were worth con- 
 sidering. One was the smartness of its hero, Jim 
 Smiley, in taking the stranger in with a loaded 
 frog ; and the other was Smiley's deep knowledge 
 of a frog's nature — for he knew (as the narrator 
 asserted and the listeners conceded) that a frog 
 likes shot and is always ready to eat it. Those men 
 discussed those two points, and those only. They , 
 were hearty in their admiration of them, and none 
 of the party was aware that a first-rate story had 
 
377 
 
 been told in a first-rate way, and that*'it was brimful 
 of a quality whose presence they never suspected— 
 humor. 
 
 Now, then, the interesting question is, did the 
 frog episode happen in Angel's Camp in the spring 
 of '49, as told in my hearing that day in the fall of 
 1865? I am perfectly sure that it did. I am also 
 sure that its duphcate happened in Bceotia a couple 
 of thousand years ago. I think it must be a case 
 of history actually repeating itself, and not a case 
 of a good story floating down the ages and surviv- 
 ing because too good to be allowed to perish. 
 
 I would now like to have the reader examine the 
 Greek story and the story told by the dull and 
 solemn Californian, and observe how exactly alike 
 they are in essentials. 
 
 [ Translation^ 
 
 THE ATHENIAN AND THE FROG.*, 
 
 An Athenian once fell in with a Bceotian who was sit- 
 ting by the roadside looking at a frog. Seeing the other 
 approach, the Bceotian said his was a remarkable frog, 
 and asked if he would agree to start a contest of frogs, 
 on condition that he whose frog jumped farthest should 
 receive a large sum of money. The Athenian replied that 
 he would if the other would fetch him a frog, for the lake 
 was near. To this he agreed, and when he was gone the 
 
 *Sidgwick, Greek Prose Composition, page 116. 
 
378 
 
 Athenian took the frog, and, opening its mouth, poured 
 some stones into its stomach, so that it did not Indeed 
 seem larger than before, but could not jump. The BcEOtian 
 soon returned with the other frog, and the contest began. 
 The second frog first was pinched, and jumped moderate- 
 ly ; then they pinched the Boeotian frog. And he gathered 
 himself for a leap, and used the utmost effort, but he could 
 not move his body the least. So the Athenian departed 
 with tl}e money. When he was gone the Boeotian, wonder- 
 ing what was the matter with the frog, lifted him up and 
 examined him. And being turned upsidedown, he opened 
 his mouth and vomited out the stones. 
 
 And here is the way it happened in California : 
 
 FROM "THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS 
 COUNTY" 
 
 Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers and chicken cocks, 
 and tom-cats, and all of them kind of things, till you 
 couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to 
 bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a frog one day, 
 and took him home, and said he cal'lated to educate him ; 
 and so he never done nothing for three months but set in 
 his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you 
 he did learn him, too. He'd gi^eJi im - a l i ttl e, punch behind, 
 ^and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling m the 
 air nKea^oughnii^^^See hlm''+B«wui£-s««rtTibEs«t,-ei'-inay- 
 be-a.c£iuf)}c-ifTife-^0t-a-gt5Oa~§taftr'and come down flat- 
 fiooted and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the 
 matter of ketching flies, and kep' him in practice so con- 
 stant, that he'd nail a fly every time as fur as he could see 
 him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he 
 could do 'most anything— and I believe him. Why, I've 
 seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor— Dan'l 
 
379 
 
 Webster w as the aam e^ ^^thefropf — and sing out, " Flies, 
 I^TrTTflies!" and quicker'n you could' wink Tlffd spring 
 straigiit up and snake a fly ofiE'n the counter there, and flop 
 down on the floor ag'in as solid as a gob of mud, and fall 
 to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as in- 
 different as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doin' any more'n 
 any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and 
 straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And 
 when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, 
 he could get over more ground at one straddle than any 
 animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level 
 was his strong suit, you understand ; and when it came to 
 that. Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he 
 had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and 
 well he might be, for fellers that had travelled and been 
 everywheres all said he laid over any frog that ever they see. 
 
 Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little lattice box, and he 
 used to fetch him down-town sometimes and lay for a bet. 
 One day a feller— a stranger in the camp, he was — come 
 acrost him with his box, and says : 
 
 " What might it be that you've got in the box .?" 
 
 And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, " It might be a 
 parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't — it's 
 only just a frog." 
 
 And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and 
 turned it round this way and that, and says, " H'm — so 'tis. 
 Well, what's A^good for?" 
 
 "Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good 
 enough for one thing, I should judge — he can outjump any 
 frog in Calaveras County." 
 
 The feller took the box again and took another long, 
 particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very 
 deliberate: "Well," he says, " I don't see no p'ints about 
 that frog that's any better'n any other frog." 
 
38o 
 
 " Maybe you don't," Smiley says. " Maybe you under- 
 stand frogs and maybe you don't understand 'em ; maybe 
 you've had experience, and maybe you ain't only a ama- 
 ture, as it were. Anyways, I've got my opinion, and I'll 
 resk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Cala- 
 veras County." 
 
 And the feller studies a minute, and then says, kinder sad 
 like, " Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no 
 frog, but if I had a frog I'd bet you." 
 
 And then Smiley says : " That's all right — that's all right ; 
 if you'll hold my box a jninute, I'll go and get you a 
 frog. " And so the feller took the box and put up his forty 
 dollars along with Smiley's and set down to wait. 
 
 So he set there a good while thinking and thinking tp 
 hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth 
 open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot — 
 filled him pretty near up to his chin — and set him on the 
 floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in 
 the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog and 
 fetched him in and give him to this feller, and says : 
 
 " Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with 
 his fore-paws just even with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word." 
 Then he says, " One — two — three— -^zV.'" and him and the 
 feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog 
 hopped off lively; but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up 
 his shoulders — so — like a Frenchman, but it warn't no use — 
 he couldn't budge ; he was planted as solid as a church, 
 and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. 
 Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted, 
 too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of 
 course. 
 
 The feller took the money and started away ; and when 
 he was going out at the door he sorter jerked his thumb 
 over his shoulder — so — at Dan'l, and says again, very de- 
 
38i 
 
 liberate: " Well," he says, " / don't see no p'ints about that 
 frog that's any better'n any other frog." 
 
 Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at 
 Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, " I do wonder what 
 in the nation that frog throwed off for — I wonder if there 
 ain't something the matter with him — he 'pears to look 
 mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l by the 
 nape of the neck, and hefted him, and says, " Why, blame 
 my cats if he don't weigh five pound !" and turned him 
 upsidedown, and he belched out a double handful of shot. 
 And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man 
 — he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but 
 he never ketched him. 
 
 The resemblances are deliciously exact. There 
 you have the wily Boeotian and the wily Jim 
 Smiley waiting — two thousand years apart — and 
 waiting, each equipped with his frog and " laying " 
 for the stranger. A contest is proposed — for 
 money. The Athenian would take a chance "if the 
 other would fetch him a frog "; the Yankee says : 
 " I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no 
 frog ; but if I had a frog I'd bet you." The wily 
 Boeotian and the wily Californian, with that vast 
 gulf of two thousand years between, retire eagerly 
 and go frogging in the marsh ; the Athenian and 
 the Yankee remain behind and work a base advan- 
 tage, the one with pebbles, the other with shot. 
 Presently the contest began. In the one case 
 "they pinched the Boeotian frog"; in the other, 
 
382 
 
 " him and the feller touched up the frogs from be- 
 hind." The BcEotian frog " gathered himself for a 
 leap " (you can just see him !), but "could not move 
 his body in the least "; the Californian frog " give 
 a heave, but it warn't no use — he couldn't budge." 
 In both the ancient and the modern cases the 
 strangers departed with the money. The Boeotian 
 and the Californian wonder what is the matter with 
 their frogs ; they lift them and examine ; they turn 
 them upsidedown and out spills the informing 
 ballast. 
 
 Yes, the resemblances are curiously exact. I 
 used to tell the story of the "Jumping Frog" in 
 San Francisco, and presently Artemus Ward came 
 along and wanted it to help fill out a little book 
 which he was about to publish ; so I wrote it out 
 and sent it to his publisher, Carleton ; but Carleton 
 thought the book had enough matter in it, so he 
 gave the story to Henry Clapp as a present, and 
 Clapp put it in his Saturday Press, and it killed 
 that paper with a suddenness that was beyond 
 praise. At least the paper died with that issue, 
 and none but envious people have ever tried to 
 rob me of the honor and credit of killing it. The 
 " Jumping Frog " was the first piece of writing of 
 mine that spread itself through the newspapers 
 and brought me into public notice. Consequently, 
 
383 
 
 the Saturday Press was a cocoon and I the worm 
 in it ; also, I was the gay-colored literary moth which 
 its death set free. This simile has been used before. 
 Early in '66 the " Jumping Frog " was issued in 
 book form, with other sketches of mine. A year 
 or two later Madame Blanc translated it into 
 French and published it in the Revue des Deux 
 Mondes, but the result was not what should have 
 been expected, for the Revue struggled along and 
 pulled through, and is alive yet. I think the fault 
 must have been in the translation. I ought to 
 have translated it myself. I think so because I 
 examined into the matter and finally retranslated 
 the sketch from the French back into English, to 
 see what the trouble was ; that is, to see just what 
 sort of a focus the French people got upon it. 
 Then the mystery was explained. In French the 
 story is too confused and chaotic and unreppseful 
 and ungrammatical and insane ; consequently it 
 could only cause grief and sickness — it could not 
 kill. A glance at my retranslation will show the 
 reader that this must be true. 
 
 [My RetranslaUoni\ 
 
 THE FROG JUMPING OF THE COUNTY OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 Eh bien! this Smiley nourished some terriers a rats, and 
 some cocks of combat, and some cats, and all sorts of things ; 
 
384 
 
 and with his rage of betting one no had more of repose. He 
 trapped one day a frog and him imported with him {ft I'etn- 
 porto chez lui) saying that he pretended to make his educa- 
 tion. You me believe if you will, but during three months 
 he not has nothing done but to him apprehend to jump 
 {apprendre h sauter) in a court retired of her mansion {de sa 
 maison). And I you respond that he have succeeded. 
 He him gives a small blow by behindhand theJ pstaj vt after 
 3rau-StratT^ee the frog turn m the air like a grease-biscuit, 
 make one summersault, sometimes twojijien she was well 
 
 tie nim had 
 
 accomplished in the art of to gobble the flies {gober des 
 mouches), and him there exercised continually — so well 
 that a fly,aL ^e most far that she ap pe^fe^-w gs a fl y lost. 
 Smiley had custom to say that all which lacked to"a~W5g 
 it was the education, but with the education she could do 
 nearly all— and I him believe. Tenez, I him have seen pose 
 Daniel Webster there upon this plank — Daniel Webster was 
 the name of the frog — and to him sing, " Some flies, Daniel, 
 some flies!" — in a flash of the eye Daniel had bounded and 
 seized a fly here upon the counter, then jumpedanew at 
 tl^p-earih, where-hfe'restBrrEnny to liimseir"scratclfTlTe head 
 with hisbehind-foot, as if he no hadnQtthe least idea of his 
 superiority. Never-y6u not~have seen frog as modest, as 
 natural, sweet as she was. And when he himself agitated 
 to jump purely and simply upon plain earth, she does more 
 ground in one jump than any beast of his species than you 
 can know. 
 
 To jump plain — this was his strong. When he himself 
 agitated for that Smiley multiplied the bets upon her as 
 long as there to him remained a red. It must to know, 
 Smiley was monstrously proud of his frog, and he of it was 
 right, for some men who were travelled, who had all seen, 
 said that they to him would be injurious to him compare 
 
385 
 
 to another frog. Smiley guarded Daniel in a little box lat- 
 ticed which he carried bytimes to the village for some bet. 
 
 One day an individual stranger at the camp him arrested 
 with his box and him said : 
 
 " What is this that you have then shut up there within?" 
 
 Smiley said, with an air indifferent : 
 
 " That could be a paroquet, or a syringe {pu un serin), 
 but this no is nothing of such, it not is but a frog." 
 
 The individual it took, it regarded with care, it turnefl 
 from one side and from the other, then he said : 
 
 Tiens! in effect ! — At what is she good ?" 
 
 " My God !" responded Smiley, always with an air disen- 
 gaged, " she is good for one thing to my notice (a monavis), 
 she can batter in jumping {elle pent batter en sauiant) all 
 frogs of the county of Calaveras." 
 
 The individual retook the box, it examined of new longly, 
 and it rendered to Smiley in saying with an air deliberate : 
 
 "Eh Men! I no saw not that that frog had nothing of 
 better than each frog." ije ne vois pas que cette grenoutUe 
 ait rien de mieux qu' aucune grenouille'). [If that isn't gram- 
 mar gone to seed, then I count myself no judge. — M. T.] 
 
 " Possible that you not it saw not," said Smiley; "possible 
 that you — you comprehend frogs ; possible that you not you 
 there comprehend nothing ; possible that you had of the 
 experience, and possible that you not be but an amateur. 
 Of all manner {de toute maniere) I bet forty dollars that she 
 batter in jumping no matter which frog of the county of 
 Calaveras." 
 
 The individual reflected a second, and said like sad: 
 
 " I not am but a stranger here, I no have not a frog ; but 
 if I of it had one, I would embrace the bet." 
 
 " Strong, well !" respond Smiley ; " nothing of more fa- 
 cility. If you will hold my box a minute, I go you to search 
 a frog {firaivous chercher)'' 
 25 
 
386 
 
 Behold, then, the individual who guards the box, who 
 puts his forty dollars upon those of Smiley, and who at- 
 tends {et qui attendre). He attended enough longtimes, re- 
 flecting all solely. And figure you that he takes ^Daniel, 
 him opens the mouth by force and with a teaspoon him 
 fills with shot of the hunt, even him fills just to the chin, 
 then he him puts by the earth. Smiley during these times 
 was at slopping in a swamp. Finally he trapped {attrapi) a 
 frog, him carried to that individual and said: 
 
 " Now if you be ready, put him all against Daniel, with ■ 
 their before-feet upon the same line, and I give the signal " 
 — then he added : " One, two, three— advance !" 
 
 Him and the individual touctied their frogs by behind, 
 and the frog new put to jump smartly, but Daniel himself 
 lifted ponderously, exhalted the shoulders thus, like a 
 Frenchman— to what good .' He could not budge. He is 
 planted solid like a church, he not advance no more than 
 if one him had put at the anchor. 
 
 Smiley was surprised and disgusted, but he not himself 
 doubted not of the turn being intended {mats il ne se doutait 
 pas du tour Men entendre). The individual empocketed the 
 silver, himself with it went, and of it himself in going is 
 that he no gives not a jerk of thumb over the shoulder — 
 like that — at the poor Daniel, in saying with his air deliber- 
 ate — {L'individu empoche I'argent s'en va et en sen allant 
 est ce qu'il ne donne pas un coup de pouce par-dessus I'ipaule, 
 comme (a, au pauvre Daniel, en aisant de son air ddlibiri). 
 
 ■• Eh bien ! I no see not that that frog has nothing of better 
 than another." 
 
 Smiley himself scratched longtimes the head, the eyes 
 fixed upon Daniel, until that which at last he said : 
 
 " I me demand how the devil it makes itself that this 
 beast has refused. Is it that she had something? One 
 would believe that she is stuffed." 
 
38; 
 
 He grasped Daniel by the skin of the neck, him lifted 
 and said : 
 
 " The wolf me bite if he no weigh not five pounds.'' 
 He him reversed and the unhappy belched two hand- 
 fuls of shot (et le malheureux, etc.). When Smiley recog- 
 nized how it was, he was like mad. He deposited his frog 
 by the earth and ran after that individual, but he not him 
 caught never. 
 
 It may be that there are people who can trans- 
 late better than I can, but I am not acquainted 
 with them. 
 
 So ends the private and public history of the 
 Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, an incident 
 which has this unique feature about it — that it is 
 both old and new, a " chestnut " and not a " chest- 
 nut " ; for it was original when it happened two 
 thousand years ago, and was again original when 
 it happened in California in our own time. 
 
MY BOYHOOD DREAMS 
 
 THE dreams of my boyhood? No, they have 
 not been realized. For all who are old, there 
 is something infinitely pathetic about the 
 subject which you have chosen, for in no gray- 
 head's case can it suggest any but one thing — dis- 
 appointment. Disappointment is its own reason 
 for its pain : the quality or dignity of the hope 
 that failed is a matter aside. The dreamer's valua- 
 tion of the thing lost — not another man's — is the 
 only standard to measure it by, and his grief for it 
 makes it large and great and fine, and is worthy of 
 our reverence in all cases. We should carefully re- 
 member that. There are sixteen hundred million 
 people in the world. Of these there is but a trifling 
 number — in fact, only thirty-eight millions — who 
 can understand why a person should have an am- 
 bition to belong to the French army; and why, 
 belonging to it, he should be proud of that ; and 
 why, having got down that far, he should want to 
 go on down, down, down till he struck bottom and 
 
389 
 
 got on the General Staff ; and why, being stripped 
 of his livery, or set free and reinvested with his 
 self-respect by any other quick and thorough pro- 
 cess, let it be what it might, he should wish to re- 
 turn to his strange serfage. But no matter : the 
 estimate put upon these things by the fifteen hun- 
 dred and sixty millions is jio proper measure of 
 their value: the proper measure, the just measure, 
 is that which is put upon them by Dreyfus, and is 
 cipherable merely upon the littleness or the vast- 
 ness of the disappointment which their loss cost 
 him. 
 
 There you have it : the measure of the magni- 
 tude of a dream-failure is the measure of the dis- 
 appointment the failure cost the dreamer; the 
 value, in others' eyes, of the thing lost, has noth- 
 ing to do with the matter. With this straightening- 
 out and classification of the dreamer's position to 
 help us, perhaps we can put ourselves in his place 
 and respect his dream — Dreyfus's, and the dreams 
 our friends have cherished and reveal to us. Some 
 that I call to mind, some that have been revealed 
 to me, are curious enough ; but we may not smile 
 at them, for they were precious to the dreamers, 
 and their failure has left scars which give them 
 dignity and pathos. With this theme in my mind, 
 dear heads that were brown when they and mine 
 
390 
 
 were young together rise old and white before me 
 now, beseeching me to speak for them, and most 
 lovingly will I do it. 
 
 Howells, Hay, Aldrich, Matthews, Stockton, 
 Cable, Remus — how their young hopes and ambi- 
 tions come flooding back to my memory now, out 
 of the vague far past, the beautiful past, the la- 
 mented past ! I remember it so well — that night 
 we met together — it was in Boston, and Mr. Fields 
 was there, and Mr. Osgood, and Ralph Keeler, and 
 Boyle O'Reilly, lost to us now these many years — 
 and under the seal of confidence revealed to each 
 other what our boyhood dreams had been : dreams 
 which had not as yet been blighted, but over which 
 was stealing the gray of the night that was to 
 come — a night which we prophetically felt, and 
 this feeling oppressed us and made us sad. I re- 
 member that Howells's voice broke twice, and it 
 was only with great difificulty that he was able to 
 go on ; in the end he wept. For he had hoped to 
 be an auctioneer. He told of his early struggles 
 to climb to his goal, and how at last he attained to 
 within a single step of the coveted summit. But 
 there misfortune after misfortune assailed him, and 
 he went down, and down, and down, until now at 
 last, weary and disheartened, he had for the present 
 given up the struggle and become editor of the 
 
391 
 
 Atlantic Monthly. This was in 1830. Seventy 
 years are gone since, and where now is his dream ? 
 It will never be fulfilled. And it is best so ; he is 
 no longer fitted for the position ; no one would 
 take him now ; even if he got it, he would not be 
 able to do himself credit in it, on account of his 
 deliberateness of speech and lack of trained pro- 
 fessional vivacity ; he would be put on real estate, 
 and would have the pain of seeing younger and 
 abler men intrusted with the furniture and other 
 such goods — goods which draw a mixed and intel- 
 lectually low order of customers, who must be be- 
 guiled of their bids by a vulgar and specialized 
 humor and sparkle, accompanied with antics. 
 
 But it is not the thing lost that counts, but only 
 the disappointment the loss brings to the dreamer 
 that had coveted that thing and had set his heart 
 of hearts upon it, and when we remember this, a 
 great wave of sorrow for Howells rises in our 
 breasts, and we wish for his sake that his fate could 
 have been different. 
 
 At that time Hay's boyhood dream was not yet 
 past hope of realization, but it was fading, dim- 
 ming, wasting away, and the wind of a growing 
 apprehension was blowing cold over the perishing 
 summer of his life. In the pride of his young am- 
 bition he had aspired to be a steamboat mate ; and 
 
392 
 
 in fancy saw himself dominating a forecastle some 
 day on the Mississippi and dictating terms to 
 roustabouts in high and wounding tones. I look 
 back now, from this far distance of seventy years, 
 and note with sorrow the stages of that dream's 
 destruction. Hay's history is but Howells's, with 
 differences of detail. Hay climbed high toward 
 his ideal ; when success seemed almost sure, his 
 foot upon the very gang-plank, his eye upon the 
 capstan, misfortune came and his fall began. Down 
 ■ — down — down — ever down : Private Secretary to 
 the President ; Colonel in the field ; Charge d'Af- 
 faires in Paris ; Charg6 d'Affaires in Vienna ; Poet; 
 Editor of the Tribune ; Biographer of Lincoln ; 
 Ambassador to England ; and now at last there he 
 lies — Secretary of State, Head of Foreign Affairs. 
 And he has fallen like Lucifer, never to rise again. 
 And his dream — where now is his dream ? Gone 
 down in blood and tears with the dream of the 
 auctioneer. 
 
 And the young dream of Aldrich — where is 
 that ? I remember yet how he sat there that night 
 fondling it, petting it ; seeing it recede and ever 
 recede ; trying to be reconciled and give it up, but 
 not able yet to bear the thought ; for it had been 
 his hope to be a horse-doctor. He also climbed 
 high, but, like the others, fell ; then fell again. 
 
393 
 
 and yet again, and again and again. And now at 
 last he can fall no further. He is old now, he has 
 ^ ceased to struggle, and is only a poet. No one 
 would risk a horse with him now. His dream is 
 over. 
 
 Has any boyhood dream ever been fulfilled ? I 
 must doubt it. Look at Brander Matthews. He 
 wanted to be a cowboy. What is he to-day? 
 Nothing but a professor in a university. Will he 
 ever be a cowboy ? It is hardly conceivable. 
 
 Look at Stockton. What was Stockton's young 
 dream ? He hoped to be a barkeeper. See where 
 he has landed. 
 
 Is it better with Cable? What was Cable's 
 young dream ? To be ring-master in the circus, 
 and swell around and crack the whip. What is he 
 to-day ? Nothing but a theologian and novelist. 
 
 And Uncle Remus — what was his young dream ? 
 To be a buccaneer. Look at him now. 
 
 Ah, the dreams of our youth, how beautiful they 
 are, arid how perishable ! The ruins of these 
 might-have-beens, how pathetic ! The heart-secrets 
 that were revealed that night now so long vanished, 
 how they touch me as I give them voice ! Those 
 sweet privacies, how they endeared us to each 
 other ! We were under oath never to tell any of 
 these things, and I have always kept that oath in- 
 
394 
 
 violate when speaking with persons whom I thought 
 not worthy to hear them. 
 
 Oh, our lost Youth — God keep its memory green 
 in our hearts ! for Age is upon us, with the indig- 
 nity of its infirmities, and Death beckons ! 
 
 TO THE ABOVE OLD PEOPLE 
 
 Sleep! for the Sun that scores another Day 
 Agajnst the Tale allotted You to stay, 
 
 Reminding You, is Risen, and now 
 Serves Notice — ah, ignore it while You may ! 
 
 The chill Wind blew, and those who stood before 
 The Tavern. murmured, "Having drunk his Score, 
 
 Why tarries He with empty Cup? Behold, 
 The Wine of Youth once poured, is poured no more. 
 
 " Come, leave the Cup, and on the Winter's Snow 
 Your Summer Garment of Enjoyment throw : 
 
 Your Tide of Life is ebbing fast, and it. 
 Exhausted once, for You no more shall flow." 
 
 While yet the Phantom of false Youth was mine, 
 I heard a Voice from out the Darkness whine, 
 
 " O Youth, O whither gone .' Return, 
 And bathe my Age in thy reviving Wine." 
 
 In this subduing Draught of tender green 
 And kindly Absinth, with its wimpling Sheen 
 
 Of dusky half-lights, let me drown 
 The haunting Pathos of the Might-Have- Been. 
 
39S 
 
 For every nickeled Joy, marred and brief. 
 We pay some day its Weight in golden Grief 
 Mined from our Hearts. Ah, murmur pot — 
 From this one-sided Bargain dream of no Relief! 
 
 The Joy of Life, that streaming through their Veins 
 Tumultuous swept, falls slack — and wanes 
 The Glory in the Eye— and one by one 
 Life's Pleasures perish and make place for Pains. 
 
 Whether one hide in some secluded Nook — 
 Whether at Liverpool or Sandy Hook — 
 
 'Tis one. Old Age will search him out— and He- 
 He — H-e — when ready will know where to look. 
 
 From Cradle unto Grave I keep a House 
 Of Entertainment where may drowse 
 
 Bacilli and kindred Germs— or feed— or breed 
 Their festering Species in a deep Carouse. 
 
 Think — in this battered Caravanserai, 
 Whose Portals open stand all Night and Day, 
 How Microbe after Microbe with his Pomp 
 Arrives unasked, and comes to stay. 
 
 Our ivory Teeth, confessing to the Lust 
 Of masticating, once, now own Disgust 
 
 Of Clay-plug'd Cavities — full soon our Snags 
 Are emptied, and our Mouths are filled with Dust, 
 
 Our Gums forsake the Teeth and tender grow. 
 And fat, like over-ripened Figs — we know 
 
 The Sign — the Riggs Disease is ours, and we 
 Must list this Sorrow, add another Woe : 
 
396 
 
 Our Lungs begin to fail and soon we Cough, 
 And chilly Streaks play up our Backs, and off 
 Our fever'd Foreheads drips an icy Sweat — 
 We scoffed before, but now we may not scoff. 
 
 Some for the Bunions that afflict us prate 
 Of Plasters unsurpassable, and hate 
 
 To cut a Corn — ah cut, and let the Plaster go. 
 Nor murmur if the Solace come too late. 
 
 Some for the Honors of Old Age, and some 
 Long for its Respite from the Hum 
 
 And Clash of sordid Strife — O Fools, 
 The Past should teach them what's to Come : 
 
 Lo, for the Honors, cold Neglect instead ! 
 For Respite, disputations Heirs a Bed 
 
 Of Thorns for them will furnish. Go, 
 Seek not Here for Peace — but Yonder — with the Dead 
 
 For whether Zal and Rustam heed this Sign, 
 And even smitten thus, will not repine. 
 
 Let Zal and Rustam shuffle as they may. 
 The Fine once levied they must Cash the Fine. 
 
 O Voices of the Long Ago that were so dear ! 
 Fall'n Silent, now, for many a Mould'ring Year, 
 
 O whither are ye flown ? Come back. 
 And break my Heart, but bless my grieving ear. 
 
 Some happy Day my Voice will Silent fall, 
 And answer not when some that love it call : 
 
 Be glad for Me when this you note— and think 
 I've found the Voices lost, beyond the Pall. 
 
397 
 
 So let me grateful drain the Magic Bowl 
 That medicines hurt Minds and on the Soul 
 The Healing of its Peace doth lay— if then 
 Death claim me— Welcome be his Dole ! 
 
 Sanna, Sweden, September i^th. 
 
 Private. — If you don't know what Riggs's Disease of the Teeth 
 is, the dentist will tell you. I've had it — and it is more than 
 interesting. S. L. C. 
 
 Editorial Note 
 
 Fearing that there might be some mistake, we submitted 
 a proof of this article to the (American) gentlemen named 
 in it, and asked them to correct any errors of detail that 
 might have crept in among the facts. They reply with 
 some asperity that errors cannot creep in among facts where 
 there are no facts for them to creep in among ; and that 
 none are discoverable in this article, but only baseless aber- 
 rations of a disordered mind. They have no recollection 
 of any such night in Boston, nor elsewhere ; and in their 
 opinion there was never any such night. They have met 
 Mr. Twain, but have had the prudence not to intrust any 
 privacies to him — particularly under oath ; and they think 
 they now see that this prudence was justified, since he has 
 been untrustworthy enough to even betray privacies which 
 had no existence. Further, they think it a strange thing 
 that Mr. Twain, who was never invited to meddle with 
 anybody's boyhood dreams but hisown, has been so gratui- 
 tously anxious to see that other peoples are placed before 
 the world that he has quite lost his head in his zeal and 
 forgotten to make any mention of his own at all. Provided 
 we insert this explanation, they are willing to let his article 
 
398 
 
 pass; otherwise they must require its suppression in the 
 interest of truth. 
 
 P. S. — These replies having left us in some perplexity, 
 and also in some fear lest they might distress Mr. Twain 
 if published without his privity, we judged it but fair to 
 submit them to him and give him an opportunity to defend 
 himself But he does not seem to be troubled, or even 
 aware that he is in a delicate situation. He merely says : 
 
 " Do not worry about those former young people They 
 can write good literature, but when it comes to speaking 
 the truth, they have not had my training. — Mark Twain." 
 
 The last sentence seems obscure, and liable to an un- 
 fortunate construction. It plainly needs refashioning, but 
 wfe cannot take the responsibility of doing it — Editor. 
 
 THE END 
 
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