O' 
 
 ^x. 
 
3 1924 091 302 327 
 
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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
SOME 
 
 QUEER AMERICANS 
 
 AhJD OTHER STORIES 
 
 irilusttated 
 
 Z\it XKIlerner Compani? 
 
 NEW YORK AKRON, OHIO CHICAGO 
 
 1899 
 
Copyright, 1899, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE WERNER COMPANY 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 THE queerest people in this country, I fancy, live 
 down in the southern part of the Blue Ridge 
 where that magnificent range of nibuntains passes 
 through the northern parts of both Carolinas and of 
 Georgia. Even their houses are small and queer, and 
 all their tools and machinery of the most primitive 
 description. 
 
 The farm-houses through the mountains are made 
 of logs, and, as the weather is not usually very cold, 
 the chinking of mud and chips between the logs is 
 very likely to fall out and be only half replaced, so 
 that in the storms of winter, they must be comfortless 
 abodes; but, as I said, the cold comes mainly in the 
 shape of sudden storms after which there is a warm 
 spell. You remember, that when the stranger asked 
 Kit, the famous "Arkansas Traveller," why he didn't 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 patch the hole in his roof, he answered " that it had 
 been so all-fired rainy he couldn't." 
 
 " But why don't you now that it doesn't rain ? " 
 " Because now it don't leak I " cried Kit triumph- 
 antly, and went on with his fiddling. 
 
 Well, that is a very good example of the spirit 
 which builds these houses and tries to keep them — 
 not in repair exactly, but at least upright. I am 
 speaking of the ordinary farm-houses in the mountains. 
 Now and then you will see more snug and pretentious 
 ones, but not often even among men who own several 
 hundred acres of land and a large number of cows, 
 horses and sheep. Sometimes they buijd two log huts 
 pretty close together, and roof over the space between, 
 making an open hall-way or store-shed, where saddles, 
 and dried fruit are hung, and where all sorts of 
 things are placed out of the rain or sun. In nearly 
 every case, too, the roof of the front side of the house 
 is continued out into a broad shed, where benches 
 are placed, and half the household work is done. 
 I have often seen the loom upon which they wove 
 their homespun clothes filling up half the. space in 
 this broad porch, and shaded by masses of morning 
 1& 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 glory, Virginia creeper or columbine. A low log 
 house with one of these long-roofed porches reminds 
 one of a man with a slouched hat pulled down over 
 his eyes. 
 
 Whether the house is large 'or small ; such as I 
 have described or better than that ; you will be sure 
 to see the chimney wholly on the outside. It stands 
 at the end of the house, and is a huge pile of stone 
 set in mortar or perhaps only a conglomerate of 
 sticks and stones and mud, half as wide as the house 
 itself at the base, and then narrowing somewhat to 
 the sumn.it six or eight feet above the gable. The 
 great summer house of Mr. John C. Calhoun, the 
 famous senator who died about twenty years ago, has 
 two of these big outside chimneys made of brick ; and 
 this mansion was considered a very grand one in 
 its day. 
 
 If you should go inside — and the women and 
 children are very hospitable to strangers — you would 
 find little evidence of what we in the north call com- 
 fort. There will be one large room, serving as sit- 
 ting-room, dining-room and kitchen, nearly one whole 
 side of which will be given up to the vast fireplace 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 which is hollowed into the broad chimney". On the 
 opposite side from the fire, perhaps, will be a little 
 bedroom partitioned off, but often not, and the only 
 other room in the house will be the rough boarded 
 attic overhead, reached by a ladder. Lathing and 
 plastering are hardly known outside the few villages, 
 and carpets are still more rare. A bedstead or two, 
 some splint-bottomed home-made chairs, as straight- 
 backed and uncomfortable as possible, a rough table 
 and some benches complete the furniture. Stoves 
 are not yet known to the mountaineers. They cling 
 to the old-fashioned way of cooking at the open fire- 
 ■ place, hanging the iron pot in which they boil their 
 food over the fire upon a swinging iron arm fixed in 
 the side of the chimney and called a " crane ; " or if 
 they want to roast a spare-rib of beef or pork, hang- 
 ing that by a hook upon t^e crane, and steadily turn- 
 ing it round until it is evenly done. 
 
 Another favorite dish is the hoe-cake or corn- 
 dodger, which is a batter-cake of corn-meal baked 
 before the open fire, or in the bottom of the iron pot. 
 Wheat flour is almost unknown in some of these 
 mountain districts, cornmeal and sorghum molasses 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 whoUy taking its place. The mills where it is ground 
 are the most.picturesque and seemingly useless affairs. 
 Every mile or so through these rough hills there 
 comes tumbling down a clear and rapid stream, so 
 that water-power is plenty enough for each man to 
 have his own mill, and most of them are essentially 
 home-made. I saw one over near the sources of 
 the Chestatee which from the outside looked far more 
 ■like a heap of old drifted logs than anjrthing else. 
 The man who ran it built the whole affair himself, 
 with only an axe, a saw and a two-inch auger for 
 tools. The entire nlnning-gear was wooden, yet this 
 mill had stood many years and ground all the com of 
 the neighborhood. Such machinery is slow and weak 
 of course, but the people who use it have plenty of 
 time. They can't understand the hurry and anxiety 
 to save time which characterize their more thrifty 
 neighbors who live in the wofld instead of alongside 
 of it. 
 
 A boy who was not bom in the mountains, and was 
 used to livelier motions, took some com to one of 
 these Georgia mills to be ground not long ago, suc- 
 ceeded in waking the miller up, getting the wheel in 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 motion and his grist in the hopper. Then, expecting 
 a long delay, he wandered off. But when he came 
 back his meal was not half ready and he became im- 
 patient. 
 
 "My chickens — and thar ain't but two of 'em 
 either — would eat meal faster'n yer mill' 11 grind it ! " 
 
 "How long could they keep it up?" asked the 
 miller. 
 
 "Until they starved to death," replied the smart 
 boy. 
 
 This is the only boy, however, whom I ever heard - 
 complain of the slowness of life there, for none of 
 them are accustomed to anything faster, except when 
 they are on horseback. Then the young chaps make 
 the road fly from under them, and ride their fine 
 horses with great spirit. On horseback is the usual 
 method of travel, indeed, for the roads over the 
 mountains are exceedingly rough, and to many farms 
 there is hardly any road at all for wheels. 
 
 One day we were riding gayly along on a couple of 
 the excellent saddle-horses that are so common 
 among these hills, when we came to the banks of the 
 Etowah river. There was no bridge, and the road 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 led right down to the low banks, and through the 
 amber-clear water we could see the tracks of the 
 wagons which had crossed before us. I had heard 
 of the Etowah many times as one of the most beauti- 
 ful rivers of Georgia, and I am glad to pass the rep- 
 utation along. I remembered, also, that in place of 
 the beads of wood, soapstone and various sorts of 
 shell which are dug up as the remains of some Indian 
 girl's necklace, or red man's earring, on the banks of 
 this river beads of pure gold had been found. The 
 Indians here were rich — they had golden ornaments 
 instead of shell-wampum ; but their gold proved their 
 ruin, for the poor Cherokees were driven away as 
 soon as their wealth was discovered and white men 
 hastened to wash the sands of this troubled river. 
 But I did'not set out to describe the gold mines, but 
 only to show why the Etowah particularly interested 
 me, and why I was glad to find it equal to its praise. 
 However, I was not given much time for quiet 
 delight. On the bank, by the side of the road, sat 
 two lank and rough-looking Georgians with scowls 
 on their faces. As we trotted near they rose up and 
 came to meet us, while one sung out : 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS, 
 
 " Say, mister, can't yer set weuns acrost tha' ? Weem 
 ben waitin' hyar I reckon about two hours, and them 
 lazy fellars " — pointing over to where half a dozen men 
 lay stretched out in the sun, smoking, with a small 
 boat drawn up on the beach — " wouldn't pay no 'ten- 
 tion to our yellin'. Just let go o' your stirrup will you ? " 
 
 Evidently he did not propose to lose this chance, 
 for before I could move my foot he had ptiUed away 
 the stirrup, seized the cantle of the saddle and swung 
 himself behind me, astride my surprised horse. The 
 other man did the same thing by my friend, and 
 there we were, captured by the long arms that reached 
 easily all round our wafsts, and had several inches to 
 spare. 
 
 " Get up," my passenger shouted, digging his heels 
 into my nag's flanks in a way that started him into 
 the water with a very sudden splash, and on we went. 
 The river was pretty deep in the middle, but we 
 picked up our feet and got safely across to where the 
 smokers grinned at the trouble their lazy discourtesy 
 had forced upon.us, as at a good joke. Then my man 
 skipped off to the ground, and sliding his hand into 
 a ragged pocket, asked with a whine : 
 
GRIST-MILL ON THE CHESTATEE. 
 
SOME QUKER AMERICANS. 
 
 " What do you charge ? " 
 
 I doubt if he had a penny about him, for he seemed 
 greatly relieved when I -very quickly assured him he 
 was welcome to his ferriage. 
 
 "Do you know who those fellows were?" asked 
 my companion, as we cantered up the gravelly hill ; 
 " my man told me that they were both preachers." 
 
 " Preachers ! " I said. " I took them for moon- 
 shiners at the very least." 
 
 But now and then a vehicle so strange as- to bring 
 a laugh upon the faces of even the neighbors 
 will come down from the backwoods. The cart will have 
 only two- large heavy wheels, and these alone of all 
 its parts will be shop-made. The massive axle-tree, 
 and pole or shafts and the rough box were made at 
 home — perhaps wholly chopped out with an axe and 
 fastened together with wooden pins. You must not 
 expect to see a horse or a span of horses drawing 
 this odd, unpainted cart — if the owner has horses, 
 he probably considers them worthy of the saddle 
 
 only but oxen, or an ox and cow, or only One of 
 
 either sex ; I heard, indeed, of one case where a cow 
 and a donkey were hitched up together, but that was 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 certainly extraordinary. A single cow in the traces 
 makes the funniest picture, I think. The harness 
 will be partly leather, partly rope, perhaps eked out 
 with twisted bark, and from the horns a single thin 
 rope goes back to the driver, who can thus keep his 
 
 A MOUNTAIN CONVEYANCE. 
 
 beast awake by frequent jerks. Sometimes when the 
 mountaineer and his wife go to market they place a 
 couple of splint chairs in the cart to sit on, like a 
 small edition of the celebrated Florida "gondola," 
 but as a rule ther« is no seat — to make oiie perma- 
 nently would be altogether too much trouble^ — and 
 1» 
 
A LIFT OVER THE FORD. 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 the man and his family all huddle together in the 
 bottom of the jolting box. 
 
 Until lately these mountain people made nearly all 
 the clothes they wore. They had hand-looms which 
 they built themselves, and it was the occupation of 
 the women at all spare moments to spin the flax or 
 the wool, to dye the yarn and weave the cloth. 
 These looms are just the same rough picturesque old 
 machines that used to be seen all over the country 
 before the Revolution, but which now exist only in 
 some out of the way comers, like this Blue Ridge 
 region. Before the year's weaving begins the whole 
 house presents a gay appearance, for from every peg 
 and place where they can be hung depend brightly 
 colored hanks of yarn ready for the loom. 
 
 The ordinary dress of the men now is this tough 
 homespun dyed butternut color ; nearly all the bed- 
 linen and under-clothing, also, of the mountain peo- 
 ple, is still made by them. But the women's calico 
 dresses are bought at the village store and made after 
 very wonderful patterns. The only head dress is the 
 universal Shaker sun-bonnet. On Sundays, however, 
 if some travelling preacher happens along and holds 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 service in the tumble down meeting-house at the four 
 comers, you will see black store clothes of ancient 
 make, while the gayest of ribbons and flaunting 
 feathers bedeck the red-cheeked and happy-hearted 
 lassies. " But this happens only once in four weeks 
 or so, for the neighborhoods are too thinly settled and 
 poor to support a steady minister. 
 
 Though so far behind the times in all that seems 
 civilized and comfortable, though so ignorant of what 
 is going on in the great 
 world outside of their 
 blue, beautiful moun- 
 tains, and so utterly un- 
 learned, these moun- 
 tain people are warm- 
 hearted, generous, 
 independent in thought 
 and faithful to a friend. 
 They know that they 
 are strong of frame, 
 and have a profound 
 
 A MOUNTAIN LASS. 
 
 contempt for those 
 
 who live outside in the lowlands, even for those who 
 
SOM£ QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 live anyyfhere in towns, of the ways of which they 
 know and care nothing at all. What is a man 
 good for, they wonder, who can't ride a wild 
 colt, or follow easily the trail of a wolf, or even 
 track a bee to its tree? Even the women regard 
 the men of the lower country as effeminate. A hunt- 
 ing party from South Carolina were up at Mt. Jonah 
 one day, -virhen they found themselves being greatly 
 laughed at by a young woman there, who proposed 
 to take thfe largest of them on her shoulders and then 
 run a foot-race ; she said she could beat them all, thus 
 weighted. On another occasion this same girl was 
 seen coming out of a gorge with a rifle in her hand, 
 her sleeves rolled up and her arms covered with 
 blood. Upon being questioned she carelessly re- 
 plied thatshe'd "killed a bar jest beyant the Terapin ! " 
 Their ignorance of town ways has been the source 
 of much amusement to city people when occasionally 
 some of the mountain folks stray down to Atlanta 
 or Greenville. There never were any rustics so ru- 
 ral, I believe. It is laughable merely to look at 
 them. What would excite our respect for its strength 
 and honesty on some wild hill-top, only makes them 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 doubly ridiculous in the city's strange streets. A 
 good story has come down from the old days before 
 railroads, on this point. 
 
 A large party of "Hard-shell Baptists " from the 
 Blue Ridge went down to Augusta, in wagons, one 
 August, to buy supplies. While there, one of the 
 brethren lost his head through drinking a glass of 
 brandy which had been mixed with ice and sugar 
 until it was very delicious. On his return home he 
 was dealt with by the church. He freely acknowl- 
 edged the fault, but said that he had been deceived 
 by the " sweetnin'." The church council thereupon 
 forgave him easily the wrong of being drunk, but ex- 
 pelled him for the lie he told about having ice in his 
 tumbler, in midsummer, when everybody knew it was 
 colder upon the mountains than down at Augusta, yet 
 there was no ice ! 
 
 But little by little this old, charmingly ignorant and 
 simple mountain people, are being modernized by the 
 running of railways past, if not through, their moun- 
 tains, and the increased number of visitors that go to 
 see their bold crags and lovely valleys. The old men 
 and women still cling to their old ways. "Tars 
 
SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 
 
 like 'twould take a power to change me," one dear 
 old lady said to me. But the boys and girls are get- 
 ting more " peart," are anxious to learn and see, and 
 are not afraid of a little change. When the Pied- 
 mont Air Line proposed to put a branch back into the 
 hills toward the gold diggings atound Dahlonega, I 
 heard a mountain family discussing it. The daughter 
 and pride of the household, a gushing damsel of 
 seventeen, put in her opinion : 
 
 "Uncle Jim saays if he was to see one of them 
 railroads a cummin' he'd leave the world and take a 
 saplin'. Dad saays he'd just lie right down flat on 
 the yearth. But I want 'em to come. I'd just set 
 right down on a basket of cohn turned ovah, and 
 clap my hands. I ain't afraid." 
 
 Then she caught me making a note, as she thought, 
 and instantly begged me to stop. 
 
 "Some of these yere folks are right foolish," she 
 
 said, half ashamed, " and maybe you'll make a heap 
 
 . of fun outen 'em ; but you must brush 'em up a 
 
 powerful lot. You musn't give 'em too much of their 
 
 nat'l appearance." 
 
 Well, I hope I haven't ! 
 
BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED 
 SEA. 
 
 T TERE we are at last, Mr. Ker," says the captain, 
 ■■■-■- as we cast anchor oS the coast of Arabia, a 
 little after sunset, about two-thirds down the Red Sea. 
 •' It's too dark to make out much to-night, but you'll 
 See a rare sight when you come on deck to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 The worthy captain's mention of "coming on 
 deck " is doubtless from force of habit, for neither he 
 nor I have been anywhere 6ut on deck for more than a 
 week, except perhaps to look for something which we 
 have left below. Most of my time is spent in the 
 rigging, where what little wind there is may generally 
 be met with; and our table-cloth is spread on the 
 "after-hatch," while our arrangements for going to 
 bed consist merely of tiirowing a blanket on the deck, 
 
BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA. 
 
 and stretching ourselves upon it, undisturbed save by 
 an occasional scamper of two or three frolicsome rats 
 over our faces. 
 
 When I awake the next morning, I find the cap- 
 tain's- promise amply made good. The sun is just 
 rising, and under its golden splendor the broad blue 
 sea stretches westward as far as eye can reach, every 
 ripple tipped with living fire. On the other side ex- 
 tends a sea of another kind — the gray, unending 
 level of the great Arabian desert, melting dimly into 
 the warm dreamy sky. In front, the low white wall 
 of a Turkish fort stands out like an ivory carving 
 against the hot brassy yellow of the sand-hills that 
 line the shore ; while all around it are the little cabins 
 of mud-plastered wickerwork that compose the Arab 
 village, looking very much- like hampers left behind 
 by some monster picnic. Here and there, through 
 the light green of the shallower water along the shore, 
 a flash of dazzling white, keen and narrow as the edge 
 of a sword, marks the firesence of the dangerous 
 coral-reefs among which we have been picking our 
 way for the last three days, with the chance of run- 
 ning aground at any moment. 
 
BOY-DIVERS IN THK RED SEA. 
 
 "You were right, captain," say I, as the burly 
 skipper rises and stretches his brawny arms, like a 
 bear awaking from its winter nap. " This is a sight 
 worth seeing, indeed." 
 
 "Ah, this ain't what I meant," chuckles the cap- 
 tain; "the best o' the show's to come yet. Look 
 over yonder — there, just 'twixt the reef and the 
 shore. D'ye see anything in the water ? " 
 
 "Well, I think I see something swimming — 
 sharks, I suppose." 
 
 " Sharks, eh ? Well, land-shaxks you might call 
 'em, p'raps. Take my glass and try again." 
 
 The first look through the glass works a startling 
 change. In a moment the swarm of round black 
 spots which I have ignorantly taken for the backs of 
 sharks, are turned into faces — the faces of Arab 
 children, and (as I perceive with no little amazement) 
 of very young children too, some of the smallest be- 
 ing apparently not more than five or six years old! 
 Our vessel is certainly not less than a mile from the 
 shore, and the water, shallow as it is, is deep enough 
 at any point to drown the very tallest of these adven- 
 turous little " water-babies ; " yet they are evidently 
 
BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA. 
 
 making for the ship, and that, too, at a speed that 
 will soon bring them alongside of her. 
 
 " Are they really coming all this way out without 
 resting?" ask I. 
 
 " Bless you, that's nothing to an Arab ! " laughs the 
 captain ; "these little darkies are as much at home in 
 the water as on land. I've heard folks talk a good 
 deal of the way the South Sea Islanders can swim ; 
 buti've seen as good swimming here as ever I saw there." 
 
 And now, as the Lilliputian swimmers draw nearer, 
 we begin to hear their shrill cries and elfish laughter; 
 and now they are close enough for their little brown 
 faces, and glittering teeth, and beady black eyes, to 
 be easily distinguished; and now one final stroke 
 of their lean sinewy arms carries them alongside, 
 and the blue water swarms with tiny figures, looking 
 up and waving their hands so eagerly that one might 
 almost expect to hear them call out, " Shine, boss ? " 
 and see them produce a brush and a pot of blacking. 
 But instead of that, there is a universal chorus of 
 "Piastre, Howadjil" (a penny, my lord!) 
 
 "Chuck 'em a copper, and you'll see something 
 good ! " says the captain. 
 
BOY-DIVKRS IN THE RED SEA. 
 
 I rummage the few remaining pockets of my tattered 
 white jacket, and at last unearth a Turkish piastre 
 (S cts.) which I toss into the water. Instantly the 
 smooth bright surface is dappled with a forest of tiny 
 brown toes, all turning upward at once, and down 
 plunge the boy-divers, their supple limbs glancing 
 through the clear water like a shoal of fish. 
 
 By this time nearly all the crew are looking over 
 the side, and encouraging the swimmers with lusty 
 shouts ; for, used, as Jack is to all sorts of queer spec- 
 tacles, this is one of which he seems never to 
 tire. 
 
 " There's one of 'em got it ! " 
 "No, he ain't I" 
 
 "Yes, he has — I see him a-comin' up with it!" 
 "And there's the others a-tryin' to take it from him 
 — hold tight. Sambo 1 " 
 
 Sure enough, the successful diver is surrounded 
 by three or four piratical comrades, who are doing 
 their best to snatch away the hard-won coin ; but he 
 sticks to it like a man,. and as he reaches the surface, 
 holds it up to us triumphantly, and then pops it into 
 his mouth — the only pocket he has got. 
 
BOy-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA. 
 
 But this is a sad mistake on his part. In a 
 moment a crafty companion swims up behind him, 
 and tickles him under the chin. As his mouth opens, 
 out drops the coin into his assailant's hand, from 
 whom it is instantly snatched by some one else ; and 
 a regular bear-fight ensues in the water, which splashes 
 up all around them like a fountain-jet, while their 
 shouts and laughter make the air ring. 
 
 " Aren't they afraid of sharks ? " ask I of the cap? 
 tain, who has just increased the confusion tenfold by 
 throwing another copper into the very midst of the 
 screaming throng. 
 
 "Not they — they make too much row for any 
 shark to come near them. Sharks are mighty easy 
 scared, for all they're so savage. You'll never catch 
 'em coming too near a steamer when she's goin' — 
 the fiappin' of the screw frightens 'em away. See, 
 there's two of 'em comin' along now, and you'll just 
 see how much the boys'll care for 'em." 
 
 And, indeed, the sudden uprising of those gaunt 
 black fins, piercing the smooth water as with an un- 
 expiected stab, seems to produce no effect whatever 
 upon these fearless urchins, who paddle about aj un- 
 
BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA. 
 
 concerned as ever. Moreover, it soon appears that 
 the sharks themselves have other business to attend 
 to. A shoal of flying-fish come driving past, glisten- 
 ing like rainbows in the dazzling sunshine as they 
 leap out of the water and fall back again. Instantly 
 one of the "sea-lawyers" dashes at the rear of the 
 column, while the other, wheeling around its front, 
 heads back - the fugitives into his comrade's open 
 jaws ; and in this way the two partners contrive to 
 make a very respectable " haul." 
 
 But at this moment the garrison-boat is seen putting 
 off from the shore, with one of the Pasha's officers in 
 the stem-sheets. At sight of the well-known official 
 flag, our water-babies scatter like wild-fowl, and the 
 next moment all the little black heads are seen bob- 
 bing over the shining ripples on their way back to 
 the shore. 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 You have all heard of Rameses the Great, whose 
 noble presence looms up from the black night 
 of ages, majestic, gracious, clear cut, and real almost 
 as the monarchs of to-day. 
 
 Rameses mei Amoun, as his people delighted to 
 call him, meaning Rameses beloved of Ammon, 
 the great god of Egypt, was bom more than three 
 thousand years ago, in Thebes, the capital of the 
 kingdom. His father was a pharaoh, Seti I., and 
 his mother was the queen Livea. Old Greek histo- 
 rians tell marvellous stories concerning his birth. 
 They claim that one of the gods announced to Seti 
 in a dream that the tiny babe should become the 
 sovereign of the whole earth. It is clear that the 
 ambition of the father prompted him to do all in his 
 power to secure the fulfilment of this prophecy. 
 
THK BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 With a royal liberality, he ordered that all of the 
 male children of the realm born on the same day 
 with the crown prince should be brought to the 
 palace. Here nurses were provided, and they were 
 reared with and educated like the young prince in all 
 respects. The king believed that a company of fel- 
 low students and playmates from childhood would 
 be bound to him in manhood by the ties of affection, 
 the best and strongest of all. They were " skilled in 
 ail the learning of the Egyptians," and also trained, 
 to feats of bodily skill, strength and endurance. Thus 
 they grew up a brave company of hardy young war- 
 riors, well fitted to obey and to command. 
 
 The stone pictures of Rameses on the monuments 
 show that he was regarded as a king even in infancy, 
 and received the homage of the people in his cradle. 
 There are sculptures of him as a mere infant, with 
 the finger to the mouth, and yet wearing the " pshent," 
 or double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. Others 
 are in child's dress and with the braided sidelock of 
 hair, but having the Urceus, or Asp, the symbol of 
 r'oyalty, above his head. These may be seen at the 
 museum of the Louvre in Paris. 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 The inscriptions give us an address of liis subjects 
 to him after he had succeeded to the throne : " When 
 you were yet a very little child, wearing the braided 
 hair, no monument was made without you. You com- 
 manded armies when you were ten years old." 
 
 Seti, his father, died when he was but fifteen years 
 old, and after the customary seventy days of mourn- 
 ing for the king had passed and hi%^splendid tomb 
 was sacredly sealed, Rameses II. became the boy king 
 of the mighty land of the Nile. 
 
 The first public acts of his reign show a knowledge 
 of human nature beyond his years. He appointed 
 his young companions the generals of his armies ; he 
 distributed among them lands and large gifts, and by 
 every means sought to strengthen the bands of their 
 loyalty to himself. For the people at large he for- 
 gave all fines and penalties, and opened the doors of 
 all the crowded prisons. In this way he secured the 
 loving faithfulness of his subjects at home, and of the 
 great armies he was to lead in long victorious marches 
 through an enemy's country. Does it not read like a 
 romance, that some of his boldest expeditions and 
 bravest conquests were accomplished while he was 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 Still under twenty years of age ? Is he not a verita- 
 ble boy king ? Herodotus tells us that after Ethiopia 
 and all the nations of Asia were subdued, he passed 
 into Europe and conquered a few wild tribes of bar- 
 barians. After each victory he erected stela, or 
 tablets, inscribed with his name and that of his coun- 
 try. Herodotus saw three of these tablets, and they 
 have been found by travellers in our day. Two of 
 them are in Palestine. Each is the figure colossal of 
 a warrior, carved on a solid wall of rock, standing 
 with spear in one hand and bow in the other. On 
 the breast is the inscription, " It is I who have con- 
 quered this country by the strength of my arm." All 
 of his victories are also recorded on the stone walls 
 of temples, with marvellous detail. The painted 
 sculpture shows the wealth of tribute he exacted : 
 gold, ivory, ebony, and timber for building his ships 
 of war, the droves of dusky captives running before 
 his royal chariot, and the gods bestowing honors and 
 blessing on their well-beloved son. No monarch of 
 earth has left a more imperishable record on the 
 pages of history than Rameses the Great. He was 
 the Sesostris of the Greeks, their greatest hero. He 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 was the pharaoh whose reign was the golden age of 
 power and splendor In Egypt. He was one of the 
 long line who so cruelly oppressed the Israelites. 
 Many of the magnificent monuments of his reign 
 were builded entirely by subjugated peoples who were 
 prisoners of war. This fact is carefully noted on 
 tablets, and among them the " bricks without straw " 
 of the captive Hebrews are largely represented. He 
 is said to be the father of the princess who found the 
 Jewish infant in his frail cradle of reeds. If this be 
 true it was at his imperial court that Moses became 
 " skilled in all the learning of the Egyptians." The 
 splendid achievements of his reign attest their won- 
 derful knowledge of the arts and sciences. 
 
 On a stelce, or tablet, deciphered jointly by distin- 
 guished English and French orientalists, is a detailed 
 account of the boring of an artesian well by the 
 special decree of Rameses. An embassage, consisting 
 of the chief dignitaries of a distant province, arrived 
 at the court and begged an audience with the king. 
 They petitioned for a spring to supply water to the 
 slaves and animals employed in bringing gold from 
 a far region over a parched desert road, and who 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 they said were dying of thirst on the long journey. 
 His majesty graciously had compassion, on these 
 his humble subjects, and in obedience to his royal 
 mandate, water rose to the height of twenty feet on 
 the road to Okan. The exact height was decreed by 
 his own lips, and the dry and thirsty land was re- 
 freshed. The great canal from the Nile to the Red 
 Sea — one of the triumphant successes of our own 
 century — was first accomplished by the engineers of 
 Rameses meiAmoun. The great temple palaces of 
 Luxor and Karnak, the wonderful rock-hewn temples 
 at Aboo Simbel and the Rameseum — or Memno- 
 nium, as it has been wrongly called — are among the 
 stupendous monuments of his reign, the latter being 
 his splendid tomb. Its walls are covered with painted 
 sculptures telling the wonders of his life. Chief 
 among these is an episode in one of his battles with 
 the Khetas, a powerful enemy, which commemorates 
 the great personal bravery of the king. It is a fa- 
 vorite subject of the sculptures of his time. It is 
 twice given in the Rameseum and appears again three 
 times in the principal temples that perpetuate the 
 glories of his long reign of sixty-eight years. 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 He is represented in his chariot, furiously driven 
 by his master of the horse into the midst of the 
 foe, and although surrounded by the archers of the 
 hostile ranks, he is dealing death with each arrow that 
 flies from his strong bow, while he seems to bear a 
 charmed life. The picture story of this dashing, 
 reckless courage is curiously confirmed by a papyrus 
 or Egyptian book in the British museum. This is an 
 historical poem commemorating the battle, and writ- 
 ten at the time by a court poet named Penta-ur. It 
 was held in high honor by his countrjrmen, and was 
 deemed worthy of a place on one of the walls of the 
 temple palace of Kamak, where it is graven entire. 
 It says," Six times the king pierced his way into the 
 army of the vile Khetas, six times did he enter 
 their midst . . . When my master of horse saw that 
 I remained surrounded by many chariots he faltered 
 and his heart gave way for fear; a mighty terror 
 seized his limbs, and he cried, 'My good master, 
 generous king, halt in thy course and let us save the 
 breath of our lives. What can we do, O Rameses 
 mei Amoun, my good master ?' And thus did his 
 majesty reply: ' Have courage ! strengthen thy heart, 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 oh my comrade ! . . . Ammon would not be a god 
 did he not make glorious my countenance in the pres- 
 ence of the countless legions of the foe.' " 
 
 The portrait statues of Rameses are innumerable, 
 from the delicately carved statuette to the huge frag- 
 ments of the Colossus of the Rameseum, which was 
 thirteen yards in height. It would seem that his 
 majestic figure and gracious face can never be for- 
 gotten by the race of men. 
 
 There are sphinxes of rose-colored granite with the 
 body of a lion and the noble head of Rameses. This 
 combination, so familiar in Egypt, typified the union 
 of physical and intellectual strength by the lion and the 
 man. The far-famed sitting statues in front of the 
 " Specs," or excavated rock temple at Aboo Simbel, 
 are the most tremendous of these portraits. Nothing 
 even in Egypt compares with these stone giaiits for 
 grandeur and power. Their measureless, voiceless, 
 eternal strength oppresses the beholder with a sense 
 of utter insignificance in their mighty presence. In 
 the great halls which pierce the solid mass of the 
 mountain, gigantic standing figures, with folded arms 
 and the calm, placid face of Rameses, seem to uphold 
 
• THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 the everlasting hills. In another temple be is found 
 seated between two of the gods of the land as their 
 equal in the triad. In the rock temples of Aboo Sim- 
 bel we finfd one of those strangely beautiful " touches 
 of nature ' that "make the world akin." By the 
 side of the greater one, guarded by its gigantic 
 wardens, there is another and smaller one, called 
 the "Speos of Athor," the goddess of love and 
 beauty, and the " Grotto of Purity." It was built 
 by Rameses for the sole use of his royal wife, called 
 "Nofre-ari," "the good companion." The other 
 temples of the country preserve the records of many 
 kings. The one at Aboo Simbel is sacred to the glory 
 and greatness of Rameses mei Amoun. It is by this 
 one, then, that, he builded the chapel for his queen, 
 On the wonderful front wall of the Portico are por 
 trait statues of the royal lady and her children, and 
 over them the legend, " Rameses, to the royal spouse, 
 Nofre-ari, whom he loved." The adamantine stone 
 has safely brought down to us the tender grace of 
 this dedication. 
 
 Travellers tell us that every detail of ornament 
 in the grottoes, the pillars and their flower-like capitals, 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 the sculpture and frescoes, are all in some way con- 
 nected with the beloved wife. As a token of her 
 grateful recognition of this knightly devotion, there is 
 on the inner wall of the chapel, after the cartouche of 
 Rameses, this answering legend : " His royal spouse, 
 who loves him, Nofre-ari, the great mother, has con- 
 structed this resting-place in the grotto of purity.'" 
 Ampbre, a French traveller, tells us this in his letters 
 from Egjrpt, and adds, " The queen is charming, and 
 no one wearies of meeting her likeness everywhere, and 
 which Pharaoh never wearies of repeating." Are not 
 they beautiful, these records of an imperishable love > 
 They cause the dim dusky ages that separate us from 
 the time of Rameses to vanish, and we seem to feel 
 the heart-throbs of the man beneath the strange royal 
 robes of the Egyptian king. 
 
 In the great ruin of the Rameseum, which' a French 
 scholar calls "an historical museum" of the reign 
 of Rameses, near the colossus of himself was one 
 nearly as large of his mother, Livea, with a triple 
 crown, showing that she was the daughter, wife and 
 mother of a king. In the same place were two stat- 
 ues of his mother and daughter, bequeathed to the 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT, 
 
 world together, as they were associated in the love of 
 the pharaoh. 
 
 In another temple, where huge caryatides of himself 
 supported the pylon or entrance tower, were the 
 statues of his fourteen daughters. Their names have 
 come down to us, but do not sound very musical to 
 our modem ears. By their crowns we know that five 
 of them became queens. In all of the sculptures of 
 his battles and marches, he is accompanied by some 
 of his twenty-three sons. Their names are given, and 
 they are known as princes by the royal~ dress, and by 
 the braided and jewelled lock of hair which they 
 wore during the lifetime of the king their father. 
 By all of these touching records of the home affections 
 we know that the wonderful baby king and boy war- 
 rior was in his manhood a tender, loving son, husband 
 and father; and this knowledge adds a purer, brighter 
 lustre even to bis splendid fame. 
 
 That he reigned sixty-eight years is a fact so 
 fully confirmed by data that it may be accepted 
 as truth. Until the death of his eldest son, Sha- 
 em-Jom, the crown prince, beloved by the peo- 
 ple and dearest to his father's heart, the history 
 20 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 of these long years is one undimmed by misfor- 
 tune. This occurred thirteen years before his own 
 death. 
 
 From this time the momuments give only hints of 
 the frequent deaths of his children and of the feeble- 
 ness and blindness of his last years. But it is not 
 strange that, after eighty years of his stirring life as 
 king and conqueror, the common lot of all should 
 overtake even the great Rameses. 
 
 It is a pleasant finish to the old story to know that 
 one daughter of his winter years comforted him with 
 tender, filial love till the last of earth, and he went 
 to his magnificent completed tomb full of years and 
 honors. No mortal ever reached a dizzier height of 
 fame. After more than three thousand years, in a 
 far land unknown to his time and among a race then 
 undreamed of, his placid, majestic face is familiar to 
 every student. One of our most ambitious young 
 artists could find no worthier subject for his can- 
 vas, in the last salon, than a portrait of Rameses 
 II. Very recently I saw in our "fair city by the 
 sea," the Thebes of our country, a magnificent 
 mansion, the library of which was an old Egyptian 
 
THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 
 
 hall reproduced. It abounded in lotus flowers, 
 obelisks, sphinxes, winged globes and sacred bulls. 
 Over the warm-hued mantel, like the red porphyry of 
 the Nile country, was a richly framed portrait of he- 
 roic size. The gracious face, so calm and strong, the 
 straight features, dark beard and royal head-dress of 
 Egypt, proclaimed a strange fact. Rameses the 
 Great, patron of libraries and learning 1400 B. C, is 
 chosen as the guardian genius of a library in our 
 young western capital after three thousand two hun- 
 dred and seventy-seven years. 
 
 I must stop before you all grow gray and wrinkled 
 with groping so far back through the long night of 
 ages past. But you will not soon forget the story of 
 the boy king of Egypt. 
 
A CHILD IN FLORENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WE lived in that same Casa Guidi from whose 
 windows Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poet- 
 eyes saw what she afterward put into glowing verse. 
 Casa Guidi is a great pile of graystone, a pile of 
 many windows which give upon the Via Maggio and a 
 little piazza, as the! squares in Florence are called. 
 Consequently it is lighter and brighter than are many 
 of the houses in Florence, where the streets are nar- 
 row and the houses lof^. 
 
 According to almost universal custom, Casa Guidi 
 was divided into half a dozen different apartments, 
 occupied by as many families. Ours was on the sec- 
 ond floor, on the side of the house overlooking the 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 piazza, on which stood the church of San Felice. 
 The pleasantest room in our apartment, as I thought, 
 was a room in which I passed many hours of an ail- 
 ing childhood J a room which I christened "The Gal- 
 lery," because it was long and narrow, and was hung 
 with many cheerful pictures. It opened into a little 
 boudoir at one end, and into the saltm at the other. 
 The walls of gallery and boudoir were frescoed gayly 
 with fruits and flowers and birds. 
 
 Here the sun streamed in all through the long, 
 mild, Florentine winters j here I would lie on my 
 couch, and count the roses on the walls, and the 
 birds, and the apricots, and listen to the cries in the 
 streets ; and, if a procession went by, huny to the 
 window and watch it pass, and stay at the window un- 
 til I was tired, when I would totter back to my couch, 
 and my day-dreams, and my drawing, and my verse- 
 making, and my attempts at studying. 
 
 I was fired with artist-ambitions at the age of ten ; 
 and what wonder, surrounded as I was by artists liv- 
 ing and dead, and by their immortal works. It 
 seemed to me then that one musl put all one's im- 
 pressions of sight and form into shape. But I did 
 not develop well. Noses proved a stumbling-block, 
 which I never overcame, to my attaining to eminence 
 in figure-sketching. 
 
A Child in Florence, 
 
 The picture that I admired most in those days was 
 one of Judith holding up the gory head of Holofemes, 
 in the Pitti Gallery of Paintings. I was seized with 
 a longing to copy it, on my return from my first visit 
 to the Gallery. I seated myself, one evening, before 
 a sheet of drawing-paper, and I tried and tried ; but 
 the nose of Holofernes was too much for me. All 
 that I could accomplish was something that resembled 
 an enlarged interrogation mark, and recalled Cliinese 
 art, as illustrated on fans. I was disappointed, dis- 
 gusted — but, above all, surprised: it was my first 
 intimation that " to do " is not " as easy as 'tis to 
 know what 'twere good to do." 
 
 In the midst of my futile efforts, a broad-shouldered, 
 bearded man was announced, who having shaken 
 hands with the grown-ups, came and seated himself 
 beside- the little girl, and her paint-box and pencils 
 and care-worn face. 
 
 " O Mr. Hart," I cried, " do make this nose for me! " 
 
 Whereupon he made it, giving me many valuable 
 suggestions, meanwhile, as to the effect produced by 
 judicious shading. Still, I was discouraged. It was 
 borne in upon me that this was not my branch 
 of art. 
 
 "Mr. Hart," I said, "I think I would like to make 
 noses your way." 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 "Would you? Then you shall. Come to my 
 studio to-morrow, and you shall have some clay and a 
 board, and try what you can do." ' 
 
 So the next day I insisted upon availing myself of 
 this invitation. Mr. Hart was then elaborating his 
 machine for taking portraits in marble, in his studio 
 in the upper part of the city. He had always several 
 busts on hand, excellent likenesses. His workmen 
 would be employed in cutting out the marble, while 
 he molded his original thought out of the plastic clay. 
 There has always been a fascination to me in statuary. 
 Mr. Ruskin tells us that form appealed to the old 
 Greeks more forcibly than color. That was in the 
 youth of the race; possibly, the first stage of art- 
 development is an appreciation of form ; in my case, 
 I have not passed into the maturer stage yet. The 
 rounded proportions, curves, and reality of a statue 
 appeal to me as no painting ever did. 
 
 Nevertheless, I made no greater progress in mold- 
 ing than in sketching. I made my hands very sticky j 
 I used up several pounds of clay ; then I relinquished 
 my hopes of becoming a sculptor. I found it more 
 to my taste to follow Mr. Hart around the rooms, to 
 chatter with the workmen, to ask innuinerable ques- 
 tions about the " Invention." 
 
 It has been suggested that it was to this invention 
 
A Child in Florence, 
 
 of Mr. Hart's that Mrs. Browning referred when she 
 wrote o£ — 
 
 "Just a shadow on a wall," 
 
 from which could be taken — 
 
 " The measure of a man. 
 Which is the measure of an angel, saith 
 The apostle." 
 
 Mr. Hart wore the apron and the cap that sculptors 
 aifect, as a protection from the fine, white dust that 
 the marble sheds : generally, too, an ancient dressing- 
 gown. Costumes in Bohemia, the native land of 
 artists, are apt to be unconventional. 
 
 It was a most wondrous thing to me to watch the 
 brown clay take shapes and beauty under the sculp- 
 tor's touch. I can still see him fashioning a wreath 
 of grape-leaves round a Bacchante's head ; the leaves 
 would grow beneath his hand, in all the details of 
 tendrils, stems, veinings. It seemed to me he must 
 be so happy, to live in this world of his own creating. 
 I hope that he was happy, the kindly man ; he had the 
 patience and the enthusiasm of the genuine artist, — 
 a patience that had enabled him to surmount serious 
 obstacles before he reached his present position. 
 Like Powers and Kheinhart, he began life as a stoue- 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 cutter. I wonder what dreams of beauty those three 
 men saw imprisoned in the unhewn stone, to which 
 they longed to give shape, before Fate smiled on 
 them, and put them in the way of doing the best that 
 in them lay I 
 
 In spite of the fact that neither Painting nor Sculp- 
 ture proved propitious, a great reverence and love of 
 Art was born in me at this time. Possibly a love and 
 reverence all the more intense, because Art became 
 to me, individually, an unattainable thing. I remem- 
 ber passing many hours, at this period, in what would 
 certainly have been durance vile, had I not been fired 
 with a lofty ambition. Mr. Edwin White was sketch- 
 ing in a picture which called for two figures — an old 
 man and a child. The old man was easily obtained, 
 a beautiful professional model of advanced yeais ; 
 but the child was not so readily found. I was filled 
 with secret joy when it was suggested to me that / 
 should be the required model. I was enchanted when 
 the permission was given me to perform this impor- 
 tant service. This was before the time of the long 
 illness to which I referred in the beginning of this 
 paper. The spending every morning for a week or so 
 in Mr. White's studio implied the being excused 
 from French verbs and Italian translations. What a 
 happy life, I thought, to be a model 1 I envied the 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 beautiful old patriarch with whom I was associated in 
 this picture. Kneeling beside him, as I was in- 
 structed to do, I thought what bliss it would be to be 
 associated with him always, and to go about with him 
 from studio to studio, posing for pictures. 
 
 There must be an inspiration for artists in the very 
 air of Florence. The beautiful city is filled with 
 memorials of the past, painted and carved by the 
 masters passed away. I suppose that artists are 
 constantly aroused to the wish to do great things by 
 the sight of what these others have accomplished. 
 Then, too, the history of the past, the religion of the 
 past, are such realities in Florence. The artist feels 
 called upon to interpret them, not as dead fancies, 
 but as facts. The mythology of the Greeks and 
 Romans meets one at every turn. I, for one, was 
 as intimately acquainted with the family history of 
 Venus, of Ceres, of Pallas, of Persephone, as with 
 that of Queen Elizabeth, of Catherine de Medici, oJ 
 Henrietta Maria. Nay, I was more intimate with thu 
 delightful elder set. 
 
 The heathen gods reigned sylvanly in the Boboli 
 Gardens, and it was there that I formed a most inti- 
 mate personal acquaintance with them. The Boboh 
 Gardens are the gardens of the Pitti Palace, an im- 
 mense, unlovely pile, the memorial of the ambition 
 
A Child in Florence: 
 
 of the Marquis Pitti, who reared it. He had vowed 
 •hat he would build a palace large enough to hold in 
 its court-yard the palace of his hated rival, the Marquis 
 Strozzi. He was as good as his word j but in carry- 
 ing out his designs he ruined his fortune. The vast 
 palace, when completed, passed out of his hands into 
 those of the Medici, then the Dukes of Florence. 
 Afterwards it became the residence of the foreign 
 rulers of Florence. When I remember the city, 
 Austrian soldiers guarded the great gateway of the 
 Pitti, and marched up and down the court-jards; 
 and the showy white uniforms of Austrian officers 
 were conspicuous in the ante-chambers and guard- 
 rooms. 
 
 But behind the great palace, the fair Boboli Gar- 
 dens spread away. There was a statue of Ceres 
 crowning a terrace, up to which climbed other terraces 
 — an amphitheatre of terraces, in truth, from a fish- 
 pond in the centre — which commanded the city 
 through which the Arno flowed. Many a sunny day 
 have we children — my sisters and I — sat at the 
 base of this statue and gossiped about Ceres, beau- 
 tiful Mother Nature, and her daughter, who was 
 stolen from her by the Dark King. Further down, 
 on a lower slope, was a statue of Pallas, with her 
 calm, resolute face, her helmet, her spear, her owl. 
 
 ,21 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 I remember that Millie and Eva and I were especially 
 fond of this Pallas. I used to wonder why it was 
 that men should ever have been votaries of Venus 
 rather than of her. I have ceased to wonder at this, 
 since then ; but in those days I especially criticized 
 a statue of Venus, after the well-known Venus of 
 Canova, which impressed me as insipid. This statue 
 stood hard by the severe majesty of Pallas, white 
 against a background of oleanders and laurestines. 
 
 Then there was a second fish-pond, in the centre 
 of which was an orange-island, about which tritons 
 and mermen and mermaids were disposed. I can see 
 their good-humored, gay — nay, some of them were 
 even leering — faces, still. Soulless creatures these, 
 we were well aware, and so were sorry for them. 
 The immortal gods, of course, we credited with souls ; 
 but these — with the wood-nymphs, and bacchantes, 
 and satyrs, that we were apt to come upon all through 
 tlie garden, — these we classed as only on a level a 
 trifle higher than thart of the trees, and brooks, into 
 which some of them had been transformed in the 
 course of the vicissitudes of their careers. 
 
 Perhaps it is because the spirit of the old religion 
 so took possession of me in that Italian garden, that 
 to this day the woods, and the dells, and the rocks, 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 seem to me to be the embodied forms of living crea- 
 tures. A Daphne waves her arms from the laurel- 
 tree j a Clytie forever turns to her sun-lover, in the 
 sunflower. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE two public picture galleries of Florence — 
 the Pitti and the UfRzi — are on either side of 
 the Arno. They are connected by a covered way, 
 which runs along over the roofs of houses, and crosses 
 the jewelers' bridge, so called because upon it are 
 built the shops of all the jewelers in town, — or so it 
 would seem at first sight. At all events, here are 
 nothing but jewelers' shops ; small shops, such as I 
 imagine the shops of the middle ages to have been. 
 But in the narrow windows, and in the unostentatious 
 show-cases, are displayed most exquisite workmanship 
 in Florentine mosaic, in turquoise, in malakite, ex- 
 quisite as to the quality of the mosaic and the charac- 
 ter of the designs in which the earrings, brooches, 
 bracelets, were made up. As a rule, however, the gold- 
 work was inferior, and the settings were very apt to 
 come apart, and the pins to break and bend, after a 
 very short wear. 
 
A Child in Morerue. 
 
 Sauntering across this bridge, one passes, on his 
 way to the UfBzi, various shops in narrow streets, 
 where the silks of Florentine manufacture are dis- 
 played. Such pretty silks, dear girls, and so cheap ! 
 For a mere song you may go dressed like the butter- 
 flies, in Florence, clad in bright, sheeny raiment, spun 
 by native worms out of native mulberry leaves. 
 Equally cheap are the cameos, and the coral, that are 
 brought here from neighboring Naples, and the tur- 
 quoises, imported directly from the Eastern market, 
 and the mosaics, inlaid of precious stones in Florence 
 herself. 
 
 So we come out upon the Piazza, or Square, of the 
 Uffizi. The Uffizi Palace itself is of irregular form, 
 and inclosed by loggiae, or covered colonnades. In 
 front of the palace stands the David of Michael 
 Angelo, in its strong beauty. Michael Angelo said of 
 this that " the only test for a statue is the light of a 
 public square." To this test the David has been 
 subjected for over three hundred years, and still, in 
 the searching light of day, stand revealed the courage 
 and the faith and the strength of the young man who 
 went forth to do battle with the giant, " In the name 
 of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the armies of 
 Israel." And who shall say to how many of us 
 Michael Angelo does not preach, across the centu- 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 ries, a sermon in stone, as we stand before his David? 
 — as we recall what Giants of Doubt, of Passion, of 
 Pride, we, too, are called upon to battle with in our 
 day? 
 
 In a square portico, or loggia, giving upon the 
 Piazza, is a statue of Perseus, another slayer of mon- 
 sters, or, rather, a slayer of monsters in another 
 realm. It was this Perseus to whom Pallas gave a 
 mirror-shield of burnished brass, whom Mercury armed 
 with an adamantine scythe, giving him also wings on 
 his feet. It was this Perseus who slew the Gorgon 
 Princess Medusa. In the statue, the fatal head of 
 Medusa, with its stony stare, is held aloft by the war- 
 rior, who is trampling upon the headless trunk. This 
 head had, in death as in life, the power of turning 
 many men to stone, and was thus made use of by 
 Perseus against other enemies of his. The subject 
 of the stony-eyed Gorgon possessed, apparently, a 
 curious fascination for artists. There is a famous 
 head painted on wood by Leonardo da Vinci, besides 
 this statue by Benvenuto Cellini, in the Uffizi. 
 
 How, as a child, I used to puzzle over the strange 
 fable in both statue and picture 1 But, since then, 
 I have had experience of Gorgon natures in real life ; 
 natures that chilled and repressed, stupefied all with 
 whom they came in contact ; and I wonder less at the 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 fable, and I pass the word on to you, that you may 
 know, when unsympathetic surroundings chill your 
 heart and blunt your feelings, and subdue your better 
 self, that you are being haunted by Da Vinci's very 
 Medusa, by Cellini's very Medusa, snaky locks, fixed 
 eyes, impassive deadness. 
 
 Into the great Uffizi Palace : up the wide marble 
 stairway, into the long gallery that opens into the im- 
 mense suite of rooms hung with pictures ; the gallery 
 hung with pictures, too, and set with statues. 
 
 How I wish I could make you see with my eyes ! 
 How I wish I could be to you something more than a 
 mere traveler, telling what / have seen 1 That long 
 corridor, windows on one side, statues and pictures on 
 the other, always seems to me like a nursery for love 
 of art. At the far end are the quaint pictures of 
 Giotto and Cimabue. Then the reverent, religious 
 paintings of Fra Angelico. Oh, those sweet-faced, 
 golden-haired angels 1 Oh, the glimpse into the land 
 seen by faith, inhabited by shining ones I Oh, the 
 radiance of those pictures I The gold back-grounds, 
 the bright faces, the happy effect of them 1 The ar- 
 tists Relieved them with all their souls, as Ruskin has 
 said ; so they painted pictures which recall the refrain 
 of Bernard de Cluny's Rhyme of the Celestial Country. 
 Presently pictures by Perugino, Raphael's master, and 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 — quite at the other end of the gallery — the portrait 
 of Raphael, painted by himself. This picture is on 
 an easel, and stands apart. Are you familiar with 
 Raphael's beautiful, calm, young face ? It is a face 
 which has passed into a proverb for beauty and 
 serenity. A velvet cap is pushed oft" the pure brow ; 
 the hair is long and waving ; the eyes are large and 
 dark and abstracted. I always stood before this pict- 
 ure as before a shrine. 
 
 All the way down the gallery are statues and busts. 
 There are the Roman emperors, far more familiar to me 
 through their counterfeit presentments than through 
 the pages of history. Augustus, Diocletian, Trajan : 
 to us girls they were studies in hair-dressing, if in 
 nothing else. Some of them with flowing locks, some 
 with close, short curls, some with hair parted in the 
 middle and laid in long, smooth curls, like a woman. 
 Of such was Heliogabulus, and of such was Yitellius. 
 
 One morning — soon after we came to Florence — 
 we started off upon a quest — through the Uffizi — 
 Millie, Eva and I, and our elders. The object of 
 our quest was no less a goddess than she called of 
 the Medici. 
 
 I remember that we wandered down the long gallery 
 I have described, and through room after room. It 
 was the fancy of our mamma, and the uncle who was 
 

 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 taking care of us all, to find their way about for them- 
 selves. For instance : if we had been told that a 
 certain picture, by a certain master, was to be found 
 in a certain palace, we roamed in and out around the 
 other pictures until the picture revealed itself Xo us. It 
 was surprising how seldom we were deceived in this 
 method of ours. We would pass by dozens of pict- 
 ures by inferior artists, completely unmoved; then, 
 suddenly, a thrilling vision of beauty would glow upon 
 us, and we would acknowledge ourselves to be in a 
 royal presence-chamber. 
 
 Such a presence-chamber is the Tribune in the 
 UfBzi palace. We came upon many marble Venuses 
 before we arrived in this Tribune, a large, octagon 
 room, with a domed ceiling, blue, flecked with gold 
 stars; but we passed them all by — until finally we 
 entered the reverent stillness which is kept about the 
 Venus of Venuses. We recognized her at once. 
 There she stood, in that silent room, the light subdued 
 to a judicious mellowness — beautiful with the fresh, 
 smiling beauty of perpetual youth ; beautiful with the 
 same beauty that gladdened the heart of the Greek 
 artist who carved her, hundreds of years ago; so 
 many hundreds of years that the marble has in con- 
 sequence, the rich cream-color of old ivory. 
 
 In this same Tribune hangs the portrait of a beau* 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 tiful young woman, called the Fornarina. Of her only 
 this is known, that she was the beloved of Raphael, 
 and that she was the daughter of a baker in Rome. 
 Fornarina means little bakeress, or, perhaps we 
 should say, baker-girl. But this Fornarina might be 
 a princess. An " ox-eyed Juno " princess, dark and 
 glowing, with a serene composure about her that one 
 remembers as her most striking characteristic, 
 
 Raphael's lady-love. Millie and I knew more 
 about her than was ever written in books. Not relia- 
 ble gossip — gossip of our own invention, but gossip 
 that delighted our hearts. 
 
 Other pictures by Raphael hang here, too. How 
 distinctly I recall them. How vivid are all the works 
 of this great painter J The critics say that one who 
 excelled in so many things, excelled also in expression. 
 Yes. It is this which gives to his pictures the dis- 
 tinctness of photographs from life. They are dra- 
 matic. They take you at once into the spirit of the 
 scene represented. They are full of soul, and herein 
 lies the great difference between Raphael's works and 
 those of other schools, the Venetian, for instance. 
 The painters of Venice aimed at effects of color; 
 Raphael used color only in order to express a loftier 
 thought. 
 
 Are you tired of the Uiiizi ? Come with me, for a 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 few minutes, before we go, into the Hall of Niobe. 
 Words fail me to relate with what mingled emotions 
 of sympathy, distress and delight we children used to 
 haunt this hall, and examine each sculptured form in. 
 turn. The story goes that Niobe incurred the dis- 
 pleasure of Diana and Apollo, who wreaked their 
 vengeance upon the mother by killing her fourteen 
 children. At the head of the hall stands Niobe, con- 
 vulsed with grief, vainly imploring the angry brother 
 and sister to show compassion, and at the same time 
 protecting the youngest child, who is clinging to her. 
 But we feel that both intercession and protection will 
 be in vain. On the other side of the hall are her sons 
 and daughters. Some already pierced with arrows, 
 stiff in death j some in the attitude of flight, some 
 staggering to the ground. It is an easy matter for the 
 imagination to picture the supreme moment when, be- 
 reft of all her children, the mother's heart breaks, and 
 she is turned to stone. The legend relates that that 
 stone wept tears. Nor was it a difficult matter for 
 me to take this on faith. What is more, many is the 
 time I have planted myself before the very marble 
 Niobe in the Uffizi, firmly expecting to see the tears 
 flow down her cheeks. 
 
 So we come out upon the streets of Florence again. 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 Fair Florence, the narrow Arno dividing her, the pur- 
 ple Appennines shutting her in the Arno's fertile 
 valley. Flower-women stop us on the streets, and 
 
 offer us flow- 
 ers. Flower- 
 women who 
 are not as 
 pretty as they 
 are wont to be 
 at fancy-dress 
 parties ; they 
 are apt to be 
 heavy and 
 mid -die -aged, 
 i n fact, one 
 of them, the 
 handsomest of 
 the band, has 
 a scar on her 
 
 La FOKNAKINA OF THC UfFIZI, AT Fl-ORENCE. 
 
 face, and a tinge of romance attached to her name. 
 It is whispered about that her lover's dagger inflicted 
 the scar, in a fit of jealousy. Once I myself saw a 
 look flash into her eyes, when something was said to 
 offend her by a passer-by on the street, which sug- 
 gested the idea that she might have used her dagger 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 in return. It was the look of a tiger aroused. And 
 after that I never quite lost sight of the smothered 
 fire in those black eyes of hers, 
 
 I used to wonder why I saw so few pretty faces in 
 Florence. Moreover, how lovely the American ladies- 
 always looked in contrast with the swarthy, heavy 
 Tuscan women. As a rule, that is. Of course, there 
 were plain Americans and handsome Tuscans ; but 
 our countrywomen certainly bear off the palm for deli- 
 cacy of feature and coloring. Still, the Tuscan peas- 
 ant-girls make a fine show, with their broad flats of 
 Leghorn straw j and when they are married they are 
 invariably adorned with strings of Roman pearls about 
 their necks. So many rows of pearls counts for so 
 much worldly wealth. 
 
 I stroll on, stopping to look in at the picture stores, 
 or coming to an enraptured pause before a cellar-way 
 piled up with rare and fragrant flowers, such as one 
 sees seldom out of Florence — the City of Flowers. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 ONE summer we lived in a villa a short distance 
 outside the gates of Florence. For Florence 
 had gates in those days, and was a walled city, kept 
 by Austrian sentinels. That was the time of the 
 Austrian occupation. Since then, Solferino and 
 Magenta have been fought, and the treaty of Villa- 
 franca has been signed, and now, " Italy's one, from 
 mountain to sea 1 " — 
 
 " King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, 
 
 And his flag takes all heaven with its white,, green and red." 
 
 But then the Florentines bowed their necks under 
 a hated foreign yoke, scowling when they dared at a 
 retreating " maledetto Tedesco " (cursed German). 
 
 The phrase " white, green and red " recalls to me 
 the fire-balloons we used to send up from our villa 
 garden, on the summer nights of long ago. We had, 
 for our Italian tutor, an enthusiastic patriot, who had 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 fought in the Italian ranks in '48, and who was looking 
 forward to shouldering a musket soon again. It 
 afforded him intense gratification to send the national 
 colors floating out over Florence. Our villa.was built 
 on a hill-side, commanding a fine view of the Val 
 d'Arno, and of the City of Flowers herself, domed, 
 campaniled, spired. The longer the voyages made 
 by our balloons, the higher rose the spirits of our 
 Signor Vicenzo. He regarded these airy nothings, 
 made by his own hands, of tissue paper and alcohol, 
 as omens of good or ill to his beloved country. 
 
 I suppose he was a fair type of his countrymen 
 intensely dramatic, with a native facility of expression. 
 One notices this facility of expression among all 
 classes. The Italians have an eloquent sign-language 
 of their own, in which they are as proficient as in the 
 language of spoken words. It is charming to see 
 two neighbors communicating with each other across 
 the street, without uttering a syllable, by the means 
 of animated gestures. It seems a natural sequence 
 that they should be a people of artists. 
 
 Such long rambles as my sisters and I and our 
 maid Assunta took, starting from the villa I Assunta 
 was the daughter of a neighboring countryman of the 
 better sort, who cultivated a grape vineyard and an 
 olive field, besides keeping a dairy. We had a way 
 22 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 of happening by in the evening in time for a glass of 
 warm milk. Assunta's mother supplied our table 
 with milk and butter daily, moreover; butter made 
 into tiny pats and done up daintily in grape leaves, 
 never salted, by the way; milk put up in flasks 
 cased in straw, such as are also used for the native 
 wine. Was it the unfailing appetite of childhood, or 
 was that milk and butter really superior to any I have 
 ever tasted since ? What charming breakfasts recur 
 to me I Semele, as we called our baker's rolls ; a 
 golden circle of butter on its own leaf; great figs 
 bursting with juicy sweetness ; milk. 
 
 How good those figs used to taste for lunch, too 
 when we would pay a few crazis for the privilege of 
 helping ourselves to them off the fig-trees in some 
 podere (orchard, vineyard), inclosed in its own stone 
 wall, on which scarlet poppies waved in the golden 
 sunlight, beneath the blue, blue skies. Am I waxing 
 descriptive and dull? Well, dear girls, I wish you 
 could have shared those days with me. Roaming 
 about those hill-sides, my sisters and I peopled them 
 with the creatures of our own imaginations, as well 
 as those of other people's imaginations, to say nothing 
 of veritable historical characters. We read and 
 re-read Roger's Italy. Do you know that enchanting 
 book \ Can you say by heart, as Millie, Eva and I 
 
A Child in Florenee. 
 
 could, "Ginevra," and "Luigi," and "The Brides of 
 Venice " ? I wonder if I should like that poetry now ? 
 I loved it then. Also, I date my knowledge of Byron 
 to that same epoch. We children devoured the de- 
 scriptions in "Childe Harold," and absorbed "The 
 Two Foscari," which otherwise we would perhaps 
 have never read. Byron was the poet of our fathers 
 and mothers ) but in these early days dramatic and 
 narrative poetry was more intelligible than the mysti- 
 cism of Tennyson and the Brownings, so enchanting 
 to me now. 
 
 One evening, some friends who occupied a neigh- 
 boring villa invited mamma to be present at the read- 
 ing of a manuscript poem by an American poet, 
 Buchanan Read. I was permitted to go, too, and 
 was fully alive to the dignity of the occasion. Mr. 
 Read was making a reputation rapidly \ there was no 
 telling what might be in store for him. The generous 
 hand of brother artists in Florence all cheered him 
 on his way, and accorded to him precisely that kind 
 of sympathetic encouragement which his peculiar na- 
 ture required. The group of interested, friendly 
 faces in the salon at Villa Allori rises up before me as 
 I write, on the evening when Mr. Read, occupying a 
 central position, read aloud, in his charming, trained 
 voice. 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 I remember that, in the pauses of the reading, Mr, 
 Powers, who was present, amused one or two children 
 about Iiim by drawing odd little caricatures on a stray 
 bit of note paper, which is, by the way, still in my 
 possession. Doubtless Mr. Powers' reputation rests 
 upon his statues, not his caricatures ; yet these par- 
 ticular ones have an immense value for me, dashed 
 off with a twinkle in the artist's beautiful dark eyes. 
 
 There was also present on this occasion a beautiful 
 young lady, for whom Mr. Read had just written 
 some birthday verses, which he read to us, after 
 having completed the reading of the larger manu- 
 script. Those birthday verses have haunted me ever 
 since, and this, although I cannot recall a word of 
 the more ambitious poem. 
 
 Mr. Powers had lived for so many years in Florence 
 that he was by right of that, if by no other right, the 
 patriarch of the American colony there. He and 
 his large family were most intensely American, in 
 spite of their long expatriation. His was emphatically 
 an American home, as completely so as though the 
 Arno and the Appenines had been, instead, the 
 Mississippi and the Alleghanies. This was no doubt 
 due to the fact that Mrs. Powers was preeminently 
 an American wife and mother, large-hearted and 
 warm-hearted. She never forgot the household tradi- 
 
GOING TO THE PARTY. 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 duns of her youth. She baked mince-pies and 
 pumpkin-pies at Christmas and Thanksgiving, and 
 dispensed these bounties to her countrymen with a 
 lavish hand. Then, too, the Powers lived in a house, 
 and not- in an apartment, or, as we say, on a flat. 
 The children ran up and down-stairs, and in and out 
 their own yard, which lay between the dwelling-house 
 and the studio, just as American children do. And 
 in this genial, wholesome home an artist grew up in 
 the second generation, A son of Mr. Powers is now 
 making name and fame for himself in his father's 
 profession. 
 
 It has been said that the beautiful face of the 
 eldest daughter of this family is suggested in her 
 father's "Greek Slave." I looked up to her then 
 with the respect which a child feels for an elder girl, 
 "a young lady in society." I can appreciate now 
 and admire, even more than I did then, the extreme 
 simplicity and unconsciousness which so well accorded 
 with her grand, classic beauty. She was the good 
 fairy at a Christmas Tree Festival, to which all the 
 American girls and boys in Florence were bidden, on 
 the twenty-fifth of December. We were all presented 
 with most exquisitely made bonhonnieres, chiefly of 
 home manufacture. We were feasted on doughnuts 
 which brought tears to some of ova eyes ; dear 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 American doughnuts, that might have been fried in 
 the land of the free. We had French candy ad 
 libitum; but there was also on exhibition a pound or 
 so of genuine American stick candy, such as we see 
 by the bushel in this country, and which had been 
 brought over from the United States by a friend 
 recently arrived, at Mrs. Powers' special request. 
 We examined this stick candy with patriotic enthu- 
 siasm. We ate little bits of it, and thought it infinitely 
 better than our candied fruits and chocolate creams. 
 Doubtless this little incident here recalled will account 
 for the fact that I always associate peppermint stick 
 candy with the flag of the Union. It is an unfortur 
 nate caprice of mind ; but, nevertheless, the national 
 stripes always rise before me when I see these red 
 and white sticks. 
 
 I am inclined to the belief that exiles make the 
 best patriots. We American children stood up fiercely 
 for our own native land, whenever the question as to 
 national superiority arose between ourselves and 
 ■ English, French, or Italian children, — especially the 
 English. With these we fought the Revolutionary 
 war all over again, hotly, if injudiciously. And I am 
 confident that we had a personal and individual sense 
 of superiority over them. No doubt we were endowed, 
 even at that early age, with the proverbial national 
 
A Child in Florence. 
 
 conceit. Some one had told me that every American 
 was a sovereign, and that I was consequently a prin- 
 cess in my own right. This became a conviction 
 with me, and greatly increased my self-importance. 
 How glorious to be the citizen of a country of such 
 magnificent gifts of citizenship 1 
 
 But to return to Mr. Powers. His statue of Cali- 
 fornia was on exhibition at this time. This is, to my 
 mind, the most noble and impressive of his works. 
 The strong, resolute face, of classic outlines, and of 
 the sterner type of beauty, bears a distinct resem- 
 blance to the sculptor's second daughter, although 
 by no means a portrait. It has been told me 
 that one of the fathers of our American church, 
 traveling in Italy, suggested an important alteration 
 in this statue. California originally carried in her 
 hand a bar, supposed to represent a bar of solid gold.- 
 The idea occurred to the bishop that were this 
 smooth bar — which might mean anything — made 
 to represent a nugget of gold in the rough, the point 
 of the story would be far more effectively told ; and 
 on this idea the bishop spoke. The sculptor was 
 impressed directly, and with all the unaffected sim- 
 plicity of real genius he thanked his critic for the 
 hint California now displays her symbolic nugget ; 
 and, moreover, about her head is designed a fillet of 
 bits of ore in the rough. 
 
A Child in Florenee. 
 
 The America of Powers is another impressive and 
 beautiful female form. A vision of the sculptor comes 
 before my eyes, standing in front of this statue, and 
 talking it over with a party of visitors. Such a beau- 
 tiful, simple-mannered man — with his mild dark eyes 
 and serene face! He wore the usual blouse and 
 linen apron, and the cap of the sculptor. He held his 
 chisel in his hand as he conversed. Some of his 
 audience did not agree with him in the peculiar politi- 
 cal views he held. But Mr. Powers would not argue, 
 and what need ? Had he not preached his sermon in 
 stone, and eloquently? 
 
ST. BOTOLPH'S TOWN. 
 
 T ONG time ago, there were in England, as well 
 -■— ^ as in many other countries, certain pious men 
 and women who, for their eminent wisdom, charitable 
 works, or lives of purity and usefulness, came to be 
 called Saints.. 
 
 Among these was a Saxon monk, the Abbot of 
 Ikahho, St. Botolph by name, who lived about the 
 middle of the seventh century. 
 
 Botolph belonged to a noble English family. 
 After having been educated at one of the religious 
 houses in what was then called Belgic Gaul, he came 
 back to England, and begged of King Ethelmund a 
 barren spot on which to build a monastery; and 
 here, on the Witham River, near the eastern coast of 
 England, in what is now called Lincolnshire, 'he 
 built his priory, and founded a town to which was 
 given the naiQe> St. Botolph's Tovm. 
 
ST. botolph's town. 
 
 Here is what an unknown poet says of it in Long- 
 fellow's Poems of Places ; 
 
 " St. Botolph's Town 1 — Hither across the plains 
 And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb austere, 
 There came a Saxon monk, and founded here 
 A priory, pillaged by marauding Danes,- 
 So that thereof no vestige now remains ; 
 Only a name, that spoken loud and clear. 
 And echoed in another hemisphere. 
 Survives the sculptured walls and painted panes. 
 St. Botolph's Town I — Far over leagues of land 
 And leagues of sea looks forth its noble tower, 
 And far around the chiming bells are heard." 
 
 Now as the English people have a queer way of 
 shortening names, as the years go on, that reminds 
 one of the riddle : 
 
 " Little Naii Etticoat has a white petticoat 
 And a red nose. 
 The longer she stands the shorter she grows." 
 
 In process of time old St. Botolph's Town became 
 reduced to simply Boston* 
 
 So now you see that that "echo in another hemi- 
 sphere " of St. Botolph's Town is, of course, the name 
 of our own Boston, so called by its early English set- 
 *St Botolph's Bridge in Huntingdonshire is now called Bottle-Biide I 
 
ALL THE WORLD OVER. 
 
 tiers in memory of the English Boston they had left 
 behind them ; though, as those of you who have read 
 Higginson's History know, it had at first borne the 
 name of Trimountain, because of its three hills ; its 
 Indian name having been Mushauwomuck, shortened, 
 English fashion, to Shawmut. Boston school-boys, 
 never forget that the original Indian name meant 
 Free-country, or Free-land ! 
 
 The name Botolph means "Boat-kelp;" and so, in 
 those old times St. Botolph came to be deemed the 
 patron saint of mariners; and as both Bostons are 
 commercial cities by the sea, it is eminently appropri- 
 ate that they should bear the old Boat-helper's name. 
 Perhaps, too, that is why "Simon Kempthom, 
 Mariner," in Longfellow's Niew England Tragedy of 
 fokn Endicott, cries out, when a fire is kindled in 
 Boston's Market Place, in the year 1656, to bum the 
 religious books of the persecuted Quakers : 
 
 " Rain, rain, rain. 
 Bones of St. Botolph, and put out this fire I " 
 
 (Would not that quotation make a capital motto for 
 a Boston Fire Company!) 
 
ST. botolph's town. 
 
 The English Boston has a high church-tower, one 
 of the most beautiful in England, 
 
 " The loftiest tower of Britain's isle, 
 In valley or on steep." 
 
 It resembles the tower of Antwerp Cathedral, and 
 is crowned by a beautiful octagonal lantern, that can 
 be seen forty miles off. It serves, therefore, as a 
 landmark for seamen. 
 
 Another poet in Poems of Places says : 
 
 " Beneath that lordly tower 
 A simple chapel stands, 
 In days long gone it caught the sound 
 Of Cotton's earnest tongue." 
 
 For the Reverend John Cotton, one of Boston's 
 earliest ministers, came from Boston, England ; and it 
 is of him that "Norton" says, in the Tragedy of John 
 Endicott: 
 
 "The lantern of .St. Botolph's ceased to burn 
 When from the portals of that church he came 
 To be a burning and a shining light 
 Here in the wilderness." 
 
ALL THE WORLD OVER. 
 
 And now I have to tell you of what seems to me a 
 pleasing and surprising coincidence : 
 
 In the Catholic calendar each saint has his special 
 day; thus, you know we have St. Valentine's Day, on 
 Feb. ,14th, when- you send the pretty valentines; St. 
 Patrick's Day, March 17th, when our Irish citizens 
 march in processions, "wearing of the green;" 
 St. John's Day, June 24th, when the Canadians 
 among tis make wreaths and garlands of the fresh 
 young maple-leaves, because the maple is the Cana- 
 dian emblem. Now it so happens that St. Botolph's 
 Day is, of all days in the year for the American 
 Boston's patron saint — what do you think? The 
 Seventeenth of June I 
 
 That Seventeenth of June, when Boston puts on 
 her very best gala dress, when the bells all ring, and 
 the Fire Companies form into processions, and the 
 Military march, and the orators make speeches, and 
 the children sing, and the great organ inakes grand 
 patriotic music, and the stars and stripes are flung to 
 the "Boston east-winds," and the holiday is a jolly 
 day! 
 
 Now do not you agree with me that we have found 
 
ST. botolph's town. 
 
 a delightful triple coincidence, in that Boston's great 
 holiday is Bunker Hill Day ; and Bunker Hill Day is 
 the Seventeenth of June; and the Seventeenth of 
 June is old St, Botolph's Day? 
 
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 Half morocco, gold center back, gilt edges, $12.00 per set. 
 
 Full Turkey morocco, antique, gilt edges, $16.00 per set. 
 
 Autograph edition, limited to one thousand numbered copies, printed on specially 
 made paper, botmd in three-quarters calf, gilt top and rough edges, imperial 8vo., boxed, 
 $35.00 per set. 
 
 The household edition Is issued in one royal octavo volume, containing about 950 
 pages, printed from new electrotype plates on superfine book paper, richly illustrated 
 with carefully selected views, including places and scenes relating to the author's boy- 
 hood ; also many portraits of his contemporaries in the Cabinet and Senate. In addition 
 there are a large number of fac simile reproductions of letters from presidents, senators, 
 governors, and well-known private citizens. 
 
 Half morocco, gold center back, marbled edges, S6.00. 
 
 Cloth, gold side and back stamp, S4.00. 
 
 niLITARY CAREER OF NAPOLEON THE GREAT. 
 
 By Montgomery B. Gibbs. Not a technical military history, but a gossipy, anecdotal 
 account of the career of Napoleon Bonaparte as bis marshals and generals knew him on 
 the battlefield and around the camp-fire. Crown, 8vo., with 32 full page illustrations. 
 Nearly £00 pages ; half green leather ; gilt top and back ; English laid paper ; uncut 
 edges. .Price, $1.25. 
 
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 THE QERnAN-ENQLISH BUSINESS LETTER WRITER. 
 
 A practical aid. Carefully prepared by competent hands, to assist in the transaction 
 of business in either German or Bnglish. Any German with a slight knowledge of 
 English can, with the assistance of this book, write an intelligent English business 
 letter. The reverse is equally true. The young man fitting himself for a position requir- 
 ing a practical knowledge of both German and English will find no simpler or more 
 reliable help. Price, 35 cents. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S REIQN. 
 
 By Sir Wai,tbk Besant. Price, S3.S0« 
 
 THE TEMPERANCE COOK BOOK. 
 
 Free from reference to ardent spirits. Over i, loo tested recipes. Articles on carving, 
 dinner giving, on serving, cooking for the sick, table etiquette. Good living and good 
 health both considered. 440 pages, extra quality paper, clear tyi>e. Price, SO cents. 
 
 GERMANY'S IRON CHANCELLOR. 
 
 By Butrao Gari.epf. Translated from the German by Sidney Whitman, F. R. O. S., 
 author of " Imperial Germany," " The Realm of the Hapsburgs," "Teutonic Studies," etc 
 The styles of binding and prices are as follows : 
 
 Fine vellum cloth, emblematic gold stamp, red edges, 475 pages, $8.00. 
 
 Half morocco, gold stamped, 475 pages, $10.00. 
 
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 THE WERNER UNIVERSAL EDUCATOR. 
 
 A manual of self -instruction in all branches of popular education. A complete cyclo- 
 pedia of reference, in history, science, business, and Uteraturel An imperial volume, 10^ 
 inches long, 9 inches wide, and contains 830 double column pages ; also one million facts 
 and figures, one thousand forms and rules, five hundred illustrations, one hundred 
 colored plates and diagrams, and sixty colored maps, all down to date. Half seal. 
 Price, S5.50. Cloth, $4.00. 
 
 STREET TYPES OP GREAT CITIES. 
 
 By SiOMUND Kransz. The queer people that you sometimes see as you wend your 
 way through the crowded thoroughfares of a great city. The author has largely caught 
 them with his camera, and we have before us snap shots, true to life, of all sorts and 
 conditions of men. Price, $1.00. 
 
 STEAM, STEEL AND ELECTRICITY. 
 
 By JAS. W. Steele. A new book which ought to be in every household in the 
 country where there are young people, or their elders, who take an interest in the prog- 
 ress of the age. The book tells in plain, clear language the story of steam, of the age of 
 steel, and the story of electricity. An up-to-date non-technical work for the general reader. 
 Scientific in its facts, it is interesting as a novel. Illustrated by many pictures and dia- 
 grams. i2mo., half Russia. Price, $1.00. 
 
 MANUAL OF USEFUL INFORMATION. 
 
 A pocket encyclopedia. A world of knowledge. Embradng more than 1,000,000 
 facts, figures, and fancies, drawn from every land and language, .and carefully classified 
 for the ready reference of teachers, students, business men, and the family circle. Com- 
 piled by a score of editors under the direction of Mr. J. C. Thomas, with an introduction 
 by Frank A. Fitzpatrick, superintendent of city schools, Omaha, Keb, Full Morocco, 
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 SCENIC AMERICA. 
 
 Or the Beauties of the Western Hemisphere. 256 half-tone pictures, with descriptions 
 by JOH» I„ Stoddard. Size, 11x14 inches, 128 pages. Bound in cloth with handsome 
 side stamp. Price, T5 cents. 
 
 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF GENERAL NELSON A. MILES. 
 
 The wonderful career of a self-made man. How he rose f roin a Second Lieutenant 
 to the rank of Commander in Chief of the United States Army. Embracing the thrilling 
 story of his famous Indian campaigns. In this volume the reader is brought face to 
 face with the great Indian leaders : Geronimo, Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull, Chief Joseph, 
 I^me Deer, etc. One of the most remarkable books of the century. A massive volume 
 of 600 pages, printed on fine super-calendered paper, with nearly 200 superb engravings. 
 Illustrated by Frederic Remington and other eminent artists. Every page bristles 
 with interest. An ever-changing panorama. A history in itself, distinctive, thrilling and 
 well nigh incredible. Artistic cloth, chaste and elegant design, plain edges, $4.00* 
 
 THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF TEACHING. 
 
 Presents the complete writings of David P. Page, edited by Supt. J. M. Greenwood, 
 of the Kansas City Schools, assisted by Prof. Cvrus W. Hodgin, of Barlham College, 
 Ind. This new, revised and enlarged edition of this marvelously popular work contains 
 a fresh and exceedingly interesting life of its noted author, with portrait. z2mo., 343 
 pages, cloth binding. Price, $1.50. 
 
 THE TEACHER IN LITERATURE. 
 
 Revised edition, is a publication of exceptional merit, containing selections from 
 Ascbam, Rousseau, Shenstone, Pestalozzi, Cowper, Goethe, Irving, Mitford, Bronte, 
 Thackeray, Dickens, and others who have written on subjects pertaining to educational 
 work from the Elizabethan period down. To this edition Dr. B. A. Hindsdale, Professor 
 of Pedagogy, University of Michigan, has added an exhaustive paper on the history of 
 the schoolmaster from earliest times as he appears in literature. i2mo. 447 pages. Price, 
 »1.50. 
 
 nAONER'S STANDARD HORSE AND STOCK BOOK. 
 
 A complete pictorial encyclopedia of practical reference for horse and stock owners. 
 By D. Magner, author of the Art of Taming and Training Horses, assisted by twelve 
 leading veterinary surgeons. Comprising over 1,200 pages. Containing over 1,750 illus- 
 trations. The finest and most valuable farmer's book in the world. Cloth binding, 
 S4.00; half Russia, $5.SO. 
 
 MARTIAL RECITATIONS. 
 
 Collected by Jas. Henry Brownxee. A timely book. Martial recitations, heroic, 
 pathetic, humorous. The rarest gems of patriotic prose and poetry. Non-sectional, 
 enthusing. i2mo; 232 pages ; large, sharp type ; excellent paper ; silk <^oth binding, gay 
 and attractive. Price, Sl.OO; the same in handsome paper binding, 30 cents. 
 
 PRACTICAL LESSONS IN SCIENCE. 
 
 By Dr. J. T. Scoveli., for ten years Professor of Natural Science in the Indiana 
 State Normal School. Price, $1.S0. 
 WOMAN, HER HOME, HEALTH AND BEALITY. 
 
 A book that every lady should study and every household possess. An intensely 
 interesting chapter on girlhood. Education of women. A very practical chapter on 
 general hygiene, including hygiene of the skin and hygiene of the digestive organs. 
 Sympathetic articles on motherhood and the hygiene of childhood. Also hygiene of the 
 respiratory organs, hygiene of the eye, hygiene of the ear, hygiene of the generative 
 organs. Cloth, T5 cents; paper, SO cents. 
 
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 PRACTICAL LESSONS IN PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 By Wis. O. Krohn, Ph. D., Professor of Psychology and Pedagogy In the University 
 of Illinois. Price Sl>50> 
 
 KINGS OF THE PLATFORM AND PULPIT. 
 
 A hundred anecdotes of a hundred famous men, — our eminent orators, wits and 
 sages. Who they are. How they have achieved fame. Their ups and downs in life,— 
 Artemus Ward, Henry Ward Beecher, Josh Billings, John B. Gough, Petroleum V. Nasby, 
 Robert J. Burdette, Dwight I,. Moody, Robert G. Ingersoll, Bill Nye, Robert Collyer, 
 Danbury News Man, T. DeWitt Talmage, Eli Perkins, Sam Jones, Geo. W. Peck, Wen- 
 dell Phillips, llrs. Partington, Prof. David Swing, Archdeacon Farrar, Bill Arp, etc. 
 Large octavo volume, 7x10 inches ; 600 pages ; full of illustrations ; fine paper ; larg'e, clear 
 type ; attractive binding. Cloth, plain edges. Price, Sl.SO. 
 
 LITTLE FOLKS' LIBRARY. 
 
 A set of six instructive and vastly entertaining midget volumes, written expressly 
 for this library by carefully chosen authors. Illustrated by noted artists. Each book 
 contains 128 pages, and from twenty to thirty-three full-page illustrations. The books are 
 bound in Skytogan, are sewed, and have the appearance of " old folks "books in miniature. 
 RHYME UPON RHYME. 
 Edited by Amelia Hofek, ez-president Kindergarten Department of National 
 Educational Association. Illustrated by Harry O. I^anders, of the Chicago Times staff. 
 LITTLE PARHERS. 
 By W. O. Ekobn, Ph. D,, Professor of Psychology, TTnlversity of Illinois. Illustrated 
 l>y Wm. Ottman. 
 
 CIRCUS DAY. 
 By Geokoe Ade, special writer for the Chicago Record. Illustrated by John T. 
 McCutcheon. 
 
 FAIRY TALES. 
 From Shakespeare. By Fat Adams Bkitton, Shakespearian writer. Illustrated by 
 Wm. Ottman. Vol; I. The Tempest ; Vol. II. The Merchant of Venice. A Winter's Tale. 
 STORIES FROM HISTORY. 
 By John Hazelden, historian. Illustrated by John T. McCutcheon, of the Chicago 
 Record staS. Price, 50 cents per set 
 
 BEAUTIFUL BRITAIN. 
 
 The scenery and splendors of the United Kingdom. Royal residences, palaces, 
 castles, bowers, hunting lodges, river banks and islets, abbeys and halls, the homes of 
 ' princes, views of noted places, historic landmarks and ancient ruins in the I,ands of the 
 Rose and ThiiStle. A magnificent collection of views, with elaborate descriptions and 
 many interesting historical notes. Text set with emblematic borders, printed in a tint. 
 A fine example of up-to-date printing. I,arge quarto volume, 11^^x13^ inches, 3S5 pages, 
 extra enameled paper. Extra English cloth, 84.50; half morocco, full gilt edges, 
 96.00; full morocco, full gilt edges, $7.50. 
 
 A VOYAGE IN THE YACHT SUNBEAM.. 
 
 " Our home on the Ocean for Eleven Months." By Lasv Brassby. The verdict of 
 the public : ''One of the most delightful and popular narratives of travel ever written. 
 Both entertaining and instructive." For old and young alike. Size, 6x9 inches; 48a 
 pages; many illustrations; extra quality paper. Cloth, gold stamped, $1.50; half mo- 
 rocco gold stamped, 93.00 ; full morocco, gold stamped, gilt edges, S2.50. 
 
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 MAGNER'S STANDARD HORSE BOOK. 
 
 By D. Maoner. The well-known authority on training, educating, taming and 
 treating horses. The most complete work of the kind iu existence j strongly endorsed by 
 leading horse experts everywhere. I^rge quarto volume ; 638 pages ; over one thousand 
 illustrations. Half Russia binding. Price, $2.S0> 
 
 THE BIBLE FOR YOUNQ PEOPLE. 
 
 In words of easy reading. The sweet stories of God's word. In the language of 
 childhood. By the gifted author, Josephinb Pollard. Beautifully illustrated with 
 nearly two hundred fifty striking original engravings and world-famous masterpieces 
 of Sacred Art, and with magnificent colored plates. The Bible For Young People is 
 complete in one sumptuous, massive, nearly square octavo volume, of over five hundred 
 pages. Bound in extra cloth, ink and gold sides and back. SI. 50. 
 
 GLIMPSES OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Hundreds of full-page views. Portraying scenes all over the world. The views 
 composing this superb volume are reproduced by the perfected half-tone process from 
 photographs collected by the celebrated traveler and lecturer, John I.. Stoddard, by 
 whom the pictures are described in graphic language. In Glimpses of the World Is 
 presented a grand panorama of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Prance, Germany, 
 Russia, Austria, Turkey, Italy, Spain, Asia, Africa, and North and South America. UU' 
 questionably the finest work of the kind ever printed. Buckram. Price, $4. SO. 
 
 THE WERNER POCKET ATLAS OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 A real pockel atlas 5x3^ inches, 96 pages, leatherette covers. Needed by every 
 traveling man. Should be on eveiy desk. Price, 10 cents. 
 
 THE CAPITOL COOK BOOK. 
 
 448 pages, 8^x6 inches ; weight, 1.% pounds ; over 1,40a tested recipes by Hugo Zibuait, 
 ex-steward of the White House, and the well-known expert, Mrs. P. I^ GrLLETTB. 
 Illustrated. Price, 50 cents. > 
 
 THE WALDORF COOK BOOK. 
 
 By " Oscar " of the Waldorf. The most thorough and complete treatise on Practical 
 Cookery ever published. The author, Oscar Tschirky, Maitre d'Hotel, The Waldorf and 
 Astoria, is acknowledged to be one of the foremost culinary authorities of the world. 
 Elaborate directions are given for making ice creams, ices, pastries and tea and coffee. 
 Selections may be made to gratify any taste. Original and varied recipes are given for 
 making toothsome confections, preserves, jams, pickles and other condiments. Over 
 900 pages. Valuable information, indispensable to families, hotels, cafes and boarding 
 bouses. Wholesome, palatable, economic and systematic cooking. Everything used as 
 food is fully considered. Nearly 4,000 recipes. The best and most comprehensive cook 
 book compiled. Special features, such as suggestions with regard to the kitchen, menus, 
 bills of fare, the seasons, market, etc., etc. Size, Sxio}^ x 2^ inches. Bound in one 
 large octavo volume of over 900 pages in handsome oil cloth. Price, $3.S0. 
 
 THE STORY OF AMERICAN HEROISM. 
 
 As told by the Medal Winners and Roll of Honor men. A remarkable collection of 
 thrilling, historical incidents of personal adventures during and after the great Civil 
 War. Narratives by such heroes as Gen. I,ew Wallacb, Gen. O^ O. Howard, Gen. 
 AxJBx. Wbbb, Gen. Fitzhugh I^bb, Gen. Wadb Hampton. A war gallery of noted men 
 and events. A massive volume of over 700 pages, printed on fine calendered paper. 
 Illustrated with three hundred original drawings of personal exploits. English doth, 
 emblematic design in gold and colors, S2.50. 
 
 For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of the advertised price. 
 
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