CORNELL 
 UNIVERSITY 
 ' LIBRARY 
 
 BEQUEST 
 
 OF 
 
 STEWART HENRY BURNHAM 
 1943 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1534.D38S8 
 
 The story of a pathfinder 
 
 3 1924 022 086 239 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022086239 
 
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^oo&s iip p. ^Dentins. 
 
 THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER. i2mo, (j.25 
 
 net. Postage extra. 
 ADIRONDACK STORIES. Little Classic style. iSmo, 
 
 75 cents. 
 
 TOMPKINS, AND OTHER FOLKS. Little Classic 
 style. iSmo, f i.oo. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 Boston and New York. 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
THE STORY 
 OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 BY 
 
 P. DEMING 
 
 f!fts?rm7msamfi 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 1907 
 
COPYRIGHT 1907 BV P. DEMING 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Pttblished May ityyj 
 
NOTE 
 
 The first part of " The Story of a Path- 
 finder" is reproduced by courtesy of the 
 Phonographic Magazine ; and the part entitled 
 " The Courts," by courtesy of Leslie's Weekly 
 (copyright 1906). "In Slavery Days" orig- 
 inally appeared in Lippincott's Magazine, and 
 is here reprinted by permission of the pub- 
 lishers of that magazine. "A Lover's Con- 
 science " and " A Stranger in the City " were 
 first printed in the Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 Changes have been made in titles and sub- 
 stance in adapting the material to its present 
 use. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 ll'he Story of a Pathfinder 
 
 I 
 
 The Courts 
 
 24 
 
 Story-Writing 
 
 43 
 
 A Lover s Conscience 
 
 57 
 
 A Stranger in the City 
 
 117 
 
 Mr. Green s Promise 
 
 ^S9 
 
 In Slavery Bays 
 
 189 
 
 The Secret Story 
 
 251 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Lady Mary : — It is many years since 
 I left that delightful reporting world about 
 which you are so curious. But it is still 
 vivid in my memory, I will try to give 
 you a glimpse of that time of pioneering 
 in letters, when the great dailies and the 
 art of shorthand and the arts of the news- 
 paper men were still young in America. 
 Please to bear in mind the fact that 
 there was no court stenographer at that 
 time, no convenient shorthand amanuen- 
 sis at the hotel, no typewriters, and none 
 of that quick transmission of intelligence 
 which so enlivens us to-day. England was 
 far away, and Asia and Africa and the 
 great round world were in our conscious- 
 ness as remote as the moon now is, or as 
 our friendly neighbors are who have their 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 canals and improvements in the planet 
 Mars. 
 
 See me as I remember myself in those 
 distant years when, all unknowing of my 
 destiny, I was chosen by Providence, by 
 my own aptitudes and willfulness, by the 
 logic of events, by anything you may 
 consent to, — chosen to be one of the 
 lowly, toiling Pathfinders who then began 
 to travel in paths along which multitudes 
 have now followed, in finding their way 
 in the modern world. 
 
 Try to forget the stately avenue, and the 
 surroundings of your city home, and go 
 with me to a lonely village in the shadow 
 of the Adirondack forest. Go back with 
 me also along the course of time. Let it 
 be early in the forties. Please to remem- 
 ber that railroads are far-off phantoms, 
 books are scarce, and print is sacred. Just 
 by the little church we see the parsonage. 
 And here is the brown-haired boy (the 
 Pathfinder) in his father's study, delving 
 4 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 among the few volumes that make up the 
 library. The boy is weary with play out 
 of doors, and has come in to search and 
 to see. With what awe he opens a copy 
 of Virgil ! Hear how he sighs as he ex- 
 amines a page of the Greek text of He- 
 rodotus. Can he ever conquer these strange 
 puzzles ? — But what is this he has found 
 now ? His eyes are fixed upon a little 
 pamphlet and he is very eager. He throws 
 himself upon the carpet, and the min- 
 utes become hours while the afternoon 
 wears away. He is very active and restless, 
 but he studies until the summer sunlight 
 ceases streaming in at the windows. Then 
 he tosses the tiny pamphlet back among 
 the books and rushes out again to play. 
 
 It is all very well for theyoung master to 
 rushand shout. He may well befree while 
 he can. But he will not escape. He has 
 been fascinated, — snared and taken. That 
 little pamphlet is a treatise on shorthand. 
 The boy will return to it again and again. 
 
 5 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 It will grow with his growth and mingle 
 with his blood. His fond parents may 
 regret it and he may lament his own pro- 
 clivity, but this will not save him. The 
 wonders and the surpassing delights of 
 literature, with which, dear lady, you are 
 so familiar, are scarcely more fatal than 
 this little craze, this shorthand fever, when 
 it seizes upon one of tender years. In the 
 old days of which I am telling you, many 
 victims were seized by it, in the lonely 
 homes and quiet corners of the villages of 
 America. It appeared that a great man, 
 somewhere in England, had improved 
 shorthand so as to give it increased power 
 and virulence. We were easily captured. 
 It was a sentimental time in American 
 history. We all sang about the little girl 
 that died and the flowers that grew upon 
 her grave. New Hghts were just then 
 flashing upon this new world. Who of 
 us was not dazzled by John B. Gough, by 
 phrenology, by mesmerism, by Morse and 
 6 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 the telegraph, by " seeing the cars," by 
 the spelling reform, and by phonography ? 
 There were but few teachers then — the 
 only doctors who could cure these dis- 
 orders. Many years passed before we 
 recovered and became able sensibly to 
 endure the new light, and rejoice in the 
 wonderful life which somehow, mysteri- 
 ously, came to us in the forties. Some 
 of the isms then born have dwindled or 
 perished, but others have become valuable 
 additions to the modern world. 
 
 I will not describe the battle of the sys- 
 tems of shorthand (the old and the new) 
 in that boy's brain. The little pamphlet, 
 with its simple and antiquated plan, was 
 driven out of his thoughts and affections, 
 and supplanted after a tremendous strug- 
 gle, by the new philosophical method, 
 just arrived from England. There were 
 many arguments with schoolmates and 
 many trials of skill before this was accom- 
 plished. It was when the boy began to 
 
 7 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Study Greek that the analysis of sounds in 
 that beautiful language (as given in the 
 grammar) and in phonography caught his 
 fancy and captured him. 
 
 At this point in my narrative, I will 
 jump the intervening years and show you 
 that boy when he was introduced to a 
 wider field, and began his work in the 
 borderland of that wonderful world of 
 letters, which you and I love so well. 
 
 See the youth, fresh from a New Eng- 
 land college, with a lithe, active form and 
 an eager face, standing in a cold Decem- 
 ber day, gazing at the old Capitol in 
 Albany. " Will there be any chance for 
 him there," he wonders. 
 
 Ten days later the Legislature had or- 
 ganized, and that recent graduate sat in 
 the Assembly Chamber, in a reporter's 
 chair, his cheeks flaming with excitement, 
 his eyes flashing, and his right hand driv- 
 ing a lead-pencil with great swiftness and 
 8 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 vigor. Near him sat a large, muscular 
 man, with rugged features and keen 
 glances. The large man kept an anxious 
 eye upon the young fellow. When the 
 members shouted, and the speaker ham- 
 mered, and the petitions and bills flew in 
 a shower across the chamber to the clerk's 
 desk, the large man looked uneasily at 
 the youth who was working with such 
 energy. The large man had a bundle of 
 soft paper and three lead-pencils, sharp- 
 ened and ready on the desk at his side. 
 Suddenly he seized one of the pencils 
 and began writing. It would not do for 
 him, as editor and proprietor of a great 
 party journal, to miss the business of the 
 hour if the young man should in any way 
 fail. He hoped the youth would succeed, 
 but he did not believe he could. College 
 graduates were not practical. This one 
 seemed different from the others, but he 
 doubted him. That a boy from the coun- 
 try should be able to write very rapidly, 
 
 9 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 and at the same time plain enough and ac- 
 curately enough to print from, and should 
 be quick enough and know enough to 
 catch and sift out the hubbub of the New 
 York Assembly, when it was in a fit or 
 a spasm, seemed improbable. The new 
 members were becoming unusually noisy. 
 A little debate had sprung up and symp- 
 toms of a convulsion began to appear. It 
 would not do to risk the young man. 
 The editor almost wondered why he had 
 given this young chap a trial. He re- 
 membered how he himself had labored 
 and studied before he could pack every 
 item of a legislative day in its most con- 
 densed form in his columns — doing it 
 while the sounds were in the air, and 
 sending it to the ofBce and putting it in 
 type from hour to hour, as the business 
 proceeded. He had to press on to the 
 very last minute before issuing his even- 
 ing paper. Surely this youth without 
 experience could not be trusted. 
 
 10 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 There was a little episode. A bill had 
 been fixed up with a title so mixed, so 
 complicated and designedly meaningless, 
 that it was utterly impossible to grasp the 
 idea with that quick grip and instant con- 
 densation which the flying pencil of the 
 sketch reporter demands. In a moment 
 the hurried words had died upon the air, 
 and the youth was facing, with a sudden 
 sinking of the heart and a pang, the fact 
 of an item lost, when in a fierce whisper 
 there came to his ear the words " State 
 Military Board." It was the editor, who 
 without looking up from his own swift 
 writing had felt the situation. It was 
 help to the youth in a great struggle. 
 The words were quickly recorded and 
 the balk saved. 
 
 Not long after this episode there was 
 a lull; the storm abated and the House 
 adjourned for the day. 
 
 What a half-hour it had been for the 
 youth who had never until the last fort- 
 II 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 night been in the city ! But nioas it a half- 
 hour ? He glanced at the large clock 
 which hung upon the wall and then at 
 a poor silver watch which he took from 
 his pocket. It was wonderful, but there 
 was no doubt about it. The House had 
 been in session exactly one hour and forty 
 minutes. It was the common experience 
 of new men. He had not yet learned how 
 time seems lost in a struggle. The editor 
 had told the youth that the reporting 
 was difficult — more so than shorthand. 
 Had the graduate with his college learn- 
 ing succeeded or had he failed ? He began 
 to look at his pile of papers. He had num- 
 bered his strips before he began the work. 
 The editor had told him that this would 
 be the better way. He had told him also 
 that to save time he might omit the Mr. 
 before the names of members, as the 
 printers would supply it. The youth dis- 
 covered that he had used the package 
 of slips down to number sixty-three. He 
 
 12 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 took the papers in his hand. Immediately 
 a long arm and open palm, from the 
 editor, came reaching out toward him 
 and mutely but imperiously demanding 
 the papers. With a thrill passing through 
 him the young fellow delivered his work. 
 The famous editor, reporter, and proprie- 
 tor of the great political journal began 
 to examine the writings. 
 
 The trial was over. What would be 
 the decision ? In college this young man 
 had been known as the philosopher. Ac- 
 cording to his philosophy he should have 
 been calm, but there was too much at 
 stake just now for that. As an immortal 
 being he ought to have been superior to 
 the situation ; but he did not feel so. 
 There was wealth and power all around 
 him, but he was destitute. He rested, how- 
 ever, upon a past that was better for his 
 purpose than he knew. A home among 
 the lonely hills, days of reflection in the 
 solemn silence, some years of study and 
 
 13 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 manual labor, and a great longing to see 
 the world — these had been his boyhood 
 experiences. Then had followed in his 
 early youth, in the long winter evenings, 
 that study and practice of shorthand, 
 which he vaguely hoped would be for 
 him the key with which he could unlock 
 the door that would admit him to the 
 world. 
 
 In this study he had worn himself thin, 
 and taxed his relatives to read for him 
 until they had all declared him a nui- 
 sance. In the little village church on 
 Sundays he had made himself so con- 
 spicuous, trying to take the sermons, that 
 some of the people had objected to this 
 desecration of the place and the day. 
 But the lad had succeeded, and had 
 gained a kind of skill that after all turned 
 out to be absolutely good for nothing in 
 that day and that part of the world. It 
 was found to be true that the art was 
 used in England, but the youth was not 
 14 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 going to England. And the fact that a 
 few shorthand men were busy in Con- 
 gress was discovered; but he was too 
 young to go to Congress. And so his 
 enterprise had failed. 
 
 After the shorthand mistake came the 
 college fever. Here was the key, sure 
 and often tried, that would open the door 
 and admit this restless spirit to that won- 
 derful world of which the youth read and 
 dreamed so much. But I am not telling 
 the college story. It is enough to say 
 that it excels all else. The deathless 
 friendships, the immortal hopes, and the 
 "long, long thoughts" that have thrilled 
 so many, thrilled this youth also. But 
 now that was a memory; and he seemed 
 to remember all of it as he sat waiting 
 for the editor to pass upon his first trial 
 papers. He remembered his classmates ; 
 he recalled his struggles (and squabbles) 
 with poverty. His loneliness (without 
 means, wholly unknowing and unknown 
 15 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 in the city), settled down upon him heav- 
 ily and painfully as he sat and waited. 
 The busy newspaper men (the New York 
 correspondents, who seemed to him so 
 remarkable), one by one, having finished 
 their papers, rose and went away. And 
 then the editor ceased reading the grad- 
 uate's work and laid the leaves upon the 
 desk at his side. Then he looked at the 
 young man with a steady gaze. The phil- 
 osopher knew that he ought to be calm, 
 but he was not. He shrank and quivered 
 before that eagle-like glance that seemed 
 to pierce him. At last the editor's lips 
 parted and he uttered a word that he 
 very rarely used. He said "Thunder!" 
 The meaning of the ejaculation was not 
 very apparent. 
 
 "I do not quite see," explained the 
 editor, "how you learned to get that 
 debate so fairly and all right. Your entire 
 report is good, first-rate for the first time 
 of trying." 
 
 i6 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 The blood flew to the youth's face, and 
 his hps began to quiver. 
 ' "There will be no trouble," pursued 
 the editor, turning away and picking up 
 his new silk hat and the bundle of papers. 
 " You had better find yourself a boarding- 
 place for the winter, and come down to 
 the office in the morning. I will need you 
 for the session." " Yes — sir," replied the 
 youth, with an effort which did not, after 
 all, conceal his emotion. The great man 
 walked away ; the young man also soon 
 found his hat and departed. He paused in 
 the dark ante-room or hall to dry the 
 happy tears before going into the street. 
 Where was his college philosophy ! Since 
 the time of his graduation, five months be- 
 fore, a load had been gathering upon his 
 heart. He had not, until this glad day, 
 found how to use the wonderful college 
 key that was to unlock for him the door 
 that would admit him to the world. 
 
 There had been sad days at home, pain- 
 17 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 fully waiting and planning and dreaming. 
 He did not tell the editor how he had got 
 a file of the last year's Albany newspapers, 
 and at home had worked day and night 
 for two months copying the editor's leg- 
 islative reports as if his life depended upon 
 it. There was not a phrase or a conden- 
 sation, which the editor had contrived, 
 with which the youth's fingers were not 
 familiar before he went to Albany. 
 
 But I need not continue the story of 
 this first winter in the city. Much of it 
 has faded with the passing years. It may 
 be well to mention, however, that sketch- 
 ing was alternated with shorthand work 
 before the session was half over. That 
 wonderful worker and writer, Henry J. 
 Raymond, was a member of the House 
 that year. For the new reporter it was 
 like reading a romance to listen to the 
 great editor of " The Times" as he kindly 
 confided to the youth incidents in his suc- 
 cessful career. Mr. Raymond was a re- 
 i8 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 markable reporter, who did not use short- 
 hand. He conveyed the secret of his 
 method in a few words. I will not pause 
 to explain it here. It is enough to mention 
 the fact that he made verbatim reports 
 (accepted as such) of the speeches of Web- 
 ster,Everett and other orators, using only 
 the common alphabet in his note-taking. 
 He told the youth that winter, in plaintive 
 musings, of the long, long nights of toil 
 it had cost him to write out his notes, as 
 he floated in the steamers down the Hud- 
 son toward New York and the office of 
 the old" Courier and Inquirer," for which 
 he labored. Mr. Raymond greatly valued 
 shorthand, although he did not use it. He 
 made lively shorthand work for the new- 
 comer that winter. The young man re- 
 ported many columns of Mr. Raymond's 
 earnest eloquence. 
 
 The scene comes before me as I write. 
 Many faces peer out from the dark cor- 
 ners of the old Assembly Chamber and 
 19 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 the darker corners of memory. How 
 the flying pencil followed those men and 
 how their words have faded ! Of all that 
 busy session, scarce a sentence or a word 
 remains. But the little incidents, the 
 kindly acts, the flowers of every day, that 
 spring and bloom from the heart of hu- 
 manity, are as fresh, bright, and beautiful 
 as the day they were created. How 
 strangely these outlive all else in our 
 history! The commendations of Mr. 
 Raymond stand engraved as upon a tablet 
 of brass ; but of all the many columns to 
 which he referred in those commenda- 
 tions, scarce a syllable remains. 
 
 And of the daily task, the columns 
 done for the large man, good Editor 
 George, only an incident that reached 
 the heart has survived the years. How 
 could the poor, little but beloved, school- 
 district libraries be protected? That was 
 the question involved. One coming from 
 a lonely place in the country knew how 
 
 20 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 the souls that hungered there would feel 
 the blow if the legislature killed the libra- 
 ries. But that ruthless plan was suggested 
 and urged and seemed likely to be carried 
 out. What could the reporter do or say ? 
 Could he venture to talk with some of 
 the editors about it? Memory .paints the 
 climb up the narrow stair to the sanctum 
 of Editor George, the opening of the 
 door, the cobwebs inside, the vast stack 
 of tumbled exchanges, the room for the 
 time vacant, and the great editor's empty 
 chair, the long table, the pen, the slips 
 of paper lying ready, and the gigantic 
 glass inkstand from which were daily 
 fished out articles that shook the city and 
 sometimes echoed around the world. 
 The heart has not forgot the thump it 
 gave when the impulse seized it then and 
 there to venture, uninvited and unal- 
 lowed, upon sitting in that editor's chair 
 and writing the first editorial of a life- 
 time. 
 
 21 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 - It did not take very long. The voices 
 of a million little readers seemed to be 
 heard pleading for just those volumes, 
 whose dilapidated condition had led the 
 state superintendent to condemn them and 
 suggest their banishment from the school 
 vs^orld. The reporter remembered his 
 home, and his experiences in teaching 
 and " boarding around." He knew that 
 it was not the well-kept books, but those 
 that were worn to rags, that were loved 
 and were doing good. His mind and 
 heart being full of these ideas, he had soon 
 placed them upon paper, and left an ap- 
 propriate editorial of suitable length upon 
 the table. Memory pictures the sudden 
 panic that came when that work of the 
 heart was done, and how the perpetrator 
 fled from the office as if detectives had 
 discovered and pursued him. Would 
 his editorial be regarded as an imperti- 
 nence? Or would the editor kindly use 
 it ? There is a vivid reminiscence of the 
 
 22 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 thrill that came when the editorial was 
 found in the evening paper ! There was 
 a brief debate next day in the Assembly 
 about the libraries, and the reporter heard 
 the editorial alluded to and commended 
 by a member in his argument, as most 
 convincing and sincere. That brief de- 
 bate in which the heart was so interested, 
 now shines out as the best remembered 
 item of the discussions of that eventful 
 winter. 
 
 Here again I reach a place where I 
 have to pass over an interval, — to jump 
 some years of legislative experience in 
 New England and New York, in order 
 to reach and tell the story of the reporter 
 in a new field, where there was indeed 
 serious pathfinding to be accomplished. 
 The courts of law, with all their author- 
 ity, their precedents, and their ancient 
 customs, yet had great need of the lowly 
 pathfinders, though the courts had not 
 23 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 acknowledged it or known it in the cen- 
 turies of the past. 
 
 Look at the change brought about by 
 the reporter, and from the story of one 
 learn all. 
 
 THE COURTS 
 
 The change, though very important, 
 came about quietly — as oft in the stilly 
 night the snowflakes fall and cover all the 
 scene. In 1 8 6 5 (and for many years before 
 that date) the judges of the courts, and the 
 lawyers in the various States of the Union, 
 were trying to do an impossible thing in 
 letters. They were endeavoring to re- 
 duce to ordinary writing and to record 
 with scrupulous exactness the testimony 
 (too often ungovernable talk) of independ- 
 ent American citizens and others upon 
 the witness-stand. The painful effort and 
 slow anguish of those days are still re- 
 membered, and spoken of with almost a 
 shudder, by the few old benchers of that 
 24 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 time, who have lingered on, and who have 
 come with us into the new century. It 
 will be seen that the judge's record had 
 to be the standard. When the record of 
 the opposing attorneys differed, the judge 
 had to decide what the evidence of the 
 witness had been. And when he did not 
 know, he had to rule. It is easy to see 
 how painful this was. And then, the rec- 
 ord ! It is not extravagant to mention it as 
 an awful record. For it involved then, 
 as such records do now, the right to pro- 
 perty, to personal liberty, and to life. 
 
 At the time in question there were 
 about one hundred and twenty-five com- 
 petent shorthand reporters in the United 
 States. They were busy doing congres- 
 sional, legislative, and newspaper work. 
 It was the dream of some of these men 
 that shorthand might come to be gener- 
 ally used to take the evidence of witnesses 
 in court. Among these shorthand writers 
 was the reporter whose coming to the 
 
 25 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 city has been described. He came to Al- 
 bany early in the sixties. It was among 
 his plans to introduce shorthand into 
 the Supreme Court circuits of the State, 
 held in Albany and adjacent counties. 
 His efforts to do this sharply illustrate 
 the situation at that time, and reveal the 
 nature of the important change just then 
 beginning in the courts. 
 
 The reporter sought and found oppor- 
 tunities to see each of the three judges of 
 the Supreme Court of the third judicial 
 district. New York, in which district Al- 
 bany is included. The reporter was treated 
 with consideration by all of the judges, but 
 some objections to the proposed experi- 
 ment were made. One of the Supreme 
 Court justices explained that he was him- 
 self a very rapid penman, and he did not 
 quite see how any one could write more 
 rapidly than he did. He felt compelled 
 to say, also, that he was so accustomed to 
 writing the evidence that he did not think 
 26 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 he could try a case without a pen in his 
 hand. But his view soon changed, and he 
 became an earnest advocate of the pro- 
 posed new method. The other two judges 
 did not object to the experiment. They 
 were wilHng to try any plan the lawyers 
 would favor. 
 
 Soon October came, and the November 
 circuit (1865) to be held in the city hall 
 at Albany was drawing near. It was to 
 be an eventful circuit. Besides other im- 
 portant cases, a well-known citizen was 
 to be tried for the homicide of another 
 citizen who had been well known. The 
 reporter saw the judge who was to hold 
 the circuit. The judge said he would ob- 
 ject to nothing that the lawyers would 
 consent to, and advised the reporter to see 
 the district attorney of the county, and 
 the attorney for the defense, in the case 
 of the homicide, which was of so much 
 interest to the city. 
 
 The reporter's visit to the ofHce of the 
 27 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 district attorney was an incident the 
 details of which he vividly remembered. 
 Perhaps it is and was the duty of every 
 public prosecutor to assume an aspect of 
 great severity. The reporter entered the 
 office of this officer, with whom he was 
 not personally acquainted, and stood for 
 a moment just inside the door. The dis- 
 trict attorney rose from his chair and 
 glared at the stranger with a withering 
 effect. The reporter stated that he was 
 a stenographic writer ; that he desired to 
 take the evidence at the approaching cir- 
 cuit, and especially the evidence in the 
 important homicide case ; that he had 
 seen the judge, who did not object; that 
 he had learned that the district attorney, 
 to whom he was then speaking, had 
 thought the case of such importance that 
 the attorney-general of the State was to 
 aid him in the prosecution, and that the 
 defense not only had a lawyer of celeb- 
 rity as attorney, but had also secured 
 28 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 as counsel to try the case the Hon. Lyman 
 Tremain, who was of national reputa- 
 tion. 
 
 Upon this statement the countenance 
 of the district attorney assumed an aspect 
 that was not merely severe but deter- 
 minedly repellent. So far as was possible 
 to one whose appearance was naturally 
 pleasant his face became terrible. His 
 eyes glowed with peculiar fire. He took 
 a step backward as if to avoid contamina- 
 tion, and said with a brazen effect, " Sir, 
 we will not need you." The reporter 
 passed out of the office as an intruder 
 passes out who is suspected of interfering 
 in a case, with criminal intentions. He 
 could not but acknowledge to himself 
 that the manner of the district attorney 
 was a thing well put on. 
 
 At the office of the attorney for the 
 defense, the reporter met with another 
 repulse. "Would it not be well," he 
 asked, " to try the shorthand method of 
 
 29 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 taking the evidence in that case next 
 week ? I am a stenographic writer." 
 
 " I do not see," replied the attorney 
 (Mr, Hadley), " any way to make short- 
 hand available. I reported speeches with 
 shorthand in England ; I know about it. 
 In this matter here we must have the 
 evidence to use as we proceed with the 
 trial, and we cannot read your shorthand 
 notes." 
 
 "But I can read them for you," said 
 the reporter, enthusiastically, " and the 
 judge does not object." 
 
 "Sir," said the lawyer sternly, "we 
 will not need you." 
 
 The reporter departed, but he did not 
 feel satisfied. The next morning he again 
 called upon Mr. Hadley, and found him 
 hard at work in his office. The reporter 
 said, " It has seemed to me, after all, that 
 there may be a way about this shorthand 
 which — " 
 
 " Have I not already told you," shouted 
 30 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 the lawyer, interrupting, "that we can- 
 not make shorthand available? What do 
 you mean by coming here in this man- 
 ner?" And the lawyer rose from his 
 chair, and, taking a ruler from his table, 
 balanced it in his hand and gazed ex- 
 pressively at the persistent stranger. The 
 reporter quickly left the ofBce, reflecting 
 as he did so upon the fact that he had 
 at least advertised the shorthand move- 
 ment, for which he was trying to gain a 
 place in the courts. 
 
 Here the scene changed to the court- 
 room in the city hall at Albany, and to 
 a date two weeks later than the time of 
 the events above narrated. In order to 
 look in upon the scene, let us go into the 
 city hall. We find the long and lofty room, 
 in which the circuit of the Supreme Court 
 (and Court of Oyer and Terminer) is held, 
 crowded with people. The case of the 
 homicide is on trial. The Hon. Lyman 
 Tremain is addressing the court in a very 
 
 31 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 earnest manner. To appreciate his argu- 
 ment, it is necessary to bear in mind that 
 rule of evidence which holds that if one 
 party opens a door, the opposing party 
 may then push the door wide open. If 
 a party has a right to keep a door closed, 
 and objects to opening it, then it must be 
 kept entirely closed. For, if the party 
 having the right to keep it closed opens 
 it cautiously, intentionally, or in any way, 
 even very slightly, that slight opening 
 forfeits the right of closing, and the other 
 party can then open the door widely and 
 bring in a line of evidence which other- 
 wise might be excluded. This is the rule, 
 and it is manifestly a just one. 
 
 The occurrences we witness in the 
 court-room are as follows : " If the court 
 please," says Mr. Tremain, "we come 
 now to the direct question whether the 
 accused can avail himself of this line of 
 evidence. My associate, Mr. Hadley, at 
 the very moment the attorney-general 
 32 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 asked the question, called my attention 
 to it. And that question was certainly- 
 answered. The evidence was called out 
 on the part of the people. They have 
 opened the door. They have let in this 
 line of our defense ; and I believe it is in 
 the furtherance of justice that they have 
 done so. We are entirely sure that the 
 evidence was given as I have stated." 
 
 The Attorney-general : " Your honor, 
 it is simply impossible that I could have 
 asked such a question, or have permitted 
 such an answer to be given." 
 
 Mr. Tremain : " But we are certain ; 
 we have not the slightest doubt about it. 
 We are willing to make affidavits or do 
 anything that may be required of us in 
 proof of our assertion. We have clear 
 and positive recollection that this evidence 
 (in a few words) was called out on the 
 part of the people." 
 
 The Court (after searching) : " The 
 evidence does not seem to be on my min- 
 33 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 utes. However, it is not possible for me 
 to follow all matters which do not ap- 
 pear to be at all material when called 
 out. I think this could not have been 
 dwelt upon." 
 
 Mr. Tremain : " No, your honor, it 
 was not ; but the evidence was given. 
 The people have opened the door. We 
 insist upon our technical right." 
 
 The Attorney-general : " Is there not 
 another line of defense still to be consid- 
 ered?" 
 
 Mr. Tremain : " Yes, your honor ; but 
 we will have to come back to this again." 
 
 The Court : " Put in the evidence on 
 the other branch of the case, and in the 
 mean time I will think of this." 
 
 Mr. Tremain : " Very well, your 
 honor, we will take up another line of 
 evidence, but must insist upon our rights 
 in this matter when we reach it again." 
 
 An hour later. 
 
 Mr. Tremain : " That is all ; and now 
 34 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 we come again to that question as to the 
 admissibility of the line of evidence for 
 which the door was opened to us by the 
 answer called out on the part of the 
 people. Both Mr. Hadley and myself as- 
 sert most solemnly that we have positive 
 recollection that the question was asked 
 and answered. Can it be supposed that 
 we are mistaken ? Our attention was 
 drawn to the matter at the very time it 
 occurred. The great importance of the 
 fact that the door was opened led my as- 
 sociate to notice the few words that were 
 spoken, just at the time, I also was led 
 to notice them." 
 
 The Attorney-general : " Your honor, 
 it is impossible — wholly impossible. We 
 remember no such evidence, and your 
 honor's minutes prove that nothing of the 
 kind occurred. Is not the record of the 
 court conclusive?" 
 
 Mr. Tremain : " But, your honor, is 
 our positive knowledge and solemn de- 
 35 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 claration to be treated as nothing ? That 
 one man or ten men failed to see or hear 
 and remember is not proof as against posi- 
 tive knowledge. The negative evidence 
 of those who did not see does not disprove 
 the positive evidence of those who did," 
 The contest raged for half an hour. 
 In the mean time, who is that quiet per- 
 son seated at the long table, on the oppo- 
 site side from the counsel, and yet near 
 to the witness ? He has been there during 
 the circuit, writing, but wholly ignored 
 by the court and counsel. We recognize 
 in him the reporter who was so sharply 
 treated by the lawyers in their offices. It 
 must be that the judge has kindly allowed 
 the reporter a seat within the bar. Let 
 us look over his shoulder and see the 
 carefully written pages. Every word, 
 every comma, of all that has been done, 
 has been recorded. The old, slow method, 
 in which the court and attorneys have 
 kept their minutes, has given the short- 
 36 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 hand man time for this. While the 
 others have been scratching and perspir- 
 ing (and keeping the witnesses down to 
 half-speed) to get the substance, the re- 
 porter has leisurely written all the words 
 of every question and every answer in 
 exact and (to him) very legible shorthand 
 characters. We see also that he has now 
 written in his best penmanship a copy of 
 a passage of about sixty words taken from 
 his notes. We see the sheet on which 
 the copy is made lying on the table beside 
 his note-book. We read the copy and 
 discover that it is the very passage about 
 which the counsel are now raging. 
 
 Why does the reporter remain quietly 
 in his seat with no offer to aid the con- 
 tending parties ? It is because they virtu- 
 ally turned him out of their offices, and 
 have not spoken to or looked toward 
 him during the progress of the trial ; 
 and his face now has perplexity written 
 over it. Shall he or shall he not venture 
 37 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 to aid ? Will his offering be spurned or 
 accepted ? As the minutes go by, the bat- 
 tle continues between counsel, and the 
 conflict waxes warmer in the mind of the 
 reporter. Has he a right to remain silent ? 
 He glances at the anxious face of the citi- 
 zen on trial ; how dreadful the accusation 
 against him ! 
 
 The reporter finally decides that he 
 will make another copy (so as to avoid 
 the interlineation of one word which ap- 
 pears as an interlineation in the first copy) 
 and place this entirely perfect copy upon 
 the desk before the court. He makes the 
 second copy in his clearest penmanship. 
 Then comes the critical moment. He 
 rises, walks around the end of the table, 
 takes four steps to the bench where the 
 august court is seated, places his paper 
 on the desk before the court and then, 
 with his pulses throbbing, turns and 
 quietly resumes his seat by the long table. 
 
 In a moment the attorney for the de- 
 38 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 fense, Mr. Hadley, divines the meaning 
 of the reporter's movement. And in an- 
 other he rises, w^alks around the end of 
 the table, and stands meekly at the re- 
 porter's elbows, v^^hile he whispers a most 
 humble request that the reporter will give 
 him a copy of the paper he has just placed 
 before the court. The first copy, with 
 the word interlined, is fortunately ready, 
 and is graciously handed to Mr. Hadley. 
 With an eager glance at the paper and a 
 sudden flush upon his face, the attorney 
 steps quickly to his counsel (Mr. Tre- 
 main) who has the floor at the moment. 
 Mr. Tremain pauses in his argument, 
 grasps the copy, and, looking at it, breaks 
 out triumphantly into praises of steno- 
 graphy. 
 
 "And besides all this which I have 
 urged, your honor," he says, " there is 
 in attendance here a stenographer, who 
 takes every question and answer, every 
 word uttered by the court, counsel, and 
 39 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 witnesses in the examinations of this im- 
 portant trial. How could anything be 
 more exact or satisfactory than this ? " 
 And then he reads the evidence which 
 the reporter has furnished. 
 
 " Yes ; I see," says the judge, studying 
 his copy, and with relief and satisfaction 
 written all over his countenance. 
 
 The memory of the court and the law- 
 yers is refreshed. The judge, the attorney- 
 general, and all agree that the record is 
 most strictly accurate and complete. The 
 new line of defense comes in and changes 
 the aspect of the case. Two hours from 
 the time the reporter makes his venture 
 the attorney-general, in lofty and digni- 
 fied language, concedes that the accused 
 has made out a good case of self-defense, 
 and the trial for homicide ends with an 
 honorable acquittal ; there is hand-shak- 
 ing and rejoicing, and the accused goes 
 his way to his home and to freedom. 
 
 But how about the stenographer ? He 
 40 
 
THE COURTS 
 
 has succeeded only too well for his own 
 peace and rest. From that day and hour 
 he found it impossible to do the work 
 forced upon his attention. It was very 
 difficult to get stenographic aid. The re- 
 porter transferred to other workers his 
 legislative and newspaper engagements, 
 and devoted his energies to the new field. 
 The experience of the reporter may have 
 been paralleled in other localities. It took 
 time for new men to become qualified to 
 do this new kind of expert work, but 
 more than a dozen years before the close 
 of the nineteenth century the advance 
 had been pretty generally made. The 
 note-books of the reporters had descended 
 upon the court-rooms and the scene was 
 changed. The pens had been laid aside. 
 The examination of witnesses moved 
 smoothly on, no longer checked or broken 
 by those painful delays which had been 
 required when the court and the lawyers 
 were writing the evidence. The tedious- 
 41 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 ness had departed ; the court-room had be- 
 come a pleasant place. It was often a treat 
 to hear the quick and sprightly talk occur- 
 ring between an examining counsel and 
 the witness. And the judges, clothed with 
 a new dignity, sitting bravely upright and 
 in their right minds, had become the 
 special friends of the stenographers. 
 
 Remembering how many courts there 
 are in the counties of the States of the 
 Union ; how great the forest of pens form- 
 erly waving in slow anguish in these courts, 
 but now laid low ; how pleasant the change 
 from tedious delay to brisk activity over 
 this wide area ; and how great a saving 
 of time and money has been effected, one 
 gets a glimpse of the advance that has 
 been made in this industrial department 
 of the domain of letters. 
 
 Here again, I turn somewhat abruptly, 
 to give the concluding phase of the Path- 
 finder's experience. 
 
 42 
 
STORY-WRITING 
 
 STORY-WRITING 
 
 The path-seeking reporter, who had 
 found his way into the legislatures of the 
 various States, the newspapers and the 
 courts, had not been able to gain an en- 
 trance into the enchanted realm of litera- 
 ture. From a date before his college days 
 he had been dreaming and trying. In the 
 log-cabin by the saw-mill, in the Adiron- 
 dack wilderness where he had labored, he 
 had read the writings of Lowell, of Long- 
 fellow, of Emerson, and various authors 
 who were then gaining admirers and lay- 
 ing the foundations of American litera- 
 ture. 
 
 The literary impulse which came to the 
 youth at that time grew with his growth, 
 and did not in after years wholly perish. 
 But he came to see that neither shorthand 
 nor college learning, nor years of trying 
 and dreaming and scheming, would give 
 to him the power of literary achievement. 
 43 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 He could write editorials, he could be, 
 and often was, a newspaper correspondent, 
 and his years of reporting in various leg- 
 islatures and the courts, had given him 
 some knowledge of the world ; but all 
 this counted as nothing in the field of 
 original literature,— that strange, beau- 
 tiful,unknowable world of inspiration and 
 art. His essays (sent to the greatest liter- 
 ary magazine in America) always came 
 back. He tried the venture again and 
 again, as the rolling years went round, but 
 always with the same negative result. 
 The door of the great temple that he 
 sought to enter was closed against him. 
 He was settling down to the conviction 
 that the literary life he so longed for was 
 denied him. It seemed that his nature 
 was not endowed in any literary direction. 
 He was planning how best to devote all 
 his energies and time to the reporting in- 
 dustries which he had discovered and was 
 cultivating. 
 
 44 
 
STORY-WRITING 
 
 But there came a day ! It was to him 
 the greatest day he had ever known, be- 
 cause it revealed him to himself. It was 
 a December day (i 871 ) of beautiful win- 
 ter sunshine, just ten years from that De- 
 cember when he had come alone, and a 
 stranger, to the city. Now he had his 
 position as court reporter, and his little 
 office on a handsome street, and many 
 hopes and joys were gathering around 
 his heart. 
 
 Memory pictures the scene and the 
 events of that day. The reporter was 
 alone, and found it quiet, and the air still, 
 in his little back office up one flight of 
 stairs from the city sidewalk. It was in 
 the time of recess in the courts. He was 
 looking forward with good cheer to a 
 week of leisure. The winter sunshine, 
 coming through his one large window, 
 fell in a great yellow square upon the bare, 
 wooden floor. The wood-fire, which with 
 his country habits he had all the while 
 45 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 clung to, was purring gently in the little 
 box-stove. He had been reading a cer- 
 tain famous essay upon the philosophy of 
 style. He thought he saw a new element 
 which might aid him in his writing. In 
 his days of leisure it was his custom to 
 write letters to the newspapers. They 
 were always glad to get correspondence 
 from the State Capital. And now he 
 questioned whether he could use his new 
 idea in writing the letter he was consider- 
 ing. But no, that was not a good method 
 of trying it. A story would give the 
 right chance to test the question. But 
 could he write a good story ? He had 
 seen something about sketches or stories 
 of the wild West, then recently written by 
 a young man who hailed from California, 
 and he had read one or more of them. 
 Could he himself do such a thing ? His 
 newspaper experience gave him slight 
 chance to know. He drew his chair to 
 the table and took up his pen. A scene in 
 46 
 
STORY-WRITING 
 
 the Adirondack forest, a transaction in 
 which he had taken some part in his 
 days of lumbering and teaching, came 
 vividly to his imagination. He proceeded 
 to write a few words of description of a 
 place in the great wilderness. Soon he 
 paused and gazed at vacancy. All the 
 nameless charms, and even the balsamic 
 odors of the forest, seemed to be present. 
 He was absorbed in this new and strange 
 experience. As the hours went by he sat 
 gazing in delight and wonder. Why had 
 he not tried this work before ? Why had 
 he not sought to picture in stories (not 
 essays) the wilderness, which had been the 
 joy and dream of his youthful life ? He 
 did not write much. He was intently 
 watching the vision. To move a hand 
 seemed to disturb the picture that was un- 
 folding itself before him. He saw that 
 items which nature had left out presented 
 themselves, and completed and made per- 
 fect the drama. As he was gazing and 
 47 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 wondering, he forgot his one o'clock din- 
 ner; he forgot to go for his afternoon 
 mail ; he forgot all things ; and it seemed a 
 brief hour only until the light in his win- 
 dow began to darken, and he discovered 
 with surprise that the day had departed. 
 He compelled himself to go to supper, but 
 resumed his work immediately afterward. 
 The vision kindly held, and soon began 
 to shape itself into language. He had thus 
 far been gazing and had written very 
 little. But now words began to appear, 
 and some became protuberant, and phrases 
 came and were imperative in their de- 
 mand to be heard. The new author, the 
 reporter, resolutely took himself away 
 from the work that had so strangely fas- 
 cinated him, as the bell tolled midnight 
 in the Cathedral tower. As he locked 
 his office door and walked up the street 
 to his lodgings, he wondered whether he 
 would sleep. He slept as only a trained 
 reporter with good nerves and a peace- 
 48 
 
STORY-WRITING 
 
 ful heart can sleep under exciting circum- 
 stances. 
 
 When the reporter awoke next morn- 
 ing, there was the vision immediately 
 present, and with those protuberant and 
 emphatic words and imperative phrases 
 sticking out. Then followed another day 
 of dreaming and writing. And at ten 
 o'clock in the evening of that second 
 day, as the reporter well remembers, that 
 first roughly-written manuscript lay be- 
 fore him completed, a tumbled bundle 
 of inky papers on his table. 
 
 He could rest now. The vision might 
 fade, but he had it on paper, every word 
 accurately recorded. There was no such 
 thing as revision. For some reason, which 
 was never explained, he could not change 
 a word or syllable or even a comma of 
 that first revelation that came to him. 
 He was new and unconscious in the 
 business. 
 
 The reporter having produced a little 
 49 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 work of art that was destined to change 
 his place in life, had no clear know- 
 ledge of what he had accomplished. He 
 smiled at his own thoughts and wondered 
 whether the peculiar delight he had ex- 
 perienced indicated anything as to failure 
 or success. Was the story he had written 
 of some value or was it folly ? 
 
 Two days after he had completed the 
 story, he sat in his office with a clean 
 and perfect copy before him inclosed and 
 ready for the mail. Where should he 
 send " the thing " in order to learn what 
 the editors would say of it ? He sat for 
 a time balancing the pen in his hand 
 before he addressed the package. Should 
 he send the story to the newspaper for 
 which he was writing letters ? The 
 thought of the great literary magazine 
 where he had failed so often with his 
 essays came into his mind. He had given 
 up hoping in regard to the magazine 
 years before. But it might be no harm 
 50 
 
STORY-WRITING 
 
 to try again, — to test this strange new- 
 thing that puzzled him. He had nothing 
 to lose by the venture, although he knew 
 that he could not gain. His pen moved, 
 and half unconscious of any choice, he 
 directed his story to the great monthly. 
 And then he went out and mailed it, — 
 mailed it to the pages where Emerson 
 was then writing, and Whittier and the 
 Autocrat and Mrs. Stowe, — mailed it to 
 the greatest literary magazine in America, 
 or for that matter in all the world, — 
 mailed it and then turned back to his 
 obscure little office, sincerely feeling and 
 believing that he might just as well have 
 fired that strange manuscript out of a 
 big gun toward the stars. 
 
 It would be folly to try to describe the 
 internal experiences of the reporter after 
 he had sent his manuscript. He assured 
 himself a dozen times the first day (and 
 on various days afterward, when he was 
 not absorbed with court anxieties) that 
 51 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 he had no hope, not a grain of expecta- 
 tion in regard to his venture. There was 
 long delay and then there came a morn- 
 ing ! It was a glad morning that could 
 never come in all its fullness again. There 
 appeared in the reporter's mail a little 
 white publishers' envelope, and he pulled 
 it open in the post-ofEce, and read it and 
 stood bewildered, thrilled, astonished (al- 
 most aghast), in the presence of an ac- 
 ceptance by the great magazine ! He 
 said to himself that it could not be true. 
 He read the letter again and there was 
 the clear assurance that he was wanted, 
 and would have a place in the world of 
 letters. He had seen enough of life to 
 know what this meant. He remembered 
 his years of seeking and waiting, and 
 hiding his hope even from himself. He 
 realized that now the great event had 
 occurred. The rise in life had come : he 
 had found the path and was taking the 
 step upward. He had, all unwittingly, 
 52 
 
STORY-WRITING 
 
 discovered his endowment, his littlegenius 
 or talent, or his something, whatever it 
 was, in the direction of story-writing. 
 And this was leading him on to a platform, 
 higher than he had expected ever to 
 occupy. He left the post-office in that 
 peculiar frame of mind which has been 
 described as causing the individual affected 
 by it to seem to himself to be walking 
 upon the atmosphere. And for days as 
 he toiled, this lingered with him. He 
 fed secretly upon the thought of what 
 had occurred, and was profoundly con- 
 scious of the upward step he was taking. 
 I suppose there may be those who will 
 smile at this joy, this dream of the re- 
 porter; but those who have toiled long 
 and patiently for success of any kind, and 
 then suddenly and unexpectedly suc- 
 ceeded, will not smile. The heart recog- 
 nizes such long waiting and such a success 
 as serious, and as justly calling for respect 
 and sympathy. 
 
 S3 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 There came one other day that made 
 a permanent picture in the reporter's 
 memory: it was the day when his story 
 appeared. He had not expected it for 
 months to come. He came upon it in a 
 public reading-room, — his own name 
 on the cover of the magazine, and just 
 above it the name of John G. Whittier. 
 As the reporter turned the leaves and 
 read, his story seemed far away, as if writ- 
 ten by another person. He was surprised 
 and deeply moved by its pathos and 
 power. He went out from the reading- 
 room into a new world, — a world of 
 congratulations and kindly greetings, a 
 world that gave him honor and respect, 
 such as he had not known before. For 
 in that day, when authors were so great, 
 to be one of the few admitted to the 
 famous pages where Longfellow, Whit- 
 tier, Emerson, and Mrs. Stowe were writ- 
 ing, was regarded as, in various ways, 
 better than to be a king. 
 54 
 
STORY-WRITING 
 
 The reporter found, as time went on, 
 that he had not miscalculated the results 
 that would flow from his discovery of 
 himself. A goodly list of his spontaneous 
 stories soon followed the first one in the 
 same high place ; and the reporter learned 
 the pleasant road to Boston, and trod the 
 pathway to the famous banquets to meet 
 the great names he (and all America) 
 had so long honored in the realm of 
 letters. His own quiet place in literature 
 was the ornament, the gilding, the bright- 
 ness of his many years in the courts, and 
 his life of arduous labor. 
 
 Here, Lady Mary, I reach the close 
 of this Pathfinding story. But I add in 
 the following pages some of those tales 
 which the Pathfinder has written. And 
 in review I may say, that the writing of 
 them has been the most delightful pursuit 
 he has known, and has brought the re- 
 wards he most values. 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 She was urging upon him the point that 
 life is but a dream, and that all things 
 should be done with reference to the 
 great hereafter. She was eighteen, and 
 he was twenty-two. They were far out 
 on Lake Champlain, skating. All sounds 
 seemed to have died on the distant shore. 
 They paused, hand in hand, and looked 
 around them. It was a still, February 
 day, full of beautiful winter sunshine. 
 Here and there, far off on the snowy 
 floor of the wide valley, they saw black 
 specks, which they knew to be teams, 
 crawling like insects over the white waste. 
 On the western side, mountains rose in 
 precipitous grandeur, their dark, spruce- 
 covered summits cutting a jagged line 
 against the pale-blue steel of the northern 
 59 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 sky. On the eastern shore was Vermont ; 
 and they saw in that direction, by the 
 brink of the lake, Burlington, the city of 
 the valley, so diminished by distance that 
 its wharves and houses and leafless trees 
 could scarcely be distinguished. They 
 saw more plainly the smoke of its chim- 
 neys staining the sky with a blur of am- 
 ber. There were the homes from which 
 they had ventured out seven miles upon 
 the ice, regardless of cracks and air-holes. 
 The glide had been rapid and exhilarat- 
 ing. The pause enabled them to realize 
 how still it was so far away from human 
 habitations, and how impressive the pros- 
 pect. 
 
 " But we do know perfectly well, Mal- 
 colm," said Miss Warrington, resuming 
 their conversation on the everlasting sub- 
 ject, " that this outward existence is 
 merely a fleeting shadow, and has not the 
 least real substance." 
 
 Mr. Malcolm Bruce was aware of this 
 60 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 fact. He had supposed otherwise in his 
 natural state, while he remained a boy 
 at home on a stump farm in Canada ; 
 but on coming to college, at Burlington, 
 he had found out how it was. His inter- 
 est in the matter had not been very great, 
 however, until he made the acquaintance 
 of Anna Warrington. It might not have 
 been engrossing even then if he had not 
 fallen in love with the young lady. But 
 his ardent feeling and her spirituality and 
 acuteness led him on. She saw clearly 
 that life is an incident only, a mere step, 
 a trifle in the endless march of eternity ; 
 and she made Malcolm see it also. Out 
 there on the ice, that February day, their 
 minds were full of these " inspirations." 
 Miss Warrington was not a student in 
 the college (for this was before women 
 were admitted to the University of Ver- 
 mont), but she ought to have been ; it 
 would have saved her from grievous mis- 
 takes. As it was, she merely " investi- 
 6i 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 gated," and delighted in the philosoph- 
 ical studies as she misunderstood them. 
 She was quite diligent in reading profound 
 works. She was not accurate, because 
 she was without suitable training ; but she 
 was very enthusiastic. It was her notion 
 to carry out in practice some of those 
 valuable abstract conclusions which in 
 education do not seem to form the com- 
 mon mind. She thought it consistent even 
 then (before the subject had been treated 
 by novelists) to stand guard over the con- 
 jugal rights of dead people. And as mat- 
 ters turned out with Anna Warrington, 
 there need be no hesitation in saying that 
 she was sincere in her transcendental view 
 that, with philosophical people, marriage 
 ought to be, and is, an institution not so 
 much for time as for eternity. It was the 
 union of souls, the blending of kindred 
 spirits, that she commended. 
 
 If nature ever smiles, as frequently 
 asserted, she probably did so on this oc- 
 62 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 casion, when this highly sensitive young 
 woman pleaded with her companion, and 
 actually shed tears as she pictured the 
 grief of a wife departed looking from the 
 realms above upon her partner's second 
 venture in the matrimonial market. 
 
 To this situation had Miss Anna been 
 brought by shallow learning, unbridled 
 romance, and that kind of crisis in her ex- 
 perience usually called a disappointment. 
 
 Malcolm knew nothing about her sen- 
 timental misfortune. It was not known 
 to anybody in Burlington except two 
 excellent unmarried women, who were 
 distant relatives of Anna's, and at whose 
 home she was visiting. She was a 
 stranger in the verdant little city, and her 
 residence (except that she was from the 
 South) was unknown. But her interest 
 in the peculiar philosophy of the college 
 and in poetry and metaphysics was so 
 rank a growth that various people besides 
 Malcolm were aware of it. 
 63 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 It is not the plan of this narrative to 
 leave the pair on the ice any longer. 
 They reached home at four o'clock in 
 the afternoon, vs^ith good appetites, no 
 marks on their faces, and Anna's small 
 v^hite handkerchief showing evidence of 
 having been vigorously used. Malcolm 
 Bruce must have been dimly conscious 
 even then of the morbid phase of the 
 situation, for he was a sensible youth, 
 but he was just out of the Canada woods. 
 It was a prodigious and almost incred- 
 ible thing to him that a cultivated and 
 elegant young lady could be so fond of 
 Malcolm Bruce. He quaked with rev- 
 erence and honest fear in the presence of 
 such superior feminine attractions. It is 
 clear that the times also were somewhat 
 to blame. Those were the days before 
 the Civil War, when the last hours of 
 weakly female children were celebrated 
 in song throughout the Union. The 
 farewell words and the little green grave 
 64 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 were known to millions. It was a luxu- 
 rious period, when in America everybody's 
 muscles felt the softening influence of a 
 century of peace. Tears were delicious, 
 and the dusty road of life was sprinkled 
 with them then far more than it is now. 
 Doubtless Bruce felt this general influence 
 strongly. The peculiarities of the place 
 also aided his infatuation. Taking into 
 account the beautiful and peculiar phil- 
 osophy taught by the college and its ac- 
 companying theory of fine art, it may 
 safely be affirmed that the locality was 
 extremely romantic. Solemn mountains 
 stand in great magnificence around this 
 lovely vale, where the sublimest truths 
 were promulgated. The future state was 
 made very near and palpable to the stu- 
 dents. There might be some doubt about 
 the absolute reality of the present world, 
 but no Burlington student in his senses 
 ever had any question about the certainty 
 of the world to come. 
 65 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 It was not often that shallow students 
 or sympathizers were misled to the ex- 
 tent apparent in Anna Warrington. The 
 philosophic dream was more likely to be 
 truthful, and to come to strong men. It 
 began to show itself usually in thought- 
 fulness and a fondness for the poetry of 
 Wordsworth and Coleridge, and resulted 
 in landing the man in Andover Theo- 
 logical Seminary, where he would surpass 
 his fellow-students in deep knowledge 
 and profound thinking. Bruce saw what 
 was to him the majesty of the great world 
 and the dignity of unsurpassed learning 
 in this sequestered valley, where wild- 
 flowers were the chief ornament, and not 
 man, but nature, reigned supreme. It 
 was in his freshman year that he bowed 
 down and worshiped the bedazzled and 
 bedazzling Anna Warrington. He was 
 then at his weakest in his conflict with 
 the world. 
 
 But there was a second step in this mat- 
 66 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 ter, which I would endeavor to account 
 for if it were not too preposterous. As it 
 is I shall merely state the facts, and leave 
 the case on its merits. Anna Warrington 
 and Malcolm Bruce, in making their 
 little preparatory arrangements for living 
 and dying and the hereafter, including, 
 of course, the slight circumstance usually 
 known as marriage, bargained both for 
 time and eternity ! The compact con- 
 tained all the particulars. Anna put them 
 in as if per schedule A and B, and Bruce, 
 in transports of love and enchantment, 
 assented. It was, indeed, and aside from 
 all levity, a very tender scene when these 
 two, so young and sincere, pledged them- 
 selves to each other forever, specifically 
 setting aside the decree of the skeleton 
 king, whose will terminates all engage- 
 ments, and especially marriage-contracts, 
 and whose power to part the nearest and 
 dearest is verbally conceded in the wed- 
 ding ceremony. 
 
 67 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 There is a natural grotto in the bluff 
 of Red-rocks, which overhangs the lake, 
 a mile south of Burlington. It was in 
 this wild and hidden retreat, amid the 
 soft airs and under hearing of the birds 
 of June, that the lovers prayed, and 
 vowed, and promised. The blue waves 
 saw and clapped their hands ; but there 
 was no voice from the majestic moun- 
 tains. There was probably an impression 
 on the part of the everlasting hills that 
 these two young persons did not know 
 what they were talking about. But they 
 had no uncertainty. 
 
 They were to live for each other, 
 whether married or single. No mis- 
 understanding that could come between 
 them and no absence or desertion was to 
 serve as a pretext or excuse for dissolving 
 this union. It was to be above all the 
 accidents of time, and in its nature abso- 
 lute. If one died, the other was to wait 
 until they should be united beyond the 
 68 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 grave. In the mean time the deceased 
 was to watch over the survivor, and 
 endeavor to make his or her spiritual 
 presence felt by the mourner. That 
 communication under such circum- 
 stances might be impossible was con- 
 ceded, yet an effort in that direction was 
 thought advisable, and was made part of 
 the mutual undertaking. If they were in 
 any way separated in this life, each was 
 to live in singleness, looking forward to 
 a meeting here or in the life to come. 
 
 Anna Warrington sang divinely, and 
 one of her chosen hymns, as she ren- 
 dered it, seemed to all of us to float along 
 the very edge of the spirit-world. That 
 weird melody haunted Malcolm and be- 
 witched him. It was always clear to me 
 that this poor girl, with such a haunting 
 voice and dark, hungry, and unearthly 
 eyes, was suffering from a defeat which 
 was eating her heart out, and I have so 
 treated the matter in these pages. But 
 69 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 there were those who believed differ- 
 ently. They could find deceit in that 
 sad and lovely face, and deliberate design 
 in the treatment she gave her college 
 lover. 
 
 The day after the scene in the grotto, 
 an event occurred without which it would 
 not have been worth while to write this 
 history. That event was nothing less than 
 the sudden and unexplained disappear- 
 ance of Miss Warrington from Burling- 
 ton. It was not alarming because she 
 merely "went somewhere." But it was 
 a trying thing for Bruce to be treated in 
 this curt way, even upon the most liberal 
 hypothesis in regard to the unimportance 
 of mundane affairs. If she had been com- 
 ing back sometime, or if he could have 
 found out where she had gone, he might, 
 perhaps, have borne it better; but in the 
 absence of the least scintilla of informa- 
 tion, the situation, as time went by, grew 
 discouraging. 
 
 70 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 It might have been stated early in this 
 record, had that vulgar fact been impor- 
 tant, that Malcolm took his meals at 
 the very house where Anna, for the time 
 being, vv^as on a visit. That was, indeed, 
 the secret of their acquaintance and 
 intimacy. Those two excellent single 
 women, who had Anna with them and 
 took Malcolm to board, were the best 
 friends the student had in the place, and 
 among the best women in Burlington. 
 Whether they saw fit to board a fresh- 
 man for a while on Anna's account is a 
 matter of speculation. Certain it is that 
 they never boarded any one else, and 
 Malcolm was politely "excused" within 
 two weeks after Anna's disappearance. 
 
 The point of the matter was that 
 Malcolm could get no response from 
 these friends, when he hinted, by his 
 inquiries, his desire to know something 
 about Miss Warrington. Not a ray of 
 light could be seen in the mystery. Miss 
 71 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Mary, the elder of the two sisters (for 
 they were sisters), was a large, dashing 
 brunette of forty, fond of art, poetry, and 
 romance. She evidently sympathized 
 with Malcolm, but she said nothing. 
 Her quiet sister, Lucy, was equally silent 
 upon the subject. The young Scotchman 
 took to heart the treatment he received. 
 He was surprised in his room in college, 
 on several occasions, sitting in silent 
 meditation, bathed in tears. 
 
 For three years (during the remainder 
 of the course) the student from Canada 
 continued faithfully at his post. His 
 affair with the girl at the corner house 
 and her mysterious disappearance were 
 dimly known. But he was too honest 
 and manly to be laughed at. That he 
 was in some sense widowed was recog- 
 nized, but the agreement that had snared 
 his honest soul was not suspected at that 
 time. His occasional melancholy and fits 
 of moodiness were accounted for by the 
 72 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 disappointment which so earnest a nature 
 must have suffered in losing a sweetheart. 
 But he seemed to recover by degrees. It 
 was, indeed, impossible that he should 
 fail to see, as he reached the dignity of 
 a senior, and read for himself, in the 
 regular course, those subjects which had 
 bedazzled Miss Warrington, how absurd 
 her talk had been. It were vain to deny 
 the resistless charm there is in young 
 womanhood though it may be topped 
 by a silly brain, and it must be conceded 
 that love is mighty in a young man ; but 
 there is reason to believe that Malcolm's 
 strong Scotch sense conquered these 
 forces. Those fatuous tears over whom 
 it might concern were a little too much 
 even for the stomach of romance. I 
 speak of it as of an ostrich. There was, 
 however, another power which held him. 
 He was, without reserve or mitigation, a 
 Scotchman with a conscience ! No alarm 
 will be created by this announcement, 
 73 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 except upon the part of those who have 
 in some emergency encountered such an 
 obstacle. It is the only thing, so far as 
 ascertained, that can finally prevent the 
 course of true love, or deny the right of 
 way to a constructing railroad corpora- 
 tion. Unknown to all but themselves, 
 this girl had bound this man down with 
 the strong cords which his honesty and 
 sincerity furnished. I believe that in 
 secret he writhed on his rock of suffer- 
 ing. Malcolm would not look at other 
 women, for he was a Bruce, and had 
 made his choice in life. It was a piti- 
 able choice, and he came to know it; 
 but it was a transaction, and unless 
 changed he would abide by it. Knowing 
 him well, I have not a doubt that he 
 schooled himself to love the memory 
 and honor the thought of the girl whose 
 vapid sentimentality, emptiness, and un- 
 fairness he could not help seeing. Had 
 Malcolm's engagement been known, he 
 74 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 might have been released in some way. 
 Miss Mary might perhaps have managed 
 it. But Bruce was too proud and sensi- 
 tive to blurt out his private affairs to 
 anybody; and besides that, his arrange- 
 ment with Anna was not a mere en- 
 gagement of marriage. He had really 
 nothing to complain of under its terms 
 and assumptions, for what was life, or 
 indeed death for that matter, in such an 
 agreement ? A few years were of no ac- 
 count, and a separation for a century was 
 not worth mentioning. In his anxiety 
 to do " the right thing," he undertook 
 to jot down some of these ridiculous 
 postulates, and so much of the promises 
 he had made as he could remember ; but 
 there was a queerness about it all that 
 puzzled him, and made him blush to 
 think he could have been so unwise. 
 
 Mr. Bruce graduated with honors, and 
 seemed to have overcome his depression. 
 It was a very bright day for the Canada 
 75 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 boy, when, as the fruit of his own indus- 
 try, he found himself among the first of 
 a college class, his education finished and 
 paid for. 
 
 Five years after commencement, I was 
 surprised to learn in Albany that Malcolm 
 Bruce, my college friend, had secured a 
 place in the city, as a clerk in one of the 
 State departments. I had not thought him 
 the kind of man to have an influence in 
 politics or settle down to a clerkship. But 
 I was glad to see him. It was by chance 
 that we met, as he was getting off the cars 
 down by the Hudson River. He was new 
 to the city. I walked with him up State 
 Street to the marble building on Capitol 
 Hill where the offices were. He was 
 courteously received, and his desk assigned 
 him. Then I prevailed upon him to go 
 to dinner with me. 
 
 Halfway down the hill, crossing State 
 Street at right angles, was Pearl Street, at 
 76 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 that date shaded with trees and bordered 
 with handsome dwellings. In Pearl, north 
 of State, a few rods from the corner, was 
 the house of my landlady, Mrs, Tibbies. 
 Here we dined and here Malcolm finally 
 settled down with me as a fellow-boarder. 
 
 There were three other boarders, or as 
 Mrs. Tibbies preferred to phrase it, mem- 
 bers of the family. There was first, Mr. 
 Mull, with very short gray hair, a city 
 face, and a bold, mocking laugh ; then 
 Mr. Oilman, a newspaper man, with a 
 fresh complexion, rich brown mustache, 
 and a breezy manner that was like the 
 prairies from which he came ; and lastly 
 there was pretty, girlish Miss Newby, 
 who had just come to Albany, and was 
 engaged as teacher in a private school. 
 
 No sharp practice is intended by bring- 
 ing in that item of inflammatory material 
 so quietly in the last sentence. The 
 entire matter is above-board. Miss Helen 
 Newby was about to influence the man 
 77 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Malcolm. But what is denied most un- 
 qualifiedly and emphatically is that either 
 Helen or Malcolm suspected any such 
 thing or contrived it, or did anything 
 designedly which led in that direction. It 
 has already appeared that Malcolm was 
 appropriated ; and he had not been re- 
 leased from his engagement. From what 
 I learned subsequently, I know that when 
 he first met Miss Newby he was of the 
 opinion that after all a single life is not 
 the greatest misfortune in the world, and 
 that so long as he knew nothing about 
 Anna Warrington, the right way was to 
 avoid all other feminine blandishments. 
 As to Miss Newby, she was a new- 
 blown rose, from a country pastor's fam- 
 ily, as frank, earnest, and simple-hearted 
 as the youngest in her school. It was 
 delightful to see such an one with her 
 colored ribbons, her blue eyes, rustic 
 health, and charming fearlessness, in a 
 hackneyed, dusty, city boarding-house. 
 78 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 The sweet light of home, so lost to the 
 rest of the household, shone on her face. 
 She blessed us by her presence. It was 
 noticeable that all the company at the 
 table, including Mrs. Tibbies, who de- 
 spised lady-boarders in general, went 
 down in spiritual self-abasement before 
 this genuine bit of lovely womanhood. 
 Mr. Mull, who was a lobbyman half the 
 year and at work mysteriously the other 
 half, ceased to scoff when the Vermont 
 rose was present. 
 
 But the one she " took to " was Mal- 
 colm. It was inevitable. There was a 
 long delay in bringing the fact out, how- 
 ever, for they were as shy as cat and dog 
 all the first summer. But when winter 
 came there was a disposition among us to 
 be more civilized. This was encouraged 
 by Mrs. Tibbies, who invited us all into 
 the parlor, evenings, to play chess or read 
 aloud, or sing, or do anything that was 
 becoming to a well-ordered family. Mull 
 79 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 scouted the idea, and went out as usual for 
 the evening, but the rest of us soon formed 
 a little reading-circle. 
 
 There seems to be no reason why a 
 statement of the result should be expanded 
 by introducing those particulars which 
 picture the growth of a romantic attach- 
 ment. It is better merely to announce 
 that it was a serious case. The parties 
 were probably not aware of it for some 
 time. As their mutual shyness wore off, 
 it was as though they, in their innocence, 
 supposed the dangerous time had gone by. 
 It was the reading which charmed the 
 rest of us, in which they also appeared to 
 be interested. Malcolm was the prin- 
 cipal reader. His nature was responsive 
 to the author's meaning, and he expressed 
 feelings in his voice. While he gave us 
 very much of Scott and Burns, he also 
 read with great success English and Amer- 
 ican authors. His greatest triumph was 
 on Christmas Eve, when he rendered the 
 80 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 famous Carol by Charles Dickens. Good 
 Mrs. Tibbies laughed and cried over the 
 story until she was almost exhausted, and 
 Miss Newby's face glowed with a won- 
 derful radiance. There was apparently, 
 and I think in reality, no immediate 
 danger in these readings, of a fire being 
 kindled, if it had not been for what fol- 
 lowed. There was an event outside which 
 induced the parties to take an adventurous 
 step. 
 
 The war of the rebellion had been 
 fought since our college days. Indeed, 
 Malcolm went from college almost di- 
 rectly to the field, and he had come to 
 Albany from the disbanding army. And 
 now the country was turning back to the 
 arts of peace. It was then that the news 
 reached our little reading-circle in the 
 parlor that the author of the immortal 
 Carol, the greatest reader in the world, 
 was coming to the city of Albany. It 
 caused an excitement which took up the 
 8i 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 entire evening, and produced an exhila- 
 ration which lasted several days. When 
 the time arrived, and there was that 
 frantic crowding for tickets, the story 
 of which is so well known, Malcolm tri- 
 umphed. He secured two excellent places, 
 side by side, for both evenings. In the 
 flush of his victory, he did not hesitate to 
 offer his extra place to Miss Newby. It 
 would have been impossible for him to 
 do her a greater kindness. We all felt that 
 it was a most graceful and gallant act on 
 Malcolm's part ; for to see Charles Dick- 
 ens was the event of a lifetime. None of 
 us were willing that our little rose from 
 Vermont should miss such an opportun- 
 ity; and all the household were grateful to 
 Mr. Bruce for inviting her. 
 
 Among those who listened to the great 
 author when he came, with a degree of 
 rapture which took away their ability to 
 judge of him critically, were Malcolm 
 and Helen. All might still have been safe 
 82 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 if the matter had ended even here. But 
 it did not. Tweddle Hall, at the corner 
 of Pearl and State Streets, where Charles 
 Dickens read and concerts and lectures 
 were frequent, was near-by and tempt- 
 ingly convenient. It was the main audi- 
 torium of the city. Every morning and 
 evening Malcolm passed it and Helen 
 passed it, he going to his office and she 
 to her place in the school. It was not a 
 dozen rods, on the broad sidewalk, from 
 Mrs. Tibbles's front door. How could 
 these two friends, of rustic habits and 
 education, help passing along the walk 
 together ; and now that the ice was 
 broken, how could they avoid sometimes 
 attending the lecture or the concert at 
 the hall in company? They did not avoid 
 it, and they had not a thought, appar- 
 ently, that they were noticed. Doubtless 
 the city seemed to them a wilderness of 
 human beings, who did not regard them 
 as they passed by. But their liking for 
 83 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 each other was so frank, so manifest, so 
 pretty as an idyUic picture, and evidently 
 so unsuspected by themselves, that it soon 
 provoked comment. Then follow^ed a 
 step on the part of these two friends 
 which settled the question in the minds 
 of the public. They began to walk to 
 church together, and took seats side by 
 side wherever they attended religious 
 service. If they thought of it at all, as 
 they wandered away toward some sacred 
 edifice, they must have fancied they were 
 like the babes in the woods, unobserved 
 and uncared for. But the world under- 
 stood things differently. 
 
 ** Bruce is a lucky fellow," said Oilman 
 in my room, " When is the wedding? " 
 
 Mull was there, but Oilman appealed 
 to me as the college friend of Bruce. I 
 did not reply. 
 
 " I said it was ' a go ' the first time I 
 saw them together," proclaimed Mull. 
 I have heard a good deal said about 
 84 
 
 << 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 it," remarked Oilman, with hesitation, 
 glancing at Mull. 
 
 " The engagement ought to have been 
 announced before this," declared Mull, 
 with a trace of severity in his manner. 
 And he added, " I am not sure but shp is 
 too good for him," 
 
 No more was said on the subject at 
 that time, but it was not long before hints 
 came to me from other parties, and Mrs. 
 Tibbies also sought for an interview in 
 regard to the pair. She said that Helen, 
 poor child, "had no idea." Finally I 
 spoke to Malcolm, telling him some of 
 the things I had heard. He was at first 
 astonished, then indignant; and then, as 
 I pressed him with the facts and explained 
 the views and requirements of city society, 
 he became alarmed, and was stricken 
 with the fear that he had injured his 
 dearest friend. Really, he had done so, 
 and I could not deny it. The friends of 
 Helen at the school were chief among 
 8S 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 those who had spoken with anxiety of 
 her remarkable acquaintance with the 
 department clerk. 
 
 " If she is not married soon, we shall 
 not know what to think," had been the 
 comment of one of them. 
 
 Malcolm's eager inquiries drew out 
 from me the whole story, which reduced 
 him to a condition of grief and conster- 
 nation. Then I pointed out that bright 
 and happy way by which all could be 
 made right. Assuring him that Helen 
 would accept him (if indeed she had not 
 done so), I urged the importance of an- 
 nouncing the engagement immediately, 
 or fixing the wedding-day. 
 
 My friend's countenance fell. We were 
 in his room. He sat down upon a chair, 
 rested his elbows on his knees, braced up 
 his chin with his hands, and gazed long 
 and abstractedly at a figure on the carpet 
 between the toes of his boots. 
 
 As the result of this meditation, he 
 86 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 confessed to me that an engagement made 
 in our college days was the only thing 
 that prevented him from seeking the 
 hand of Helen in marriage. I knew the 
 affair he referred to, and expressed sur- 
 prise. We had not supposed at the time 
 that it was more than a passing romance 
 between him and Anna Warrington. But 
 he now assured me, with a perplexed 
 face, that he had made a solemn promise 
 which rested upon his conscience, and 
 which, if he disregarded it, would make 
 him a guilty wretch in this world and a poor 
 lost soul in the world to come. This last 
 despairing conclusion was uttered in a 
 nervous, crying tone, like that of a child 
 in abject fear. Yet I could see that it was 
 genuine. It occurred to me that he must 
 have learned the form and intonation from 
 his mother. 
 
 I sat down beside him, and drew out 
 the facts of his acquaintance with Miss 
 Warrington. It was my impression that 
 87 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 a contract of the kind he described, made 
 so long ago, and not entered upon in any 
 way, could not be of any binding force 
 in the court of conscience or honor. I 
 urged him to consider how absurd it was 
 to suppose that he could bargain for the 
 next world. He conceded the point, but 
 claimed that the bargain for this life could 
 not be invalidated by any such specious 
 considerations. He thought it was an 
 agreement which held both parties to 
 celibacy, marriage with each other, or 
 widowhood. When I pointed out that 
 he could not trade away the highest uses 
 of life in a manner which thus destroyed 
 them, he said that monks and nuns did 
 it, and he and Anna Warrington had a 
 right to. When I suggested that as a trans- 
 action in the eye of the law, the entire 
 contract must be taken, and that when 
 so taken it was too ridiculous to stand 
 for a moment, he thought that no excuse. 
 It was when I appealed to him in be- 
 88 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 half of Helen Newby that he first felt 
 my words. Then he shrank as if I had 
 struck him, I pitied the man as I left 
 him, bewailing his sorrows in a fashion 
 I had seen in him once or twice in col- 
 lege, his hands over his face, scarcely con- 
 cealing his tears. But one concession had 
 been granted by him : he was willing 
 that I should explain his good intentions 
 to others, and the peculiar circumstances 
 of his previous engagement, as his excuse 
 for the course now pursued. It was a 
 poor apology, but there was no other. 
 
 Matters progressed rapidly. I tried to 
 say very little, but Mrs. Tibbies had a 
 talk with Malcolm, and in various ways 
 the truth became known. The Vermont 
 temper was quick and active. The rose 
 would not be talked about, quietly. It 
 was a word and a flash, apparently. There 
 was the rumble of getting a trunk through 
 the hall, and then a hack came to the 
 door in the evening, and she had gone 
 89 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 home for her vacation, a week before 
 the school term ended. There was no 
 good-bye. 
 
 Next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Tib- 
 bies tried to allude to the departure po- 
 litely, as if it had not been abrupt ; but 
 there was constraint about the talk. The 
 tide turned very strongly against Mal- 
 colm. 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Mr. Bruce," 
 asked Oilman, when we were grouped 
 in my room, " that it is the right thing 
 to step out of this, because of some non- 
 sense nine years ago with another girl ? " 
 
 " But, Mr. Oilman, Mr. Oilman, it was 
 a sacred promise," protested Malcolm. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," blazed Oilman, 
 lifting his six feet to an accusing attitude, 
 and shaking his index finger at the Scotch- 
 man, " that you have a right to treat Miss 
 Newby in this way on such a plea as that ? 
 If you do, you are not the man I took you 
 for." 
 
 90 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 " But it was a sacred promise forever," 
 insisted Malcolm. 
 
 " Gander-headed fool ! " drawled Mull, 
 gazing at Bruce scornfully. 
 
 For a moment I thought the Scotch- 
 man would seize him, but he did not. 
 He rose, whether cowed or in a rage I 
 could hardly tell, and left the room. I 
 felt somewhat responsible for my college 
 friend, and tried to explain that his ro- 
 mance at the university had been quite 
 serious. 
 
 " His what ? " questioned Mull. 
 
 " His romance, — romance," I replied, 
 doubling the word to make it clear. 
 
 " Yes, yes, — certainly," commented 
 Mull dryly and with a dubious air, as if 
 the word were rather new to him. " I 
 say. Oilman, such a man ought to be pun- 
 ished. I am willing to help, if you say 
 so." 
 
 But Oilman counseled moderation, re- 
 marking that Malcolm meant well. 
 91 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 "That is no excuse," said Mull. "There 
 is no counting on a man who means well. 
 That is the most dangerous element we 
 have to deal with." 
 
 The incident of Miss Newby's depart- 
 ure drifted on toward forgetfulness, in 
 the rush of city life, but it remained as 
 a mark against Malcolm. He was no 
 longer popular in the house. A kind and 
 degree of condemnation rested upon him 
 that grieved him greatly. He suffered 
 also, acutely, from the loss of his friend 
 Miss Newby. When others began to for- 
 get, I could see that he did not. The 
 fact that she did not return to resume 
 her place in the school, when the new 
 term commenced, brought to Malcolm 
 an anguish of spirit. He had counted on 
 some sort of explanation and reconcilia- 
 tion. The entire matter, so trifling in the 
 lives and thought of others, was of vast 
 moment to him. When months passed, 
 and others had become indifferent to the 
 92 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 transaction, Malcolm was still brooding 
 over the wrong he had done, and the 
 hurt to his friend and his own integrity. 
 He confided the idea to me that it might 
 still be possible to get some word of Anna 
 Warrington, and have such communica- 
 tion with her as would honorably release 
 him, so that he could visit Helen and 
 seek her in marriage. That Anna, if dis- 
 covered, might not consent, was among 
 his fears. Yet he thought correspondence 
 with the two relatives in Burlington worth 
 trying. It might be possible, he hoped, 
 to gain information from them in regard 
 to the whereabouts of Anna Warrington. 
 With my approval he opened such a cor- 
 respondence. His inquiries were carefully 
 worded ; no special reason for desiring 
 the information was given. 
 
 The answer was cautious in the ex- 
 treme. No hint of the intelligence de- 
 sired was conveyed. It was apparent to 
 me that there was a something in the case 
 93 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 which they were guarding. I saw that 
 entire frankness on our part would be re- 
 quired, if any light was to be obtained. 
 But there was an excellent reason why 
 such a method should not be resorted to. 
 It would be an acknowledgment of an 
 obligation where in truth none existed. 
 Such a concession in writing, with its risk 
 of entanglement, would not be prudent. 
 If Malcolm could meet Miss Warrington 
 alone, and free his conscience (or even 
 talk with Miss Mary), I saw no objection 
 to it. But it seemed dangerous, in the 
 darkness surrounding the affair, to put 
 anything on paper. I suggested that 
 he might employ a detective, but he did 
 not. 
 
 Thus the matter rested until a year had 
 passed away. Malcolm was in the mean 
 time bearing his loneliness and self-ac- 
 cusation as thousands bear similar burdens 
 along the crowded streets. He was be- 
 coming thin, and acquiring that alert, 
 94 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 worn, and anxious look which charac- 
 terizes the stereotyped city face. 
 
 Early in March, an event occurred 
 which threw a vivid ray across the path 
 of my college friend. In my round of 
 circuits, I was on duty in a curious case 
 in the city of Hudson, thirty miles below 
 Albany. A woman had deceived an entire 
 community. Coming to a little village 
 in Columbia County, she had, though a 
 stranger, obtained money and goods, and 
 lived in a style of unusual magnificence. 
 She was the leader of society, and fore- 
 most in all benevolent enterprises. It was 
 merely the confidence game extended so 
 as to include many victims. The woman 
 was without a penny of her own, but bor- 
 rowed quite large amounts. When after 
 eight months, the town awoke, and each 
 loser confessed how he had been mani- 
 pulated, an uprising of the people took 
 place, and this "operator" was, after pre- 
 liminary formalities, brought to trial. 
 95 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 As the woman was brought from the 
 jail into the court-room, I felt a slight 
 shock of recognition flash through me. 
 It was but a minor event in the midst 
 of more serious matters. Yet it was im- 
 portant, for if I could trust my senses the 
 woman was Anna Warrington. But for 
 a while I suspected that this was merely 
 an instance of similarity in appearance. 
 
 The trial began near evening. I had 
 time, after the adjournment, to run up 
 to Albany by a late train, and the next 
 morning I got Malcolm to return with 
 me to Hudson. He was much excited 
 when he learned of my discovery. I 
 placed him in a convenient seat, and we 
 had to wait but a few moments before 
 the defendant came in with the officers. 
 The trial had attracted a crowd. Many 
 stood up to get a view of the woman's 
 face, and among these was Malcolm. I 
 watched him. Suddenly, as she appeared, 
 he became pale, and sat down. Then the 
 96 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 court reproved the people for rising, and 
 all sank abashed into their seats. Mal- 
 colm could now see her clearly, and I 
 noticed that a red tide surged over his 
 features. There was no difficulty about 
 the identity. The maiden name of the 
 defendant was ascertained for me by an 
 attorney. It was Anna Warrington. She 
 was tried as Mrs. Anna Patterson. I 
 learned that she had not regarded her 
 engagement to Malcolm. She had mar- 
 ried Mr. Patterson six weeks after she 
 left Burlington. Her husband had died 
 soon after the marriage, and she was now 
 a widow. In a pause that occurred I 
 stepped to Malcolm's seat and told him 
 of these facts. 
 
 While I was busy with the trial, Mal- 
 colm left the court-room and returned 
 to Albany. But before going he wrote 
 on a scrap of paper the words, " She 
 is the devil's own," and sent it to me by 
 a court officer. 
 
 97 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 His judgment was, perhaps, hasty. 
 The woman was finally acquitted, on 
 proof given by friends from her home 
 in New Jersey to the effect that she was 
 unbalanced in mind, and actually believed 
 the statements (concerning her own great 
 wealth and other matters) by which she 
 had so strangely won the confidence of 
 others. Medical experts confirmed this 
 singular view. Some of the spectators did 
 not agree with the verdict of acquittal ; 
 but events in the life of the defendant, 
 and especially her exploits in New York 
 City (made known upon the trial), tended 
 to confirm the theory of the experts and 
 relatives. 
 
 At the close of the proceedings, I no- 
 ticed Miss Mary among those who came 
 forward and gathered around the woman 
 just acquitted. It was plain enough now 
 why Anna's friends had been so reticent. 
 Miss Warrington had been no end of 
 trouble from the time of her first disap- 
 98 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 pointment. With strange inconstancy she 
 would win confidences only to forget them. 
 
 " She will melt your very heart and 
 soul with love, pity, and tenderness," was 
 the testimony of a poor milliner, who had 
 loaned Anna all her savings. 
 
 Possibly the doctors were in error, but 
 their theory was plausible. They claimed 
 that Anna's brilliancy, pathos, and power 
 of persuasion were the outcome of a 
 slightly disordered intellect and a wound- 
 ed heart. Having gained the love she 
 craved of one, she would, with the in- 
 constancy of a mind diseased, turn else- 
 where and repeat the achievement. 
 
 On returning to Albany, I found Mal- 
 colm on a high horse. He announced 
 that he had been misled, and repeated 
 that the girl was " the devil's own." He 
 consented to the appropriate modifica- 
 tions, however, when I suggested expres- 
 sions more in accordance with the verdict. 
 It was a great pleasure to see how he held 
 99 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 up his head again. His youth came back 
 remarkably in a few days. 
 
 "What is he going to do about it?" 
 asked Mull, with a good deal of interest, 
 in my room. 
 
 " I understand he is going to Ver- 
 mont," suggested Oilman. " Mrs. Tib- 
 bies says that Miss Newby is at home, and 
 I saw Bruce ordering some new clothes." 
 
 " What does he want of clothes ? " 
 queried Mull. " He ought to get down 
 in the dust and black her shoes." 
 
 Malcolm's joy was of short duration. 
 A sorrow came before he was quite ready 
 to go to Vermont. Its step was quiet, but 
 its power irresistible. There was a tap 
 at the window of the basement dining- 
 room, where Mrs. Tibbies and I were 
 eating breakfast. I never did like that 
 way of taking in letters from the post- 
 man, directly off the sidewalk, but it was 
 the custom of the house. The waitress 
 unbolted the sash and slid it down an 
 
 100 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 inch, and in came the white envelope, 
 landing on the floor. The letter was 
 picked up, and the postman, whose legs 
 only were visible to our basement view, 
 passed on. The missive proved to be for 
 Mrs. Tibbies, and she opened it. Out 
 came the neat little engraved cards, tied 
 with white satin ribbon, the wedding- 
 reception invitation and all the require- 
 ments ; and we knew that our Vermont 
 Helen was disposed of to a stranger. 
 
 It was a shock to both of us. I was 
 glad that only Mrs. Tibbies and I were 
 present. The little woman began to 
 tremble as she held the smooth, creamy 
 stationery, and thought of what it all 
 meant, and before I knew it she was 
 softly and silently shedding tears. I had 
 not given her credit for so much feeling. 
 
 " After all," said Mrs. Tibbies, swal- 
 lowing her emotion, " Helen could not 
 wait forever. It is thirteen months since 
 she left Albany." 
 
 lOI 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 " Thirteen ? " I questioned, not know- 
 ing what to say. 
 
 " Yes ; it will be thirteen months day 
 after to-morrow," she replied, with the 
 accuracy of a housekeeper who gets her 
 pay. " But I did not think Helen could 
 ever marry anybody but Malcolm. It 
 will be a terrible blow to him." 
 
 I did not wish to see how Malcolm 
 would receive the intelligence; I knew 
 the depth of his feeling and his impul- 
 sive nature : therefore I left the break- 
 fast-table rather hastily before he came 
 down, feeling that Mrs. Tibbies was the 
 proper person to do what could be done. 
 That she made it known to him in some 
 way in the course of the day I came 
 to understand before the next morning. 
 Those sounds which came from Mal- 
 colm's room were not to be mistaken. 
 His stern, set face, already blue and hag- 
 gard, startled me when I saw him the 
 second day. He had avoided all of us 
 
 102 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 since the cards came, and he avoided me 
 now. I yearned to speak to him, but I 
 knew his pride, and he plainly eluded my 
 footsteps. Mrs. Tibbies came to my room 
 for an interview, and tearfully besought 
 me to do something for Malcolm. She 
 said he would die, that he was dying, 
 and that he might shoot himself, citing 
 several cases just then reported in the 
 New York dailies. I was not alarmed, 
 but I promised to do what I could. 
 
 In the afternoon of the third day. 
 Mull came back from New York, and, 
 dropping into my room, asked casually, 
 " How is everything ? " He had been 
 gone during the trouble. "Anything 
 about Bruce?" he continued. "I saw 
 him out here by the corner, and he 
 looked as if he had just got up from a 
 fit of sickness." 
 
 I told Mull the circumstances. His 
 face showed concern, and he made some 
 inquiries. I stepped downstairs to Mrs. 
 103 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Tibbies, and got the envelope and cards 
 to show to him. He looked at them for 
 a moment ; his face began to wrinkle, 
 and he burst into laughter. 
 
 I was, naturally, abashed and indignant. 
 
 "When did these come ?" asked Mull, 
 leering at me. 
 
 I told him the day and hour of the 
 arrival. 
 
 "Well, they were mailed on the ist," 
 he said, "although it took them until 
 the next morning to get here." 
 
 "Mailed on the ist?" I questioned, 
 not seeing the point. 
 
 "Yes, the ist of April," he replied. 
 " It was fair game. It was All Fools' 
 Day." 
 
 For a moment I was struck dumb. 
 Could this be true? Then I clutched 
 eagerly at the chance of reprieve for 
 Malcolm which Mull's words offered. 
 
 " Do you know anything about this.?" 
 I demanded. 
 
 104 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 "I wrote that" he replied, turning 
 the envelope over and pointing to the 
 address, which seemed to be in a fine 
 feminine hand. 
 
 Mull was "square business" according 
 to his code. I knew his word could be 
 taken in such a matter. 
 
 "I had better call Mrs. Tibbies," I 
 suggested, 
 
 "Yes, if you wish to," he responded, 
 as if the affair were of no importance. 
 
 I stepped down the stairs and called 
 her, and she came to my room. As she 
 entered, I said : " Mr. Mull knows some- 
 thing about these cards." 
 
 I saw by the quick flush which spread 
 over her face how sensitive she was upon 
 the subject. 
 
 " Mrs. Tibbies," explained the lob- 
 byman, with an air of nonchalance, 
 " I sent these cards, or got them sent, on 
 the I St of April, and it was just a little 
 joke on Malcolm. He deserved it. 
 105 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 The boys fixed them for me down at 
 the printing-office, where they print so 
 many. I sent the letter to be mailed in 
 Vermont by a conductor on the railroad. 
 You can see, if you look close, that the 
 postmark is Rutland. It has not been 
 within fifty miles of Helen, so far as I 
 know." 
 
 The landlady turned pale as she stood 
 staring at Mr. Mull. For a moment I 
 thought she would fall, and I put out 
 a hand to save her ; but the next moment 
 she burst into a fit of uncontrollable 
 weeping, while she exclaimed, " Oh, 
 Mr. Mull, Mr. Mull ! " and turned and 
 left the room. 
 
 A few minutes later Oilman came in, 
 and we discussed the situation. 
 
 " It is not newspaper, you understand," 
 explained Mull. 
 
 " Certainly, I will not mention it," 
 said Oilman ; and he added, after a 
 long, expressive, whistling " Whew ! " 
 1 06 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 the question, "Won't there be a time 
 when Malcolm hears of this ! " 
 
 There was no opportunity to answer 
 the question, for just then the front door 
 was slammed, and we knew Malcolm 
 had come in for the evening. His heavy 
 footstep did not come up the stairs. 
 There was a little talking in the hall, and 
 then the voices passed into the parlor. 
 In a few moments we heard him raging, 
 and all of us went down. The parlor 
 door was ajar, and I pushed it open. 
 There stood Malcolm, with the light 
 from a window full upon his face. 
 
 " I wull, I wull go this very day, Mrs. 
 Tibbies ! " he shouted, with the strong 
 Scotch accent which overtook him in his 
 emotional moments. As little Mrs, Tib- 
 bies danced around him, wiping her eyes 
 with her apron, and putting her hands on 
 his arm from time to time, trying to per- 
 suade him to wait, he waxed more and 
 more earnest and furious. " I ha' been 
 107 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 a poltroon, a sneaking villain, Mrs. Tib- 
 bies," he stormed, " and I canna' sleep 
 intil I make reeparation ! " 
 
 The strong lashings around his mouth 
 were drawn in furrows, his eyes flashed 
 through tears, his chin trembled, and his 
 whole frame quivered, as he made these 
 charges against himself. Neither he nor 
 the landlady seemed to care anything 
 about the rest of us. 
 
 "That is right, Bruce; you talk up 
 like a man, now," said Mull ; but no one 
 appeared to hear him. 
 
 " Come, come, gentlemen," said Gil- 
 man, " we have no business here ; " and 
 thereupon we withdrew considerately, 
 closing the parlor door behind us and 
 going upstairs to our rooms. 
 
 "Mull, that was pretty rough," said 
 Oilman. 
 
 "Yes, he needed it," answered the 
 other. 
 
 The next morning when we sat down 
 108 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 to breakfast, Mr. Mull inquired, "Has 
 Mr. Bruce gone yet ? " 
 
 The mere mention of the subject 
 melted good Mrs. Tibbies. She ceased 
 pouring the coffee, and began to wipe 
 her eyes. 
 
 " He went last night by the eleven 
 o'clock run," volunteered Oilman. 
 
 " I never could help liking the young 
 man," conceded Mr. Mull in a concilia- 
 tory manner, glancing at the landlady, 
 " although I cannot say I respect his 
 understanding." 
 
 " He has an excellent mind, Mr. Mull, 
 and a good, true, noble heart," protested 
 Mrs. Tibbies with almost a sob. 
 
 "Good true what?" asked Mr. Mull, 
 with that obstinate inability to under- 
 stand which was one of his customary 
 weapons. 
 
 "Heart, — heart! Did you ever hear 
 
 of such a thing .?" explained Oilman in 
 
 an irritated tone. 
 
 109 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Here the conversation ended. 
 
 As it turned out, Malcolm Bruce did 
 not appear again among us. He found 
 quarters at another place, on the same 
 street but farther north, whither he went 
 when he came back from Vermont. His 
 trunk and books were sent to him. I 
 was glad indeed to learn by an explana- 
 tion from Mrs. Tibbies that Malcolm's 
 bull of excommunication did not extend 
 to her or to me. 
 
 "I think it is Mr. Mull," said the land- 
 lady, with a distressed face. 
 
 Anxious to see my friend and learn of 
 his journey, I called on him at once, in 
 his new abode. He had chosen well ; 
 and as he took me to his room, I could 
 not but congratulate him on his pleasant 
 surroundings and the change he had made. 
 I saw in a moment that his errand had 
 been successful. He was brimming over 
 with good feeling ; I had never seen that 
 toss of the head and grip of the lips which 
 
 no 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 characterized him in moments of success 
 so observable as now. He intimated, with 
 an air of triumph, that Mr. Mull had 
 better not be too free with his jokes. 
 
 I learned afterward, from other sources, 
 the entire history of Malcolm's journey 
 and the full secret of his elation. It ap- 
 peared that the scenes in Vermont had 
 been as dramatic as those in Albany. He 
 made his first application to the Rev. Mr. 
 Newby, Helen's father. The old gentle- 
 man was overwhelmed, when called into 
 his parlor, at meeting a powerful young 
 man in what was almost a convulsion of 
 feeling, and with a wildness of manner 
 that was startling in the extreme. But 
 Malcolm managed to explain himself, and 
 almost literally went down on his knees 
 in penitence and humiliation, as he told 
 the minister his story. He could not have 
 done a better thing for himself in the way 
 of gaining the approbation of the father 
 of his beloved. 
 
 Ill 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Strange to say, the old gentleman sided 
 with Malcolm's original scruples, upon 
 hearing the facts, and honored him for 
 his long waiting and conscientious for- 
 bearance. As the matter was talked over 
 between them and more fully explored, 
 the Reverend Newby became proud of 
 the young man, and was glad to know 
 that amid the reeking corruption of New 
 York politics there had still been one 
 saving element, one righteous man in our 
 capital city, — which municipality, by 
 the way, the Reverend Newby had the 
 grace to allude to frequently in his con- 
 versation as Gomorrah on the Hudson. 
 I think he got the verbal notion from 
 Bingen on the Rhine, which Helen used 
 to sing to him. 
 
 It need hardly be said that Helen very 
 naturally took the same view as her father, 
 and exalted to a place among the stars 
 the hero who had escaped the snares we 
 had so wickedly laid for his conscience, — 
 
 112 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 on her account. The first hint I had of 
 this Newbian view, so to speak, came from 
 Malcolm himself. He said to me : — 
 
 "After all I am so glad I knew about 
 it before I ventured to act. Perhaps it 
 would have been no wrong against any 
 man or woman if I had gone forward 
 before ; but it was all done from the 
 beginning with prayers and promises to 
 the Almighty, mind ye, and would it not 
 have been a lie to him, though it were 
 no wrong to any, think ye ? " 
 
 He asked this with such a look of awe 
 upon his face, and so much feeling, that 
 I thought it better not to discuss the ques- 
 tion. But I remember that after being 
 thus reproved, as it were, I soon bade him 
 good-day, and walked away with the 
 thought in my mind that though one 
 should bray Malcolm in a mortar with 
 a pestle, his peculiar notions would not 
 depart from him. 
 
 In talking with Mull about him that 
 113 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 evening, I mentioned the question Mal- 
 colm had raised. The third-house man 
 seemed irritated by what I told him. He 
 said : " Bruce is a dangerous man. There 
 is no knowing what he may do. It is 
 not safe to have him in the department. 
 I know who got him in as clerk, and I 
 know how to get him out." 
 
 Mull was not a man to talk at random, 
 and I knew his power.. But as it turned 
 out there was no reason for apprehension. 
 Within three weeks of the time when 
 the conversation I have given was held, 
 Malcolm hinted to me triumphantly that 
 he had better business in view than being 
 clerk in Albany. It was when I encoun- 
 tered him, one morning, in the green 
 suburbs, out for his early walk. 
 
 " Just think of it," he exclaimed, with 
 startling energy, after he had told of his 
 better chance and that he had secretly 
 determined on going, " the rascals here 
 tax a man's salary for election expenses ! " 
 114 
 
A LOVER'S CONSCIENCE 
 
 " And you will not submit to it ? " I 
 ventured. 
 
 " Not while my name is Bruce," he 
 responded. 
 
 I felt that he was right this time, and 
 shook him warmly by the hand while 
 I commended his resolution. 
 
 " This is not a place for an honest 
 man, sir; Albany is no place at all," 
 he continued, soaring above me in a 
 spiritual sense, as if he were giving me 
 guidance and instruction. 
 
 It may have been a faint tinge of re- 
 sentment on my part at his air of superi- 
 ority that led me to think I detected an 
 attempt at statesmanship in his speech. 
 Perhaps it was an unconscious imitation, 
 but I certainly seemed to hear an echo 
 of that ding-dong oratory with which 
 I was painfully familiar. 
 
 We stood it as well as we could when 
 Malcolm shook off the dust of his feet 
 against the city. He gained a better po- 
 ns 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 sition in New England than he had in 
 Albany. It must be confessed that a 
 blight, slight but perceptible, came upon 
 the house of Tibbies, when it was known 
 that Malcolm and the Vermont rose 
 would visit us no more. 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 His name was Golden. He had been in 
 town two days. He was tall and gaunt, 
 with a shock of gray hair, and a voice 
 like an ice-wagon rumbling over a cob- 
 ble-stone pavement. It was in the parlor 
 of Mrs. Granger's boarding-house in Jay 
 Street, Albany. Only Golden, our genial 
 landlady, and myself were present. 
 
 As we gathered around the winter 
 evening fire. Golden continued his nar- 
 rative. He had already told us that he 
 was brought up " under the eaves " of the 
 Green Mountains, that his sister Jane had 
 inspired him while he was yet a boy with 
 a desire for education, and that he had 
 with her help managed to get halfway 
 through college. Continuing his story, 
 
 he said : — 
 
 119 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 It was that shortness of funds that 
 brought me to Albany thirty-one years 
 ago. The understanding was that I might 
 take a stop-off ticket for two years ; and 
 then, with plenty of money, which I ex- 
 pected to earn in the mean time, Jane 
 and I calculated that the rest of my 
 college course would be a splendid run, 
 ending with a magnificent finish in black 
 broadcloth on Commencement Day, — 
 my clothes theretofore having been satinet 
 and fustian. 
 
 You ought to understand first where 
 I came from. Perhaps you have never 
 been on the Green Mountains. I might 
 as well tell you that what you cannot see 
 of the kingdoms of this world and the 
 glory of them from the top of old Mans- 
 field is not worth talking about. On one 
 side you have New Hampshire and the 
 White Mountains, and on the other 
 Vermont and Lake Champlain, and the 
 Adirondacks. That tells the whole story, 
 1 20 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 although remarks are in order, if any one 
 is so disposed. I might suggest as an item 
 of interest, that the mountain itself is cov- 
 ered with rocks, spruce-trees, and hedge- 
 hogs. 
 
 Our folks lived at the foot of Mans- 
 field, on the Vermont side. We called 
 it twenty miles to Burlington, on Lake 
 Champlain, and that was our road out 
 into the world. A Vermonter who did 
 business in Albany managed it with some 
 of your city men so that I got a place as 
 teacher in one of your public schools. 
 And then down I came, as unsophisticated 
 as you can imagine, but desiring and re- 
 solving to be the best and most faithful 
 instructor in the world. I had never seen 
 a large place before ; I was a stranger in 
 the city. 
 
 But I am happy to report that my 
 teaching was a success. I liked my 
 scholars, and they liked me. I must state, 
 however, another point which was not 
 
 121 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 so favorable. I will preface it by saying 
 that you have a habit of blackening 
 characters here w^ithout much hesita- 
 tion. Public men are usually the sufferers. 
 Perhaps I vv^as a public man in a very 
 small vi^ay. But however that may have 
 been, my point is that guileless and in- 
 nocent as I was, I had not been here quite 
 nine months when I got a slap with the 
 tar-brush that marked me, apparently, 
 for life, and scared me almost out of my 
 senses. I do not say how far human be- 
 ings were to blame in my case. Perhaps 
 the total depravity of inanimate things 
 had something to do with it. You have 
 noticed that depravity of all kinds is of 
 a blacker dye in political capitals than 
 elsewhere. 
 
 What I am trying to get down to is 
 this : they charged me here with steal- 
 ing. That was what it amounted to. It 
 seems ridiculous, but it is true. The idea 
 that I had stolen thirteen dollars in bank 
 
 122 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 bills out of the office of my friend Cap- 
 tain Brown, who was a shipper down on 
 the dock, took possession of the minds 
 of my scholars and their parents and oth- 
 ers. The first hint I had of it was from 
 my pupils. They began to treat me with 
 disrespect amounting almost to contempt, 
 and some of them made allusions to pi- 
 rates and to Captain Brown which I did 
 not see the force of. When information 
 was asked for, they evaded my inquiries. 
 It was impossible for me to understand 
 the situation. Day by day, however, it 
 became more certain that something was 
 wrong, although I had no idea what it 
 was. 
 
 I finally ascertained what the trouble 
 was from a Vermont man named Avery, 
 whose acquaintance I had made in the 
 city. He did not seem inclined to tell 
 me when I first questioned him, but 
 finally disclosed the facts. It appeared 
 that Captain Brown had been sitting in his 
 123 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 office one morning with thirteen dollars 
 before him upon his desk, waiting to pay 
 the money to a mechanic, who was to 
 come at an appointed hour. In the mean 
 time the Captain was reading a volume 
 that you may have heard of. It is entitled 
 "The Pirate's Own Book." It is illus- 
 trated with hideous woodcuts, and the 
 narratives are of a painful and revolting 
 character. It is due to Captain Brown to 
 say that he was not reading such a work 
 solely for his own amusement. He was 
 lamenting the fact that his nephew, Or- 
 lando Smith, should have a fondness for 
 such literature. The boy, who was sev- 
 enteen years of age and remarkably vigor- 
 ous, was wild enough and bad enough 
 without such reading. Just as the Captain 
 was observing a picture in the book which 
 represents a man's severed head, he heard 
 an unusual noise outside, on the river or 
 the dock. He placed the thirteen dollars 
 in bills between the pages, closed the 
 124 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 book upon them, and leaving the vol- 
 ume, w^ith the money thus protected, on 
 his desk, went out and walked to the 
 brink of the river. He was absent fifteen 
 minutes, but did not at any time lose 
 sight of his office door. Your humble 
 servant, on his morning walk, was the 
 only individual who entered that door. 
 So the captain said ; and when he returned 
 to his office it was empty, and the book 
 and the money were gone. As I fre- 
 quently dropped in to say good-morn- 
 ing and ask the news, my friend Brown 
 thought nothing of it when he saw me 
 step in, and out again immediately. I had 
 not seen him because he was partially 
 hidden behind some boxes piled on the 
 wharf for shipment. He had permitted 
 me to go on my way without making 
 his proximity known. It was inferred 
 that I took the book and the money. As 
 no one else had entered the office during 
 the captain's absence, the inference seemed 
 125 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 to be unavoidable. But the captain was 
 a generous man, and, considering my 
 youth and position, had intended to keep 
 the matter a secret. It had, however, 
 leaked out, perhaps through his family, 
 or through the mechanic who had come 
 to Brown's office for his money that 
 morning only to learn that it had disap- 
 peared. The people had got hold of the 
 story in some way, and were suspecting 
 me. 
 
 As Avery related these circumstances, 
 I became hot with anger. The idea that 
 any one should dare to suspect me of 
 stealing seemed wicked, incredible, and 
 vile. My first impulse was to hasten to 
 Brown and demand of him, in the upbraid- 
 ing tone of injured innocence, whether 
 he was not ashamed of his outrageous 
 and dastardly charge against my sacred 
 integrity. And if he was not, I yearned 
 for the moment to come when I should 
 see him wither beneath the scorn and con- 
 126 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 tempt which I would pour out upon his 
 miserable soul. 
 
 Avery cooled me down. I think that 
 my flaming eyes and the demonstrations 
 I made must have convinced him of my 
 innocence ; but he did not think they 
 would have that effect upon the captain. 
 He suggested that if I pitched into Brown, 
 as I had threatened, I would shortly find 
 myself in jail. The circumstances would 
 justify my arrest at any moment. Avery 
 hinted that he had already talked with 
 Captain Brown about my affair, and that 
 if I wished to get clear, I had better not 
 provoke a man who was already sore over 
 the loss of thirteen dollars. He remarked 
 that the evidence was squarely against me, 
 and that while this might be my misfor- 
 tune and not my fault, it would be rash 
 and foolish to disregard it. 
 
 I was compelled to feel that even 
 Avery was not quite clear in reference to 
 my innocence, although I think upon the 
 127 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 whole he beHeved me. Yet it was puz- 
 zling. The money had disappeared from 
 the office, and no one but myself had 
 been there. It was not easy to blame 
 even Avery for his doubts. 
 
 As I reflected upon these circumstances 
 and realized the situation, a very un- 
 comfortable feeling stole over me. The 
 shyness of friends was accounted for, and 
 the mystery in the air was no longer 
 without explanation. The dejection 
 which I began to experience was not 
 lessened by the information which Avery 
 volunteered, that Captain Brown would 
 have consented to make complaint against 
 me, and would have permitted my arrest, 
 had it not been that he was a special 
 friend of the man who had procured for 
 me my situation as teacher. It appeared 
 that only friendship had saved me from 
 jail. 
 
 As the result of Avery's statement of 
 the situation and his advice, I was re- 
 128 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 duced to a condition of pitiable tremor. 
 After I left him to go to my room, it 
 seemed to me that every eye in the street 
 was boring into me. 
 
 When I reached the small house which 
 I called home, and had ascended to the 
 close and dingy apartment in the third 
 story which was mine (by the week), I 
 found a letter on my table. The terms of 
 that epistle were simple. I was directed 
 to close my school at the earliest con- 
 venient day, and without further notice. 
 The information was also conveyed that 
 my services would not be required in the 
 future. The letter was properly signed, 
 and amounted to a very curt dismissal. 
 
 It was Saturday (and no school) when 
 I got that news. What I suffered that 
 day and the following Sunday, as I sat 
 alone in my room, no mortal tongue can 
 tell. I was, in point of fact, only a poor 
 country boy, puffed up with a little col- 
 lege learning,' and crying not only for 
 129 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 my own sorrow, but for the injury to 
 sister and mother and. home. Of course 
 you think you would not have suffered 
 as I did. It is generally supposed that a 
 person who is innocent will, when ac- 
 cused, be brave and defiant. But that is 
 not true. It is the innocent who feel the 
 keenest anguish. Ask any experienced 
 criminal lawyer and he will tell you so. 
 I never have endured more in my life 
 than on the two days to which I have 
 alluded. 
 
 Monday, at noon, I dismissed the 
 school, telling them that I should no 
 longer be their teacher, and venturing to 
 say a few words of farewell. But their 
 sneering faces made it almost impossible. 
 They departed without saying good-bye, 
 and some of them hooted as they went 
 out of the door. I struggled hard to be 
 manly and brave and not give way in the 
 presence of the scholars whom I loved 
 so well. But in truth I was cut to the 
 130 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 heart. I have not told you how I had 
 toiled for them, and had not counted my 
 health or life dear to me, that I might 
 succeed in teaching them and being their 
 true friend. This was my reward. It 
 gives me a chill even yet to think of it. 
 
 And now I come to another point. I 
 have said that the scholars did not bid 
 me farewell ; but there was one excep- 
 tion. As I sat there at my desk, suffering 
 and trying not to show it, a girl about 
 fifteen years of age, with a handsome, 
 sensitive face, brown hair, and bright 
 hazel eyes, came back and stood looking 
 at me, and biting her handkerchief, and 
 seeming very sad and mournful. It was 
 PhcEbe Smith, the sister of Orlando, and 
 niece of Captain Brown. 
 
 It had been my way and perhaps my 
 nature to be rather dignified as a teacher. 
 I had treated Phoebe as if she were a 
 small girl ; but she was really quite tall 
 and womanly. When she stood and 
 131 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 gazed at me in that wondering and 
 mournful way, I knew that she expected 
 me to say something. It touched me 
 deeply to see that there was one who 
 was willing to show me kindness. I 
 asked as cheerfully as I could, — 
 
 "Well, Phcebe, do you wish to say 
 good-bye ? " 
 
 She did not come nearer nor offer to 
 shake hands, but with her eyes fixed upon 
 me continued to bite her handkerchief. 
 Finally I asked again, trying to smile, — 
 
 " Would you like to say good-bye ? " 
 
 She just shook her head and kept 
 biting her handkerchief as if she were 
 a little girl. Something began to come 
 up in my throat as I looked at her. At 
 last she opened her mouth and said with 
 a kind of gulp, — 
 
 " I do not believe you took that money, 
 Mr. Golden." 
 
 I felt my face growing scarlet. I saw 
 Phcebe put her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 132 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 Then my lips began to quiver, and the 
 first I knew I broke down, and throwing 
 my arms on the desk before me, I buried 
 my face on them. Some one came to the 
 door and called, " Phcebe, Phoebe," and 
 away she went ; and that was the end of 
 my school. 
 
 You can see for yourselves, friends, the 
 position in which I was placed. Here 
 I was in a large city, bearing a stinging 
 disgrace. Our folks had always been very 
 particular. There was not so much as a 
 speck on the reputation of the Goldens. 
 I had calculated to be high up in the 
 matter of a shining name. Sister Jane and 
 I had hoped I might be a minister of the 
 gospel. That was my dream. A thousand 
 times I had longed, as I walked my 
 lonely round on our little farm and on 
 the mountain, to engage in some way in 
 the great battle of the world. And here 
 I was in the midst of the conflict, and it 
 was going dead against me. A thing had 
 133 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 happened which was not dreamed of in 
 my philosophy. If it had been the loss 
 of health or friends, or the certainty of 
 my own speedy death, I think I could 
 have borne it well. All those troubles I 
 had calculated upon. But when my good 
 name was touched, I shrank and withered 
 like Jonah's gourd. I had not learned 
 the lesson that a man's reputation is in 
 part the gift of God, and may be taken 
 away at any moment. I find that this is 
 a strange doctrine to many men. Job 
 was the only one who believed it in his 
 time and section of the country. I had 
 never thought of it as really applicable 
 except in the past among the martyrs. 
 Of course I had supposed in a vague way 
 that some such thing was true, but that 
 was very different from experiencing and 
 believing it. I have always been glad 
 that I learned the lesson when I was 
 young. Perhaps some men are not called 
 upon to learn it at all in this life ; but if 
 134 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 SO, I think they die without their educa- 
 tion being finished. 
 
 I am aware that there is a philosophy 
 which says that a man (or boy) may be 
 superior to adversity. That was the doc- 
 trine which delighted me and became 
 my stay and support in college. Perhaps 
 there is no better system for a learned 
 professor with a comfortable salary. But 
 when it comes to being turned out of a 
 public school, I think the philosophy 
 needs bracing. I distinctly remember 
 that it did not sustain me after my schol- 
 ars were dismissed for the last time, and 
 Phoebe Smith had gone home. 
 
 Having locked the school-house door 
 and got to my room, I reflected upon 
 the strange events that had occurred. I 
 did not know what to do. That day 
 passed, and then another, and then a week, 
 without activity on my part. I scarcely 
 went out, except early in the morning 
 to walk by the river in a place not much 
 135 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 frequented. Thinking matters over, I 
 gradually and very painfully came down 
 from my high hopes, and decided that 
 it would not do to go away, but that I 
 must in a modest and manly fashion face 
 the situation in which I found myself. 
 It was a trying conclusion to come to. 
 To think, innocent as I was, of going 
 through life as a black sheep was hard. 
 But I made up my mind to it ; and I 
 thought that a quiet place in a machine- 
 shop under Avery, who was a boss, would 
 be about my size. 
 
 Of course you will perceive that I took 
 an exaggerated view of the horrors of 
 my position. But I was sensitive, inex- 
 perienced, and alone. 
 
 It has never been possible for me to 
 blame myself severely for the discourag- 
 ing view I took of my life at that time. 
 In memory, I see myself as I #as then, 
 often crying in my sleep until my sobs 
 awoke me. I remember the dank and 
 136 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 sickly air of the summer nights, and the 
 stifling heat of the crowded city. That 
 I had been disgraced and thrown aside, 
 and that my greatest hopes in life were 
 cut off, was, at any rate, a great reality 
 to me. For what chance was there for 
 a minister of the gospel who was known 
 as a thief? And what chance was there 
 to disprove the charge, amid a crowd of 
 strangers, who had judged the case on 
 evidence, and who now shunned me as 
 if I were a leper? Perhaps I imagined 
 more than was true. Yet I think it would 
 not have been very unwise to have learned 
 a trade. What would have happened in 
 that direction if something else had not 
 happened, I will not undertake to say. 
 But something else did happen. The 
 summer heats were coming on, and the 
 close and tainted atmosphere and city 
 food and mental suffering brought me 
 down so that I took to my bed with a 
 raging fever. The doctor pronounced it 
 137 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 a severe case, and what took place after 
 that I do not remember. I know that in 
 some way Phoebe Smith was with me 
 more or less, and that Jane came, and on 
 the whole I had a serious time of it. But 
 I pulled through, and in August, while 
 the heat was still dreadful, and my room 
 like an oven, Jane took me home. That 
 summer in the city, with the sickness, 
 is still, in my recollection of it, like 
 a nightmare. 
 
 As soon as we reached Vermont I was 
 better, and in a few weeks the country 
 surroundings and quiet rest restored my 
 physical frame, although I was still some- 
 what haggard with anxiety. 
 
 Jane had got the facts of my great 
 trouble from Phoebe. We talked matters 
 over. I could see that my poor sister was 
 dreadfully hurt by my ill-fortune. 
 
 When the cool September days came, 
 I seemed to drink in new life, and the 
 gloom which had been gathering upon 
 138 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 me in part passed away. Mother and 
 Jane would not listen to the idea that I 
 must give up my plan of life because of 
 the occurrence at Albany. They tried to 
 have it that my views upon that point 
 were ridiculous and morbid. At times 
 they seemed so to me ; but then, as I re- 
 flected, the facts would push themselves 
 obstinately into the foreground. I did 
 not feel that I could justify myself in 
 standing before the world as a religious 
 teacher, with such a record. 
 
 It was true in our place, as in most 
 country places, that nothing pertaining 
 to any of the people could be long un- 
 known. Jane's going to Albany after me 
 and all the reasons for it were well un- 
 derstood by our immediate neighbors and 
 many other people of the town. I thought 
 most of them took sides with me in the 
 matter. Yet who could tell ? To deter- 
 mine that I would go out among my 
 friends and face opinion required courage. 
 139 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 I endeavored each day to steel my heart 
 and gain strength to meet the trial. I 
 formed some very good resolutions, but 
 did not carry them out. 
 
 There was one point in regard to 
 which I was decided and firm. It was 
 my fixed intention to return to Albany 
 and busy myself in a machine-shop, and 
 meet the enemy in that silent, persever- 
 ing way. It seemed to me that if I did 
 not the thought of the stain upon my 
 record would haunt me forever. My dis- 
 position was to attack the falsehood and 
 fight it down if it took a lifetime. Jane 
 was strenuously opposed to this. She said 
 that she had not toiled for my education 
 to have me throw it away. It was ap- 
 parent that she had the advantage in the 
 argument. She claimed that it was wrong 
 for me to shrink from contact with 
 friends as I did. When I pleaded for 
 delay to grow stronger before pushing 
 out into social life, she would not heed 
 140 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 my excuses. I could not resist her plead- 
 ings. Jane arranged that I should lead 
 the union week-day conference-meeting 
 at our school-house, on Thursday, the 
 seventeenth day of September, and I con- 
 sented to do it. The day of the month 
 and all the circumstances are impressed 
 upon my mind. I dreaded that appoint- 
 ment more than any other of my whole 
 life; and I am not quite sure that Jane 
 was right in pushing me up to it. It 
 would be very hard for me, even now, 
 to stand before the people with a charge 
 of stealing against me. Nevertheless, I 
 was right in deciding to yield to Jane's 
 entreaties. It was a matter of conscience 
 with me. I did not let her know that it 
 kept me awake nights. 
 
 On Monday, before the important 
 Thursday, I went out of the house and 
 across the pasture, and up upon some 
 rocks with my Bible. I desired to study 
 a subject for the meeting. There was 
 141 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 a place where the September sun was re- 
 flected, and it was warm and bright. It 
 had been my retreat for several days. I 
 had been trying hard to find out how to 
 agree with Jane about my course in life. 
 On this occasion that subject kept forc- 
 ing itself into my mind in spite of my 
 efforts to banish it. But I had rid my- 
 self of such thoughts for the time, and 
 had just settled down to the Bible lesson, 
 when I heard a noise. I looked up and 
 there was Jane coming over the grass 
 from the house. She was calling aloud, 
 and almost screaming as she ran. Jane 
 always was a little nervous, but I had 
 never seen her act quite like that before. 
 I sat and looked at her for a while and 
 listened. 
 
 I saw that there was something more 
 than common the matter, and so I got 
 up and went down off the rocks on to 
 the grass and walked towards her. When 
 I came near she was crying, and as I 
 142 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 reached her, she threw herself on the 
 ground, seemingly out of breath, her face 
 twitching, and her lips working inartic- 
 ulately. Presently she managed to find 
 her voice, and then she cried out, — 
 
 " Oh, Sam, Sam, they have found the 
 money, they have found the money ! " 
 
 With this she held an open letter to- 
 wards me and a piece cut from a news- 
 paper. 
 
 Orlando Smith had been lost at sea 
 and his chest had come home, and in it 
 they had found the book and the money 
 all safe, packed away with other books 
 and wrapped in a piece of brown paper. 
 In a minute I understood it. Orlando 
 had run away, to go to sea, the very day 
 the book and the money disappeared, 
 and he had in some way got possession 
 of them and had taken them with him. 
 
 I never could remember exactly how 
 I spent the next five minutes after I had 
 learned of this. Probably I was on the 
 143 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 grass, crying. I remember that soon the 
 sunshine seemed brighter than before, 
 and an old familiar look that I had long 
 missed came back upon the mountain. 
 The valley again resumed that restful 
 appearance which had been one of its 
 greatest charms in my boyhood, and a 
 spiritual light which was new to me 
 began to dawn. From where we were 
 I could dimly see Burlington. One of 
 my first thoughts was that I could go 
 there now without fear. 
 
 After a little while we went to the 
 house and saw mother, who seemed ten 
 years younger than she had been when 
 I started out that morning. She was a 
 still kind of woman whose feelings were 
 very strong and deep. 
 
 The news that the book and the money 
 had been found was not long in spread- 
 ing through our town. One copy of the 
 Albany newspaper which gave an ac- 
 count of the matter was taken in our 
 144 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 neighborhood, so that some of the peo- 
 ple learned of it in that way, and some 
 received the facts from Jane. When 
 Thursday evening came, I w^ent to the 
 conference meeting in a very happy 
 frame of mind. I had slept soundly and 
 eaten heartily for the first time since my 
 sickness. I hardly think, as a matter 
 of fact, I did anything very wonderful 
 in the way of a speech that evening, but 
 I became enthusiastic and forgot myself. 
 As I was speaking and looking into the 
 eyes of the people, I got talking fast, and 
 then in some way they were in tears. I 
 had no idea of being pathetic or eloquent, 
 but I presume my feeling of thankful- 
 ness was apparent. Somehow, that talk 
 made my reputation in the town. The 
 people said I had a gift, and that preach- 
 ing ought to be my occupation. 
 
 Here I reach a stage in my narrative 
 v^here explanation is in order. The first 
 145 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 point is to show how it happened that 
 Orlando got into the office that morning 
 and obtained possession of his copy of 
 " The Pirate's Own Book," and the thir- 
 teen dollars ificlosed in it, without being 
 seen by his uncle. The newspaper pre- 
 sented a theory upon that subject reveal- 
 ing some curious facts and circumstances. 
 It appeared in the first place that Cap- 
 tain Brown had a defect in his right eye 
 which rendered that important organ 
 substantially useless. But it was admitted 
 by all his neighbors and acquaintances 
 that his left eye was uncommonly bright 
 and efficient, so that he was an excellent 
 watchman. The newspaper remarked, 
 however, that there was a scientific fact 
 in regard to the vision of a single eye 
 not generally known. It was this : In 
 the normal eye of every person there is 
 a blind spot, a little toward the outer 
 angle from the axis of vision. This blind 
 spot (of which we are wholly uncon- 
 146 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 scious) may readily be detected by the aid 
 of two large dots located to the right and 
 left on a white page, and three inches 
 apart. Hold the page, as in reading 
 about twelve inches from the face. Close 
 the right eye and look intently at the 
 dot to the right with the left eye. The 
 dot to the left will mysteriously vanish. 
 It is covered by the blind spot. The 
 experiment may be varied in many ways. 
 Small black buttons or even nickels (if 
 the adjustment of distances is exact) may 
 be used with success. Objects on all sides 
 of the dot (or button, or nickel) will be 
 perceived out of the corner of the eye, 
 but the dot itself seems to have melted 
 into the white paper. If you look across 
 a street and have the arrangement of dis- 
 tances in the same proportion as in the 
 experiment I have suggested, a window 
 or a door can be made to disappear in 
 the same mysterious manner. 
 
 A man with only one eye is of course 
 147 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 greatly surprised upon learning of this 
 defect in his vision. He may think that 
 he perceives the entire side of a house 
 when in fact there is a place several feet 
 in diameter which entirely escapes him. 
 The newspaper stated that Captain Brown 
 had become convinced that this defect 
 in his vision, of which he was unaware 
 until it was demonstrated to him, had 
 prevented him from seeing Orlando on 
 the important occasion in question. 
 
 You will readily imagine that Jane 
 and I delighted in the curious experi- 
 ment described so minutely in the news- 
 paper. We found it entirely successful 
 with every one who tried it, and a mat- 
 ter of amusement and surprise to all the 
 neighbors. No one had ever heard of 
 the blind spot before. But it was found 
 a very complete and satisfactory solution 
 of the mystery. 
 
 Here, perhaps, I ought to pause. 
 Having presented a pleasing picture of 
 148 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 my deliverance, the fitness of things 
 warns me not to interfere with it. But 
 it is important to tell the whole truth in 
 this matter, and I shall not forbear. 
 
 I am sorry to announce that the joy- 
 ful intelligence which lifted the dark 
 shadow from my life was not in reality 
 true, although its falsity was not discov- 
 ered until years had passed away. In 
 point of fact, neither the book nor the 
 money which had been lost was found. 
 The story which had been published in 
 the newspaper, and which we had hugged 
 to our hearts and rejoiced over and cried 
 over, and from which I had gained 
 health and vigor, was based upon a set 
 of fallacious circumstances, curiously de- 
 vised and falsely manufactured for my 
 especial benefit. In behalf of my happi- 
 ness and with a view to my relief, a pious 
 trick, if there is such a thing, had been 
 played by a kind-hearted girl. You can 
 say that the presence of political and 
 149 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 legislative management in this city had 
 dulled her moral sense, if that is your 
 view. I do not attempt to place the re- 
 sponsibility. All I affirm is, that a fraud 
 which made every person who was inter- 
 ested believe that the book and the 
 money had been recovered was planned 
 by the brain and executed by the hands 
 of Phcebe Smith. 
 
 In considering the act of which I am 
 about to tell you, I think it right that 
 you should remember how young she 
 was, and reflect upon the motive which 
 induced her to resort to deception. She 
 believed in my innocence, and had seen 
 as perhaps no one else could (except my 
 mother or my sister Jane) the anguish 
 I had been made to suffer. However 
 wrong it may have been to deceive, it 
 was certainly very noble to wish so 
 earnestly to save me from deep sorrow. 
 
 The plan Phoebe adopted was simple 
 and effective. She secured another copy 
 150 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 of" The Pirate's Own Book," and wrote 
 Orlando's name in it, imitating his hand- 
 writing, and adroitly placed it in his 
 chest with money of her own, when, 
 after his loss, the chest came back from 
 sea and before it was supposed to have 
 been opened, 
 
 I have already stated that Orlando ran 
 away the very day the book and the 
 money disappeared. This fact gave great 
 plausibility to Phoebe's deception. For- 
 tunately for my peace of mind, I did not 
 know of her plot in my behalf until ad- 
 ventitious circumstances revealed it, long 
 subsequent to the events I have related. 
 Neither was it made known to any one. 
 The secret was profoundly buried by 
 Phoebe in her own breast. I have been 
 amazed when contemplating the breadth 
 and completeness of her deception viewed 
 in connection with her youth and the 
 sincerity of her heart. It would seem 
 that from her own recollection of the 
 151 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 lost volume, and from the captain's de- 
 scription of the money, she so succeeded 
 in duplicating both, that no thought ever 
 occurred to any one that the substituted 
 articles were not the originals. Besides 
 putting the book and the money so skill- 
 fully in the chest where they were dis- 
 covered, she made the suggestion explain- 
 ing the probable manner of the loss, 
 which impressed itself upon Captain 
 Brown and all the friends, and upon the 
 newspaper reporter and the public, as 
 the truthful explanation of the occur- 
 rence. 
 
 As one of the consequences of subse- 
 quent investigation, I am able to go back 
 in the course of my narrative and state 
 to you what poor Phcebewas doing when 
 I was sorrowing over the dark calamity 
 that had fallen upon my career. Her 
 friends found out, long afterward, how 
 she passed through various difficulties in 
 obtaining thirteen dollars. A dealer in 
 152 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 second-hand volumes identified, by his 
 small label and price-mark, the copy of 
 "The Pirate's Own Book " which she had 
 purchased at his store and made use of 
 as I have described. This searching and 
 identification took place after PhcEbe's 
 death, and nearly four years after she was 
 my pupil. 
 
 You can imagine what a curious task 
 and labor of love it was for her associates 
 and friends to trace out the ingenious 
 goodness and strange deceit which had 
 marked the achievement which she had 
 buried from the eyes of the world. The 
 hidden life of this young girl was found 
 to be very interesting. 
 
 It came to light, in tracing the course 
 of Phoebe's scheme, that her main anx- 
 iety had been to find some reasonable 
 hypothesis that would account for the 
 pretended fact that Orlando visited the 
 office of his uncle and secured the book 
 without being observed. When once the 
 153 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 book and money were discovered in the 
 chest, of course that left the burden of 
 accounting for the mistake that appar- 
 ently had been made, upon the shoulders 
 of Captain Brown. It was for him to 
 explain, if he could, how he had failed 
 to see Orlando. Phoebe evidently dreaded 
 this point, and made preparations of a 
 subtle and curious nature to furnish her 
 uncle with an excuse. It appeared that 
 she had first taken into the account the 
 fact I have already mentioned, that the 
 captain had a defect in his right eye. 
 And now I come to the point where 
 Phoebe, as it seems to me, showed her 
 greatest skill and power of combination. 
 You may remember to have seen a curi- 
 ous book, found in many school libraries, 
 entitled " Brewster's Natural Magic." In 
 that work, which reveals, in a very plain 
 way adapted to the minds of the young, 
 some of the wonders of science, Phoebe 
 found an account of the blind spot in the 
 154 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 eye, and the experiment demonstrating 
 it as I have described. Her application 
 of it was ingenious. The first item re- 
 membered about it is that soon after the 
 news of the loss of Orlando had been 
 received, and while they were still wait- 
 ing for the return of his chest, " the 
 blind-spot experiment " came into vogue 
 with Phcebe and her friends. It is re- 
 membered that Phoebe Smith first called 
 attention to it, and devised various changes 
 to render it more interesting. 
 
 Notwithstanding her youth, and the 
 benevolent motive which influenced her, 
 Phoebe died without having made a re- 
 velation of the deception she had prac- 
 ticed. I think we can understand how, 
 in a moral atmosphere where successful 
 political management is regarded with 
 approval, she might have been led to 
 associate such deceit in a good cause with 
 virtue. I have been confirmed in this 
 view by the fact that certain friends of 
 155 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 hers have expressed to me their sense of 
 the superlative merit of her effort in my 
 behalf. Some of the women contemplated 
 her heroism with wonder and tearful 
 admiration. They made mention of her 
 sacrifice of truth and veracity for me as 
 the loftiest possible example of praise- 
 worthy, womanly devotion. To do such 
 a deed as she had done in my behalf, 
 and pass away from earth without any 
 mention of it, seemed to them an ex- 
 hibition of human goodness that was 
 extremely bright and dazzling. I am 
 compelled to think that these kind 
 friends admired her benevolence and its 
 success all the more because of the 
 trick involved in it. I hope not, but it 
 has appeared so to me as I have talked 
 with them about it. You may smile at 
 this, but the whole matter strikes me 
 as very serious. It seems wonderful to 
 me that my happiness for years, and hu- 
 manly speaking, my plan of life and my 
 156 
 
A STRANGER IN THE CITY 
 
 usefulness, were dependent upon the de- 
 ception of this young girl. 
 
 All these phases were discussed by us 
 when the genuine Orlando copy, so to 
 speak, of" The Pirate's Own Book " was 
 actually found, — an event which oc- 
 curred soon after Phoebe's death, when 
 the old office was pulled down for the 
 purpose of rebuilding. There was then 
 revealed behind the wainscoting, directly 
 back of where the captain's desk had 
 stood, the identical volume which had 
 made the trouble, with the thirteen dol- 
 lars in bills still undisturbed between the 
 pages. It was remembered also that the 
 roller of a large map which reached along 
 the wall had sometimes been hit by a 
 loose cleat on the old office door, and it 
 appeared that the roller thus moved must 
 have pushed the book off the desk into an 
 opening there was in the rough boarding. 
 About that time the captain confessed 
 that he had always dimly felt that the 
 157 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 money found in Orlando's chest was not 
 exactly the money which had been lost. 
 It was not until this revelation brought 
 to light the true copy of the book and 
 the real state of the case that Phoebe's 
 benevolent scheme was suspected and in- 
 vestigated. It was then that her goodness 
 was so commended by those who had 
 been her associates. I do not say it was 
 wrongly commended. Indeed, I would be 
 an ungrateful wretch if I could enter- 
 tain the shadow of a thought against her. 
 I try to think that only the kindness 
 and heroism and love were Phoebe's, and 
 that the influences which had poisoned 
 the moral atmosphere around her were 
 responsible for the deception. 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 This is the Schoolmaster's story, which 
 he told me in his room one winter even- 
 ing after we had discussed the obligation 
 to be always absolutely truthful : 
 
 There was a man, named Joseph Sam- 
 son Green, who made a peculiar promise 
 to his wife, Jane, which I will tell you 
 about when I have told who these people 
 were and the circumstances. The time 
 was in 1843, ^^^ ^^- ^^^ Mrs. Green 
 were a few years younger than the cen- 
 tury. They lived in a remote village 
 near the St. Lawrence River and in sight 
 of the Adirondack Mountains. I was 
 a small boy there then. 
 
 It is not easy now, to understand what 
 it was to be haunted, as the people were 
 in those days in the lonely settlements. 
 161 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 The time of witches had gone by, but 
 ideas had their victims. There was no 
 news to reUeve the pressure of reflection. 
 Please remember that we did not have 
 railroads or frequent newspapers or the 
 telegraph in those early days. In the 
 dreary winters many miles of snow sepa- 
 rated our village from the other hamlets 
 which dotted the vast waste. We were 
 almost as lonely as Crusoe on his island. 
 The village, thus shut away from the 
 world, troubled itself with profound 
 questions. For speculation was mysteri- 
 ously in the air at that time. Great events 
 were supposed to be hovering near. " The 
 final consummation of all things," the 
 end of the world, was near at hand. This ; 
 fact was exciting many communities. 
 And when such an idea got into a lonely 
 village it would buzz there all winter, 
 like a big fly in a glass bottle. There was 
 no way of getting it out, because there 
 was no outside influence near enough " to 
 162 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 change the tune," or break the spell of 
 the isolation. 
 
 Joseph Samson Green, whom I have 
 mentioned, was an intense little man, 
 with curling black hair, and a very pleas- 
 ant face. It was a joy to me to hear him 
 pour out his heart in hymns, in his shop 
 where he made furniture. He was too 
 shy to sing or talk in meeting. He was 
 too shy to say much about that super- 
 natural world whose oppressive atmo- 
 sphere had descended upon the village and 
 was brooding over it like a murky cloud ; 
 but it was apparent that its presence filled 
 his soul with sadness and solemn dread. 
 He had the tender, loving ways of a 
 child. He was nearly forty years of age 
 and I but eleven, yet I found in him 
 a companion. It seemed to me that his 
 wife, Jane, was like a mother to him, 
 although she was younger than he. She 
 had a thin face and a long, straight nose. 
 We were afraid of her ; Joe would hide 
 163 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 our checker-board when we saw her 
 coming to the shop. 
 
 Jane was publicly as well as privately 
 the head of the family. It was her voice 
 that was heard in meeting. In singing 
 she poured out a shrill treble with start- 
 ling effect, — especially when it came 
 suddenly on the stillness. It was the way 
 then to break out into song rather un- 
 expectedly in the evening assemblies, 
 Jane and a friend of hers had something 
 about " sounding through the air " that 
 always alarmed me. It echoed against 
 the plastered walls and made the tallow 
 candles flare. The phrase I have quoted 
 came in at the close of each stanza, and 
 was delivered in a high, mournful, pierc- 
 ing tone which greatly influenced my 
 imagination. I think the song described 
 the end of the world and the day of 
 judgment. 
 
 There was but one public act of which 
 Joseph seemed to be capable, and that 
 164 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 was playing the key-bugle. He played 
 it, standing in the door of his shop ; and 
 as the blast rang through the village he 
 was always greatly excited about it. He 
 evidently regarded this lively music as a 
 protest against the prevailing solemnity, 
 and as a kind of rebellion. For it was 
 no time to be playing key-bugles when 
 such a cloud rested upon the town and 
 the end of the world was at hand. He 
 would retreat from the door of his shop 
 and hide his bugle if he saw a minister 
 or a deacon coming down the street. 
 
 We did not know about the promise 
 that Joe made to his wife until after 
 Jane died. She went away in the stage 
 to visit her parents in Vermont. That 
 was in June and she was to be away 
 until October. But in August a letter 
 came for Joe saying that Jane was very 
 ill with a fever. Then Joe packed his 
 trunk and started for that far-off place, 
 which he had never seen, where his 
 i6s 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 wife was. He had been very lonely 
 without her: but he was more than 
 lonely, he was quite broken down, 
 when he came back with the sad news 
 that he had been just in time for the 
 funeral. Jane had died three hours 
 before he got there. 
 
 It was indeed a dark time for Joe after 
 that. He settled down to work as usual, 
 but he was very sorrowful. Many kind 
 hearts gathered around him, however, 
 and before six months had rolled away 
 his trusting nature had begun to cling 
 tenaciously to a new support. Within 
 a year it became evident that Miss Mary 
 Lane, Deacon Lane's daughter, was get- 
 ting a firm hold of the sceptre which had 
 fallen from the hands of Jane. Every- 
 body was delighted when this was dis- 
 covered, for Mary was a favorite. A few 
 more months passed and then it was 
 announced that the day had been fixed 
 for the wedding. 
 
 i66 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 Just here it was that the effect of the 
 pecuhar promise to which allusion has 
 been made began mysteriously to appear. 
 This was in connection with my visits 
 to the shop. I could not help alluding to 
 Mary Lane, who had been my teacher, 
 and shyly saying just a word about Joe's 
 good fortune. Freckled Billy Crosby, 
 who was a year older than I, was with 
 me and kept me in countenance, and 
 added a few compliments of his own, 
 hesitatingly. We never would have 
 dreamed of taking such a liberty with 
 any man but Joe. It would have seemed 
 absurd to us to mention such a matter 
 even to him if we had said anything 
 more than that we were glad Mary Lane 
 was coming to live at his house. That 
 was the way I stated it, and Billy's allu- 
 sion was equally remote. It then wanted 
 only two days of the wedding. Joe took 
 our shy, boyish congratulations very 
 kindly. He stopped his work and sat 
 167 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 down on his hewing-block while I stood 
 at his knee and Billy by my side. Joe 
 looked solemnly in our faces with a stead- 
 fast gaze, and he said he thanked us and 
 was glad we were so kind. There was 
 something very grave about his manner 
 that I had not seen there before. I felt 
 then that Joe was truly a man. He gazed 
 at us for a long time without saying a 
 word, — so long that we began to won- 
 der. Then a pitiful, beseeching look 
 came upon his face, the corners of his 
 mouth drew down, and he suddenly 
 burst into tears. 
 
 What could it mean ? Was Joe crazy ? 
 Had we wounded him in some way ? 
 We could make nothing of it. Billy and 
 I slunk away from the shop and left 
 poor Joe crying alone by himself. But 
 we speculated about his sorrow : it was 
 a grand subject for boyish romance. 
 Billy declared, in his impulsive manner, 
 that there was trouble on that man's 
 i68 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 mind, and that he had never before felt 
 so kindly toward any one. 
 
 The wedding was to be on Thurs- 
 day evening. In the morning of the 
 wedding-day, Billy and I ventured to 
 go again to the shop. We had some 
 doubt whether Joe would be there at 
 such an eventful period, but the door 
 yielded to Billy's push and we advanced. 
 It was a bright morning, and the sun- 
 shine came in at an east window, fully 
 illuminating the interior. We heard no 
 voice or sound, but an object met our 
 gaze which brought paleness to our 
 young faces. It was Joe, hanging by 
 two harness straps (around his neck) 
 from a beam just over his head. His 
 face was turned from us, and his feet 
 nearly touched the floor. We saw a 
 movement like shrugging his shoulders. 
 Then Billy proved himself to be brave. 
 He rushed forward and placed the old 
 shop chair without a back, on the top of 
 169 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 the hewing-block which was by Joe's 
 feet. He stepped on the block, then up 
 onto the chair, and told me to hand him 
 the axe. I did so, and he tried to strike 
 upward with it and sever the straps. 
 But this was a failure. Joe's head was 
 greatly endangered, but the straps were 
 not reached. Billy handed me the axe, 
 and having stepped down to the floor, 
 rushed to the door and cried murder. 
 In the meantime it was my feeling 
 that poor Joe was choking to death, and 
 I hesitated between the scheme of lifting 
 him and putting his feet on the hewing- 
 block and the plan of getting up over- 
 head and cutting the straps on the top of 
 the beam. In a moment I had decided, 
 and got upon the work-bench : then I 
 put a foot on the window-sill, and then 
 in a brace, and so climbed up to the top 
 of the beam. I had done it before in 
 play. Billy handed me the axe and I 
 cut the straps. Joe sank down limp and 
 170 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 purple. Billy's cry had secured atten- 
 tion, so that two men and a woman 
 were coming, and he now ran out again, 
 shouting for help at the top of his voice. 
 In a few minutes the shop was full, and 
 Joe was sitting on the hewing-block 
 with the straps still hanging loosely 
 around his shoulders, and his hands over 
 his face, crying and bewailing himself in 
 great shame and sorrow. A little later 
 he was taken to his house, and then the 
 secret came out, to the amusement of 
 some heartless persons and the surprise 
 of all. 
 
 Joe confessed that he had no right to 
 marry. He said he had promised Jane 
 that she should be his only wife and true 
 love. He had agreed that if she should 
 die he would mourn for her to the end of 
 his life. He professed not to know ex- 
 actly how it was that he had been such 
 a crazy fool as to fix those straps in his 
 shop. He did not think it was really 
 171 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 his intention to hang himself. But he 
 got on the block and was tempted, and 
 whether he really slipped off or stepped 
 off on purpose he would not be just ex- 
 actly and entirely sure. Although, to 
 tell the whole truth, he said, it was all 
 his fault and he knew his friends must 
 despise him for it for evermore. 
 
 With such convulsive utterances poor 
 Joe filled up a quarter of an hour, and 
 then became quiet. His friends did not 
 despise him ; they pitied him most pro- 
 foundly. The wedding, set down for 
 that very evening, was, of course, indefi- 
 nitely postponed, Joe declaring in the 
 meantime, with sobs and tears, that he 
 loved Mary Lane better than his own 
 life. No one doubted this, but the idea 
 of marrying a man in the evening who 
 had hanged himself in the morning for 
 such a cause was incongruous. Mary 
 said, with deep tenderness and noble 
 candor, that she loved Joseph as truly as 
 172 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 before, but that she thought she ought 
 not to marry him. 
 
 So there was no wedding, and the gos- 
 sips made many suggestions and had many 
 stories to tell. They did not fail to bring 
 Jane over the coals, although she had 
 so recently departed. That she had been 
 jealous of her husband was affirmed. It 
 was suggested that this had been the rea- 
 son why she had extorted such a promise 
 from him. A few women who had se- 
 cretly been guilty of the same wrong 
 toward their husbands tried at first to 
 say a good word for Jane, but the popu- 
 lar feeling was so much against this that 
 they took back all they had said. 
 
 Joseph continued very sad and mourn- 
 ful. A blight rested upon him in spite 
 of all that friends could do to cheer his 
 spirit. There was a little quiet discussion 
 in regard to the obligation he had as- 
 sumed. Whether a man could morally 
 bind himself to blight his own life and 
 173 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 be required to do a wrong in that way, 
 was timidly and privately questioned. 
 But no one was bold enough to come out 
 and say that it would be right for Joseph 
 to tell an awful lie to that dead woman ! 
 It was a solemn time. The end of the 
 world was near. Joseph had been almost 
 in the jaws of death. The current of 
 thought turned toward the idea that in 
 view of the situation it would be espe- 
 cially suitable for this afflicted one to give 
 all his attention to the matter of making 
 preparation for the world to come. Jo- 
 seph himself was much too reserved to 
 say anything on this subject except when 
 his conscience compelled him to do so. 
 In a quiet manner of his own he sym- 
 pathized with the views of Deacon Lane 
 and his family, who adhered to the old 
 ways and refused to be excited or attend 
 the meetings which disturbed the town. 
 Joe made up his mind, during those days 
 so dark to him, that he would join him- 
 174 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 self to the old church where the Deacon 
 and Mary were. That church had sur- 
 vived the raging storms and isms of the 
 time. Deacon Lane claimed that so 
 much as was left was solid. Its member- 
 ship was very small. Strong pillars had 
 been swept away. It is impossible to tell 
 here the thrilling story of the churches. 
 It is enough to say, that amid the lash- 
 ing waves there was this place in the 
 village where the rock remained, and 
 dear Joe was wise enough to place his 
 feet upon it. In his simple-hearted fash- 
 ion he confided to me in his shop one 
 day his decision that he would go to the 
 old place for his membership. He knew 
 that I attended there and felt that he 
 could afford to talk to me upon the sub- 
 ject. Jane had been a member at the 
 new place, where all the isms were run- 
 ning their course, and where almost every 
 week there was something new sounding 
 through the air. Joe explained to me 
 175 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 that it might have been all right for Jane, 
 but that he was never quite able to stand 
 it. He said that he did not like the mid- 
 night baptism, the spiritual affinity, the 
 doctrines of Perfectionism, or the excite- 
 ment about the end of the vv^orld. That 
 he had almost lost his mind through 
 these doctrines vv^as one of his theories. 
 I could see that he mourned over that 
 unfortunate hanging affair and was very 
 anxious to account for it. So many had 
 become insane through the wild excite- 
 ments of the time that he had plausible 
 ground for urging his view. There were 
 a dozen instances in town to support him. 
 He alluded to these, but did not mention 
 his promise to Jane which had been the 
 main element in his trouble. That was 
 too sacred to be found fault with. 
 
 The members of the old church were 
 
 more than glad to welcome Joe to their 
 
 number. His unpretending goodness had 
 
 won their hearts and led them to believe 
 
 176 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 in his piety long before he apphed for 
 membership. And when he came to 
 stand with them, something of that weak 
 and almost childish manner which had 
 characterized him seemed to leave him. 
 Young as I was, it was my thought that 
 Joe's main defects had been born of those 
 meetings and strange ideas and things 
 which seemed to be ever sounding 
 through the air. The little I was allowed 
 to see and hear of them had a strange, 
 dazzling, and bewildering effect upon me, 
 which to this day I find it difficult to 
 account for. There was an influence that 
 alarmed and subdued. I wondered, even 
 then, that sensitive, trusting Joe had es- 
 caped with so little damage, and I frankly 
 told him so. He replied by saying that 
 since he had decided to unite at the old 
 place, he had felt that the opening heav- 
 ens would round him shine with beams 
 of sacred bliss. Whether this expression 
 
 was a quotation, I do not know, but it 
 
 177 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 was his favorite saying on the subject. He 
 repeated it frequently, and with a pecul- 
 iar monotone, as if it were a poem. 
 
 It was reckoned a joyful occasion and 
 a triumph among us when Joe, hand- 
 somely clothed and fully in his right 
 mind, came forward in our church, made 
 profession of his belief, and joined the 
 faithful ones. My father was a mission- 
 ary, having general charge of that little 
 church, sent to that region by high ec- 
 clesiastical authority to care for various 
 churches and save the things that re- 
 mained. It was a difficult commission 
 and every gain was important. The spirit- 
 ual battle raged around Joe to begin with, 
 and law and order were in his case 
 triumphant. The conquest of Joseph 
 was the beginning of a much greater vic- 
 tory. Others soon came forward, and 
 men and women who had been swept 
 away returned in scores and renewed 
 their allegiance. In the midst of this pro- 
 178 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 sperity there came a happy day, which 
 threw a gleam of gladness upon the life 
 of Joseph Green, and was very favorable 
 to the work in behalf of the people. My 
 father received a letter from Vermont. 
 It was an important event in those days 
 when it cost so much to send letters and 
 so few were written. We, of the family, 
 gathered around our sire as he broke the 
 wafers and unfolded the paper (sealed 
 after the fashion of the time), expecting 
 him to read it silently and then tell us 
 briefly what it was. This would have 
 been according to his custom. But now 
 as he read and we watched his face, he 
 became strangely agitated. We noticed 
 that he took a ten-dollar bill out of the 
 letter when he opened it, and hence we 
 thought it must be a money transaction, 
 — but why was he so moved? There 
 were several pages, and as he continued 
 to read his emotion increased ; and after 
 he had completed the reading and folded 
 179 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 the letter it was evident, for several min- 
 utes, that he could not say a word. When 
 at last he tried to tell us that Joseph 
 Green's wife, Jane, before she died had 
 — That was as far as his feelings would 
 allow him to go. But eventually he 
 read the letter aloud. It was from the 
 aunt of Jane. The good lady began her 
 epistle by complimenting my father upon 
 his success in restoring the churches 
 where he was laboring, and his zeal in 
 the ministry. She begged leave to en- 
 close ten dollars as a contribution to the 
 mission work he was doing. Then she 
 went on to explain that she had very 
 recently learned the history of Joseph 
 Green as it had been since his wife's 
 death, and that this information (coming 
 from a friend) had laid upon her an im- 
 portant duty. She had helped to nurse 
 her niece, Jane, in that sickness which 
 had proved fatal, and Jane had then told 
 her that if she was taken away, it would 
 180 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 be well for Joseph to marry again. The 
 aunt had wondered a little at the time 
 why Jane alluded to this, and why she 
 urged that if Joseph should wish to marry 
 he should be told of her words about it. 
 Jane had returned to the subject several 
 times, saying that Joseph was of a very 
 kindly, trusting nature, and ought not to 
 live alone. The aunt had thought but 
 little of the vague message to Joseph, 
 because it had seemed unimportant and 
 she had not known that he thought of 
 marrying again. She could not give him 
 such a message in the days of his mourn- 
 ing; and she confessed that she had sup- 
 posed the entire train of thought and the 
 message grew out of the fever rather than 
 any existing facts. She desired to con- 
 vey the message through my father, and 
 to acknowledge to Mr. Green that she 
 had been a little negligent. She added 
 to this the statement that her niece was 
 very kindhearted, and that she, her aunt. 
 
 i»i 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 positively knew that nothing could give 
 Jane greater pleasure, looking down from 
 her home above, than to see Joseph hap- 
 pily married. She begged to assure Mr. 
 Green (with whom the family had but 
 little acquaintance) that he would obey 
 the wishes of his wife, and act in accord- 
 ance with the views of her relatives, by 
 contracting a second marriage. This was 
 the substance of the letter. 
 
 My father tried to be a stern man, but 
 feeling the interest of a pastor, he could 
 not read this letter to us without falter- 
 ing ; and his eyes overflowed as he ceased, 
 and laid it aside. He consulted with my 
 mother in regard to the best way to 
 communicate the intelligence, and being 
 advised that in such a matter there is no 
 time like the present, he took his hat and 
 went immediately on his errand. How 
 the parties received the news we never 
 knew, except from the fact that when 
 my father came back he could hardly 
 182 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 speak upon the subject, and was evidently 
 happy about it for several days. 
 
 News of the letter spread through the 
 town, and there was much talk about it. 
 Soon it was known, also, that advantage 
 of the situation would be taken by the 
 parties principally interested. We thought 
 we could not enough admire the noble- 
 ness with which Mary waived all those 
 maidenly objections which she might 
 have made, and plainly said that she 
 loved Joseph and thought he had done 
 right. And we were equally delighted 
 with Joseph, who said that the discipline 
 of his trouble had been good for him, 
 and that he loved Mary in a better way 
 now than before, and more dearly and 
 truly. 
 
 At the request of Deacon Lane the 
 ceremony was in the church. The bell 
 was rung and the choir and bass-viol were 
 in attendance. A church wedding was 
 a novelty in the place and called out the 
 183 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 young folks. All were much pleased. 
 The occasion helped to bring back the 
 people from their interest in nightmares. 
 The world had not come to an end, the 
 murky cloud was breaking and day be- 
 gan to dawn. 
 
 Soon after Joseph's wedding, we left 
 the village and returned to our home in the 
 Mohawk Valley. I never saw the village 
 again, but have always remembered it 
 with the wild bugle-notes flying over it, 
 and then the glad wedding-day, and the 
 passing away of the murky cloud and 
 gloom. 
 
 I thought this was all of the story 
 until three years ago when I met a 
 quaint and chatty old lady at Saratoga. 
 She was from New Hampshire. We got 
 to talking about old times and the isms 
 and strange occurrences we had known. 
 She had once been a Perfectionist, but 
 thought she had returned to about the 
 common view. I mentioned Mr. Green's 
 184 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 case as an illustration of the effect of isms 
 upon the mind. When I spoke of his 
 wife, Jane, and her visit to Vermont, the 
 old lady remarked with sudden enthusi- 
 asm that she knew the very persons I was 
 talking about, and was familiar with the 
 Vermont side of the case. She said that 
 being a cousin, she had visited in Ver- 
 mont at the very time Jane did, and 
 partly because Jane was there. She had 
 seen her in that last sickness ; and she gave 
 it as her understanding of the matter that 
 Jane never really sent any direct message 
 to Joseph as represented. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," I asked severely, 
 " that the aunt wrote an untruth in that 
 letter?" 
 
 The old lady replied that the aunt 
 was a very capable woman and wrote just 
 what Jane ought to have said and would 
 have said if she had not been delirious. 
 And then she asked me reproachfully 
 whether I would have left poor Jane 
 i8s 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 with a blight, a "cruel, withering blight," 
 resting forever on her memory. She also 
 explained that Jane was a very good girl, 
 and always did exactly as her aunt told 
 her, and in all fairness must be supposed 
 to have acquiesced in the word sent in 
 this case. 
 
 "But if she did not say it," — I pro- 
 tested with a feeling of exasperation. 
 
 " But she did say it," persisted the old 
 lady, " that is, her aunt said it for her. 
 And you know yourself that Jane must 
 have said it in the tomb." 
 
 " Must have said it in the tomb / " I 
 echoed with indignation. 
 
 But the old lady got up quickly and 
 went away, evidently grieved and alarmed. 
 
 Across those far-off, boyish memories 
 I felt a chilling shadow fall. I could not 
 but wish I had not heard of the decep- 
 tion. But my sadness passed with the 
 morning hours. For the old lady came 
 again to converse ; and she made me feel 
 i86 
 
MR. GREEN'S PROMISE 
 
 how kind the hearts were that had done 
 this thing. All that August afternoon, 
 we gazed at the golden summer clouds, 
 and talked of friends and of the beautiful 
 city where death never enters, and nothing 
 that maketb a lie. 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 First, as my grandfather used to tell, 
 there were the woods and the Oneida 
 Indians and the Mohawks; then the 
 forest was cleared away, and there was 
 the broad, fertile, grassy, and entranc- 
 ingly beautiful Mohawk Valley; then 
 came villages and cities and my own 
 unimportant existence, and at about the 
 same time appeared the Oneida Institute. 
 This institution of learning is my first 
 point. The Oneida Institute, located in 
 the village of Whitesboro, four miles 
 from Utica, in the State of New York, 
 consisted visibly of three elongated erec- 
 tions of painted, white-pine clapboards, 
 with shingle roofs. Each structure was 
 three stories high and was dotted with 
 lines of little windows. There was a 
 191 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 surrounding farm and gardens, in which 
 the students labored, that might attract 
 attention at certain hours of the day, 
 when the laborers were at work in them ; 
 but the buildings were the noticeable 
 feature. Seated in the deep green of the 
 vast meadows on the west bank of the 
 willow-shaded Mohawk, these staring 
 white edifices were very conspicuous. 
 The middle one was turned crosswise, 
 as if to keep the other two, which were 
 parallel, as far apart as possible. This 
 middle one was also crowned with a 
 fancy cupola, whereby the general ap- 
 pearance of the group was just saved to 
 a casual stranger from the certainty of 
 its being the penitentiary or almshouse 
 of the country. 
 
 The glory of this institution was not 
 in its architecture or lands, but in that 
 part which could not be seen by the 
 bodily eyes. For, spiritually speaking, 
 Oneida Institute was an immense batter- 
 192 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 ing-ram, behind which Gerrit Smith, 
 William Lloyd Garrison, and Rev. Be- 
 riah Green were constantly at work, 
 pounding away to destroy the walls 
 which slavery had built up to protect 
 itself. 
 
 Mr. Green was president of the insti- 
 tute, and was the soul and heart and 
 voice of its faculty. His power to mould 
 young men was phenomenal. It was a 
 common saying that he turned out grad- 
 uates who were the perfect echo of Be- 
 riah Green, except the wart. The wart 
 was a large one, which, being situated 
 in the centre of Mr. Green's forehead, 
 seemed to be a part of his method to 
 those who were magnetized by his per- 
 sonality or persuaded by his eloquence. 
 
 Perhaps about two students in each 
 hundred at the Institute would be col- 
 ored. 
 
 About 1 845, when I began to be an 
 observing boy, it was understood through- 
 193 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 out Oneida County that Beriah Green 
 was an intellectual giant, and that he 
 would sell his life, if need be, to be- 
 friend the colored man. Oneida Insti- 
 tute was a refuge for the oppressed, quite 
 as much as a place where the students 
 were magnetized and taught to weed 
 onions. Fifteen years before John Brown 
 paused in his march to the gallows to 
 kiss a negro baby, I saw Beriah Green 
 walk hand in hand along the sidewalk 
 with a black man and fondle the hand 
 he held conspicuously. Among his inti- 
 mates were Ward and Garnet, both very 
 black, as well as very talented and very 
 eloquent. 
 
 We were taught that it was a matter 
 of duty to subdue our feelings of preju- 
 dice against color. Young as I was I am 
 sure I came to sympathize truly with the 
 black man, and with those who advo- 
 cated the abolition of slavery. 
 
 When " the friends of the cause " met 
 194 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 in convention, I sometimes heard of it, 
 and managed, boy-like, to steal in. 
 When I did so, I used to sit and shud- 
 der on a back seat in the little hall. 
 The anti-slavery denunciations poured 
 out upon the churches, and backed up 
 and pushed home by the logic of Green 
 and the eloquence of Smith, were vs^ell 
 calculated to make an orthodox boy 
 tremble. For these people brought the 
 churches and the nation before their bar 
 and condemned them, and some w^hom I 
 have not named cursed them with a bit- 
 terness and effectiveness that I cannot 
 recall to this day without a shiver. The 
 dramatic effect, as it then seemed to me, 
 has never been equaled in my experience. 
 That these extreme ideas did not 
 prosper financially is not to be wondered 
 at. The farm was soon given up, then the 
 buildings and gardens passed into other 
 hands, and the institution became a 
 denominational school, known as the 
 195 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Whitestown Baptist Seminary. But the 
 ideas which had been implanted there 
 would not consent to depart with this 
 change in the name and the methods 
 of the institution. The fact that Beriah 
 Green, after leaving the school, contin- 
 ued to reside at Whitesboro and gathered 
 a church there rendered it the more dif- 
 ficult to eradicate the doctrines which he 
 had implanted. The idea of friendship 
 for the black man was particularly tena- 
 cious and perhaps annoying to the new 
 and controlling denominational interest. 
 It clung to the very soil, like " pusley " 
 in a garden. It had gained a strong hold 
 throughout the county. The managers 
 of the institution could not openly op- 
 pose it. They were compelled to en- 
 dure it. And so it continued to be true 
 that if a bright colored boy anywhere 
 in the state desired the advantages of 
 a superior education he would direct his 
 steps to Whitestown Seminary. 
 196 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 It was here that I met the hero of my 
 story, Anthony Calvert Brown. He was 
 as vigorous and manly a youth of seven- 
 teen as I have ever seen. He had been 
 among us nearly two months, and had 
 become a general favorite, before it was 
 discovered that he had a tinge of African 
 blood. The revelation of this fact was 
 made to us on the playground. A fel- 
 low-student who had come with An- 
 thony to the school made the disclo- 
 sure. The two were comrades, and had 
 often told us of their adventures together 
 in the great North woods, or Adiron- 
 dack forests, on the western border of 
 which, in a remote settlement, they had 
 their homes. Their friendship did not 
 prevent them from falling into a dispute, 
 and it did not prevent Anthony's com- 
 rade, who was in fact a bully, from de- 
 scending to personalities. He hinted in 
 very expressive terms that the son of a 
 
 colored woman must not be too positive. 
 197 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 The meanness of such an insinuation, 
 made at such a time and in such a way, 
 did not diminish its sting. Perhaps it 
 increased it. We saw Anthony, who had 
 stood a moment before cool and defiant, 
 turn away cowed and subdued, his hand- 
 some face painfully suffused. His be- 
 havior was a confession. 
 
 I am sorry to say that after this inci- 
 dent Anthony did not hold the same 
 position in our esteem that he had pre- 
 viously enjoyed. Some half-dozen of us 
 who cherished the old Institute feeling 
 were inclined to make a hero of him, 
 but by degrees the sentiment of the new 
 management prevailed, and it was under- 
 stood that Anthony was to be classed 
 with those who must meekly endure an 
 irreparable misfortune. But Anthony did 
 not seem to yield to this view. He was 
 very proud, and braced himself firmly 
 against it. He withdrew more and more 
 from his schoolmates and devoted his 
 198 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 time to books. In the matter of scholar- 
 ship he gained the highest place, and 
 held it to the close of our two-years' 
 course. In the meantime, his peculiar- 
 ities were often made the subject of re- 
 mark among us. His growing reserve 
 and dignity, his reputation as a scholar, 
 and his reticence and isolation were fre- 
 quently discussed. And there was the 
 mystery of his color. It was a disputed 
 question among us whether the African 
 taint could be detected in his appearance. 
 Ray, the comrade who had revealed it, 
 claimed that it was plainly perceptible, 
 while Yerrinton, the oldest student 
 among us, declared that there was not 
 a trace of it to be seen. He argued that 
 Anthony was several shades lighter than 
 Daniel Webster, and he asserted enthu- 
 siastically that he had various traits in 
 common with that great statesman. 
 But, then, Yerrinton was a disciple of 
 Beriah Green, and his opinion was not 
 199 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 regarded as unbiased. For myself, I could 
 never detect any appearance of African 
 blood in Anthony, although my know- 
 ledge of its existence influenced my feel- 
 ings toward him. To me he seemed to 
 carry himself with a noble bearing, — 
 under a shadow, it is true, yet as if he 
 were a king among us. I remember 
 thinking that his broad forehead, slightly 
 Roman nose, mobile lips, and full fea- 
 tures wore a singularly mournful and 
 benevolent expression, like the faces 
 sometimes seen in Egyptian sculpture. 
 
 I did not discuss the matter of his 
 peculiarities with Anthony freely until 
 after our school-days at the seminary were 
 ended and he had left Whitestown. His 
 first letter to me was a partial revelation 
 of his thoughts upon the subject of his 
 own character and feelings. He had gone 
 to Philadelphia to teach in a large school, 
 while I remained with my relatives in 
 Whitesboro. He wrote me that he was 
 200 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 troubled in regard to certain matters 
 of which he had never spoken to any 
 one, not even to me, and he thought 
 it vv^ould be a good thing for him to 
 present them for consideration, if I wzs 
 willing to give him the benefit of my 
 counsel. In reply I urged that he should 
 confide in me fully, assuring him of my 
 desire to assist him to the utmost of 
 my ability. 
 
 The communication which I received 
 in response to my invitation was to some 
 extent a surprise. The letter was a very 
 long one, and very vivid and expressive. 
 He began it by alluding to the incident 
 upon the playground, which had oc- 
 curred nearly two years before. He said 
 that his life had been guarded, up to 
 about that time, from feeling the effects 
 of the misfortunes which attach to the 
 colored race. Living in a remote settle- 
 ment and a very pleasant home, where all 
 were free and equal and social distinc- 
 
 201 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 tions almost unknown, he had scarcely 
 thought of the fact that his mother was 
 an octoroon. He had heard her talk 
 a great deal about those distinguished 
 French gentlemen who had in the early 
 part of the century acquired lands in the 
 vicinity of his home, and he had some- 
 how a feeling that she had been remotely 
 connected with them, and that his own 
 lineage was honorable. He alluded spe- 
 cifically to Le Ray de Chaumont and 
 Joseph Bonaparte. These two men, and 
 others, their countrymen, who had re- 
 sided or sojourned upon the edge of the 
 great wilderness near his birthplace, had 
 been his ideals from childhood. He 
 had often visited Lake Bonaparte, and 
 had frequently seen the home formerly 
 occupied by Le Ray. While he had un- 
 derstood that he himself was only plain 
 Anthony C. Brown, the son of Thomas 
 Brown (a white man who had died some 
 two months before his son's birth), he 
 
 202 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 had yet an impression that his mother 
 was in some vague way connected with 
 the great personages whom he men- 
 tioned. How it was that Thomas Brown 
 had come to marry his mother, or what 
 the details of her early life had been, he 
 did not know, being, in fact, ignorant 
 of his family history. He conceded that 
 it might be only his own imagination 
 that had led him to suppose that he was 
 in some indefinite way to be credited 
 with the greatness of those wealthy 
 landed proprietors who had endeavored 
 to establish manorial estates or seignior- 
 ies in the wilderness. He had come to 
 understand that this unexplainable im- 
 pression of superiority and connection 
 with the great, which had always been 
 with him in childhood and early youth, 
 was due to his mother's influence and 
 teaching. There was about it nothing 
 direct and specific, and yet it had been 
 instilled into his mind, in indirect ways, 
 203 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 until it was an integral part of his exist- 
 ence. His mother had a farm and cattle 
 and money. She was in better circum- 
 stances than her neighbors. This had 
 added to his feeling of superiority and 
 independence. The accident of a slight 
 tinge of color had hardly risen even to 
 the dignity of a joke in the freedom of 
 the settlement and the forest. Looking 
 back, he believed that his mother had 
 guarded his youthful mind against re- 
 ceiving any unfavorable impression upon 
 the subject. In his remote, free, wilder- 
 ness home he had heard but little of 
 African slavery, and had regarded it as 
 a far-off phantom, like heathendom or 
 witchcraft. 
 
 Such had been the state of mind of 
 Anthony Brown. The light had, how- 
 ever, been gradually let in upon him in 
 the course of an excursion which he and 
 his comrade Ray had made the year pre- 
 vious to their appearance at Whitestown 
 204 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 Seminary. In that excursion they had 
 visited Chicago, Cleveland, Niagara Falls, 
 Buffalo, Syracuse, Rochester, New York, 
 and Albany. They had strayed into a 
 court-room in the City Hall at Albany, 
 v^here many people w^ere listening to 
 the argument of counsel vv^ho w^ere dis- 
 cussing the provisions of the w^ill of a 
 wealthy lady, deceased. A colored man 
 was mixed up in the matter in some way, 
 — probably as executor and legatee. An- 
 thony heard with breathless interest the 
 legal disabilities of colored people set 
 forth, and their inferior social position 
 commented upon. He learned that the 
 ancestral color descended to the children 
 of a colored mother, although they might 
 appear to be white. These statements had 
 impressed him deeply. They furnished 
 to his mind an explanation of the various 
 evidences of the degradation of the col- 
 ored people he had seen upon his journey. 
 Talking of these matters, he had found 
 205 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 that Ray was much better informed than 
 himself upon the entire subject. Ray, in 
 fact, frankly explained that a colored man 
 had no chance in this country. This was 
 in 1854. Anthony suggested in his letter 
 to me that he had probably been kept 
 from acquiring this knowledge earlier in 
 life by his mother's anxious care and the 
 kindness of friends and neighbors. He 
 explained that he did not mean to be 
 understood as intimating that he had not 
 some general knowledge of the facts pre- 
 viously, but it was this experience which 
 had made him feel that slavery was a 
 reality and that all colored people be- 
 longed to a despised race. After his 
 return home he had carefully refrained 
 from imparting to his mother any hint 
 of his newly-acquired impressions in re- 
 ference to the social and legal standing 
 of the colored race. In the enjoyment 
 of home-comforts, and in the freedom of 
 the wild woods and waters, the shadow 
 206 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 which had threatened in his thoughts to 
 descend upon him passed away. He re- 
 membered it only as a dream which might 
 not trouble him again, and which he 
 would not cherish. Still, there was a 
 lurking uneasiness and anxiety, born of 
 the inexorable facts, which favorable cir- 
 cumstances and youthful vivacity could 
 not wholly overcome. 
 
 In this state of mind Anthony, in ac- 
 cordance with the wish of his mother, 
 came to Whitestown Seminary. His 
 description of his first impressions there 
 was very glowing. He wrote: — 
 
 " I cannot hope, my dear friend, to 
 give you any adequate idea of what I then 
 experienced. For the first time in my 
 life I found kindred spirits. Your com- 
 panionship in particular threw a light 
 upon my pathway that made the days all 
 bright and gave me such joy as I had 
 never before known. And there was 
 Ralph, so kind and true, and Henry 
 207 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Rose, so honest and faithful! I cannot 
 tell you how my heart embraced them. 
 It is a simple truth, telling less than I felt, 
 when I say that I could scarcely sleep 
 for thinking of my new-found treasures. 
 You need to remember what it is to 
 dwell in a rough country, isolated and 
 remote from towns, to appreciate my ex- 
 perience. To me, coming to Whitestown 
 was a translation to Paradise. It seems 
 extravagant, yet it is true, that I met there 
 those who were dearer than my life and 
 for whom I would have died. The first 
 warm friendships of youth are the purest 
 and whitest flowers that bloom in the soul. 
 If these are blighted, it is forever. Such 
 flowers in any one life can never grow 
 again. 
 
 "And this brings me to that sad day 
 when on the playground Ray struck at 
 me, and through me at my dear, loving 
 mother. As he spoke those cruel words, 
 the world grew dark about me, the dread 
 208 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 fear which I had subdued revived with 
 tenfold power, and upon my heart came 
 the pangs of an indescribable anguish. 
 Oh, the chill, the death-like chill, that 
 froze the current of my affections as I saw 
 the faces of those I loved averted ! 
 
 " I went to my room and tried to re- 
 flect, but I could not. The shock was 
 too great. During the week that followed 
 I was most of the time in my silent room. 
 I may well call it silent, for the footsteps 
 to which I had been accustomed came no 
 more, and the comrades in whose friend- 
 ship I had such delight no longer sought 
 my company. That dreadful week was 
 the turning-point in my life. As it drew 
 toward its close I realized to some extent 
 what I had been through, as one does 
 who is recovering from a severe illness. 
 I knew that day and night I had wept 
 and moaned and could see no hope, no 
 ray of light, and that I had at times for- 
 gotten my religion and blasphemed. It 
 209 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 is true, my dear friend, that I mocked 
 my God. Do not judge me hastily in this. 
 I was without discipline or experience, 
 and I saw that for all sorrow except mine 
 there was a remedy. Even for sin there 
 is repentance and redemption, and the 
 pains of hell itself may be avoided. But 
 for my trouble there could be no relief. 
 The thought that I was accursed from 
 the day of my birth, that no effort, no 
 sacrifice, no act of heroism on my part 
 could ever redeem me, haunted my soul, 
 and I knew that it must haunt me from 
 that time onward and forever. 
 
 " I need hardly tell you, with your in- 
 sight and knowledge, that these inward 
 struggles led toward a not unusual con- 
 clusion. I allude to the determination to 
 which multitudes of souls have been 
 driven in all ages to escape the tortures 
 of disgrace. I turned away from human- 
 ity and sought that fearful desert of indi- 
 vidual loneliness and isolation which is 
 
 210 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 now more sad and real to me than any 
 outward object can be. To live in the 
 voiceless solitude and tread the barren 
 sands unfriended is too much for a strong 
 man with all the aids that philosophy 
 can give him. But when we see one in 
 the first flush of youth, wholly innocent, 
 yet turning his footsteps to the great des- 
 ert to get away from the scorn of lovers 
 and friends, and when we realize that 
 this which he dreads must continue to 
 the last hour of his life, there is to my 
 mind a ghastliness about it as if it were 
 seen in the light of the pit which is bot- 
 tomless. I have not recovered, and can 
 never recover, from that experience. You 
 will infer, however, that I did not remain 
 in just the condition of mind which I 
 have endeavored to describe. He whom 
 I had blasphemed came to me, and I was 
 penitent. The teachings of good Father 
 Michael at our home, the doctrines of 
 our Church, and the examples of the 
 
 211 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 blessed saints, were my salvation. Then 
 I felt that I would dwell alone with God. 
 And there was something grand about 
 that, and very noble. The purest joy of 
 life is possible in such an experience. 
 Yet it is not enough, especially in youth. 
 But I think I should have continued in 
 that frame of mind had it not been for 
 you and Ralph. How you two came to 
 me and besought my friendship I need 
 not remind you. Neither need I say how 
 my pride yielded ; and if there was any- 
 thing to forgive I forgave it, and felt the 
 light of friendship, which had been with- 
 drawn from my inner world, come back 
 with a joy that has increased as it has 
 continued. 
 
 " Coming to this city of * brotherly 
 love,' I begin my life anew, and at the 
 very threshold a painful question meets 
 me. No faces are averted, no one sus- 
 pects my social standing. A thrill of 
 kindness is in every voice. What can I 
 
 212 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 do ? Must I advertise myself as smitten 
 with a plague ? I dare not tell you of 
 the favors that society bestov^s upon me. 
 It is but little more than a month since 
 I came to Philadelphia, and during that 
 short period I have in some strange w^ay 
 become popular. My sincere effort po- 
 litely to avoid society seems only to have 
 resulted in precipitating a shovi^er of in- 
 vitations upon me. Evidently the fact 
 that I am tinged w^ith African blood is 
 wholly unsuspected. You understand, I 
 think, how I gained this place as teacher 
 in the school. It was through the inter- 
 position of Father Michael and certain 
 powerful Protestant friends of his who 
 are unknown to me. It was not my own 
 doing, and I do not feel that I am to 
 blame. But I will frankly tell you that 
 it seems to me cowardly to go forward 
 under false colors. One thing I am re- 
 solved upon, — I will never be ashamed 
 of my dear mother. Where I go she 
 213 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER ^ 
 
 shall go, and she shall come here if she 
 is inclined to do so. As you have never 
 seen her, I may say that she is regarded 
 as dark for an octoroon, and with her pres- 
 ence no explanation will be necessary. But 
 ought I to wait for that? She may not 
 choose to come. How can I best be an 
 honest man ? It seems silly, and it would 
 be ridiculous, to give out generally here 
 as a matter for the public that I am the 
 son of a negro woman. Yet I think it 
 must come to that in some way. What 
 shall I do?" 
 
 This letter caused me to think of An- 
 thony and his trouble much more seri- 
 ously than before. It was clear to me 
 why he was popular. I had never met 
 any young man who was by nature more 
 sympathetic and attractive. The reserve 
 and sadness which had recently come 
 upon him were not to his disadvantage 
 socially. They rather tended to gain at- 
 tention and win the kindness of strangers. 
 214 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 The question which his position pre- 
 sented, and about which he desired my 
 counsel, troubled me. But, fortunately, 
 after thinking of it constantly for two 
 days, I gave him advice which I still 
 think correct under the circumstances. I 
 argued that he was not under any obli- 
 gation to advertise himself to the public 
 as a colored man. The public did not ex- 
 pect or require this of any one. But I 
 urged that if he made any special friends 
 among those who entertained him so- 
 cially and with whom he was intimate, 
 he should frankly make known to them 
 the facts in regard to his family. I thought 
 this would be expected, and I was con- 
 vinced that such a presentation of his 
 position, made without affectation, would 
 win for him respect even from those 
 who might cease to court his society. I 
 further urged that he ought not, as a 
 teacher, to isolate himself or shun those 
 relations with families which would place 
 215 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 upon him the obligation to make known 
 his parentage. 
 
 Anthony sent a brief note in reply to 
 my letter, thanking me heartily for what 
 he termed my convincing statement, and 
 expressing his determination to act in 
 accordance with it. 
 
 Nearly two months passed, and then 
 my friend communicated the further 
 fact that he had gone so far, in several 
 instances, and with several families, as to 
 carry out the suggestions I had made. He 
 thought it was too soon to assert what 
 the ultimate result would be, but stated 
 the immediate effects so far as he could 
 see them. When he first made the an- 
 nouncement in regard to his color, many 
 had disbelieved it. When his persistent 
 and repeated declarations upon various 
 occasions had convinced his friends that 
 it was not a jest, but a reality, they had 
 been variously affected by it. He thought 
 some were politely leaving him, while 
 216 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 others seemed desirous of continuing his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Ten days later I was not a little surprised 
 to receive a letter conveying the infor- 
 mation that Anthony's mother had ar- 
 rived in Philadelphia in response to his 
 invitation. He stated, in his letter to me 
 giving this news, that he had now car- 
 ried out his entire plan and was satisfied. 
 His mother had visited his school, and 
 he had introduced her to his various 
 friends in the city. It seemed to me a 
 mistake thus unnecessarily to run the 
 risk of offending social preferences or 
 prejudices ; but I did not feel at liberty 
 to comment upon the matter at the time. 
 
 In addition to the information con- 
 veyed, the letter contained an invitation 
 which delighted me. Anthony wrote 
 that he and his mother were about re- 
 turning home. The long vacation would 
 begin in a few days, and they wished 
 that I should go with them for a visit. 
 217 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Few things could have afforded me 
 greater satisfaction than this. The wild 
 forest-country, of which my schoolmate 
 had told me much, I regarded as pecul- 
 iarly a region of romance and adventure. 
 
 My aunt objected to this visit, on the 
 ground that it would not be well for me 
 to associate with people of an inferior 
 race or doubtful color. But the great 
 sinfulness of this prejudice (as explained 
 by Gerrit Smith, Mr. Garrison, and Be- 
 riah Green) was so strongly urged, that 
 she permitted me to make the journey. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning early in 
 July when we three, with a team and a 
 driver, left the Mohawk Valley and 
 climbed the Deerfield hills, making our 
 way northward. On the evening of the 
 first day we reached the hills of Steuben 
 and gained a first glimpse of that broad, 
 beautiful forest-level, known as the Black- 
 River country, which stretches away to- 
 ward the distant St. Lawrence. The next 
 218 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 day we descended to this level, and, fol- 
 lowing the narrow road through forests, 
 and clearings, and little settlements, and 
 villages, arrived just at nightfall at the 
 home of my friends. It was a small, un- 
 painted, wooden house, standing near the 
 road. Back of it were barns and sheds, 
 and I saw cattle and sheep grazing. The 
 zigzag rail fence common to the region 
 surrounded the cleared lots in sight, and 
 in front of the house, across the road, 
 were the wild woods. A wood-thrush 
 was pouring out his thrilling, liquid notes 
 as we arrived. A white woman and a 
 large, black, shaggy dog came out of the 
 house to welcome us ; and a few minutes 
 later I had the best room, upstairs over 
 the front door, assigned to me, and was 
 a guest in the domicile of my friend An- 
 thony. 
 
 The location was a delightful one, 
 about three miles west of the little 
 village of Champion, near which was 
 219 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 a small lake, where we spent many morn- 
 ing hours. From a height not far away 
 we had glimpses, in clear weather, of the 
 mountains, seen in airy outline toward 
 the eastward. 
 
 My friend had the horses and wagons 
 of the farm at his command, and we took 
 many long rides to visit places of interest. 
 On several occasions we saw the decaying 
 chateau of Le Ray, which was but little 
 more than an hour's ride to the north- 
 ward of Anthony's home ; and on one 
 occasion we went a day's journey and 
 saw the stony little village of Antwerp, 
 and visited that beautiful sheet of water 
 on the margin of the wilderness, known 
 as Lake Bonaparte. Joseph Bonaparte 
 frequently visited this lake, and he owned 
 lands in its vicinity, and made some im- 
 provements upon them in 1828. 
 
 Anthony's mother was a tall, spare 
 woman, with a wrinkled face and large, 
 straight features. She seemed to me a 
 220 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 curious mixture of European features with 
 a dark skin. She used French phrases in 
 a peculiar way, and was full of the his- 
 tory of Le Ray and Bonaparte and vari- 
 ous members of the company that had 
 undertaken to make of this section, in 
 years gone by, a rich and fertile country 
 like the Mohawk Valley. It appeared that 
 the name which the company had given 
 to this region was Castorland, which she 
 interpreted to mean the land of the 
 beaver. She had, among other curiosities, 
 some coins or tokens which had been 
 stamped in Paris on behalf of the com- 
 pany, and on which the word "Castor- 
 land," accompanied by suitable devices, 
 was plainly seen. The one that interested 
 me most seemed to have as its device the 
 representation of a small dog trying to 
 climb a tree. I was informed, however, 
 that the animal was a beaver, and that he 
 was cutting down the tree with his teeth. 
 After talking freely with the mother, 
 
 221 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Antoinette Brown, I did not wonder that 
 Anthony had learned to honor the gentle- 
 men who had come from France to this 
 region in early days as among the greatest 
 men in the world. I did not find myself 
 able to discredit her realistic and vivid 
 description of the visits of Joseph Bona- 
 parte to his wilderness domain in a six- 
 horse chariot, followed by numerous re- 
 tainers. Neither did I find myself able to 
 disbelieve in the accuracy of her pictur- 
 esque description of Joseph Bonaparte's 
 Venetian gondola floating upon the waters 
 of Northern New York, or her account 
 of his dinner-service of " golden plate " 
 spread out by the roadside on one mem- 
 orable occasion when he paused in his 
 kingly ride and dined in a picturesque 
 place near the highway. She told in a 
 convincing manner many traditions re- 
 lating to the enterprise which was to have 
 made of the Black-River country a rich 
 farming region not inferior to the Mo- 
 
 222 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 hawk Flats. The fact that nature had not 
 seconded this undertaking had not dimin- 
 ished Mrs. Brown's impressions of its mag- 
 nitude and importance. The great tracts 
 which had been purchased and the great 
 men who had purchased them were viv- 
 idly impressed upon her imagination. In 
 reference to her personal history, except 
 for a few allusions to life in New York 
 City, she was reticent. 
 
 I remained nearly two months at the 
 home of my friend, and became familiar 
 with the places of interest surrounding it. 
 The little lake was a memorable spot, for 
 there Anthony first told me the full story 
 of his experiences in Philadelphia. He 
 did not conceal the fact that an attach- 
 ment was growing up between himself 
 and the daughter of his best friend there, 
 Mr. Zebina Allen. The way to make 
 his permanent home in the Quaker City 
 seemed to be opening before him. That 
 I should go with him for a few days to 
 223 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 Philadelphia when he returned, to " see 
 how the land lay," as he expressed it in 
 backwoods phrase, was one of his favorite 
 ideas. He made so much of this point 
 that I finally consented to accompany 
 him. 
 
 It was a rainy day early in September 
 when we stepped off the cars and went to 
 Anthony's boarding-place in the good old 
 city that held the one he loved and his for- 
 tunes. I was introduced to various friends 
 of his, and during the first twenty-four 
 hours of my sojourn I was delighted with 
 all matters that came under my observa- 
 tion. I was especially pleased with Mr. 
 Allen and his daughter Caroline. But 
 within two days I saw, or fancied that 
 I saw, a curious scrutiny and reserve in 
 the faces of some of those with whom we 
 conversed. 
 
 I think Anthony was more surprised 
 than I was when he received a note from 
 one of the trustees intimating that im- 
 224 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 portant changes were likely to be made in 
 reference to the educational methods to be 
 employed in the school, and that, in view 
 of these changes, it was barely possible 
 that some new arrangements in regard to 
 teachers might be desired by the patrons 
 of the institution. The trustee professed 
 to have written this information in order 
 that " Mr. Brown " might not be taken 
 wholly by surprise in case any step affect- 
 ing his position should be found advis- 
 able. 
 
 The circumlocution and indefiniteness 
 of this letter led me to infer that there 
 was something behind it which the writer 
 had not stated. It soon appeared that my 
 friend agreed with me in this inference. 
 I could not but smile at the coolness with 
 which he quoted the common phrase to 
 the effect that there was an African in the 
 fence. 
 
 "I fear it is the old story over again," 
 he said ; "but I am glad I have done my 
 225 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 duty to myself and to my dear mother, 
 whatever the consequences may be." 
 
 After some discussion, it was agreed 
 that I should call at Mr, Allen's office 
 (he was a lawyer) and endeavor to obtain 
 from him a statement of all he might 
 know of the new arrangement announced 
 in the letter which had been received. I 
 lost no time in entering upon my mission. 
 But I was compelled to make several ap- 
 plications at the office before it was possible 
 for Mr. Allen to give me a hearing. A 
 late hour of the business-day was, how- 
 ever, finally assigned to me, and just as 
 the gas was lighted I found myself by 
 appointment in a private room used for 
 consultation, sitting face to face with 
 Mr. Allen. I briefly stated my errand, 
 and presented the trustee's letter to him 
 as a more complete explanation of my 
 verbal statement. 
 
 "Yes, I see," said Mr. Allen thought- 
 fully, after reading the letter and return- 
 226 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 ing it to me. And he tilted back his 
 chair, clasped his hands behind his head, 
 and gazed for some minutes reflectively at 
 the ceiling. I sat quietly and studied his 
 face and the objects in the room. He 
 was a large man, squarely built, with 
 straight, strongly-marked features, blue 
 eyes, and sandy hair. In the midst of his 
 books and papers he seemed to me a sterner 
 man than I had previously thought him. 
 " Yes, I see," he repeated, at the close of 
 his period of reflection. And then he re- 
 moved his hands from his head and placed 
 them on his knees, and brought his chair 
 squarely to the floor, and, leaning for- 
 ward toward me, looked keenly in my 
 face, and said, " Did I understand that 
 you were one of those people, — that is, 
 
 similar to Mr. Brown?" 
 
 " How, sir ? " said I in bewilderment. 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 A moment later the purport of the 
 question dawned fully upon me, or I 
 227 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 should rather say struck me, so sharp and 
 sudden was the shock I experienced. If 
 there was anything in which I was secure 
 and of which I had reason to be proud, 
 it was my Puritan and EngHsh ancestry. 
 As the blood flew to my youthful face in 
 instinctive protest and indignation, my 
 appearance must have been a sufficient 
 answer to my interrogator ; for I remem- 
 ber that he, at once springing to his feet, 
 offered me his hand, making profuse 
 apologies and begging a thousand par- 
 dons. 
 
 I somewhat stammeringly explained 
 that it was of no consequence, and pro- 
 ceeded to name the families in my an- 
 cestral line, adding the remark that these 
 families, both those on my father's side 
 and those on my mother's side, were 
 pretty well known, and that they were 
 the genuine English and Puritan stock. 
 
 "They are indeed, sir," said Mr. Allen, 
 "and I congratulate you. I know the 
 228 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 value of a good lineage, and I feel safe 
 in talking freely with a gentleman of 
 your standing in regard to this disagree- 
 able business." 
 
 I found myself taking sides with Mr. 
 Allen in favor of family pride and against 
 "those people," as he had termed persons 
 of doubtful color. I had instinctively 
 defended myself against the suggestion 
 that I might possibly be one of them. 
 If this skillful lawyer had intended, as 
 possibly he did, to disarm me wholly at 
 the outset, so that I could make no at- 
 tack upon the position which he intended 
 to assume, he could not have done it 
 more effectually. 
 
 " The truth is," said Mr. Allen cheer- 
 fully, " we regard Mr. Brown as about 
 the best and most intelligent young man 
 that has ever taught in our school. He 
 is manly and conscientious to a fault. 
 Aside from his family, the only trouble 
 I find with him is that he is not politic. 
 229 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 It was very honorable in him to state to 
 us his parentage as he did. If he had 
 been willing to stop there, possibly we 
 might have managed it, — at least so far 
 as the school was concerned. But it was 
 not necessary and it was not wise to 
 bring that colored woman here. It may 
 have been remarkably filial and brave, 
 and all that, but it was not judicious. 
 I think you will agree with me that it 
 was not judicious." 
 
 I hesitatingly admitted that it prob- 
 ably was not. 
 
 "I felt sure that you would take a 
 sensible view of the matter," said Mr. 
 Allen. " I am truly sorry that Mr. Brown 
 could not have been more discreet. If 
 he has imagined that he could push that 
 woman into our society, he is mistaken. 
 And now, while I think of it, there is 
 a message which I should be glad to 
 send to Mr. Brown, if you will be so 
 kind as to convey it." 
 230 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 I expressed my willingness to carry 
 the message. 
 
 " It has probably come to your know- 
 ledge that my daughter Caroline has won 
 the admiration of Mr. Brown." 
 
 I replied that Anthony had mentioned 
 it. 
 
 "The truth is," resumed Mr. Allen, 
 " we entertained the highest opinion of 
 the young man, and he has visited fre- 
 quently at our house. I am willing to 
 admit to you that the feeling I spoke of 
 has been mutual. With your appreciation 
 of the claims of propriety, the impos- 
 sibility of a union will of course be 
 apparent to you." 
 
 "Then you regard it as impossible?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " Do you not so 
 regard it ? Think for a moment what it 
 involves. Some friends of ours in a West- 
 ern city, as my wife was saying yesterday, 
 have had a trouble of this kind a gener- 
 231 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 ation or two back, and the children of 
 the present family are in a condition 
 of chronic worry upon the subject. They 
 are wealthy, and are regarded and treated 
 in society as white people ; but the two 
 young ladies use some kind of whitening 
 on their faces habitually. The circum- 
 stances of the case are pretty generally 
 known, and you can understand how 
 unpleasant such a matter must be to the 
 entire family. It is claimed that a tinge 
 of color sometimes passes over a genera- 
 tion and appears more markedly in the 
 next. I do not know how that may be, 
 but the idea of the risk is enough to give 
 one chills. There is a story that the 
 Western family of which I spoke has 
 a colored grandson concealed somewhere. 
 Of course I do not know whether it is 
 true or not; but it serves as an illustra- 
 tion. 
 
 " My message to Mr. Brown is, that, 
 under all the circumstances, we think he 
 232 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 should discontinue his visits at our house. 
 I presume he will see that he should 
 take that course. I shall always be glad 
 to meet him anywhere except at my 
 home. In regard to a business engage- 
 ment, if he will allow me to say a word, 
 I would suggest that he should teach our 
 colored school. They are looking for a 
 teacher just now, as it happens, and he 
 would be very popular in that capacity." 
 
 I could not but admit that Mr. Allen's 
 suggestions were characterized by prac- 
 tical wisdom, but I hinted that the course 
 proposed seemed hardly just to Anthony. 
 
 "As to that," said Mr. Allen, "it is 
 true that our laws and customs are unjust 
 and cruel in their treatment of a subju- 
 gated race. But it is not wrong to avoid 
 marriage with any other race than our 
 own. As to the part that is unjust, you 
 and I cannot remedy that. So far as we 
 are individually concerned, we may deal 
 justly with the downtrodden, and I hope 
 233 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 we do so ; but the great wrong will still 
 remain," 
 
 I left the office of Mr. Allen, feeling 
 that he was in the right. I went directly 
 to Anthony, and, with a heavy heart, 
 reported to him the particulars of the 
 interview. It was a painful shock, but 
 he bore it with greater calmness and for- 
 titude than I had expected. When I had 
 concluded the recital, he remarked sadly 
 that he found it impossible to say that 
 Mr. Allen was wrong, hard as the truth 
 seemed. He felt that marriage was out 
 of the question, and said that he would 
 not have indulged the thought of it if 
 he had reflected upon the matter care- 
 fully. He was not fully decided what 
 course he would pursue. It was too 
 painful a subject and involved too great 
 a change to admit of a hasty decision ; 
 and he desired my best thoughts and 
 counsel, which I gave him. 
 
 After two days I returned to Whites- 
 234 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 boro, leaving Anthony in Philadelphia, 
 still pondering the course he would pur- 
 sue. Three weeks later I received a letter 
 from him, in which he announced that 
 he had taken the colored school. 
 
 Four months passed away. Then I 
 received from my friend a long commu- 
 nication, setting forth rather formally his 
 experience in his new position and un- 
 folding to me new views which he had 
 gained by reflection and contact with the 
 world. He also presented the plan of 
 life which he had decided upon, if I ap- 
 proved. I was greatly surprised at the 
 entire revolution in his ideas which had 
 been effected by his observation and his 
 courageous mental struggles. 
 
 "My own thoughts," he wrote, "have 
 been completely changed by reading and 
 reflection. There are three aspects of this 
 subject which I wish to make clear to 
 you. There is first the view that every 
 colored man has some sort of strange, 
 235 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 mysterious curse resting upon him by 
 a law of his nature. The idea is that, 
 although the black man in any given 
 instance may be superior, spiritually, in- 
 tellectually, and physically, to his white 
 neighbor, yet he cannot equal him be- 
 cause of this mysterious curse. This view, 
 sad as it is (advocated by the white race), 
 has settled down upon the minds of mil- 
 lions of colored people. It has crushed 
 out of them all self-reliance and inde- 
 pendence. It fastens tenaciously upon the 
 quiet, sensitive spirit, destroying its hope 
 and self-respect and enterprise. I need 
 not tell you how near I have come to 
 being shipwrecked by its influence. But 
 it is founded upon a lie. It is a lie backed 
 up by the assertion, practically, of nations 
 and of millions of intelligent persons 
 acting in their individual capacity. It is, 
 however, none the less a base, malignant, 
 falsehood, robbing the spirit that is cowed 
 and crushed by it of the sweetest posses- 
 236 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 sions of life. A similar falsehood has 
 established castes in India, and still an- 
 other has subjugated woman in many 
 lands, making her a soulless being and 
 the slave of man. 
 
 " If any black man has greater wis- 
 dom, strength, and goodness than the 
 majority of white men, he is higher in 
 the scale of manhood than they. The 
 real question involved is a comparison of 
 individuals, and not of races. 
 
 " You will remember how Homer, in 
 the * Iliad,' praises the blameless Ethio- 
 pians, beloved of the gods and dwelling 
 in a wide land that stretches from the 
 rising to the setting of the sun. The 
 ancient historians praise them also. 
 Words of commendation of this great 
 historic people are found in the ancient 
 classics. So far as I can discover, the pre- 
 judice against color is of modern origin. 
 
 " I believe that at no very distant 
 day the slaves will be liberated, and that 
 237 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 the Almighty will be the avenger of 
 their wrongs. 
 
 " I turn now to consider the second 
 aspect of this subject. When a colored 
 man is wise enough and courageous 
 enough to embrace the views which I 
 have presented, he may still be compelled 
 as a part of his lot in life, to submit to 
 the assumption that he is inferior. It is 
 hard to live in this way in the shadow 
 of a great lie, but it is better than to 
 have the iron enter more deeply into the 
 soul, so as to compel belief of the lie, as 
 is the case with millions of human beings. 
 When the spirit is enfranchised I can 
 understand that one may lead a very 
 noble life in cheerfully submitting to the 
 inevitable misfortune. There are a few 
 colored men who thus recognize the 
 truth and yet bow to the great sorrow, 
 which they cannot escape, with noble 
 and manly fortitude. I confess that I have 
 entertained thoughts of attempting such 
 238 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 a life. I think I could do so if I could see 
 that any great good would be accom- 
 plished by it. But my experience here 
 has taught me that any such sacrifice is 
 not required of me. I find that it is not 
 to the advantage of the colored people to 
 be taught at present. They tell me that 
 as they grow in knowledge their degra- 
 dation becomes more apparent to them, 
 and their sufferings greater. They leave 
 the school with the impression that for 
 them ignorance rather than knowledge 
 is the road to happiness. I cannot deny 
 the truth of their reasoning. If they 
 could be raised above the sense of degra- 
 dation from which they suffer, it would 
 be different. But, apparently, this can- 
 not be done. It is at least impossible in 
 the few years which can be given to 
 their instruction in the schools now pro- 
 vided for their education. The prevailing 
 sentiment among them is against educa- 
 tion and in favor of a thoughtless and 
 239 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 easy life. They do not wish to face those 
 fires through which the awakened spirit, 
 crushed by hopeless oppression, must 
 necessarily pass. Only yesterday a young 
 man described to me, with thrilling 
 pathos, the anguish of spirit with which 
 he had felt the fetters tightening upon 
 him as his knowledge increased. 
 
 " I do not feel called upon, therefore, 
 to devote my life to teaching. If there was 
 hope left in the case, perhaps I might do 
 so. I would labor on willingly if there 
 were light ahead. But, with millions in 
 slavery and others as tightly bound down 
 by prejudice as if they were slaves, I see 
 no encouragement. I think it the wiser 
 course to wait, trusting that Providence 
 will open a way for a change to come. 
 And this brings me to the third aspect 
 of this matter, and the last phase of it 
 which I desire to consider. It seems to 
 me to be my duty and privilege to with- 
 draw from the unequal contest. The 
 240 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 stupendous lie which crushes the mass of 
 the colored race has not imposed itself 
 upon me, although I have had a terrible 
 struggle with it that nearly cost me my 
 reason. I am not so situated as to be 
 compelled to live among those whose 
 very presence would be a constant 
 shadow, a burden to me, and a reproach 
 to my existence. Fortunately, I am not 
 compelled to accept the great misfortune 
 and bow to the assumptions of a ruling 
 race. I can retire to the fastnesses of my 
 native hills and forests, where petty dis- 
 tinctions fade away in the majestic pre- 
 sence of nature. I am already beginning 
 to anticipate the change, and instinctively 
 asserting that independence which I feel. 
 Indeed, I have given offense in several 
 instances. I have no trouble with solid 
 business men like Mr. Allen. They 
 have the good sense and fairness to 
 recognize the fact that a man is a man 
 wherever you find him. But some peo- 
 241 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 pie of the fanciful sort, with less brains 
 than I have, do me the honor to be 
 angry because I do not submit to any 
 assumptions of superiority on their part. 
 I might be so situated that it would be 
 wisdom to submit, to bend to a lie, to 
 lead the life of a martyr, as some noble 
 men of my acquaintance do under such 
 circumstances. But, fortunately, I can 
 afford to be independent, and I shall do 
 so and take the risk of bodily violence. 
 
 " You have now my plan of life and 
 my reasons for it. I shall adhere to it 
 under all ordinary circumstances. Never- 
 theless, if Providence calls me to some 
 work where great good can be done, I 
 will sacrifice my independence and take 
 up the load of misfortune which preju- 
 dice imposes, if that is required, and try 
 to bear meekly the burden and do my 
 duty in the battle of life. But I hope 
 this may not be required of me. Around 
 my home, as you know, are many immi- 
 242 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 grants, foreign-born, who do not inherit 
 or feel the prejudice against color. My 
 family is already one of the wealthiest 
 and most influential in our little com- 
 munity. With such property as I have 
 and can readily gain, and with such 
 school-teaching and political teaching as 
 I can do, it is a settled thing that our 
 standing will be at the head of society 
 and business, so far as we have any such 
 distinctions among us. To refer to the 
 matter of color in a business light, I 
 may remind you that its trace is very 
 faint in our family line. Already it has 
 entirely disappeared in my own person. 
 With wealth and position it will be to 
 me at home as though it were not ; and 
 when my dear mother passes away it 
 will disappear entirely and be speedily 
 lost to memory. I do not mean by this 
 to shirk the position of the colored man, 
 of which I have had a bitter taste. I 
 only mean to show you the brightness 
 243 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 and hope of my situation. I trust that 
 you will approve of the course which I 
 have marked out, and give me some 
 credit for courage in meeting and con- 
 quering the grisly terror, the base lie, 
 which sought to blast my life." 
 
 It would be difficult to express too 
 strongly my admiration for my friend as 
 I read the letter from which I have 
 quoted. It seemed to me wonderful that 
 he had been able so to disentangle him- 
 self from difficulties. The cool intrepid- 
 ity with which he had fought his way 
 through those mental troubles which 
 had seemed at one time about to over- 
 whelm him was to me the most astonish- 
 ing part of the performance. I wrote to 
 him in terms of the highest commenda- 
 tion, frankly expressing my astonishment 
 at the vigor, truth, and force apparent in 
 his actions and his reasoning. He was 
 satisfied with my letter, and proceeded to 
 close up his affairs in a deliberate and 
 244 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 decorous manner before returning home 
 and carrying his plan into execution. It 
 was his idea that I should spend some 
 months each year with him and he had 
 made other friends who would be invited 
 to visit him. 
 
 For three years only this plan was 
 pursued by us. Matters were as I have 
 described, when the war of the Rebellion 
 broke out. Here was that call to public 
 duty which he had alluded to as a possible 
 interference which might change the 
 course of his life. He felt from the first 
 that the contest was a fight for the black 
 man, and he was anxious to engage in 
 it. In a hasty letter to me he recognized 
 the fact that the spirit of John Brown, 
 whom he greatly admired, was still busy 
 in the affairs of the nation, although his 
 body was sleeping in the grave at North 
 Elba. 
 
 Anthony Brown enlisted in a white 
 regiment, there being no trace of color 
 245 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 about him and no objection being made. 
 He claimed to have a presentiment that 
 he would fall in battle at an early day. 
 Whether it was a presentiment or a mere 
 fancy, it was his fate. He now rests 
 with the indistinguishable dead 
 
 Where the buzzard, flying. 
 Pauses at Malvern Hill. 
 
 When I learned of his death, a duty 
 fell upon me. He had written in one of 
 his letters that if he did not return from 
 the war he would like to have me tell 
 his mother the true history of his life. 
 He had concealed from her his struggles 
 in reference to color. She knew nothing 
 of his trials at Whitesboro or at Phil- 
 adelphia. No words had ever passed be- 
 tween them upon the subject. He thought 
 it better, if he lived, that she should 
 never know, but if he died he wished 
 that his history should be fully made 
 known to her. 
 
 246 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 I made the journey on horseback over 
 the ground I have already described. It 
 was a dehghtful autumn day when I 
 passed through the village of Champion 
 and went on to Mrs. Brown's home. She 
 was expecting me, as I had written in 
 advance announcing my intended visit. 
 I could see that she was greatly pleased 
 to receive me. I had been at the house 
 two days before I ventured to introduce, 
 in a formal manner, the subject of my 
 mission. Talking of old times, and lead- 
 ing gradually up to the subject, I frankly 
 stated that Anthony had charged me to 
 tell her the story of his personal history, 
 and I exhibited his letter to her. It was 
 after dinner, as we were sitting in the 
 front room reading and talking. Mrs. 
 Brown immediately became excited and 
 anxious to hear. As I disclosed the sor- 
 row of Anthony's life and related the 
 particulars of his career, the effect upon 
 her was not at all what I had expected. 
 247 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 She became more and more excited and 
 distressed. At last she called sharply to 
 her servant-girl, Melissa, and told her 
 to go and bring Father Michael, and to 
 bid him come immediately. While Me- 
 lissa was gone, Mrs. Brown, with a great 
 deal of agitation in her manner, proceeded 
 to question me in regard to the incidents 
 of Anthony's career in Philadelphia, and 
 frequently broke out with the exclama- 
 tion, "Why could we not have known?" 
 
 Soon Father Michael came, and the 
 woman assailed him at once in a harsh 
 and accusing manner, speaking in the 
 French language with great volubility. 
 He replied to her in the same tongue. 
 There was only here and there a word 
 that I could understand. It was plain, 
 however, that there was a contest between 
 them, and that it related to my deceased 
 friend. 
 
 By degrees the matter was so far made 
 plain that I understood that Anthony was 
 248 
 
IN SLAVERY DAYS 
 
 not the son of Mrs. Brown, but was of 
 the purest white blood and connected 
 with people of rank. Beyond this I was 
 not permitted to know his history. When 
 I asked questions, Father Michael replied 
 that it was better " not to break through 
 the wall of the past." He said it was 
 too late now to aid Anthony, but added 
 that the trouble might have been averted 
 if it had been known at the time. 
 
 A day later I took my departure. As 
 I traveled back to Whitesboro I reflected 
 upon the strange events that had shaped 
 Anthony's career. When I turned on 
 the Steuben hills and looked once more 
 upon Castorland, it seemed to me a re- 
 gion of mystery ; and the useless tears fell 
 from my eyes as I remembered how one 
 of its secrets had darkened the life of 
 one of the dearest friends of my youth. 
 
 I subsequently learned that Miss Allen, 
 of Philadelphia, suffered indirectly from 
 the effects of Anthony's misfortune. She 
 249 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 was not able to forget the man she had 
 chosen. 
 
 I have never learned the facts in regard 
 to the early history and real parentage 
 of Anthony Calvert Brown. 
 
THE SECRET STORY 
 
THE SECRET STORY 
 
 Lady Mary: Here you may gain a 
 glimpse of that hidden life of the Path- 
 finder, which is back of all the tales he 
 has written and the little histories he has 
 told you. Here he will bid you farewell 
 (in these pages), as he shows you some 
 of his experiences, in pursuing the mys- 
 terious pathways which all of us are 
 treading in our lonely journeyings through 
 the world. The little Secret Story of the 
 Pathfinder is as follows : — 
 
 I remember a small boy, the one I 
 knew best of all. On a day of the spring- 
 time he was on the grass in a meadow 
 by the river. His friend was with him, 
 and there was a blue sky and white clouds 
 overhead. The gentle breeze, the soft 
 susurrus of the flowing stream, and the 
 253 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 shining of the sun, became to him very- 
 beautiful, and he was suddenly conscious 
 of a happiness beyond these, and of which 
 he could not speak, and which he did 
 not in the least degree know about or 
 understand. It was nothing ; it was form- 
 less as the viewless air. And yet it made 
 his whole life broader and brighter, as it 
 lingered with him for hours, slowly fad- 
 ing out in the joys of a strong, vigorous 
 boyhood, with constant outdoor activity. 
 
 A few years later the visitation came 
 again. It was by a waterfall. The sum- 
 mer day was bright as before. The 
 nameless joy, coming so without cause 
 or explanation, led the youth to wonder 
 what this light might mean. It lingered 
 for a day, and then slowly melted into the 
 cool gray gloom of an energetic, toiling 
 life of constant occupation. 
 
 And as time has gone by, at intervals 
 of years this visitation has come again 
 and again, and it has been the same silent 
 254 
 
THE SECRET STORY 
 
 joy under all kinds of outward experience 
 and circumstances. And it ever leaves the 
 life it visits broader, happier, and more 
 beautiful than it finds it. In the vs^ilder- 
 ness, in the years of lonely living, it has 
 come with peculiar power : in the days 
 of toiling in crowded assemblies in the 
 cities it has come, and the little boy, after 
 so many years, still wonders and questions 
 what it is. He has never mentioned it, or 
 discussed the question with any one. He 
 finds a few timid allusions to it in a very 
 private journal kept in the time of his col- 
 lege experience. Aside from these hidden 
 hints, no light of day has ever fallen upon 
 this secret story. The boy always had 
 an Achates. In his childhood and youth 
 there were no secrets between him and 
 this second self of his. From babyhood 
 each read absolutely the thoughts and 
 feelings of the other ; and yet Achates 
 never knew this secret history. That sense 
 of happiness was nearer than Achates. 
 255 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 This one I have named Achates came 
 to see me not long ago. He had been 
 three years in the Civil War, and since 
 that time in business, and had reared a 
 family. I did not recognize him at first, 
 and he did not know me. There w^ere 
 too many years betw^een us, — since we 
 had parted in wartime. But we spent 
 days together. We went down by the 
 river, and the two little boys of so long 
 ago came out of their hiding. The inter- 
 vening time rolled away. The war and 
 the family were gone, and we were two 
 children, the very same as ever. The 
 flaws of temper, the quick turns of yield- 
 ing and resisting, and all the peculiar- 
 ities, were so childish and so accurately 
 the same that we were startled, shocked, 
 amused, and driven to the conclusion that 
 we were not a day older in our essential 
 selves than we had been in the earliest 
 hours of our acquaintance. And yet with 
 all this I did not venture to ask Achates 
 256 
 
THE SECRET STORY 
 
 whether he had thought or known of 
 the dream, the vision, the visitation, that 
 had so shaped my Hfe and made it what 
 it is. 
 
 The little boy still questions what it 
 was that came to him so naturally that 
 bright day in the meadow. He questions 
 and he muses with no better wisdom than 
 at first. But in that secret chamber where 
 the little chap has lived so long, and 
 where the "I myself within me" has 
 wondered at the man who has slowly en- 
 veloped him and grown up around him, 
 and whom he yet knows to be but dust 
 and ashes, — in that calm retreat a guess 
 has long been recorded. The little chap 
 has even dropped into poetry about it. 
 I find the secret lines in the same hidden 
 journal of which mention has been made. 
 Without copying the timid lines, I may 
 give their purport, and thereby suggest 
 a solution of the mystery. 
 
 After questioning : — 
 257 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 " What is this strange, sweet silence stealing, 
 From out dim spaces, far, unknown ? " 
 
 The suggestion reads : — 
 
 " Is it a great and gentle spirit, 
 
 In kindly converse with my own ? " 
 
 The boy has not gone beyond this. 
 He has been willing to assume that the 
 great and gentle Spirit has used means. 
 He has not thought it necessary to make 
 biological insinuations. He has not cross- 
 examined the molecules, nor suspected 
 them of deceit or evil intentions of any 
 kind whatever. On the other hand, he 
 has been deeply grateful for the hours of 
 vision that have been given him. He has 
 known at such times that he has news, 
 glorious news, of events happening he 
 knows not where; and there is a joy of 
 friendship, which he feels, but compre- 
 hends not. The sunlight, the sky, the 
 lands, and the seas have become very 
 beautiful. All the world and the life are 
 258 
 
THE SECRET STORY 
 
 full of light. In the lapse of hours or 
 days this passes, but a vague conscious- 
 ness remains of a lingering power which 
 guides in the long journey. The little 
 chap has read with reverence the history 
 of Jacob and the Angels, the account of 
 little Samuel, and the long line of sacred 
 story which ever has been, is now, and 
 ever shall be, the hope and the light of 
 all the earth. He has read with confidence 
 of the dreams and premonitions of Abra- 
 ham Lincoln. He has questioned the 
 records of the Society of Psychical Re- 
 search, and has considered the probable ex- 
 tent of those subliminal possessions, now 
 so often mentioned. Through all this, 
 his own hidden story has remained the 
 same. That joy which came so quietly 
 and so long ago has not departed. In the 
 midst of a busy life, below the eager 
 career, this hidden story goes on and on, 
 unchanging in its character, through its 
 long, intermittent history. 
 259 
 
THE STORY OF A PATHFINDER 
 
 It is very true that it has been found 
 possible, in every age and every land, to 
 treat the story of the hidden life with 
 derision. But it is equally true, always, 
 that the story-teller can smile at Satan's 
 rage, and it is often seen that he can face 
 a frowning world. 
 
 When the little story-telling traveler 
 packs up and gets ready to leave, and bids 
 farewell to Dust-and-Ashes, who has so 
 long enveloped him, and to this beautiful 
 world, it is understood that he sometimes 
 casts a longing, lingering look behind : 
 but it is also understood by those who 
 have vision, and so can watch him and 
 know that his eye is not dimmed nor his 
 force abated, that he quickly turns from 
 the backward view, when he is leaving 
 this world, and with glad alacrity hastens 
 on his journey home. 
 
(Stie Stibetjitbe ^xt^^ 
 
 CAMBRIDGE • MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S • A 
 
ii l. ^ « "b.l016 
 
 ARNOUP— Mrs. Mary SS, at BurlingtiMtr 
 Flats, N. T., Monday, FebruaryvS, 1916,, > 
 In her seventteth year. Funeral ser- I 
 vices Thursday,' February 11, at 1 
 o'olook. Burial at Burlington Plats. : 
 Mrs. Arnold is survived by one son, 
 Ji^d€>» Lynn 3. Arnold of Albany. 
 
 DEMIf^Q — On Tuesday, February 9, 
 191p, at M^ residence. No. 12 Jay i 
 street, Philander Demirtg In the 87th 
 year of his age. Notice of funeral 
 hereafter. 
 
The Story of a Pathfinder — 
 
 The strong persofl^lHy Of the author 
 that breathes unfailingly i through 
 these pages is 4n' element that alone 
 would win (or "The Story of a Path- 
 rtntfer" a coy^la-I welcome and a place 
 in the library of every Albanian to 
 whom Mr. P. Deming is known, in the 
 intimacy of friendship or even as a 
 fellow townsman; but beyond the 
 pj^ide of possession are the genuine 
 Interest which inheres in the story, the 
 pl^9.aant advances Into the realms 
 I which invite peeper thpught and the 
 memories which remain as an agree- 
 able aftermath. 
 
 The titul9,r "Stojy of a Pathfinder" 
 is one 0t h^lt a dozen short sketches 
 and n^osi entertainingly portrays 
 from tji)e standpoint of Mr. IJeraitf^'s 
 own experience the adoption in 1896 
 of the stenographic system of report- 
 ing In courts. In these times of steno- 
 graphic ascendency one reflects with 
 a eSght ujjon "the painful effort and 
 slow anguish of those days" when 
 court and attorneys alike laboriously 
 kept thele own minutes, necessarily 
 abridged and more or less impgrfeet. 
 The story of the finding in Al^^ny of 
 this particular path which has been 
 unbrokenly traversed from that time 
 to this Is keen in interest and a de- 
 lightful demonstration of the indomit- 
 able force of conviction, determination 
 and energy. It invites reading. 
 
 Of the other, sketches, the best,, 
 perhaps, is "In Slavery Days," which 
 reads t?atherllke a recital of facts than 
 pf fancy, it is impressive, though not 
 So cheerful In tone as the balance of 
 the stories. Of th«m all, the last,^ "The 
 Secret Story," is most in touch with 
 the writer and is "a glimpse of that 
 hidden life of the Pathfinder, which is 
 b&ck of all the tales he has written 
 and the little histories he has told." 
 All who are familiar with tlie^ kindly 
 face so faithfully outlined lln the 
 frontispiece will read it with emotions 
 of pleasure and pride. 
 
 Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers, 
 price $1.25.