(^GV 811 
 1.D24 
 Copy 1 
 
 
 N D 
 
 LEARNING CO SAJ 
 A BOAT 
 
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 The Library of Congress 
 
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ALICE AND 
 
 OR 
 
 LEARNING TO SAIL 
 
 A BOAT 
 
ALICE 
 
ALICE AND 1 
 
 OR 
 
 LEARNING TO SAIL 
 
 A BOAT 
 
 BY 
 
 ONE WHO TRIED 
 
 
 Urn 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 
 MCMX 
 

 <*y 
 
 n 
 
TO MY WIFE 
 
 AFTER WHOM I NAMED 
 
 MY BOAT 
 
THE following pages contain a 
 true account of some of my ex- 
 periences in Alice (Class S) dur- 
 ing the yachting season of 19 10. 
 
 Crew B. is Beverley R. Robinson; 
 Crew E. is Clarence H. Eagle; the 
 Skipper is Henry Eagle. 
 
 I am not quite sure that I have got 
 the expletives always exactly correct. 
 They may occasionally have been 
 stronger. G, Do . 
 
 New York, Christmas, 1910. ^**' 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 OR 
 
 LEARNING TO SAIL 
 
 A BOAT 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 OR 
 
 LEARNING TO SAIL 
 
 A BOAT 
 
 I HAD lived for years on the sea- 
 shore, at Sea Gate, during the 
 summer months. I had watched 
 many a race from the Atlantic Yacht 
 Club dock. 1 had seen hundreds of 
 ships and barks, sloops and schooners, 
 yawls and dories on the bay, the beauty 
 of their sails always new and ever 
 changing. While I had never sailed 
 in a race, I had heard races discussed 
 from every possible point of view with- 
 out, somehow, having the least desire 
 to sail a boat. 
 
 But one day in the fall of 1909 there 
 suddenly came the idea that it was 
 about time for me to learn to sail, if I 
 ever intended to do so, and I mentioned 
 the subject to a young neighbor of mine, 
 who, in the language of the sea, was 
 certainly an A. B. of the first class. 
 3 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 When I say I mentioned the subject, I 
 mean that we went at it, as I recall it, 
 about as follows: "If I get a boat, will 
 you teach me to sail?" — "Surest thing 
 you know," replied my future skipper, 
 in terse, undergraduate English. 
 
 That being settled, the question of a 
 boat was equally promptly settled, and 
 I acquired a well-known small racer, 
 of the class called S: (she was Floyd 
 Noble's Gunda). The season being over, 
 she was laid up for the winter, in regula- 
 tion fashion, at the Marine Basin. 
 
 Now I must confess that during that 
 winter I often wondered how this new 
 venture of mine would work out. The 
 drawings I had of my boat, (which I 
 promptly rechristened, by the way, 
 calling her Alice, after my wife,) con- 
 veyed but little to my mind. It seemed 
 to me mysterious that so small a hull 
 should carry so large a sail — but I had 
 the boat; she was over yonder in a big 
 shed, dismantled, of course. I used to 
 go and look at her, and listen, with that 
 counterfeit appearance of wisdom, si- 
 lence, to what my companions might 
 say of her run, her bilge, and I know not 
 4 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 what else. Anyhow, thought I, I am 
 not responsible for this part of her, and 
 as most of it will be under water, I 
 shall not have to worry over it, as long 
 as the lead does not come off. 
 
 Then came an old crony of mine, an 
 ancient mariner in experience, and laid 
 down in a cheerful but emphatic manner, 
 that I had made a terrible mistake — 
 that I ought to have got a cat-boat (not 
 too large) and when I had learned to sail 
 her, to graduate to a larger cat, and pos- 
 sibly by 1 9 12 I might be able to try a 
 jib and mainsail boat. Encouraging as 
 this was to a novice — I was as green as 
 the underbody of my boat — I meekly 
 suggested that, owning a jib and main- 
 sail boat, perhaps I would have to learn 
 how to sail one, especially as I did not 
 wish to make firewood of her. Besides, 
 this suggestion made me think of Mr. 
 Winkle's proposed method of learning 
 how to shoot partridges, and Sam Wel- 
 ler's remarks on the subject, I agreeing 
 with Sam. 
 
 In due season spring came. The boat 
 was painted, rigged, and put overboard, 
 
 5 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 and one day I went over to get her — we 
 had moved to Sea Gate for the summer 
 — and there I stood on the deck of my 
 own boat, and I felt very proud in- 
 wardly, but also very much puzzled, I 
 must admit. That mast did seem very 
 tall, and the boom was certainly huge. 
 Then there were all those ropes on the 
 deck— halliards, jib-sheets, runners, the 
 main-sheet; and, down in the hold were 
 more ropes and sheets and tacks, a bal- 
 loon jib and a spinnaker, and on deck a 
 spinnaker boom, and cleats without 
 number. 
 
 As I knew as much about sailing as a 
 school-boy knows about Sanskrit, I con- 
 fess that I was rather scared at the pros- 
 pect, although I had from the very first 
 a curious sensation of pleasure. Well 
 do I remember my feelings when, after 
 making my private signal fast, we first 
 hoisted the mainsail and jib and stood 
 across the bay for a try-out, and, better 
 still, do I remember my first sail on 
 Gravesend Bay, in a stiff breeze one 
 Sunday afternoon. 1 1 gradually dawned 
 upon me that, while a vessel is a thing of 
 life, she is also reasonably docile, and 
 6 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 when I learned (as I quickly did) that 
 she did not run away with me, and did 
 not rear up like an animal, or buck, or 
 jump like a wild horse, I must say the 
 pleasure I first had grew to be delight, 
 and I realized that I was on the road to 
 an enjoyment of a kind I had never 
 before dreamed of. I had learned the 
 charm of life in the Legislature, and in 
 other public office; I had followed my 
 profession, the Law, for many years 
 with very considerable pleasure; I had 
 travelled in many lands with endless 
 enjoyment; but here there was opening 
 to me a new chapter of delight, the ex- 
 tent of which was utterly unknown to 
 me — and that delight lay in twenty- 
 eight feet of deck under my feet, and a 
 mass of white canvas over my head. I 
 determined to learn all I could, sail as 
 often as I could, and get as much fun 
 out of it as I could. And I succeeded. 
 
II 
 
 OF course I was crew in most 
 of the races that summer, and 
 well do I remember my first 
 experience. I had already learned that 
 S boats were pretty active things to be 
 in, but if anybody had told me that that 
 long rope, attached to the boom, and 
 called the main-sheet, could get into 
 such impossible snarls in the hands of 
 a greenhorn, I should have said my 
 informant was romancing. Again, I 
 never dreamed that it was possible to 
 be too quick with that same sheet, nor 
 did I know that letting it in or out a few 
 inches could make such a difference as 
 I was told it would, and learned it did. 
 I could see that my skipper was long- 
 ing to use some real fo'castle nautical 
 terms, and I ventured to suggest that, if it 
 8 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 would help any, he greet me with them. 
 But I fear regard for my years restrained 
 his youthful feelings, for he refused to 
 let out at me. 
 
 Do you who may read this remember 
 the first time you jibed at a mark in a 
 fair breeze, with a lot of boats near you? 
 When you had a chance to cut in ahead 
 of an opponent and get to windward? 
 I well remember the situation. Says 
 my skipper to me: "Now, when I give 
 the word, handle that main sheet 
 quickly." Acting on these instructions, 
 I did so, only to be greeted with a very 
 emphatic, "Gosh! I didn't say to do 
 it as fast as that. Look out, now, let 
 her go! Thunder! not like that. Look 
 out for M. &*. F. — Take care of that 
 buoy! Curses! Don't foul Bensonhurst!" 
 all followed by a very expressive grunt, 
 coupled with a smile as, after all, we 
 slipped to windward of the others. 
 
 And then, "Now, Mr. D., will you 
 please be a little careful with the 
 spinnaker. Don't make the sheet fast 
 — good heavens, man, what are you 
 doing? Don't you see you've got no 
 9 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 wind in her?" And here was I, with 
 one knee against the hardest piece of 
 bronze, in the shape of a cleat, I ever 
 brought up against, the spinnaker sheet 
 around one wrist, and the main sheet 
 in my other hand, doing my level best 
 to accomplish certain results, which 
 were none too plainly fixed in my mind, 
 and the reasons for which were none too 
 clear to me. And yet it was fun. True, 
 my poor seamanship cost us many and 
 many a race, but somehow it was fun, 
 even lying down on the deck to wind- 
 ward, with the coaming just catching 
 me in the lower ribs, and the water 
 pouring over the weather bow in clouds 
 of spray, and now and then a green sea. 
 The more I got of it, the better I liked 
 it, and the more I wanted. 
 
 There is nothing like it. There is a 
 fascination to it that nothing else 
 possesses that I have ever tried. And 
 then, it looks so easy and it is so hard to 
 do well. 
 
 Now, as to clothes — I remember well 
 one afternoon Crew B. and I were 
 sailing leisurely about the Bay, and the 
 10 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 subject of clothes came up, as we passed 
 under the stern of a yacht, well popu- 
 lated with ladies in gay attire (as is 
 quite proper) and gentlemen in yachting 
 togs. They strongly suggested the 
 Rocking Chair Fleet, an organization 
 which no doubt began with James II of 
 England's first experience as a yachts- 
 man. Crew B.'s nose went up in the 
 air as he descanted on fine clothes be- 
 ing the antithesis of yachting. Crew 
 B. wore a beautiful old brown soft hat, 
 which he carried over his left ear with 
 a rakish Hidalgo air as he passed the 
 Club verandah where the ladies sat, 
 but promptly deposited in the bottom 
 of the cockpit when we got aboard 
 Alice. He highly approved of my dark 
 grey shirt and white suspenders, which 
 he said made me look exactly like a 
 deck-hand on a Lehigh coal barge. The 
 skipper and Crew E. wore captain's 
 caps, and very, very old clothes, a 
 strictly proper combination, apparently. 
 All three, the skipper and Crew B. 
 and Crew E. were real sailors, and how 
 they pitied me for not knowing how to 
 sail! 
 
 1 1 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 One morning, early in the season, 
 I went for a sail. It was lovely and 
 warm with a nice breeze, and a perfectly 
 smooth sea. We were to sail a race 
 that afternoon, although the skipper 
 and Crew B. were away. We — at least 
 I — became ambitious to set the spin- 
 naker and I got it triced up in pretty 
 fair shape. But when it came to taking 
 it down, alas! one false move and the 
 boom was overboard and everything 
 hopeless. I never knew anything to 
 pull as hard as that sail did in the water! 
 When at last I got a good hold on the 
 boom, and started to haul it in, it 
 brought up hard against the shrouds 
 and, of course, broke, and the sail was 
 torn at the same time. And when, after 
 much struggling, I got the whole thing 
 on deck, I think I felt more like weeping 
 than swearing. It was such an awful 
 mess! 
 
 That same day, in the afternoon, we 
 had another mishap. We had a crew 
 who had never sailed on the boat before, 
 and, as we went about on one occasion, 
 he, instead of letting go the jib-sheet, 
 cast off the throat-halliards. Then was 
 
 12 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 confusion worse confounded! But it 
 is by all these things, it seems, that 
 sailing is learned, and I could only thank 
 my stars that I had not made this par- 
 ticular mess. 
 
 On another occasion, we were short- 
 handed, and the skipper and I sailed 
 alone. It was a hot afternoon, and 
 there was not too much breeze, but 
 it was puffy. I was crew, and I worked 
 on the spinnaker until I had set and 
 reset and jibed it I don't know how 
 often — it felt like a dozen times. A 
 spinnaker is a weird thing, anyhow. 
 I had set it and had just got aft, when a 
 puff of wind lifted it up and the boom 
 slipped off the mast. I jumped for it 
 and got it back before any other trouble 
 occurred. I had hardly got back to my 
 place when the same thing happened 
 again, but this time the wind blew the 
 spinnaker around the forestay. It was 
 a pretty job to untangle, standing on 
 the short bowsprit, holding on to the 
 forestay with one hand and pulling the 
 spinnaker in with the other; but I got 
 it in and then I took it down and stowed 
 it away. 
 
 13 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 And yet of all beautiful sights on the 
 water, a fleet of boats, with spinnakers 
 drawing well, with not too much wind, 
 is probably the most beautiful. Often 
 and often I have been tempted to turn 
 and watch the other boats, only to be 
 called to account by my skipper, for not 
 paying attention to my own sails. 
 
 Of course, you know how easy it is 
 to make a mooring if you go at it just 
 right. You just sail along and when 
 the man who is to catch the buoy sings 
 out, "Shoot!" you just steer for the 
 buoy, heading into the wind. Then, if 
 you are not going too fast, and the man 
 up forward doesn't miss the buoy or 
 doesn't drop it for fear of going over- 
 board, your boat stops. But when you 
 can't "shoot," or there is a very light 
 breeze and a tide against you, there are 
 about a dozen things that may happen 
 and not infrequently do happen, and 
 did happen to me at the tiller. I wish 
 I had jotted down on the deck some of 
 the remarks made to me by the crew on 
 one occasion. "Put your helm down! 
 Down! I said, not up! Say, Mr. D.," 
 14 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 (with a true nautical emphasis on the 
 Mr.) "can't you see you're going to 
 ram Florence?" ("Say, Henry, I don't 
 think he knows the difference between 
 down and up," says Crew B. to Skipper 
 H., sotto voce) — "There, by Jinks, we 
 missed it by about a mile." Well, any- 
 how, Crew B. was always cheerful, and 
 his cussing was always made with a 
 smile, so I said nothing, but started in 
 on a series of, to me, most complicated 
 manoeuvres, and finally reached the 
 buoy. 
 
 For the longest time I could not 
 remember what to do with the sheet 
 after we made fast, and I used to have 
 to stop and think out just how the boat 
 swung when her helm was moved. 
 
 There were many other things to do 
 — putting away the sails after a race, 
 stopping up the spinnaker and balloon 
 jib, pumping out the bilge-water, now 
 and then overhauling the anchor cable, 
 greasing the sail-hoops — and all this I 
 had to learn from the bottom up. 
 
 To any old salts who read this, what 
 I say may sound funny, but I assure you, 
 it was anything but funny to me, 
 
 15 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 And then sailing to windward — almost 
 automatically Crew B. would say, 
 "Keep her going, G., keep her going." 
 Now B. was a very good sailor, and has 
 forgotten more about the game than I 
 ever expect to know; but poor B's 
 temper used to be sorely tried. As for 
 H., he used to take refuge in a pipe 
 down in the hold. 
 
 One day, well on in the summer, I 
 started a race fairly well, I thought. I 
 got a good position — Blue Bill as usual 
 being first (that man Moore is a wizard, 
 anyhow) — and got to the first mark just 
 behind Blue Bill. Says Crew B. to me, 
 " You've got him, G., keep he.r a-going. " 
 And then, after a few minutes, up she 
 goes into the wind, her jib shakes, and 
 before I can get her back on her course, 
 away goes Blue Bill, and I never get 
 anywhere near her again. I can still 
 see Crew B.'s look of disgust and hear 
 him say, "G., you lost your chance. 
 Why didn't you keep her going? Gosh ! " 
 
 As I said before, it looks so easy, but 
 it isn't. 
 
 The summer began to draw to a close 
 and we had our Atlantic race week, with 
 16 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 no end of pleasure, plenty of wind, mag- 
 nificent races, and lots of water aboard. 
 I remember especially one nice green sea 
 we took aboard, down by buoy 24. 
 Another man and I were lying down to 
 windward (we each had a cleat, as usual, 
 under our last long rib) when we dropped 
 off a wave and, instead of rising on the 
 next one, struck it so that about a tun 
 of water came aboard. It was warm, 
 but it hit us a vicious crack, and wet us 
 from head to foot. I can still see it 
 in my mind's eye distinctly. Another 
 time, on rather a quiet day, I was lying 
 out to windward, with my head down 
 on the deck, when we shipped a small 
 wave, my attention being called to the 
 fact by about half an inch of water 
 slipping under me, and wetting me from 
 my chest to my feet. It was an odd 
 sensation. 
 
 All these various experiences taught 
 me something about sailing and, while 
 I do not pretend to know much about 
 racing, I did acquire enough confidence 
 in myself and my boat not to care how 
 hard it blew or how much water came 
 aboard. I went out every time I could, 
 '7 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 with anybody who was willing to take a 
 sail with me, and often took my wife out 
 for a sail. But an S boat is a trifle 
 small and wet for pleasure sailing. 
 
 18 
 
Ill 
 
 A LAS! the end of the season came. 
 /\ My skipper went back to college. 
 1 V Yacht after yacht left the Bay, 
 and we had only two more races to sail, 
 one for the Wilson Cup, which was the 
 best of all during the summer. It was 
 blowing hard from a trifle East of North, 
 a good 30 miles an hour. There was a 
 long, ugly roll on down the Bay. The 
 only other boats in the race were three 
 Q's, — Grey jacket, Joy and More Joy. ( I 
 had learned by this time to speak correct- 
 ly of Greyjacket, not the Greyjacket) and, 
 of course, against these Q's we had no 
 possible chance in this weather. But I 
 had as crew my friend Bob Spier and 
 young Phil Crovat, two real salts from 
 Neptune's best selection, and the sport of 
 the thing appealed to us very strongly. 
 19 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 A very unexpected thing added to the 
 excitement. A few minutes before the 
 start, as we went about on the port- 
 tack, the starboard backstay suddenly 
 swung clear of the side of the boat! 
 The shackle bolt had slipped out and 
 gone overboard. For a moment we 
 were nonplussed, but Phil got a long 
 brass screw out of the ditty-box, Spier 
 took a piece of rope and, using the screw 
 for a shackle bolt, lashed the stay down 
 with the rope, and we were ready to 
 cross the line on time. It was easy 
 sailing to the Bensonhurst mark, for the 
 water was smooth; thence to Fort 
 Hamilton with the wind abeam and our 
 boom to port, we began to rely solely 
 on our broken stay. We got some fine 
 knockdowns, which settled one question 
 in my mind, and that was, did a boat 
 ever heel as much as 45 ? From the 
 buoy at the Fort, we started before the 
 wind down the Bay to Can Buoy C. 7, 
 below the West Bank light, a straight- 
 away run of about five miles. 
 
 As soon as we got straightened out 
 (fortunately we carried our boom to 
 port — it would have been impossible to 
 20 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 have done so to starboard) we set our 
 balloon jib as a spinnaker. I, as cap- 
 tain, did not dare set our spinnaker, 
 fearing the strain on the stay would be 
 too great. Away we went like a bird, 
 for the water inside the Point was reason- 
 ably smooth, the waves at first being even 
 and long and unbroken. But as we got 
 off Norton's Point and thence down past 
 the light, the seas grew worse and the 
 wind stronger, for, of course, we were 
 well clear of the land. It really was a 
 fine sight, and a royal experience, which 
 neither of us three will ever forget. The 
 way Alice yawed was simply marvellous, 
 and, as I had never sailed her on such a 
 course in such a wind before, I was a 
 good deal put to it to know just how to 
 handle her. So when Spier sung out, 
 "Look out, man, or you'll jibe her!" 
 and I knew jibing meant shipwreck, I 
 agreed, when he asked me if I minded his 
 making remarks, that I did not. Finally, 
 I asked him to take the helm and show 
 me how to handle her, which he did, 
 and giving the helm to me again, after 
 a few minutes, I found his instructions 
 bore immediate fruit, for I could catch 
 21 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 her pretty well before she swung off her 
 course. 
 
 But didn't she just yaw! The spin- 
 naker would swing aft and then go 
 forward with a smash and, as she rolled, 
 the spinnaker boom would almost slip 
 off the mast. Phil, however, lashed it 
 fast, and then the only trouble was the 
 mainsail. The boom would go up in 
 the air, the sail first all slack up and 
 then come down again with a crash that 
 was decidedly exciting. However, the 
 backstay held, and we didn't jibe. We 
 took water over bow and stern, and 
 Phil bailed the cockpit with a bucket a 
 dozen times. It was a self-bailing 
 cockpit but I never saw it work when 
 we were under sail. Quite the con- 
 trary, — a self-bailing cockpit only works 
 in perfectly smooth water, when you 
 are not moving. I sat to starboard 
 with both feet on the port side of the 
 cockpit, holding the tiller with both 
 hands and watching the sails with care. 
 A couple of tugs passed us bound in, an 
 Old Dominion liner passed us to leeward 
 going out, nothing happened to us, and 
 we got pretty near the buoy. It was a 
 22 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOA! 
 
 dark grey afternoon, with a misty 
 atmosphere, and an occasional bit of 
 warm rain. The Q's had turned the 
 mark and were well out over towards 
 the Ambrose Channel, beating to wind- 
 ward, long before we got near buoy C 7. 
 As we approached the buoy (the tide 
 was ebbing like a mill-race) I asked 
 Spier to take her round the mark. Jibe 
 we couldn't, and we tried to make a 
 loop, but it blew so hard and was so 
 rough, that we decided it would not 
 pay to try and beat out past the buoy. 
 We could have gone outside the buoy, 
 but as we had no chance of saving our 
 time allowance, we decided not to take 
 the time. It was getting pretty late, 
 and we had a long beat home. 
 
 For a while we stood over into 
 Princess Bay, then tacked out again, 
 making almost no progress. The wind 
 kept up and when we again tacked into 
 the Bay, we had not gone a mile to the 
 northward. Then Spier (who was steer- 
 ing) asked me to slack away on the peak- 
 halliards; I did so, and the effect was 
 marvellous. I then took the tiller and 
 stood on a long tack inshore for a good 
 23 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 half hour, then went about and laid our 
 course for home. I made Phil take the 
 tiller, as I wanted him to steer her at 
 least for a while on this race, but he soon 
 gave it up to me. We sailed then on the 
 port tack all the way home. It was 
 awfully wet, and it was getting rather 
 chilly. We were, of course, wet to the 
 skin almost from the start. A shift of 
 the wind to the westward for about ten 
 minutes was of inestimable advantage 
 to us, and enabled us to head up so that 
 when the wind drew back to its original 
 point, we had got so far north that we 
 made the finish easily on this one tack. 
 (We sailed thus about four miles.) 
 
 The sun was setting as we passed the 
 Sea Gate lighthouse. The sky was very 
 thick with dark clouds, but over in the 
 West the golden light shone through 
 some rifts in the clouds in a manner 
 most beautiful to behold. And when we 
 crossed the finish line, we were beaten, it 
 is true, but we had had the best sail of 
 the season. The Regatta Committee 
 forgave us our failure to round the mark 
 which we duly reported, in view of our 
 disabled stay, wished us good luck and 
 24 
 
OR LEARNING TO SAIL A BOAT 
 
 advised us to take a drink and get into 
 dry clothes, all of which we promptly 
 did. 
 
 A few days later I sailed my last race 
 in Alice, with Crew B. and Crew E. 
 The wind died down and the race was 
 called off. We had this consolation, 
 that from being last we had, by various 
 pieces of good luck, got to be first after 
 two hours and a half of drifting. 
 
 I cut my private signal off the main- 
 sail and took it home as a souvenir of 
 my new experience. Next day I sailed 
 as crew on Chubb's Spider (Crew B. was 
 on Barstow's Soya) against Soya and 
 Greyjacket and Florence. With that race 
 the season ended. 
 
 I do not pretend to have learned to 
 race; I am far, very far, from having 
 learned more than just ordinary sailing; 
 but I do not believe anybody got more 
 pleasure out of his boat last summer 
 than I did, and I doubt if anybody was 
 ever more astonished than I, at finding 
 out what sailing brought with it in the 
 way of pleasure, excitement and interest. 
 25 
 
ALICE AND I 
 
 May Alice in her new owner's hands 
 (for I have sold her) and under her new 
 name, bring to her owner as much 
 pleasure as she brought me! 
 
 And as for myself? I confess that 
 Commodore Doremus, Noble, Chubb, 
 Barstow, Eagle and others were right 
 in their several predictions. Gardner 
 is building me a Q. 
 
 26 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS £ 
 
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