YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY Gift of

LEONARD C. HANNA, JR.

This copy of " The Hermitage-Zoar Note-Book "
is Noy^ 0of a limited edition printed on
hand-made paper in the month of
June, nineteen hundred
and two.

ALEXANDBE GUNN

THE HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK AND
JOURNAL OF TRAVEL

ALEXANDEK GUNN

THE HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK AND
JOURNAL OF TRAVEL

NEW YORK
1902

YALE

Copyright, 1902, by
William C. Whitney

ALEXANDEE GUNN
BoEN December 7, 1837
It came to pass, in 1879, that Alexander Gunn, the
writer of these Fragments, went from Cleveland
to Zoar, in Ohio, to find, as he says, "sanctuary
from the clamors and empty ambitions of the
world." He was then in the prime of life, with
fine health, and had retired from active business,
iu which he had accimiulated what he considered
an ample fortune. Visits of growing frequency,
encouraged by the opportunity for uninterrupted
study and reading, lengthened as the years went
by, until at last his life accidentally took root in
the simple, congenial community, and he made
there a permanent home at the "Hermitage," so
tenderly alluded to in the letters from England,
Italy, Switzerland, Egypt, and the Pacific coast.
It was not known until after his death, even by
his most intimate friends, that he kept any record,
and the unfinished, sketchy character of such of it
as has been recovered aud deciphered bears evi
dence that it was intended only for personal use,

as a reminder of pleasant incidents he wished to
review from time to time. He was unconscious of
any literary ability, and yet these desultory frag
ments, written in scraps at odd times and scat
tered at random here and there, have a quaint
charm that will recall his personality to those who
were attached to him, and for whom this volume
is printed. No attempt, beyond an orderly ar
rangement, has been made to alter or amend what
he wrote with no thought of posthumous publi
cation. He passed away at Nauheim, Germany, iu the
summer of 1901, and now rests on a hillside at
Zoar, beside the trees he planted there, ia the very
spot where, in life, he said he hoped to finally
sleep.

Westbury, Long Island,
June, 1902.

THE HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE -BOOK

THE HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK^

EARLY in the century there came from Wiir-
temberg a band of exiles, driven from their
native land by the cruelties of the King. That
thrill of feeling which shook the world at the
French Revolution lingered in the breasts' of a
handful of enthusiasts in Swabia. Burning with
a passionate thirst to be free, and exalted by reli
gious fervor, they revolted from the exactions
which crushed nearly all the Continental peoples
into the dust. Deprived of almost every natural
right, in a condition little removed from slavery,
forced into armies and farmed out by their mer
cenary rulers to fight the battles of strangers and
to suffer death in quarrels of alien peoples, they,
with the energy born of desperation, turned upon
their tormentors and refused to obey the odious
1 This volume is made up of entries. These books were found
writings in three little note-books at the Hermitage. There is
in which, without any attempt at evidence, in letters, of earlier
sequence, Mr. Gunn, from time to notes, but they have not been
time since November 1889, made recovered.

4 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK
law of conscription. For this they rotted in
prison, were harried by wholesale confiscations,
and finally were summarily banished. Gathering
some fragments of their scattered fortunes, they
sailed for America, landing in Philadelphia toward
the end of the year 1817. On the voyage, which
was long and full of suffering, they decided that,
in the new world they were seeking, all their prop
erty should be united; and as they were already
one in suffering and exile, they would so continue,
having one purse and living together, one for all
and all for one.
They were largely persuaded to this through the
personal influence of one of their nimiber, Beimler,
a man of uncommon force of character and of re
sistless and untiring energy. Combined with an
unusual capacity for affairs, he had the passionate
zeal of a religious enthusiast. His sermons, de
livered extempore, are to this day read at Zoar.
He was priest and king. As the society gradu
ally gathered into a closer union, his masterful in
tellect assumed an almost absolute sway, and he
molded the sentiment of the new commune to con
form to standards established by his individual
character. The record of life at Zoar must fail to inter-

HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 5
est all whose tastes or inclinations are not to the
last extent simple and natural; for in the life of
this kindly people, shut out from the hard world
and sheltered by the circle of hills surrounding the
village, there is little to attract the worldly. Here
come faintly the echoes of the strife. Well was
it named Zoar— the place of rest. Here, too, I
come and find sanctuary from the clamors and
empty ambitions of the world. Here am I free
from the envy which the poor must feel toward the
arrogance and pride of wealth, for here is a pure
democracy. There is no shadow of gradation in the
social scale. I sit at table by the side of the coal-
miner and feel no shudderings; the plowman is
my friend and equal. When I think how vastly
more innocent his life is, I feel that he is my
superior. With the dawn begins the stir of life at Zoar,
and the village bell rouses the sleeping ones to
another day of honest labor, that eimobling indus
try which gives us sweet, dreamless sleep and the
keen delight of hunger that is appeased by the
bountiful plenty of the commune. Soon all scat
ter to their various tasks— some to the fields and
others to the workshops. The long train of cows,
with jangling bells, pass through the village street

6 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK
to pasture. The various occupations cover all, or
nearly all, of the wants of life; within their own
circle all that is needed is made. The earth yields
her harvests, the mine its store of coal. The great
woods give up their treasure of useful timber.
The Tuscarawas River winds through the valley,
fringed with trees and skirted by broad fields of
great fertility; a considerable fall has been taken
advantage of, and a dam holds back a large head of
water, some of which feeds the canal, and then in
turn is used at the sawmill, the woolen factory,
the machine-shop, and lastly the flour-mill. When
released from labor, it rushes again to the river on
its way to the Gulf of Mexico.
Very pleasant is the clamor of the hens and geese.
The former pervade the village ; each family has a
numerous colony, its particular property. On a
summer morning, the cackling of hens and the crow
ing of cocks blend in a certain harmony with the
lowing of cows and the occasional trumpeting of
geese, who stalk in a great flock, apart from the
town, in a large field given up to them, through
which flows a clear brook in the pools of which
they dabble and swim. Shrill cries from guinea-
fowls and, sure herald of rain in summer, discor
dant notes of the peacocks, make a confused,
pleasant noise.

1889] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 7
1889
November 12. I leave Cleveland on the morning
train, and reach Zoar in time for dinner. At the
station Frank told me Louis was elected treasurer
and John trustee, in place of good old Ackerman,
who died last month. On the way up I meet John,
who comes half across the street to shake my
hand. I fancy he is much moved by the new re
sponsibility. I know I am, and I could only say,
"John, I am very glad, very glad."
The village has not settled into its usual calm.
The election took place only yesterday; they voted
in the church ; not all the women voted. John re
ceived all but seven votes. I think Louis 's election
was unanimous. In the evening the band played.
John plays the baritone horn, and as this was the
first rehearsal since his elevation, it was not known
if he would take his old place. They had played
two or three pieces when he came in, and he played
with the rest. I like the simple, strong way John
has. The Kleeblatt are in a state of suppressed de
light, for John is one. John, Christian, Joseph,
Louis, and I form this amiable Junta. Our
chief delight is to get quietly together and have
some modest refreshments of cheese and bread. A
fictitious poetical arrangement made long ago.

8 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i889
wherein Christian was King, and we were his Cabi
net Ministers, has afforded great opportunity for
pleasantry. It is the custom of his majesty to
fine his cabinet for any lapses a small keg of beer,
to be consumed in the various meetings of the Lords
in Council. My position at court is Minister of
Agriculture. One of our nocturnal revels was in
the tannery. Not used to pungent odors, I com
plained, and was promptly fined a keg by the King.
This modified my talk, and I was careful afterward
to say nothing about the smell. In fact, after a
little experience I did not object to the odor,
which proves the statement figuratively put by
Shakspere about "the hand of little use hav
ing the finer touch." After the concert we all
went home and to bed. I lodge in No. 7, the best
room at the village hotel; I call it the bridal
chamber. November 13. The village bell awakens me at six
0 'clock, but, with a delightful sense of lazy restf ul-
ness, I remain in bed until seven. My fire is not
out, and I put on more coal, and soon it roars again,
diffusing a genial warmth. In the morning I stroll
about and see my Schweitzer, who is slowly recover
ing from his dreadful wounds. I have not for him
the passionate pity and affection I had last summer,
when he lay at the point of death. The near pres-

1889] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 9
ence of the destroyer lent a pathetic charm to his
dull, hard life, and his face, now so stolid, had a
radiance such as precedes dissolution. Always he
smiles and says, " Dankeschoen, " at every little
kindness. Some say he is not good to his wife ; she
seems a kindly, affectionate creature, who loved
him not wisely but too well. Their baby is plump,
and, as Johann says, "Weist nicht viel," a rare
quality in a baby.
In the afternoon I persuade Christian Ruof, the
landlord, to go with me through the great woods.
I am afraid to go alone, for there are about three
thousand acres, and so much broken that there is
a chance of being lost. We go up the Strasburg
road, and so into the denser woods. All the ground
is thickly covered with the fallen leaves rustling
under our feet. The oaks, still clothed with their
robes of imperial purple, glow deeply in the faint
sunshine. Deep in the ancient woods we take our
way, steadily ascending, and finally reach the
highest point, where the crest of a hill is cleared.
The prospect is strikingly beautiful in all direc
tions; range after range of rolling hills fading
away into a faint purple haze, some covered with
woods, others with the intense green of winter
wheat. My companion seems to take a very prac
tical view of everything, and knows how much

10 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i889
wheat or corn may be expected from an acre. We
were warm with the long climb through the woods.
I saw him tugging at his pocket, and finally out
came a fat flask, which he offered me and I ac
cepted. He then made a draft on the bottle, with
great satisfaction. In a few moments there seemed
a softer beauty in the purple distances and a loftier
majesty in the ranks of noble trees. A sudden
ecstasy filled my soul; it seemed as if a sense of
ownership and power reached me. It was
' ' The sovereign alchemist that in a trice
Life's leaden metal into gold transmutes."
The descending sun warned us to go home, and we
started for the village, which was nearly four miles
away. We took the winding highway down through
the thick trees. The fallen leaves had left no trace
of wheels. As we fared homeward the setting sun
gilded the hilltop, and slowly the twilight came
among the ranks of trees. When we emerged from
the woods it was almost dark, and the cheerful lights
of the village were pleasant to see. Supper was
ready, and we went in hungry and were fed. I
confer with Joseph and Christian the younger, and
decide to ask John to spend the following even
ing with us in a guest manner in honor of his ele
vation to the trusteeship. They hope to see him,

1889] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 11
but it is not yet certain he will think it consistent
with the gravity of his new position.
From the woods I brought some beautiful ferns
—three different sorts. I took them up with a
considerable root, and have borrowed of Mrs. Ruof
two pretty old pitchers and put them therein ; they
make a pleasant decoration in my room. I read
awhile, and retire at 9.30.
November 14. The night has been clear and cold.
The ground is frozen hard and dry. A hoar-frost
covers all the trees and bushes. When lighted by
the sun just risen, the sight was beautiful. To-day
they husk the standing corn in the great field near
Bolivar. 1890
April 4. I came last night, walking from the
junction and sending my bag by express. The sky
is filled with threatening clouds, with occasional
drops of rain.
The two months I have been away give new zest
to the pleasure of return. They were all glad to
see me. The new beer is good. Its strength is
what the brethren most admire. The band played
very well. Louis left early. His new baby takes
a great deal of his nocturnal time. I was vexed
that it was not a boy.

12 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [isdo
Afterward John, Christian, Joseph, and August
came to my room.
Now sets in a stonn of snow and wind. The
windows rattle, and all the gables and chimneys
lend a voice to the roaring wind. The sleety snow,
dashing against the windows, lulls me to sleep. I
awake in the night, and a new sense of comfort
fills me as I feel myself warm and sheltered from
the storm. In the morning all was white, but the
birds, sturdily singing, refused to believe that win
ter was come again. The distances are obscured
by snow, which, before the blast, flies in clouds.
The trees bend low xmder the wind.
The coal-miner comes in with a triumphant air.
His wife has borne him a son— his first-born. He
offers beer, and tells me with open exultation that
the child weighed ten and one half pounds. As he
stood talking of his child, old Mike Miller came in
for his Sunday stock of wine. He is the last of the
original emigrants of Zoar, aged eighty-four. If
this infant shall live so long, their united ages will
make one hundred and sixty-eight years, stretching
from 1807 to 1975. How the world has changed
since 1807, and what will it be in 1975 ? Old Mike
told me that when he was young he could shoulder
three bushels of wheat while standing in a half-
bushel measure. When he worked in the great
mill, he worked day and night all days of the week.

1890] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 13
I walked through this storm to the top of the
hill over the old mill, and looked doAvn upon the
white roofs of the village and at the landscape,
whose distances faded into snow.
There is an election for township offices. Joseph
is to be trustee and Louis magistrate.
The singers celebrate the election of Ben Rieker
to be marshal, with libations, in the old cabinet-
shop. Louis, John, Joseph, August, and I have a dou
ble cold punch with sahnon. We parted at 11.30,
mellow and at peace with all the world.
Christian is certainly a humbug. He can lie
with most admirable facility. The night is clear
and frostily cold.
April 8. Frosty, and white with snow. Clear
and cold. The birds sing cheerily toward noon,
and the snow melts. Joseph, August, and I go up
to the garden and have wine.
1891
May 11. Dark, with misty drizzle. I had in
tended to husk com, but the threatening skies make
me abandon the idea. The committee on brick
start early to North Industry and Canton on a tour
of inspection. David is incredulous of the vast
profits of the brick business. The council last even-

14 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
ing was not unanimous for brick. Peter Beimler
was unconverted. Not until after the beer was
there anything like imanimity. Joseph looks owly
this morning; as a sure sign of katsen jammer, he
buys a can of pickled salmon at the store. After
demur I go out to the field and husk com. We
come home in the twilight, having husked over
twelve hundred bushels. There were thirty-three
men at work. The sky was overcast. Cool, but
not cold. Gottlieb Seitz, inspired by a concealed
bottle, was very merry; there were many jokes in
German and much hilarity. Toodle will be twenty
years old to-morrow. He laments his poverty, but
I persuaded him that "poor and content was rich,
and rich enough."
November 1. Leave Cleveland at 7.25 with Obed.
William Dertinger could not come— nor George
the brewer. Hen Gehring, who is sometimes aus
tere to compensate for the uncommon gentleness
of William, objected. I have found brewers gen
erally amiable— even soft. Plentifully supplied
with beer, they are in a condition of mellowness
always. They empty the dregs from their mugs
after "tossing them off" with a dexterous sweep.
My knowledge of the German language is certainly
limited, yet in moments of exaltation I find myself.

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 15
with a singular fluency, able to pour forth a vol
ume of words in that tongue, doubtless mangling
the language, but sustaining the flow. Tears ago,
at Leisey's brewery, in a full conclave of hilarious
brewers— deep in the cellar and under the spell of
beer— I was formally admitted to the brotherhood,
invested with an apron of striped cotton cloth, and
sworn to eternal fidelity. Certainly I have kept
my oath, and celebrate, when I can do so, in tiefen
Keller, the rites of the society.
How old is this propensity for drink— to subli
mate our dull souls— to burst the sordid shell ! The
poor, shriveled creature dilates. There is much
to be said in extenuation of a drunkard. Perhaps
from some finer sensibility the despised sot is un
able to bear the strain, and calls the bottle in to
crush his enemy. In ' ' Percy 's Reliques ' ' is the old
ballad I recall—
"Back and side go bare, go hare,
Both foot and hand go cold ;
Bat, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
"Whether it be new or old."
Joseph met us at Sandyville. The wind was cold.
A low, dark rack of clouds filled the sky. When
we crossed the bridge over the Nimishillen, Jo
seph said, "It is very cold; schnapps would be

16 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
good." I reproached myself that I had neglected
to bring any. His resignation was perfunctory;
secretly I was certain he had cause to blame me.
The woods in the wet shadow of the cloud glowed
dully; their splendors are reserved for sunlight.
Obed, returning for the first time after his de
parture from home, can scarcely conceal the ec
stasy he feels. I, too, remember the old days, when
I came home radiant and fresh. It was the end of
May, a soft, warm evening. I can yet see the young
leaves on the trees and feel my mother's arms
around me and her kiss upon my face. These are
the treasures of memory. When I think of these
things an ineffable tenderness and longing fills me
for the days that are gone— the more sad because
hopelessly beyond recall.
It is Saturday, and I am lodged again in the
bridal chamber, made cheerful by a fire. For me
they put up shades for the front windows, and I
spread out my things, and in a trice it is home.
The cows come trooping in, musical with bells.
Sunset in broken, lead-colored clouds and strong
south wind gives small promise for a fair day to
morrow. The pit dug on the hills in the woods, in
search of fire-clay, is finished to-day. It has been
an unpleasant job. The diggers were promised a
jug of wine if a good vein was found, so to-day

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 17
the wine was dispensed, and they made merry in
the great mill so long unused. There was a great
flow of talk, with many mde but innocent jokes,
Joseph and Christian assisting.
November 2. I had predicted fair weather, and
was disheartened to find, upon looking out, that it
rained miserably, with a strong south wind. From
my windows the sodden fields and wet road give
small promise of satisfaction for the rabbit hunt
I arranged to have. Toward noon we start Ma-
tbias, Joe Beiter, and Hen Gehring, with two dogs.
I do not shoot. Armed only with an umbrella, I
left slaughter to others. We went up the valley
toward Bolivar, beating the bushes and brush-
heaps without result.
In the swamp I saw a splendid specimen of the
burning-bush, the berries of a beautiful color. I
broke off some branches to bring home.
Soon a sharp shower began to fall, and the wind
veered gustily to the west; through the clouds ap
peared patches of clear sky. The sun burst out,
casting a glistening splendor over the wet leaves.
The trees bent under the strong gale, casting down
their leaves like flocks of birds. Over our heads the
sound of the wind in the great trees makes a har
monious music, like some vast instrument playing
its deepest note. Tired of the fruitless himt for

18 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
rabbits, I go home in time for dinner. After all
the rhapsodies over the beauties of nature, the most
fantastically sensitive is half ashamed to own the
claim chicken-pie has on him. A glorious sunset
is very well, but of the two we must choose some
thing for supper.
In the afternoon the band played in the "Palais
de Justice." Quite an audience of villagers was
present. At intermission Obed tapped one of the
two kegs of beer, and a general quaffing followed;
then more music and the finishing of the second
keg. About dark I found it was John's birthday
(thirty), so I protested something should be done.
Hastily Louis, Christian, and Joseph were pressed
into service. I procured the essential, and the
others ice, sugar, lemons, salmon, and bread, and I
brewed the punch. David was with us; we had
no trouble in consuming the punch, and every one
was happy. There was a strong sentiment in favor
of every one talking at the same time. It required
no little skill to get a word in; and since, when
elated, I desire to talk all the time, it was a source
of great hardship to me.
To-morrow being a working day, we end the fes
tivity at ten o'clock. In the night I was awakened
by my long-suffering stomach rebelling against the

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 19
salmon, which had the effect Falstaff says Bar-
dolph's nose would have on him.
November 3. Sunny and cold; wind northwest.
I go up to the farm-house, and find there will be
no husking to-day. I pay a visit to the clay bank.
The expert from Strasburg says it is a gold
mine. We go through the old mill, empty for
thirty years. It seemed a place for ghosts to hold
convention in— vast, musty, many-staired and echo
ing; the unused water from the race poured from
the dark arches. I play casino with August in the
evening. After two festive nights this contrast is
not favorable. When the teams came in from plow
ing they seemed very frisky, kicking and plung
ing after working all day. Leo, the head farmer,
says it is a sure sign of cold weather. About mid
night the wind rises to a gale, with snow. I fall
asleep with all the clamor of the elements to soothe
me, the sleet dashing against the windows. A new
value is thus given to warmth and shelter. I think
pityingly of the houseless, frozen wretches, and
pull the blankets closer about me.
November 4. Eveiything is white with snow;
the encouragement to rise is very slight, but I get
up and dress, feeding my fire. This is election
day. All the brethren vote at Bolivar— all Repub
licans but two or three. The shoemaker, a most

20 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [isoi
excellent man, has held alone the Democratic faith
for years, and feels deeply his convictions. We
look upon each other with a peculiar regard as
brethren of the true faith.
Joseph gave me a fat chicken, which Mrs. Ruof
stews in the old-fashioned way.
I walk to Bolivar and back for dinner. In the
afternoon talk with the brethren about the excite
ments of the day. It is here a half-holiday, the
only one in the year except Thanksgiving. Christ
mas cuts no figure in Zoar. The bridge and
trestle over the river and by the railroad are
in a very bad state. I am afraid of a serious
accident. The snow disappears by noon, and although
cloudy, with a cold west wind, it is not a bad day
for active exercise.
November 5. For the first time in a month the
sun rises in a cloudless sky. We go to the Boli
var plains to husk the standing corn. Twenty-five
men ; each takes two rows. I skirmish about, help
ing the hindmost. The air is elastic and the strong
south wind rattles the dead corn leaves. To be
alive on such a day is to be in ecstasy. Corn-husk
ing is one of the most agreeable emplojnnents in
the category of farm labors. I take dinner in the
field, surrounded by the working party, which has

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 21
been augmented by a score of women collecting the
husks in great pokes to make mattresses.
November 6. Sunny and warm. I walk to
Strasburg via the Furnace road. Meet the two
Christians, Louis and John, at the brick-works.
Return by the hill road. The view from the top
is beautiful. Strike south from my farm toward
Dover. Go to Swegheimer's and see Sam Lengeler.
Quail abimdant. Return through the big wood. A
partridge flies up by the side of the road at the red
bam. An oak tree with scarlet leaves fairly blazes
in the sun. Very tired, I reach home, bathe, and
change my clothes. In the evening a runaway cou
ple come; suspicions of irregularity agitate the
landlord. The course of true love never did run
smooth. November 7. Fair and warm. I go to the field
and husk corn; have dinner in the field, and work
until night. Then the band plays. We have a keg
of Gehring beer, and all get mellow thereon. The
"Tannhauser March" is played twice. The play
ers insist that Louis changes the tempo, according
to the quantity of beer he has consumed. There is
an animated discussion, during which I offer a
great volume of unsolicited information. Louis and
Joseph go over to the hotel with us. The landlord
is brooding over the Republican defeat.

22 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
November 8. Raining. No husking to-day.
November 10. Leave Cleveland at 11 o'clock-
dark, rainy, oceans of mud everywhere. I sigh for
arid New Mexico. Water, water everywhere! A
black, rainy sky every day. "The gentie rain" is
a misnomer. I walk over from the junction to Zoar. Louis
was in the black hole, talking over the clay bank.
The council meets in the evening. Later Christian,
with an elated expression, comes over for one of
the pressed bricks, and many circulars of brick-
machinery are read. Nothing is heard but clay,
clay, or brick, brick. Louis, David, and Chris
tian visit me at my room.
November 12. Rainy in the morning, clearing
at noon. We go out to husk com. Beautiful sun
set. Walk home with Ben Rieker through the
woods. We have oysters at Louis 's in the evening
—Christ Gar, John, Joseph, Louis, and I. To bed
at eleven. In the forenoon I burn Fritz Lengeler 's
old hat and buy him a new one; others with bad
hats were on hand, but the fit was off and I burned
no more.
November 13. Clear and fine, after dense fog;
hoar frost early. Did not hear the first bell. Go
to the field at nine; walk along the Bolivar road.
The hoar-frost lends infinite softness of outline and

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 23
color to the woods. Dine in the field. My fingers
get sore, and I stop at three. Walk home with
Fritz's two sisters; ride on the tail-board of the
wagon, on which are piled great sacks of husks
gathered by the women to make beds. Fritz gives
some curious particulars of ante-nuptial endear
ments among the Germans ; in some cases betrothal
is tantamount to marriage. In the evening John,
Gus, Louis, and I talk. Panic in New York ; stocks
are off; different here. Why should I ever leave
the friendly shelter of these hills, these quiet days
with cahn sides ? Without pride, to be always good
and simple and friendly; to love and be loved, is
not that enough?
November 14. Sharp frost and dense fog, which
clears away at noon. Go with John and Christian
to look for the brick clay. We walk through the
woods to make some further examination for clay.
On the high hill to the west I see patches of yel
low com now husked. The leaves are turned to a
more somber hue. The glory has departed. After
dinner I go to the great field and see them finish
the husking. I leave to-morrow for Cleveland. A
sense of regret and unrest oppresses me. I always
dread to go; perhaps I should be wretched if
obliged to stay. The band plays to-night. Not all
came; the thing dragged. The homs seemed out

24 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
of time; discords reigned. The effect was soon ap
parent; unstrung souls, discordant humors— every
one by the ears. Jacob Bernhardt, in a rage, hangs
up his horn and goes home, albeit beer was or
dered ; Louis would not stay, either. After the beer
went round, every one mellowed up, and all were
friends again. When I come home the house is
locked, and I grope up the back stairs. Read Haw
thorne 's "Mosses from an Old Manse." The
beauty of the text accords with my exalted state. I
retire late, full of joy, regretting nothing.
November 22. Return to Zoar. Weather calm
and bright, with hazy distances.
November 23. Walk through the woods with
two young men working on the railroad steam-
shovel. In the evening Mr. Beecher plays the
organ at the church beautifully ; after to my room.
I read from the Rubaiyat and a selection from
Lecky. November 24. Beautiful weather; walk in the
morning through the east woods to see the great
oak. I look up to the sky through the bare branches
radiant with sunshine; the wind, sighing through
the trees, moves me like solemn music; I exult in
my existence, forgetting age and poverty.
In the afternoon John and I walk through the
great west woods to my farm ; back by Wolf Run.

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 25
The light from the low sun is glorious upon the
rustling leaves and bare trees. In the evening Mr.
Beecher plays in the church for us. Prayer from
"Freischiitz" moves me; after concert, to my room.
November 25. Bright, clear. Go with the plow
men to the field near the station. The fresh earth
sends a fragrance up. Fritz invites me to see him
kill his pigs; I decline.
In the afternoon Louis, John, and I go again
through the west woods. Come home tired. In
the evening the band plays. The railway people,
paid off, buy much drink. In the night final sere
nade in the bright moonlight.
November 26. Cold and dark, threatening snow.
After two days' famine, beer has arrived. Great
rejoicing. The failure of the cider vintage and the
closing of the brewery have shaken Zoar to the cen
ter. Some hunters come with dogs from Massillon.
I go over to see the steam-shovel work, and the plow
in the field near the station ; unused, for thirty-five
years, to this, the recollection of driving my own
horses, Ger and Ham, comes back to me again. The
plowmen come on me for a gallon of beer. In the
afternoon I go to the Dover woods, where a gang of
lumbermen are beginning to cut the trees. The road
is dry, and with a long staff I fare sturdily along.
The cold, bracing air has no chill ; it is painful to

26 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
see the slaughter of the trees ; all are ruthlessly cut
down. On the way home the tanner calls me in and
asks me if I will drink a glass of wine with a poor
man. I could not refuse, although I was too well
aware what wretched stuff goes under the name
of wine in some homes. The appealing manner
of the man, as if he claimed pathetically my com
panionship, touched me. He is to move away to
Dover unwillingly. There were five children, the
oldest seeming not over six years, all with singu
larly beautiful eyes. I struggle down half a glass,
and say good night; a painful impression is left
on me by the occurrence.
To-morrow is Thanksgiving, and a general quiet
is on everything. No one stirs abroad, and but for
the lumbermen and shovelers the house is deserted.
November 27. Cold and dark. In the night
four hunters, after the house is still, pound and
clamor for shelter. After a long delay they are
admitted, and with heavy feet straggle up to bed ; by
their walk I judge they are quite tired out. In the
morning I see the plowmen. Leo did not turn out.
Solomon said* his eyes were sore; we had turkey
for dinner ; four grand men assisted with appetites
of unspeakable magnitude. In the afternoon John
and I go, by way of Lengeler farm, to the woods,
where they are cutting logs. It snows. The

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 27
crisp leaves give up under the fall a keen, mstling
noise. Louis, John, Joseph, Christ, David, Gus,
and I spend the evening together ; a drunken pro
bate judge breaks in on us with bare civility; he is
frozen out ; we part at eleven, comfortable.
November 28, Clear and frozen. I do not plow.
The poetry departs when the ground is frozen and
thickly covered with cow-dung. Anton the brewer
seems lost since the brewery has stopped. Fritz the
Schweitzer has charge of the fat cattie, and glows
with rude health, but he says he has to work all
days the same. Sunday is certainly a blessing.
Charley Solomon will make an all-day job of the
cabbage-garden; good soul, he will not work too
hard ; always he fears to work his horses too much.
Charley has a brother always smiling and of an
equally reposeful temperament, who, I am told, is
doted upon by two damsels at the same time. He
accepts complacently from each such comforts as
they are able to bestow, but artfully postpones de
cision. The steam-shovels are running again. I
like to watch the men move— strong, young, and
full of elastic, exhilarant spirits. Christian the
landlord has a bee-tree that he found last sum
mer in the Dover woods. To-day we go to get
the honey. An old, rusty man, given to drink,
is bribed by two or three nips of schnapps to

28 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
go along and pull out the comb; he is said to be
proof against the stings of bees. There are some
people who can handle bees without danger; whe
ther they stink too much for the bees to sting is
not known. The swarm was in an oak tree of vast
size and age. It was a sight to see the mighty
tree come down from its place thunderously; for
nearly four hundred years it had been the silent
inhabitant of this hiH; long before the swarming
cities it was here. In the evening the band played ;
Otto Seitz, a little fellow, played the clarinet for the
first time when I was present. De H., the steam-
shovel man, teUs me of his adventures with ladies,
and how, once married, he for less than a year held
his wife's regard when she dishonored him, and he
left her, full of bitterness and with littie scruple
about the marital rights of others. Only twenty-
five years old, and already soured!
December 9. At noon arrive Jackson, engineer,
and Sullivan, baggageman, on train. Give them to
drink from my flask. My old room is empty, and
I take possession. In a littie time my lamp and
old clothes are brought down. I open up my
toilet implements, spread out my books and pa
pers, and sit doAsm, entirely at home. The hog-
killing has been active since yesterday morning.
To-day the process has reached the stage of wurst

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 29
and sausages; raw and cooked liverwurst, brat-
wurst, and what-not are in active progress. The
army and Burkhardt, Anton, and Jacob are se
renely, though not helplessly, elated. There was an
air of inebriety pervading the entire working force,
and much merriment and singing enlivened the not
very enticing labor of sausage-making. In the
evening we go down and eat liverwurst and bread,
a most toothsome combination. The company was
hilarious; I feared some one would fall into the
open tubs of minced meat. Some livei'wurst put
out on boards to cool fell prey to a dog, who sneaked
up and, seizing a Unk, fled in the darkness. Some
one said impatiently, ' ' Herr Gott ! Noch ein mahl ? ' '
The smells of grease and steam, and the elated con
dition of the brethren, which, owing to my fasting
state, I could not fully value, sent me early to bed.
After retiring I could still hear faint sounds of
singing, and it was after midnight when the last of
the sausage-stuffers went home.
December 10. The morning is clear and cold.
I go to see the wood-cutters, walking out and in.
Already they have made sad havoc with the old
trees. The most painful thing is the waste of the
greater part of the tree. Think of the " lop and top ' '
of English forestry; of France, where the smallest
twig is carefully saved. Visions of back-logs and

30 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
roaring winter fires come to me as I see the waste
of all the tops and great branches of these trees.
After dinner Christian and I go out again to the
woods. We come back on the high ridge near Len
geler 's farm. Even in winter the landscape is beau
tiful, the yellow sunset lighting up the wilderness
of branches. There is a financial reaction, and all
values are disturbed in the money circles. I my
self am a victim. But what can disturb the in
estimable value of these woods, bathed in wintry
sunset glory?
In the paper to-day is a list of the great fortunes
of the country— from five to two hundred and twen
ty-five millions. Are they better for this superflux
—these unhappy men who are so rich? Nature,
our kindly mother, has not been so unjust to her
children who are nearly all poor. The wood-chop
pers, ruddy and strong, would not, with the shriv
eled carcass of Gould, take his wealth. 0 vanity!
' ' Take physic, pomp ! Phantom of rags and husks,
behold, with all your riches, you may not buy a
happy hour!"
Fritz Lengeler to-day has a son. He tells us,
with pride, it weighed eight poimds. Little lump
of humanity thrust into the world this December
day, you will be happy if the day does not come

1891] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 31
when you may regret the tenth of December of
this year. All the joy, may you have it!
December 11. Walk in the Lengeler woods in
the forenoon. In the evening John, Louis, Joseph,
and August come to my room ; we drink whisky and
water, and talk without ceasing. The bottle has to
be replenished, and I conceal it under my coat going
through the hall, unwilling to inflict pain on any
who, from seeing it, might vainly hope to partake.
Joseph gets swatimal, and we have pretzels and
swatimal. Joseph was very tropical in his state
ments. Rousseau would have shuddered at his
frankness in the way of confessions. We had a
pleasant time ; I light them down the stairs. In the
night the wind rises gustily, with sharp cold; the
windows rattle at every blast. I pull the blankets
closer over me, thank God for my comfortable con
dition, and fall asleep again.
December 12. In the morning John and I go
to the clay-pits, and through Middle Run home.
Although the wind was cold and biting, as soon as
we entered the woods it was mild and warm. In the
afternoon we walk to my farm, thence through the
woods to the lumber-cutters, and over Lengeler 's
hill home. A long walk— it was dark before we
reached the village. In the west vast purple clouds

32 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i89i
filled the sky about the horizon, patches of cold,
greenish yellow imparting a sense of threatening
calamity. The lumbermen's faces are deep pur
plish red from the cold. It is said that they get
their prodigious appetites from working in oak
timber. The amount of food consumed is some
thing wonderful. The steam-shovelers are more ad
dicted to making merry with the maids; the silly
creatures have already shown their several prefer
ences. Joseph has provided two young, fat geese
to be roasted in honor of my birthday. They are
stuffed and made ready, and are, as I write, roast
ing at Louis's home. The band rehearsal was te
dious, owing to the absence of David, who has
sprained his ankle.
To-morrow I go again to the city, always with an
increasing reluctance. I have a vague, distrustful
dislike of Cleveland, and but for my friends would
willingly never visit it again. 1892
January 1. Last night, to usher in the new year,
we had an entertainment at the school-house—
musical and dramatic. A rude stage was put in
the lower room. There was a curtain which had
views of its own as to raising and lowering,

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 33
places for exit and entry at the sides, but no
scenery. Candor compels me to say the acting
was the worst I ever saw, but at the horse-play
all the children laughed, and even the elders
seemed pleased. Perhaps it was some deficiency
of mine that made me yawn. Joseph and Levi—
violin and organ— played in the interludes some
pleasing airs, and the singers sang. The violin
and organ were good, and there seemed wide com
parison between the excellence of the music and
the badness of the acting. I realize how much
acting is an art. The musician studies long and
painfully to attain some mastery over his instru
ment. How, then, can you hope from raw material
to evolve an actor in a week? After the entertain
ment the singers and the band had their annual re
union, with oysters and bread and beer. There
was consumed five gallons of oysters, much bread,
and a half-barrel of beer. Some of the brethren,
notably Christian, ate incredible quantities of oys
ters. We left shortly after midnight, after noisily
wishing one another a happy New Year. The
party did not break up until two o'clock. Some
of the men were very much cheered.
I am building a summer house in the Hermitage
garden. The veteran had engaged for us a car
penter from Bolivar, a steady man, with little talk,

34 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I892
and some traces of a bibulous disposition. I am
told that he has some smattering of law, and in
earlier years pleaded before magistrates in some
small cases. On these occasions he quoted Black-
stone with much dignity, making points strong of
precedents and heavy with alibis. The veteran has
a cheek for rum, and loses no reasonable chance to
ameliorate his hard ditch-digging with what Omar
calls "the sovereign alchemist."
There are traces this morning of company in my
house. The oak floor is, however, soon swept and
a fire of logs bums on the old hearth. This fire
place is more than seventy years old. How much
could these old bricks tell! The generation who
first warmed themselves and cooked their food in
it are already forgotten. Sometimes I people the
old room with their ghosts, the simple, hard-worked
folk who hewed down the primeval woods, with
few wants and less cares. Old Mike says they
were gentler in those days— a more loving brother
hood ; but he may invest the past, wherein his young
life lies buried, with virtues it is not entitled to.
Always the old say, "There are no days like the
old days. ' '
The day is warm and sunny; at one o'clock the
poor little hunchback woman who worked in the
sewing-house was buried. She was sick only a few

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 35
days. Now shall her account be made up with
nature, who brought her misshapen into the world.
There should be much standing in her favor on the
eternal ledger.
There are no ceremonies at burial in Zoar. The
dead are simply buried without a word. The
cemetery, overlooking the river and the fair dis
tances to the west, seemed a pleasant place, under
the close shelter of the thick evergreens. Myrtle
covers the graves, perennially green. If the dead
could know, it might be some compensation to lie
in eternal rest in so sweet a place. A good many
came up from the village. There were a few
mourners, and those were in tears, the last homage
of affliction. The coffin was rested on two wooden
chairs; the upper end of the cover, hinged like a
box, was opened for those who wished to look upon
the dead— most with a cold, envious eye. I can
never look at the sad husk after the life has gone.
And now the elements receive again the physical
residuum, and the poor body will glow again in the
flowers and clothe the summer trees with leaves.
I am not reconciled yet to the absence of cere
mony at the burial of the dead—" Christian burial, ' '
to be denied which was once so hard a fate. Even
philosophy makes some show of majestic regret in
the funeral obsequies of the dead.

36 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
There is no sense of what, in the older civiliza
tion, is one of the needed proprieties; for the men
do not doff their hats— the homage paid to sovereign
death. One man begins hastily to shovel in the
earth, which falls with a gruesome loudness on the
coffin; and the crowd scatter away, and the snow
to-night has made a white heap of her grave.
At night John and Joseph and Louis sit before
my fire at the Hermitage. We have some glasses
of wine. I awaken in the night. The wind
blows fiercely, tearing one of the shutters from
my window. Lulled by the roaring wind, I fall
asleep, and so the first day of the New Year is
gone. January 2. All day the snow sifts down and is
hustled about by the wind. My men stiU are miss
ing, and so no work is done. August will to-night
offer a punch in honor of his first child. The men
who put in the clay trench to hold the spring above
the brewery have a nasty job in the mud. They
drink much beer, and, thus consoled, smile and
crack rude jokes. At night we have the punch be
fore a blazing fire. Two men from Harmony
(where there is a society, called the Economists,
similar to ours, but with an affectation of celi
bacy) are here with us. Oaths of perpetual chas
tity, as at Harmony, are not always kept. Nature

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 37
has a lien on man, and seldom relaxes when the
instincts are involved.
January 3. The distances obscured by the fine,
steadUy falling snow, with wind that moans and
makes the windows rattle.
Old Mike told me to-day of the time when he
came to Zoar, among the first. His father was left
behind sick, and his mother, with her two children-
Mike, aged twelve, and a younger sister — came on
through the woods alone. The wagoner who had
carried them from Pittsburg left them, as agreed,
at Sandyville, three miles from here, then a
wretched settlement of log huts in the woods. It
was a few days before Christmas, 1817. Mike tells
me how his mother sat down on a log and burst
into tears. Far from home, in a strange land, a
trackless wilderness, and no place to shelter her
children ! No wonder Mike says ' ' Men were kinder
in those days"; for a man with bushy beard and
butternut-colored homespun clothes came up and
asked her what troubled her. She told him. And
then he asked, "Can you spin?" and she said,
' ' Yes, ' ' and he offered her a home until she should
get settied with her own people.
In the evening the Economists and other friends
come and sit with me before the fire. There was
a concert by the band this afternoon. Women were

38 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
present— a pleasant innovation. David starts to
play a solo, and stops in the middle; his clarinet
will not work. When we go home the stars shine,
and the air is clear and very cold.
January 4. Thickly falling snow. In the after
noon I read before my fire. In the evening Herr
Rohr leads a rehearsal of the band with great vi
vacity and apparently great musical skill. After
ward, at the hotel night is vexed with the rude fes
tivities of some youths and girls from Bolivar.
They have supper, and evidently have wine. The
merriment at one o'clock was furious. Maudlin
laughter indicates inebriety; at last they noisily
leave, and all is still again.
January 5. My men come to work on the sum
mer house; it is snowy, but not cold; the cost is
mostly labor, and will not be much. To buUd a
summer house in winter is a sure sign of the ele
ment of hope. We all— even the old— discount the
future, which does not belong to us, for no one
knows what a day may bring forth. The swine
herd's wife is dead, and will be buried to-day. I
am told she longed to go. After a life of care and
sordid drudgery, what wonder!
The threshers raise a cloud of dust about the
great barn. Murky specters lazily minister to the
roaring maw of the monster which devours straw

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 39
and brings forth wheat. Loads of yellow straw
contrast pleasantly with the ghostly white of the
snow. The Economists will go home to Harmony to
day. There has been no lack of hospitality shown
them; valiant tipplers both, it has been their own
fault if they have drawn a sober breath during
their stay.
January 6. Thickly falling snow. The carpen
ter steadily works away in the storm. I sit by my
fire and read. Is this a case of capital and labor?
What strange agent is this called money, with which
men can be bought?
I should go to Cleveland on Saturday, but I think
of the city with a growing antipathy. After all my
investigation, the only cause is the odious contrast
my comparative poverty makes with riches ; an in
voluntary gulf has my sensibility placed between
me and the rich— not that I do not love my friends
who are so, but since I cannot do for them what
they will always generously do for me, the load of
debt increases. Nothing can come of nothing. I
have not much to recompense their kindness. I
am not what I have been. A continual struggle
with fortune, ever recurring disappointments, have
robbed me of my light heart. There are men, my
friends in other days, who would not then willingly

40 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1892
have lived long without me. Bitterly— too well— I
know how little now I am missed. And so I sit
before my fire, with the silent, wise companions of
my soberer years— my books. I have time to think
—to remember the old, dear days, the friends who
are dead, and those, still dear, who are also dead
in a bitterer, sadder sense. Some consolation my
own fidelity brings me. I will not break down the
old idols, but always with regretful tenderness think
of the lost as they were when they were by my
side. In the spring my trees will grow and my
flowers bloom. Nature is kind, for these speech
less and eloquent creations shall keep my soul
active. January 10. Thermometer 8° below at sunrise;
still and clear. All branches white with frost.
Through the night loud sounds of objects contract
ing through the cold. I go rabbit-hunting with
Jacob, Joseph, and Ben Rieker. We got five rab
bits, and walked home by the road from Dead Man's
HOI. We go to the Hermitage and play whist. I
have great labor in abolishing the clamor over bad
hands. It was a bear-garden until I firmly put
down the custom of groaning every time the cards
are dealt.
January 11. My carpenters do not come, al
though the weather is mild. I have my rabbit

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 41
stewed with onion and potato. I send to Savarus
Busch his appointment to be fireman on the N. Y.
& St. L. R. R., which Nick Werk kindly makes at my
request. Shef writes for wool mattresses to Louis,
and slyly digs me for having, two years ago, pre
sented the same to him without delivery. Louis
and I are arranging to heap coals of fire on his
head. Louis's birthday. We shall have a punch to
night at the Hermitage. The foundations for the
new hotel are excavated to-day. The celebration
of Louis's birthday— punch and oysters— went
off merrily. A digression on the subject of the
wasteful use of butter for culinary purposes makes
some ill feeling. Among the crotchets of antique
Zoar is the idea of Israel that pork is unclean
and lard may not be used. This notion involves
a loss of over five hundred dollars a year. Clamor
over the cutting off of wine while cutting ice—
another custom more honored in the breach— makes
confusion. There is a deathless thirst gnawing in
the male Zoar stomach. The trustees have to har
monize old differences and make every one happy
—an almost impossible, as it is a wholly thankless
task. The weather turns warm and the snow rapidly
disappears. My carpenters work on the summer

42 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
house during the afternoon— Birroway one of
them, a gentle, handsome, middle-aged man, who
has the reputation of being the champion fighter of
Bolivar. I have a respect for these 'strong and
foolishly fearless men, always in wonder why they
should fight at all. There is little difference be
tween the victor and the vanquished— both are hurt,
only one holds out longer than the other. And yet
great Christian nations fight in the same brutal
way, and grave and reverend men in solemn coun
cil decide for war.
January 12. The weather still mild, with
wretched slash under foot. The carpenters work
all day, and set the rafters up. The outline is com
plete and of good proportion. In the evening, sleet,
with wind, and afterward loud, gusty squalls of
snow. I stay in my room and read "Les Miser-
ables. ' '
January 13. The sottish carpenters, making an
excuse of the snow, do not come. The day is mild
and fine. I cut the bark for the roof to my summer
house. At night sleet falls again. I shall go home
on Saturday, and leave what is unfinished on the
summer house until spring.
January 14. Snow. We play whist in the even
ing. During the day I cut more bark for the sum
mer house.

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 43
January 15. The miU-pond, where they begin
to cut ice sis inches thick, is like a vast floor of
marble. The sleet of last night covers the trees
with ice, and in the sunshine they blaze with in
credible, unearthly splendor. The Green Vault at
Dresden would not furnish forth one branch of this
dazzling light. The distant woods, iced in every
twig, have a look of softness. Although the sky is
cloudless, it is so cold the snow does not melt.
June 4. Again it rains. The last thirty days have
yielded not more than ten pleasant ones. Shir-
mer is in despair with his flooded fields, and I, with
my little farm, am in a small way discomfited. My
trees grow apace, and their fresh leaves continually
delight me; one of the apple trees will bear. My
hands are hard again— the first time since 1858,
nearly thirty-five years. I come easily again to
labor, which brings hungei*, weariness, and pro
found sleep. My little garden makes me strong.
I look upon my growing plants with a pure delight.
So little is left in the world, I find a secure re
treat here. I am telegraphed for by Mr. Edwards
to come to town and join a party of men to go to
White's horse farm. He baits it with hints of
"good dinner" and "good time." I will go. I
am loath, after all, to cast off from all my old

44 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1892
i
friends. The bowl still makes me merry, and my
too fluent speech often raises a laugh among the
old crowd who do not despise a well-wom jest.
The new hotel is, between drenchings, approach
ing completion. There is much to criticize. The
plumbing is ill placed and the carpentry scamped.
Yesterday's storm made havoc with the ancient
apple trees, destroying four or five. Lightning
struck near John 's house, and from the farm-house
a chimney was blown down.
During the storm I was in the annex, and was
terrified by the cracking of thunder, with a deluge
of rain and a hurricane of wind. My tomato and
cabbage plants were quite flat.
I went last Saturday to Pollock's, to dine at 2.30.
We had the double magnum of champagne, broiled
chicken, and pork and beans— Caldwell, Kin,
Hogan, Barrett, Pollock, and I. Caldwell and Pol
lock drank nothing, so the rest had the wine. After
dinner we went with Splan to see the horses. We
descanted upon them, and I expressed great con
tempt for the waste of money in training horses.
Mr. and Mrs. Edwards drove in. We returned to
the house, where conversation was unremitted and
statements more and more inexact. Kin "turns
over" several people whom he dislikes.
I came to Zoar the next day— Sunday afternoon

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 45
—walking over from the junction ; it was dark when
I reached the village.
During the storm yesterday the rain came in,
wetting some of my things. On Monday I move
up to lodge there for the season. Colonel Barrett
spent a night this week.
Gretzinger prates wisely about lunar influences
upon the weather. He was astounded when I told
him there was nothing in it. He looked upon me
with pitying contempt, Gretzinger is wise with
horses, and it goes hard with them if they feel ill,
for he doses them with a horrible persistence.
After one of his doses, thrust down from a bottle,
all trace of the disease, however deadly, is lost in
the action of his medicaments.
He says a goat in a stable makes it healthy for
horses; he believes in a personal devil. It is de
lightful to see with what regularity in the morn
ing, followed by his small, red dog, he calls upon
Herr Dr. Breil for his eye-opener. Coming from
the apothecary shop, it is medicine indeed. It is
delightful when he and Christian go out, with lunch
and jug, to be gone aU day in the hills, trading
horses. Always they are cheated. They seek to
cheat, but more worldly people "get away" with
them. They go forth for wool, and come home
shorn.

46 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
I teach the kitchen to cook pork and beans. This
staple of New England is unknown here, where they
have a Jewish horror of pork. They cook with
butter instead of lard. It costs the community
five hundred dollars per annum for this freak.
What would that be, compounded for seventy years ?
The community consumes three thousand dollars'
worth of beer alone a year, to say nothing of cider ;
and every household has a private stock of wine,
made from everything conceivable— blackberries,
currants, grapes, and even elder-flowers. An in
satiable thirst is the strongest sentiment at Zoar.
It is safe to say that stimulants and cooking-butter,
two absolute superfluities, cost the society four thou
sand dollars a year.
Now the earth is beautiful ; its verdure, in vernal
freshness, gives new value to the distances in every
shade of tender green. Birds swarm everywhere;
robins especially make clamorous song. Often the
ecstatic burst of joyous music from a bobolink is
heard; for an under-note is the continual cackle
and crowing of fowls. They nest in the old straw
bam, which daily is reaped of its great store of
new-laid eggs.
June 10. This is the anniversary of my engage
ment in 1868. Alas! how changed I am, and the
other long dead. Sometimes I feel that one may

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 47
live too long, a mere bodily life after the brightest
hopes are vanished and the best friends dead or,
worse, alienated. I commenced digging in my gar
den at half -past four this morning, and saw the sun
rise. It is a waste of the best hours of the day to
spend them in bed. Joseph and I eat in the sum
mer house. Last night we had just finished a
punch, made of Gibson whisky, when August came
in, too late to partake.
June 26. Faintly the organ is heard playing in
church. A clamorous cackling of hens fills the
air with sound. An incomparable day, cool, with
light, high-sailing clouds; birds sing and the thin
cry of crickets tells of summer. Profound harmo
nies. Peace. Why are not all days like this? My
garden, where I write, is prosperous. The cab
bages, with rank, blue-green leaves, are beautiful;
from the new-cut grass faint perfumes come.
We had punch last night, a double brew. Gott-
wald made offering of the materials. At the end,
when the talk was animated— even noisy— there
suddenly came the sound of the fire-bell, and in a
trice all vanished, leaving me to put out the lights
and fasten my doors. It was not a dangerous fire.
Ludwig was drenched by water intended for the
fire ; there was great clamor, and every one offered
advice. Gottwald, blown with punch, performed

48 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I892
with great agility on the roof, barking his shins and
getting rarely smeared with dirt. This morning
he is haggard, and confesses to a bad night. His
stomach revolted in the night ; he is the first lodger
in the new hotel.
Frisehlers abound, and teething babies are like
leaves in Vallombrosa. The painters are a merry
lot; Campbell, the boss, is in a perpetual gale of
laughter. Christian Kies, during the excitement of
the fire, sensibly held the hand and nestled to the
side of the young woman in No. 1. I had a lan
tern, and, discovering him, asked if the fire was
quite out, at which there was a laugh. A photog
rapher has taken a view of the Hermitage, with
Herr Kappel and the water-cart involved.
I have made a partial conquest of the weeds in
my garden; never was there a battle so nearly a
draw. I take especial delight in my beets, with
their painted leaves.
There is danger of losing the tree-pruner and
hopman, whose fat wife works so steadily with him
in the field. This female, albeit fat, ugly, and old,
has still some magnetism. Ninon de I'Enclos and
she have the same frailties. Last week, one night,
after the toils of the day, she had a small informal
reception; the muscular, virile guest, one Mike, a
laborer on the farm, added beer copiously, and the

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 49
party reached a point of amorous familiarity re
pugnant to Herr Ackerman 's sense of propriety.
The mayor and police were summoned, and made
a descent on the roysterers. Madam was vastly
indignant, and threatened to abandon her job.
There seems to be little harm naturally in these
things ; it is a pity conventional ideas of propriety
should interfere with instincts at once so overpow
ering and in themselves so innocent.
The new hotel is nearing completion. There has
been a series of pitched battles between the old and
the new ideas of color, fitness, etc., in its finish and
furnishing. Christian, the landlord, would not be
considered an arbiter in matters of taste, but he
has a pertinacity which carries things generally his
way. A trunk-hoisting device, entirely superflu
ous and taking up three good bedrooms— the united
fruit of Kleine, Christian, and Ben, a mechanical
genius— is not an unmixed blessing.
I went home last Saturday, and spent Sunday at
General Caldwell 's. Emmons Blaine is dead ; young
and prosperous, with prospects for a long and use
ful life, he too has gone.
The band plays in the orchard. In a medley
they strike the "Carnival of Venice," and back
comes the memory of a night when I was young, at
a theater in Cleveland, during the war, with Hadley,

50 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
my dear, well-remembered friend, dead long years
ago in the fair South. The band began the "Car
nival of Venice, ' ' and he grasped my hand, saying,
' ' That is the air she played. ' ' He was sick in Lit
tle Rock and quartered in a rebel household. The
fierce women, hating their enemy, pitied the sick
young man. She nursed him through the fever, and
when he slowly recovered they found between them
a deathless love. She played for him this air, and
its sentiment was woven in his passionate love.
After the war they married and went to Galveston,
where he died, leaving her heartbroken and doubly
widowed. So when I hear again those strains, all
my soul melts with tenderness, and my friend comes
to me again, not like me, old and gray, but in eter
nal freshness of youth. Shall we never again know
one another? Well beloved, I yearn with infinite
tenderness for my friend, long lost. In the dry
husk left of my life there cannot come again these
profound attachments.
John says, sadly, my life is changed. Perhaps
it is fancy, but I feel that I am not treated with
the consideration I used to have. So narrows the
circle. There is a distrust felt toward age. The
infinite confidences of youth are withheld ; the hom
age paid to age is sorry compensation for the loss
of those nearer and more precious feelings. K.

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 51
struggles with his generous heart against it, but he
grows unconsciously cynical, and bitterly assails
the people whom he dislikes. It is hard to be ami
able always ; the disappointments of life hunger in
one for vengeance, and the ax falls.
Shef is still precious to me. Time has mellowed
him, as it does rare wine. He is of the intimate
circle of those dear to me whose existence is indis
pensable for my happiness. We always "get on"
together; he is the most amiable of companions.
Albeit critical and sometimes querulous, still his
corrections are always justly earned, his sense of
propriety and justice exquisitely keen.
The hotel is crowded to-day with cheap merry
makers, who come in buggies with their girls and
have dinner, roam about the village, and drive home
in the evening. Tanned reapers, awkward in Sun
day clothes, with table manners unspeakable. Now
is the season for white frocks and pink and blue
ribbons. No doubt the season is on for pairing
of the genus homo. Couples sit late in dark comers
and hold each other's hands. What for? Ham
let's madness was not wild when he asks Ophelia,
"Wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?"
Michael, the Nestor of Zoar, has a reverent mem
ory for Beimler, the old King of the Zoars. He tells
how, when the cholera devastated the village, he

52 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
would fearlessly go about ministering to the sick.
He seemed to have a charmed life, for neither
disease nor accident had power to quench his daunt
less spirit. Michael's wife died miserably of chol
era, and he, with one other only, buried her, with
out ceremony, as soon as Hfe had departed. He
attributes his immunity from the disease to an in
jection admimstered by a woman seven years older
than he, whom afterward he married. One Notter
he saw driving a four-horse team, at three o'clock
one afternoon, perfectiy well. Early next morn
ing, at the cemetery, burying the dead, he asked,
"Who is this?" and it was Notter. He died dur
ing the night. When one was taken with the deadly
symptoms, a box was sent straightway to the house,
and when breath left him he was hurried to the
grave. For eight years the society was celibate, and even
after marriage was permitted, the relation did not
include living together. A husband was fortunate
to see his wife once a week.
The society, like all settiers, was miserably poor,
and every one, men and women, worked. When
the canal was built from Sandyville the society sub
scribed twenty thousand dollars, with the under
standing it was to come to the furnaces ; but after
ward it went to Bolivar, and the money was lost.

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 53
When Jackson was elected, and free trade ruined
the iron business, the furnaces ceased to be profit
able, and eventually were abandoned. The big
farm-house at the foot of my garden was once the
warehouse for castings; they employed from six
teen to twenty molders in that department alone.
Now the band plays the "Tannhauser March,"
and memories of old days come to me. I have
heard it in London and in New York, in the midst
of luxury and blazing jewels. Now, in this remote
village, its stately rhythm, like the tread of invis
ible hosts, lifts up my soul. The trumpets ring
out, I see the royal procession, while the birds sing
a trilling obbligato.
I cannot break the landlord of wearing his hat
in the dining-room. Sexton gave him a "wipe"
at dinner, but I fear to small purpose, Ackerman,
with a severe face, kept the dining-room door; ad
mittance by card only, A row of ravenous bump
kins wait hungrily for a chance at the tables. The
painters are very merry ; I think beer was purveyed
Saturday for to-day's consumption.
They now play the march Albert Beiter wrote
before he died,
July 22. My cabbages fall victims to the hotel
kitchen. I cut their throats remorselessly. The

54 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1892
young beets also fall before the same insatiate de
mand for food wherewith the annual swarm of sum
mer boarders are fed. I dine at the Hermitage in
solitary state. With my garden and vegetables,
fresh gathered and well cooked, little flesh is
wanted. To-day they thresh wheat, and at lunch-
time radishes from my garden give zest to the liba
tions of beer.
Tuesday evening Peter gave a musical party— or
gan and violin— at the mill. The beer was eked out
with the home-made wine I shall in future beware
of, dulcet to the taste and wildly exhilarating. I
sing, and we organize again the string orchestra.
Joseph will play first violin, and David the clari
net—both excellent performers.
July 23. The village is infested with the annual
swarm of boarders. This is a cheap Newport for
the small aristocracy of the neighboring towns.
Some strong attempts at style appear. Many af
fect muslin, and some boldly invest themselves in
flowing Mother Hubbards, innocent of the uses to
which this mode has fallen in Cyprus. To escape,
I eat in my own cabin, cooking, like Crusoe, such
things as I like ; but very little indeed feeds a man,
and I wonder why the kitchen is such a center of
slavish activity; more than half the food is not
needed. These hot days a fresh-picked cucumber

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 55
from my vines, put to cool for an hour on a cake
of ice and duly dressed, is a great luxury.
The wind, blowing warmly from the south,
brings a hum from the threshing-machines and
more distant sawmill. Some robins bringing out
their broods flock in a grapevine near, and keep up
a sharp, complaining cry, foolishly giving notice to
a greedy black cat, prowling near, that game is
to be had. The men sang last night in my sum
mer house; distance mellowed and improved the
notes. One year ago Angus Campbell was here with me ;
now he is gone, and knows all, if anything. At the
approach of death a priest was summoned and
made him ready. A little greasy man, this priest,
ill tempered and fond of spirits. What power has
he to open the gates of heaven? All men are at once,
I think, both priest and victim. Who shall fill the
office of mediator between me and that unfeeling
power who blindly and heartlessly brings and takes
away; who makes me old and gray, having per
mitted me, for a little time, to flourish in the splen
dor of youth and health?
Miss C. marries a German baron. An exchange
of commodities— the baron' with his poverty-
pinched title, and mademoiselle with her brand-
new electric dollars. What a mania this title-hunt-

56 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I892
ing has become ! With indirect openness, American
women have cornered the title market of Europe.
August 16. Already the nights grow cold, and
in the daytime the sun blazes with fierce heat. Even
weeds share the languor which has fallen over
vegetation. I miss the song of birds ; only a stray
robin chants in an occasional, absent-minded way.
The bobolinks are gone. Swallows, sobered by
family cares, twitter no more. The wild rabbit in
my garden waxes daily larger and more bold.
Some prowling cats, seen of late, will doubtless
have him some of these fine nights.
To-day boiled dinner, with all the materials of
my own creation, except the bacon. I fancy a new
relish in these prosaic cabbages and beets. I am
almost self-sustaining, like the squirrels and birds.
I get my own food. My green com is beyond
praise. To-morrow, succotash.
Last night Gottwald 's birthday was celebrated by
the Arimathsens. He purveyed spirits from Boli
var. It was poor and did not even exhilarate ; some
strange cheese from Paul Schmidt's was eaten.
During the night a thick fog covered everything.
The old woman who muttered to herself as she
milked is dead. What a plain tale her simple life
would make! She never married. Under that

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 57
rough husk was no longing for love and beauty
hidden? Always to work and live poorly— oh. Na
ture, how unequal is your hand!
September 13. All day long the rain, long needed,
has soaked the dry earth. Before light, the lash
ing of the wind-driven drops awakened me. I
found new value to shelter and bed, high in my
room. I seemed to mix with the hurrying clouds
which in the morning showed themselves flying
from the east. Now night is coming on, and it has
rained steadily all day. I dined alone sumptuously
on two ears of my sweet com and a nutmeg melon.
All the art of man cannot improve upon the meal,
for sometimes I have cooked my own food. It is
a delight to triumph in cookery. Why is it not a
work of art, like painting or sculpture? The pleas
ures of the table live longer than any other. When
all else is vapid, a well-cooked dinner is enjoyed
by those even in the ' ' sere and yellow leaf. ' ' Hence
a great historian prided himself on his skiU in
this direction; and so, also, did the elder Dumas
and the great composer Rossini. Much of the
misery of life comes from bad and wasteful cook
ing. My chicken hash is a trimnph— a symphony of
chicken, salt pork, and vegetables.

58 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
Last night we had an impromptu punch and
played whist until half -past eleven. Mrs. Ruof is
better, but she is so worn out with the infijiite
drudgery of her life that her recovery will be
slow. Sam has gone, and Elizabeth must be
lonely ; she loves, perhaps wisely, but certainly too
well. The swallows are gone. I miss their wild flight.
All the birds are still, except the "saw-filer" which
has started its sweet note — more musical because it
is alone. All winter this bird stays with us. Often
in the sharp frost, when the sun shines, his sweet,
sharp note is heard.
My garden furnishes many with vegetables. If it
could be gauged from a financial point, there would
be a considerable revenue. My tomatoes are espe
cially fruitful, and I gorge daily and give away
my sweet melons. The boys, strange to say, do not
loot my garden. Every one said there would be
no good in trying to raise things, but I lose noth
ing. I care less and less for the world and take
a serene delight in my narrow circle, watching my
flowers blow and my garden thrive from the un
aided labor of my hands.
Now the wind has freshened to a gale, and
drenched chickens, with trailing tails, huddle de
jectedly under my porch.

1892] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 59
November 17. Yesterday I helped husk corn with
the boys on the Indian plains.
A true martins' summer day, soft and hazy and
sunny. I would often stop and look upon the hill,
still glowing with the last red leaves of autumn.
There is a beauty now— not bright like October, but
even lovelier. A sense of repose is over all; the
struggle is over and everything sleeps, while all
the corn-stalks hold their airy, shining gossamers
floating in the wind.
Last night we had whist at the Hermitage, Lud
wig was petulant, and continually lamenting the
badness of his hands.
Joseph, with his everlasting thirst, suggested
whisky, but I firmly refused to pour; Wednesday
and Saturday alone shall we sacrifice to Bacchus
in cold punch.
Threatened with cold, I took last night a Dover
powder, and the opium slowly took possession of
me. I am not certain if I slept; my awakening
was so full of fantastic thoughts, and my sleeping
of dreams equally vivid, that I lay in Elysium.
All things seemed easy, and nothing impossible.
I have not suffered to-day as I expected; the
descent was without a shock.
To-day I steadily work in my garden, and after
noon, the cold rapidly increasing, I put perishable

60 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i892
things in my cellar and bury my roots in the
garden. The band plays. I stay for a while, and then
write letters. 1893
January 13. Walked from Valley Junction to
Zoar. The earth, completely covered with snow,
sets the woods off in strong relief. In the dis
tance they seem purplish black. There is a beauty
in nature which winter cannot subdue. The trees,
stripped of leaves, show the marvelous nicety
of their growth. Some varieties glow with dull
color. The soft maples seem ready to burst into
bloom ; some oaks and birches are still covered with
their whitened leaves, which rustle in the keen
north wind. Quails, frightened from their covert
in a thicket, rise, whirring, and disappear; they
remember the hunter's gun. The Tuscarawas,
swollen with recent storms, fills its banks and rolls
sullenly along, carrying much floating ice. I set
tle myself in my old room. The house is full of
wood-cutters and steam-shovelers. Some of the
former are wonderfully strong and beautiful in
rude health. Mrs. Ruof wonders at the quantity
of food they consume after working all day in the
woods.

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 61
Louis leaves at seven o'clock for Pittsburg; the
band plays, with David leading ; they play uncom
monly well. The butcher and the army are quite
exalted; Sam and Ben Rieker also. At intermis
sion the butcher invites us to go and drink a glass
of wine at his house. It is very good. The army
has a very large tumbler, and so gets more than
the rest. After the concert. Christian, John, Jo
seph, and August come to my room. We have
much pleasant talk. Then, being seized with hun
ger, we have salmon and vinegar, with bread.
We part in the most friendly manner, I awake
toward morning with great thirst and a head
ache, I go down to the tank for water, and after
copious draughts go to bed and awake all right in
the morning,
I send a telegram to Sheffield, who sails in the
morning on the Britannic: "The 'fly-back' sends
greeting and affectionate farewell,"
January 14, I go to see the wood-cutters in the
Middle Rim woods; they are clearing the ground
where the tan bark was taken last summer. They
saw wood by steam in the hotel yard. The land
lord has singularly sore hands ; I fear he will have
trouble with them.
In the afternoon, via Lengeler 's woods, to the
lumber-cutters. The havoc in one month has been

62 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
dreadful— the dismantied woods, violated and de
faced; forlorn, worthless trees alone standing; the
ground is covered with branches. Old Mr. Ruof,
who was with the first party of five families in
1817, says that the first night (it was the beginning
of December) they slept under a large oak tree near
where the log church is. The next day they made
a tent-like hut of poles, covered with leaves and
earth, in which they burrowed. The weather dur
ing December was fine, and they built cabins of
logs; there were a few families settled near; one
near Sandyville; the nearest where NiKon now lives.
They had from there flour and potatoes ; there was
abundance of venison. During February the
snow lay four feet thick; the top, a frozen crust,
made it easy to capture the deer. The hunters
brained them with tomahawks, flayed them, and
gave the carcasses away; this was a great relief to
the new settlers. Wolves were very thick and
troublesome; the south side of the river was
avoided, owing to the multitude of wolves, whose
bowlings at night filled the new-comers with ter
ror. The fields along the river were cleared, the
Indians for many years having used them for com.
The late Jacob Ackerman, then a boy of thirteen,
was an invalid, and was unable to walk any part
of the way from Philadelphia. Next summer the

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 63
families came out singly and in parties. They had
been engaged meanwhile working for the Quakers,
who had been very good to them.
In the evening John, Joseph, and August come
in. Joseph tells of fox-hunting with horses and
hounds in other years in the Zoar woods. C. is
reported as very merry again. Wine is indeed a
mocker, January 15. Clear and cold. Thermometer 10°.
I walk along the tow-path to Valley Junction, where
the men are cutting ice on the canal. The way was
trackless through the dust-like snow, which spar
kled in the low rays of the sun. The whole earth
was a mass of glittering diamonds. Along the
water edge the trees and shrubs were white with
frost. The whole effect was of dazzling whiteness.
Over the snow all the wild things had left the
marks of their wanderings during the night; the
triangular track of rabbits, the close footfall of
partridges and other small things leaving a deli
cate tracery on the light snow. Several bevies of
quail arose from the sheltered comers, where they
cowered from the frost.
Where the men are cutting ice the canal widens,
and in the shallower water ice forms thicker than
in the deeper places. I was invited across and
offered beer; my thirst was not strong enough to

64 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1893
overcome the dread of breaking through the ice,
which seemed thin and treacherous. I retraced my
steps, and came home before noon.
In the aftemoon I go with John to the stone
quarry in Wolf Run woods, and on through to the
west line, making a detour and coming back by
the red-bam road. It is dark when we reach the
village; I have walked fully fourteen miles to
day. We go in the evening to hear the Mannerchor sing
at the school-house. They sing "Verlassen" very
well. After the concert we are invited to join them
in drinking. We make merry, and come home
after ten o'clock. Ben is up waiting to let Mr.
Wood in. He is mad at being kept up so late.
January 16. Walk with John and Mr. Wood in
the east woods to see the big oak. This immense
plant is eight feet in diameter, and possibly six
hundred years old. It was an old tree when Co
lumbus discovered America. How trifling is the
life of man to this silent living thing! There is a
mystery surrounding the existence of plants I al
ways ponder.
Some horse-dealers come, and Gretzinger and
Christ Ruof make a sale of some horses. Our people
exhibited much craft, the buyers great skill. Men
dacity seems a recognized necessity in horse-trad-

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 65
ing. The statements made were not always exact.
One horse, evidently defective, was vainly offered
for ten dollars. One would think the skin worth
that much. There are here to-day several teams
with stuff to be ground at the mill, and some verit
able hayseeds, with unkempt hair and chin whis
kers. They all patronized the bar— beer, wine, or
schnapps. The landlord has a new sign put up:
"Terms strictly Cash." I fear some steam-shov-
eler with a rank thirst and small income hath
bought and never paid.
There is talk of roast pig; Joseph has the mat
ter in charge. Pigs may be said to be a drug on
the market this year. Joseph has arranged for the
pig ; it is to be dressed to-night. I am deep in the
matter of sage stuffing and proper basting, and
have recommended baked potatoes to be served
with the pig.
The night is clear and cold; a half -grown moon
sheds brightness on the snow. All the brighter
stars are marshaled to add their radiance. The
distances fade into pearly grayness. Some per
sons playing clarinets occasionally inject sound
into the unearthly peacefulness— the village else is
asleep and still.
Four years ago to-day I was at Monte Carlo,
among the oranges and palms of that enchanting

66 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
place. Zoar— Monte Carlo— can any wider stretch
lie between any other two? I love them both. I
cannot forget the days at Monte Carlo ; they could
not last. But, oh! at Zoar there is a peace; the
world is far away, with its pride and wealth and
needless luxury, its false and hollow hearts, its
faithless friends. Nature is not unkind ; a limit is
placed on the duration of a life which so often is a
burden we cannot bear.
"Is not short pain weU borne that brings long rest
And lays the soul to sleep in quiet grave?"
I have enjoyed all radiant fancies, all exultant
hopes— the ecstasy and pain of love. After the
sunshine, who can wish to live in darkness? Bit
terness and longing for long-past and ever-lost
years, faces that we may see no more, voices still
forever, and now serenity comes from the clearness
of an evening sky crowded with purple clouds, from
the music the wind makes in the tops of prominent
trees, the old, familiar song of wild birds, the
scent of apple blossoms, the fragrance from clover
fields, and the hum of bees. From the ashes of the
dead past some embers remain. Let me rake to
gether what is left, and kindle again some sparks
of the ancient sacred fire. Too late !
Too late? Let me not listen to it; while I live

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 67
I will still cherish and hold fast to all. Avaunt,
thou specter of decay ! I will still be young. Gray
hairs and weariness, I will none of you. The world
laiows not how in this withered husk lies all there
can be of joyousness and ever springing hope.
Still shall my soul pay deathless homage to youth
and beauty and goodness. Infinite pity and love
shall drive the harsher spirits forth. I will no
longer load myself with to-morrow; to-day alone
is mine. Each day I must make some one glad that
I am alive— not with the power of riches which I
cannot wield, but with that finer supremacy of the
heart. While I sit alone, late, and full of old memories,
no sound except the distant barking of a dog in
dicates life on the planet which whirls me with
inconceivable swiftness through space. A little
while and I perish— a handful of earth to tell the
story of all my life. I take my place with the
multitudes who have gone before. Where are
the antique souls who breathed high thoughts?
Csesar, Alaric, Charlemagne? Gone! Gone! A
sound, a name— but for themselves, dust, and only
dust. As for me, I am in the hands of that great un
known and unknowable force which brought me,
not being consulted, and which takes me unwill-

68 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
ingly again. I trust me in the hands of this awful
power beyond the hysterical explanations of the
orthodox. I trust, and can wait.
This day I so reluctantiy give up will be replaced
by a to-morrow ; but only of to-day shall I be con
cerned. To-morrow never will be. It is, after all,
only to-day.
January 17. In the morning with John to Len
geler 's woods to count the saw-logs. The four-
horse teams are there loading. Each takes a heavy
log, one end on a two-wheeled truck, the other drag
ging on the ground going down the hill. One
truck upsets, and there is much ado to right it
again. There is a black haze obscuring everything
not near. In the afternoon the wind blows rawly
from the north. A dull, leaden sky, threatening
rain or snow. It is decided to have the roast pig
to-night. Night falls with bitter cold and a wind
which makes the windows rattle and the chimneys
roar. The wood-choppers come in and press
around the stove; the cold pierces even their ro
bust frames. Much drinking of schnapps follows.
The coal-miner grows suddenly rich after the
fourth glass.
We have the pig at 8.30. Louis is there. After
supper, much idle and pleasant talk, and to bed.
January 18, Sunday. Gray and cold. In the af-

1893] . HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 69
temoon, John, Louis, August, Josejjh, and I talk at
Joseph's. The younger folk skate. They come
and spend the evening with me. John is pessimis
tic—I am hopeful, but admit that chaos may come
again.April 12. I have been here four days, after an
absence of three months. I walked over from the
junction. As I descended the hill, the village bell
rang. Here, at least, the world shows little change.
The sound of the bell was like a welcome back to
"the calm haven of my choice." I was greeted
with much kindness. My home and garden are as
I left them ; spring is indicated in the faint move
ment of vegetation; the dormant roots have taken
life, and the annual miracle is being reenacted;
from the dull bulb bursts the glorious flower. I
begin at once to put my garden in order. The
sweet reward of labor is, first, health and strength,
and then the fruition in fruit and flower and vege
table. Michael Miller, the Nestor of the society,
died during my absence. For nearly seventy years
he has lived in this narrow and placid circle, sel
dom leaving the valley and having no want un
fulfilled. His passing was serene and painless;
the play was over, and Nature took him again to
her bosom.

70 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
April 16. I arise at the first bell, breakfast
early, and go out to revel in the freshness of the
morning. So many birds were singing that it was
a pleasant noise. Each hen in the village seemed
to have laid her morning egg, and was singing her
hosannas in honor of it.
I walk over to the furnace lot, where a bam is
being built. There they have pitilessly cut down
many of the beautiful old trees. Christian blasts
some stumps with dynamite. It is very hot, and
I saunter home.
In the aftemoon I plow awhile, and then help
Mr. Sturm dig a ditch. Tired and warm, I come
home early. In the evening the band plays.
To-day I go with John to the quarries on the
west side. The heat oppresses me. Along the
way the first flowers show their modest heads,
faint-colored and star-shaped, the gentle heralds
of the glories of their gaudier sisters of a later day.
Ben Rieker gets married to-night. Louis is in
doubt, having no new formula and thinking the old
one with the concluding exclamation "Whom
God hath joined together, let not man put asun
der, ' ' rather a strong statement from a justice of the
peace. John and Joseph come in, and we brew a
punch. The ice had to be fetched from the heap
at the fish-pond. The moon shines clearly, and the

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 71
soft air lures people out. Faint gigglings from
shady nooks betray the endearments of lovers. It
is the time of year when all animate things in
stinctively conspire to repair the ravages of decay,
from the croaking frog to man— one common im
pulse of reproduction.
The punch was very good. Louis came in from
the wedding in time to have a couple of glasses.
The wedding was private, but a meeting was held
of Ben's more intimate friends. A sound of sing
ing bears witness that the cheer is good.
. April 17. I came on the evening of the 8th,
walking from the Junction. An enervating soft
ness in the air made the afternoon sun tropical in
its warmth. From the shallow pools frogs send up
shrill clamor, and on the logs turtles sun them
selves, awake from their long winter sleep. Sweet
indeed is the song of birds— the lark, with its holy
thrilling note, and the robin, whose every note
brings back a painful, joyous remembrance of long-
lost youth. The birds ' note has not changed. My
soul, too, is young; it hears with the same ecstasy
it did so many years ago. In all sheltered places
the herbage springs rankly up. The trees are yet
bare ; willows show some catkins of grayish green,
and scarlet maples are ruddy, bleaching under the
warm sun. In the large field east of the village

72 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
many teams are plowing the long furrows, stretches
nearly half a mile without turning. I go up and
see them pass, smelling the fresh-turned earth, than
which there is no more delicate perfume.
In the evening Christian and Joseph and Louis
come to my room. I early retire, not feeling quite
well. I take Dover powder. The opium contained
induces profound sleep— or, if waking, languorous,
delightful thoughts.
April 18. The sun was shining when I awoke
and opened my windows. A clamor of birds filled
the air with sound. The buds have swelled dur
ing the night. A soft rain has changed the ex
pression of nature in a trice. Now the willows
and larches show a tender green. Some fields of
wheat on a distant hill glow with an intense green ;
the spring is here again, the miracle of vegetable
regeneration. Ah, could man also from the decay
of age blossom into a vernal freshness and youth!
I sit in the round room in the cupola and smoke
and look about. Some strains of music from a
piano below mix with my vagrant thoughts. A
tranquillity indescribable takes possession of me.
The church beU rings. I would gladly go to hear
a mass, with solemn music and ancient mystical
rites, but the severe, austere type of this religion
does not attract me. Many go a-fishing; we go
walking. I retire early.

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 73
April 19. Fine, clear sky; go to the furnace
with John. Show Christian how to fix the octagon
tower-room for me.
I go with Ben, William Lipps, and Joseph to the
red-bam farm, past the road-scraper leveling the
highway. In the evening I had intended to go to
the singing circle, where Ben is entertaining on
account of his wedding; but Louis hints that my
invitation was not for the meal, so I stay at home
and brew a punch, with Joseph, Christian, August,
and Louis.
April 23. Yesterday the wind blew steadily
from the north, raw and cold, with a sky full of
gray clouds ; the sun set clear, and it fell cold, with
sharp frost. Nature seems to provide for this, for
of all the tender plants newly started by the warm
sun of the last week, not one seemed injured. The
peach trees glow with an exquisite color against
the pale green of the other trees ; the woods are rich
with wild flowers so delicate in shape and color that
nothing can be written to properly describe their
beauty, I wander all day through the woods and
fields. This morning, on the high Dover hill, where
they plowed, I climbed, and on the southern slope,
sheltered by a great oak from the keen wind, I sat
for a long time, leaning against its vast body and
listening to the wind sighing through its still leaf-

74 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
less branches. Far across the vaUey rise the green
hills, covered with young wheat. The plowmen at
intervals toil heavily, turning the fragrant earth,
and hurling perpetual objurgation at their panting
horses. The clamorous world is far from my high
perch; sometimes I almost forget its troubles in
this mild, serene air.
There seems to be an understanding between the
sheep grazing on the hill and a flock of blackbirds.
The birds alight upon the sheep and delve in the
wool— for parasites, no doubt.
Bolivar is the nearest village— too small for com
merce, too large for rural innocence. Some people
from that village come to the hotel for entertain
ment. To-night they were boisterous, but left
early. There are, it is said, many people in Bolivar who
live by their wits— rustic Pistols who consider the
world their oyster.
We end the day with a punch : one quart to four
—John, Ludwig, Joseph, and I. Ludwig was not
quite well, but revived. We part at 10.30, exalted
and happy. I sleep profoundly, and arise young
again. April 26. Sunday, and fair, with light, flitting
clouds, blown by a west wind. Mr. Sexton is here,
and he and Uncle Jo go fishing. I see them off.

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 75
and then walk about the village and to church.
The sermon is mere sound to me, but I have a quiet
hour for thought, and many things come to me as
I sit looking through the colored windows at the
apple trees, in which birds already begin to build
their nests. In the aftemoon Peter, John, and I go
up to Middle Run and through the great woods to
the highest hiU.
April 28. I am digging in my garden, and,
while I rest, I record the advent of bobolinks with
their joyous song. The martins came on the 15th,
and fork-tailed swallows on the 25th. From the
clamorous singing, I fancy all the feathered folk
are here for the summer. To-day, for the first
time, the cows were driven to pasture, testifying
their delight by loud cries. Mixed with the eter
nal cackle of hens, comes the shrill, sweet cry of
lambs from across the brook. My tulips and hya
cinths, although they bloom for me alone, are mar
velous in beauty. They seem to say, "You have
given up the world for us; we will look our
best for you." Strange; for this bed of flowers
I give the world, nor think I am worsted in the
trade, A clamorous explosion in German, between the
ladies of the farm-house and Mrs, Rieker, has just
occurred. The cat of the party of the second part

76 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1893
has been caught red-handed destroying the Deshin-
ger chickens. This is the feline unpardonable sin.
May 20. Obed marries Miss Breil; a great com
pany invited. The coarse drinkers are regaled with
beer at the butcher-shop. I am invited to the house
too late to go ; at this hour— 10.30— sounds of hi
larity may be heard ; a number of girls go singing
home. I read Voltaire. In his essay on Authors
the contempt is fine.
"Why, from your provincial retreat, would you assas
sinate me with another quarto? You insist upon print
ing the sermons which have lulled your little obscure
town to repose. In London a troop of animals, in com
parison with whom Balaam's Ass was a sage, kindly take
the office of censor. They are, among men of letters, like
bats among birds."
Ludwig comes in to see me from the ceremony,
where he officiated.
The day has been showery and warm. The splen
dor, marvelous freshness, and beauty of spring are
enchanting. All the senses are laid under the
magic spell of Nature reviving from her wintry re
pose; joyous songs of birds continually fill the air
with music. My robin brought off her brood this
morning, and, with much shrill clamor, feeds them
in the apple tree near my door. Their wings are

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 77
scarcely sufficient to carry their odd, half -feathered
bodies. It is just twenty days since I noticed her
sitting on the eggs.
Voltaire says:
"There is, no doubt, more truth in the pages of the
'French Encyclopedia'— in relation to physics— than in
aU the library of Alexandria, the loss of which is so much
regretted. ' '
"They sport in an ocean of ignorance which has nei
ther bottom nor shore."
"There are always more persons who compile than
people who think."
May 22. This day of perfect beauty, following
a night with soft, warm airs and faint, half -ob
scured moonlight, seems like the beginning of a
new creation, wherein nothing is yet old or faded.
Mrs. H. and servant came to-day. I have worked
planting melons all day, full of hope that maraud
ing boys may leave me some when they shall
ripen. The carpenter puts down a new floor in my
kitchen. The uneasy stirring of the season makes the
young restless and youths and maids sit in obscure
corners. The old propensities are ever young-
just as the first pair, so all who have descended. It
is a mysterious instinct which keeps alive the most
obscure and powerless creatures. It is a marvel

78 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
that the Dodo and the Auk are extinct, for the
voice of nature cries continually and ceases not:
' ' Let us not perish, ' '
Voltaire says that "politicians are generally
nothing more than illustrious wits. ' '
He also says the dog "prodigiously excels man
in friendship, ' '
Confucius says, "Forget injuries; never forget
benefits," May 26, I came from Cleveland to-day, having
visited the Roadside Club,
To-night we have punch at the Hermitage, and
we retire at 1.30.
May 30, Decoration Day. Yesterday came a spe
cial train at seven o'clock, and on it Bole, Bokum,
Johnson, Hough, Loree, Myron Herrick, Jack
Yates, Bill McKinnie, Sheffield, Lee McBride,
Wick, Jim Parmelee, Tod Ford, Ritman, French,
Mark Hanna, Jim Hoyt, and Keim.
We poured a libation to old times, and the band
played and the singers sang, and we played, too—
some of us all night. B. was a winner, and enjoyed
the sunrise better than the losers. C. says there
is a great difference of point of view between a
winner and a loser.
They left at 7 p.m., leaving me more lonely than
before. C, triumphing over mortality, drank

^

a\^

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 79
whisky and tansy and sang with the same cracked,
delightful voice, "Playing at the Same Old Game."
John Tod telegraphed his regrets. I am pleased
to think they came to see me. Such sweet homage
paid to poverty.
July 20, Now the summer boarder infests the
village. I shun the hotel, with its mob of strange
faces and childhood in its only offensive form. The
crowded kitchen is a bedlam of disorder. In its
narrow space is confined the culinary work for
over a hundred people. Poor Mrs. Ruof, thin as
a ghost, from early to late pervades the place.
Calm and serene in the midst of unending toil,
Salome moves like a Greek goddess who has con
descended to kitchen work. A perpetual skinning
of potatoes goes on. The kitchen-maids work
ceaselessly, while the maids of Zoar serve the tables
in fresh white gowns. Not many of the haut ton
are here, although some affect the giddy air of
Newport. Saturday night at the punch came Wiedman,
Spalker, and Beecher of Canton. On account of the
increased company, a double punch was brewed,
and we were all much cheered. Ludwig was scored
for taking his pretty sister-in-law to the circus
under pretext of paying taxes, thus breeding dis-

80 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i893
content among those left behind. Joseph, now for
two months trustee, develops strength and "talks
back. ' ' I think he will do well with his department
of agriculture, although it is next to impossible to
change the slow, wasteful ways they have of doing
things. Every innovation is met with a clamorous
resistance from the hide-bound fogies who would
still use the flail and reaping-hook.
Rear- Admiral Kappel gravely coUects his swill,
and has no thought of the troubles in Wall Street
or the failures of the Australian banks. Happy is
he when fortune sends him a few extra drinks
and elevates him to a placid state of exhilaration.
Clearly he longs not for the Persian paradise, where
nothing is expected sti'onger than lemonade. To
the stormy heaven of the Northern gods his spirit
would go, where eternal beakers of stiff drink re
gale the shades forever.
Yesterday was Sunday. John and Joseph and I
went to the high, wild farm, and, lying under the
trees, looked over the wide, beautiful landscape.
The old farm, its buildings now destroyed, must
have been cleared a hundred years ago. Ancient
pear trees, and other indications, show this. Strug
gling in the wilderness around where the old home
stood are some homely garden flowers. How many
years is it since the first one was planted! And

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 81
the hands that planted them, long folded in eter
nal sleep, are survived by the trifling, helpless flow
ers. A colony of foxes have burrowed in the bank
near the clear spring which breaks from beneath
into its circle of rude stones, untasted now, unless
some furtive wild thing sees its face in its clear
depths as it drinks and steals away.
I like the impoverished hill farm better than the
plain below, a sea of waving com. Here grow the
crops on which my soul may feed— the divine sus
tenance, for we " do not live by bread alone. ' ' The
sun set as we stood on the highest point,— aU the
west a sea of glorious gold, while the deep wood
sunk its shadows into purple darkness. The moon
usurped the sky at once, and, coming later home
through the woods, cut great spaces of brightness
in the dark shadows. From the thicket came the
gruesome cry of the whippoorwill, and some sneak
night-hawks lent their sharp cries to break the calm
silence. Glass, the farm-hand, has a cow pasturing
in the wood. As she fed, her bell tinkled with a
pleasant sound. She stopped, surprised, when we
came to her, evidently unused to see men in the
woods so late.
I have determined not to take a consulate which,
through Will, could have been mine. I have few
ambitions. Why should I enter the field and renew

82 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I893
a struggle whose only reward is a stock of new
wants hard to supply, with a certainty of perplexi
ties the return will ill reward?
August 16. Even here the tumult of wrangling
money-changers is heard, and, warned by the col
lapse of the Economy Society, the brethren begin
to devise some untried plans for retrenchment.
The farm-hands who are hired still go their easy
round. To-day they thresh with flails. It is like
an echo from medieval agriculture.
The nights are cold and musical with the cries
of crickets and locusts. The swallows went two
days ago. Happy birds, living in eternal summer !
If man could migrate or hibernate during the icy
season, how much misery would be avoided ! Yet
I would miss my roaring fire of hickory logs, the
lamp-light's friendly radiance, the sharp hunger
for books which is known only when the frosts are
here. To-day, despite the coldness of last night, it
is very hot in the sun (106° ) . Last night, from six
to eight, the thermometer fell 35°.
In all the cities swarm the idle workmen. All
industries are paralyzed. Many are ruined and
will find it hard to give up the superfluities I am
long since weaned from. What will the poor do
this winter? The wind is tempered to the shorn
lamb. Will nature neglect man alone?

1893] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 83
December 20. Sent the geese away— twenty-nine
baskets ; have kind letters from Gen. C. and Will.
The day short, cold, and dark. In the evening we
play whist and have punch.
I read before bedtime, thinking of all my days,
and how some, once dear, are estranged from me.
"Put not your trust in princes, or in the sons of men."
Mr. Lyons writes me of his sore financial straits.
Is it possible I shall lose this, too ?

AT SEA
MAY 16, 1894. The Majestic. We sail at 3.30-
Will, Mr. and Mrs. Barney, Miss Davidge,
Pauline, and Jim; day warm and beautiful. At
wharf, a babel of confusion among the Oriental
contingent; leave-taking ostentatiously goes on—
at the last with osculations of that pronounced
character peculiar to the East, Finally the warn
ing bell drives off the leave-takers in a scene of
mixed pathos and absurdity— leave-takings in
jollity and in bitter sorrow.
We are well lodged. The great saloon is choked
by sheaves of roses and absurd, shoppy baskets of
flowers already withering. The passengers eye one
another curiously, Israel is very strong. We have
a table with the Gerry family ; at dinner a cold bot
tle is especially placed for me. Again we renew
the kindly pleasures of other years ; a general feel
ing of exaltation is on us all. Mr, Gerry sends a
mixture of potent strength from his end of the
table. The ladies retire, and we go to the smoking-
room, radiant and happy. Last of all, Barney and
84

AT SEA 85
I stay out smoking. The full moon casts a flood of
radiance over the calm sea.
May 17, Clear, cold; smooth sea; we read and
smoke. The ship is becoming familiar ; it is elabo
rately decorated with flowers, I read Thoreau's
"Summer," Sometimes it seems a dream that I
am here.
May 18. Some sea; Jimmy has mal de mer.
The captain gives tea at five o'clock— a well-
meaning, but fruitless entertainment. Every one
talked as for wagers ; no one said anything to the
purpose; all were glad when the function ended.
Tea was good, and the captain did all he could to
make the water run up-hill. Will and I are converts
to the new system of Mr. G., which forbids water
at meals. Champagne is permitted, indeed ; which
is considered by me a great improvement, so we
are always merry at dinner, at the end of which
Mr. G. compounds cunningly a symphony of rum
and other kindred elements which is taken as a
coup de grace. This latter sends us, conversing
very freely, to the smoking-room, where, with in
different success, I restrain myself from imparting
too much information. Mr. G. also tells of what he
has discovered with a generous freedom.
They noisily auction some scheme of betting on
the run of the steamer.

86 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
When our cigars are out we go in, and straight
way to bed.
The City of Paris nears us ; we are slowly pull
ing away; the skipper makes no secret of his glee.
May 19. Squalls of rain ; a dull day. The first
ardors have evaporated and a meditative mood fol
lows. The City of Paris races alongside of us; at
first we are ahead. By noon she passes us ; we have
relied upon our Welsh coal too much, I think. The
sky is obscured by heavy clouds ; sometimes a sleet
like rain falls. We are now on the verge of the great
deep,— the Banks are behind us; these are the
"desolate rainy days." It seems that all the peo
ple are doing as little as they can; there is a dis
turbing element at sea that dissipates serious
thought,— the talk one generally hears is not ex
hausting. It is difficult to read long; the smoking-
room, where I stay most, is pretty full of people;
many drink Scotch whisky and some play poker,
with a running fire of drinks. I pray that a small,
mean-faced man near me may lose ; I think he is a
Lynn shoemaker whose shop is closed by the dull
times. Persons stretched in rugs on deck, apparently ill,
are served by the deck stewards with bowls of broth.
Now the flowers, so fine when we started, are
dumped overboard,— "dead garlands;" the steer-

1894] AT SEA 87
age passengers sport the cast-off glories of the
roses. Mr. B. has not been seen to-day ; it is now
noon. The sea continues to rise, and many have, to
judge by the extreme dejection of their visage, re
pented that they ever saw the sea. Others, put
ting on a show of cheeriness, are fain to retire
stealthily from time to time for the usual offering
to Neptune.
Trumpets are blown, cheeringly announcing din
ner—to me always a welcome sound, as in the old
days when across the fields came the long-drawn
blast. May 20. Sunday ; high sea ; the spray blown like
snow from the vast waves. There is no rolling
motion; the ship, with slow dignity, makes pro
found obeisance to the sea. The decks are empty
of passengers at this early hour; I have the vast,
swelling ocean to myself; the hurtling waves, torn
by the wind, impart a sense of ecstasy and vague
power. The movement of the ship is not disagree
able ; it seems alive ; I hear the dull throbbing of its
heart. Our dinners are charming; the table is luxuri
ously served— the earth is raked for delicacies of
food and drink. What good angel has contrived
this journey which so unexpectedly has been per-

88 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
mitted to me? My cottage at Zoar is dimly re
membered ; I will not think of to-morrow ; and as
for the past, only its happiness is left.
May 21. A dazzling brightness is on the sea,
whose sapphire waves are tipped with snowy
foam. The passengers are no longer strangers, but look
pleasantly at one another; the sufferers come out,
and, rolled in rugs, repose on chairs, lazily watch
ing the swift, flying waves. The clamorous world
is far away,
June 13, London. Young P. writes to Charley
of a tapestry for $12,000 ; we concluded not to take
it. He naively adds that the Kensington Museum
could not afford to buy it. Very likely.
At the Empire were the Danish soldiers at the
military tournament ; clear cut, the children of the
old Vikings.
The show of flowers at Covent Garden this
morning superb. The talk at luncheon turned to
koumiss. Charley thought that would be a proper
name for a dairymaid.
June 14. In the aftemoon we go to the Guild
hall, but can see little of the pictures for the crowd
—an essentially "City" crowd, quite distinct
from the "West End." More curious were the

1894] IN ENGLAND 89
relics of old London in the Museum. The Guild
hall, a noble room, with great windows of stained
glass ; aloft, Gog and Magog ; some tasteless monu
ments disfigure the walls. Will and I go from
them to the Duchess of Sutherland's palace, where
a sale of Scotch homespun is going on; a sea of
titled people about. As I want nothing, when Will
is captured by the duchess I slip quietly away. We
dine early and go to see "The Masqueraders, " a
most vile play well played. There are many fat
bald-heads in the audience; it would seem that
women have better luck with their hair. Who
ever saw a bald-headed woman?
June 15. We go to Windsor at 10.50— Miss
C. with us. We are taken inside the castle gate
by a curious guide, who remembers George IV well,
and sighs when he is compelled to say he cannot
say much in his favor. With the garrulousness
of Polonius, he discourses of the majesty of the
royal house, and of the incalculable treasures of
the chapel. He quite entered into the family grief
at the loss of the Duke of Clarence, and made a
pathetic tale of the sad fortunes of the nigger
King Theodore of Abyssinia, who lies buried in
the castle yard.
A mob of people wait their turn to get into the
state apartments. After a long wait, we are

90 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
herded in, headed by an old man with singularly
muffled elocution who describes the splendors.
The palace did not make an impression like
Warwick. The things were newer and it seemed
to me cheaper; all the furniture was covered with
gaudy calico, the chandeliers in slovenly bags.
One sickens at the repetition of portraits of weak
or vicious kings, overloaded with robes of state
and galvanized by the genius of the painter into a
dignity of which they were void. The great hall was
too long and narrow. I was glad to get out again.
Windsor Castle is not beautiful. Its vast size,
however, gives it a certain dignity; it looks hard
and new.
After luncheon the party went on foot to see St.
George's Chapel. I declined at first to go; but,
carriages being ready, I finally stepped in and was
driven under the arch of the great gateway. After
seeing more gushing tributes in marble to the de
parted Hanoverian great men, we drove through
the old Windsor Forest. Another equestrian
statue to that infinite essence of worthlessness,
George HI.
June 16. One month since we sailed. How
much has happened since ! We go to the Kensing
ton Museum— Charley, Jim, and I. Jim is not
"appealed" to by a mosaic I admire. Michelan-

1894] IN ENGLAND 91
gelo's "David" is very great. In the afternoon
Will and I take a cab to High Holborn and Christ's
Hospital. The Sunday blue coats are hung out; the
matron says her boys are as good as gold, and re
fuses tip, but afterward takes it with a nice reluc
tance. We go to Bartholomew's Hospital, and then
to the venerable Norman Church of St. Bartholo
mew the Great (A. D. 1123), with tomb of Rahere,
founder of the hospital. We strolled about
this venerable, solemn temple, where for nearly
a thousand years thanksgiving has been offered.
We were affected by the dark majesty of this vener
able church. The verger shows us into the ruins
of the Lady-chapel, strewn with broken fragments.
We go up the narrow, winding stair of the upper
cloister, where the monks in the old days walked.
Yesterday we heard "Lohengrin," with the
De Reszkes and Melba in the cast. House, stuffy
and overheated, f uU of splendid people ; Prince and
Princess of Wales there. Opera in parts beautiful,
but too long and devoid of action. The Swan
sticks and is finally kicked off by Lohengrin; the
Dove also hangs fire,
June 17, In the morning to the Abbey with
Miss D.; few worshipers; plain offices; all com
municate at eleven o'clock at St. Bartholomew's.
After, via Newgate, to St. Paul's. The music, far

92 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
off and solemn, fills the great arches with sound;
not many people present. Sunday is most dull. It
would seem as if the people were under a spell and
remained indoors.
My littie friendly dog in Regent Street has come
to know me.
June 18. Will and I go to see a Troyon in Re
gent Street. The dealer, who seems impressed
with an idea of my great wealth, tries first to sell
me the Troyon for £12,000 ; later, a Meissonier for
£10,000. I give no sign of poverty. Before dinner
I walk in the City and am begged of by a most for
lorn woman trying to sell matches.
June 19. At eight Mrs. Barney and Miss Da
vidge go with me to Covent Garden to see the
flower-market. Beautiful, clear morning ; they are
amazed at the profusion of flowers. A joyous
porter smilingly offers to take home the flowers
for the "leddies." An old woman pitifully be
seeches me to give her the errand; I portion her
off with "tu 'pence."
After lunch we go to Hatfield House ; a venera
ble Jacobean pile. The dowager marchioness was
burned to death years ago. The old housekeeper
shows all the rooms— those of the Queen and the
Duke of Wellington among the rest ; also the coro
nation chair of Queen Anne, and the rosary of
Mary Stuart.

1894] IN ENGLAND 93
June 20, Ascot— Royal Himt Cup. At noon it
rains miserably. The finery at Ascot will be
spoiled. I go to the City in the morning; after
noon. Will, Charley, Jim, and I go to see the
Troyon; after to National Gallery and Tooth's
and the Marlborough Gallery. At the latter an
amusing, garrulous old humbug showed us pictures
—impossible landscapes, famous only for "tone";
no landscape, out of a nightmare, could be like
them; portraits the same. Hideous beef -faced, fat
old judges in red gowns bring six hundred guineas,
on account of "tone."
I have established at Covent Garden a regular
acquaintance with the market-people, who cheerily
say, "Good morning."
June 21. The longest day in the year. I
hesitate to record a day so rich, feeling how weak
words are. I arose at seven and bought flowers
in Covent Garden for Pauline, The morning warm
and dazzlingly bright; all my friends in the
market greet me. We go afterward to Holland
House by special arrangement. We were shown
through all the apartments— the most rich in pic
tures and ohjets de vertu of any I have seen.
Every room is a cabinet of curiosities. The col
lection of porcelains is phenomenal.
At half-past nine I look down Ludgate Hill in

94 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
full daylight. The City has a rare charm these
long summer days.
By the landlady of the "Bell" by St. Bride's I
am shown the old sacred well, built now in the wall
of this churchyard. The Strand swarms with
people at night, for the most part Cyprians.
June 22. To Salisbury; town curious and old;
cathedral over-restored, raw, and light; poor
effigies; absurd sculptures.
June 23. I see my familiar faces at the market ;
the ruddy-faced onion-man talks over the fence to
a joyous damsel, who laughs with inviting cordial
ity. The old woman who proposed before to carry
home my flowers, and to whom I gave "tu 'pence,"
has marked me for her own and appeals daily.
June 24. We go to Oatlands Park ; now a hotel,
once a royal residence; first occupied by Henry
VIII, then Elizabeth, Charles I, Henrietta Maria,
and last by the Duke of York. Beautiful country ;
Hampton Court behind; the Thames near,
June 25, To Covent Garden for fiowers ; after
breakfast, to City; then to Handel's "Messiah" at
Crystal Palace, Four thousand performers— one
hundred and thirteen first violins, Santley, Al-
bani, Davies; horrible trumpet obbligato,
Camot assassinated at Lyons last night, at 9,30.
June 26. In the afternoon to the Zoo. In the

1894] PARIS 95
evening I wander sadly about the City, taking a
kind of farewell view. I am attached to the old
tent that has sheltered so many generations, and
regret my too brief stay. Go I must, even if my
whole life were spent here. Who, of all the flat
tered great, has escaped the unsparing dart?
June 27. All preparing to break up.
June 28. Paris. Go early to market and take
leave of my friends there. Arrive Paris at seven ;
beautiful room at Hotel du Rhin— No. 3. Walked
on the Boulevard after an excellent dinner. The
city covered with emblems of mourning; the late
President lay in state in a chapelle ardente at the
Elysee. June 29. The wonderful Halles at 5.30; great
profusion of fruit. At five o'clock drive in the
Bois. In the evening, to a Cafe Chantant; after
ward, the Boulevard des Italiens. Wrote to Will,
who had sent us a cheery message telling of safe
arrival of Pauline at Oatlands. Charley hires a
window at the Continental for the pageant of the
funeral on Sunday. Notre Dame is being hung in
black.^ Hot weather, but lovely cold rooms.
July 12. Oatlands Park, Weybridge, England.
I sit here, in the quiet hush of midnight ; far off
1 See Letters.

96 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
there is a murmur of water. The moon floods the
park with wonderful beauty. We have dinner to
gether merrily, all but poor Pauline. We left
Paris yesterday morning.
On the Channel, horribly rough, a ghastly crowd.
I lean with green visage against the wall of the
smoke-room, watching with dull eyes.
I bless a sailor as I land, thanking God to hear
again my native tongue.
We reached here in the splendid sunshine. A
lovely, poetical place.
July 13. It rains in Oatlands. I sit in my room
overlooking the lovely garden. A charming, rest
ful quiet pervades the place.
July 19. Go in the forenoon to walk and gather
fresh mushrooms. In the afternoon, to Weymouth
Athletic Tournament. Very sweet and pretty pic
ture; the village clergyman presides; the shabby
tailor who ran so well. At dinner we talk of the
coming Cottage Garden exhibition.
July 20. We row to Hampton Court. The
river is beautiful. After luncheon, drive to San-
down. See Isinglass beat Ladas for £10,000.
Beautiful drive before dinner. I walk over the
bridge at Shepperton, past white hay-fields, under
charming sky.
July 21, Rise at five o'clock. Go to Hamp-

1894] IN ENGLAND 97
ton Court. It rains, and I start at ten via Wey
bridge and the river bank. Gipsies swarm, setting
up their merry-go-rounds and "Aunt Sallies."
Walk back to Walton ; see the regatta.
Much merriment and beer at the Anglers ' Home ;
one punter goes overboard.
July 22. Walk in the morning. See old house
where Cromwell lived, and which Wolsey built.
July 24. Go to London.
My little dog in Regent Street has been killed.
I ride to Weybridge with an English gentleman.
We talk of agriculture and the decline of values.
Another gentleman kindly asks me to ride as far
as my hotel with him. Birket Foster lives here;
also Leeder, the landscape-painter. Visit the Bear
Inn, three hundred years old.
July 25. We have been rowing up the Wye;
the fields glorious with the level rays of the sun.
I see the sun setting in splendor afar off, and hear
the music of a peal of bells; this is God's own
country, so good and green, and all the people so
innocent and kindly. The parish priest, with benig
nant face, fishes in the stream, his fair daughters
at his side. The churlish landlord forbids the
branches to be cut which obstruct the Wye.
In the morning we drove to the estate of the Earl
of Onslow. The heather was in bloom ; we waded

98 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
breast-high through beautiful ferns. A noble pros
pect ; the village of Woking below. There are peo
ple working in the fields, the rent of which is £30 an
acre; the tenant pays tbe taxes, amounting to £5
more. The gamekeeper speaks of the "nesties"
of partridges, which reminds me of Chaucer.
We went to the old church at Pirford; on one
side of the Norman arch was the broken receptacle
for holy water; the church is nearly a thousand
years old; in the valley below are the ruins of a
priory of St. Augustine— tempo Richard I. We
are intoxicated by the rare beauty of the road— in
no place straight; shaded by tall trees, their sides
a mass of flowers, with daubs of scarlet poppies in
the fields.
July 28. To London; luncheon at Bristol, and
to see Rejane in "Madame Sans Gene," in French,
at the Gaiety Theatre. We all walk over to the
station; St. Paul's glorious in declining sun; view
the river at half tide, with heavy barges stuck in
the mud. We wait twenty minutes wearily and
warm ourselves. Mr. F. goes with us to stay
until Monday. We dined pleasantly; he refers to
Hurlbert of the old "World" as a "mm un" ; Will
gives me "The Stickit Minister" and "A Window
in Thrums"; before dinner, we sit together on the

1894] IN ENGLAND 99
bench at the Duchess of M.'s, and I discuss with
him whether I shall go on August 8 or later; he
asks me to stay. It is like leaving heaven to leave
England and my friend; my life is so small and
empty— perhaps my own fault. I am in the hands
of God, who made me helpless. Why so helpless ?
July 29. I drive to the beautiful old farm
house where that monster Henry VIII is said to
have been nursed; the gates, with their tall gate
posts, are too proud for a farm-house; the heavy,
almost embattled walls of the garden are overrun
with lichens and wall-flowers. From this earth
was nurtured the body of that almighty man. The
Wye, yielding to the patient anglers its prey, crawls
as lazily by as it did then; a high head is low in the
dust of half-forgotten kings. A little fox terrier
fawns on me and makes friends. How universal is
this canine brotherhood ! In all countries they find
in me the sweet nutmeg of Jupiter; I speak their
language in all climes. Our wheel sticks, and we
walk about while a friendly cottager lends oil to
lubricate it.
After dinner it rains heavily; I go to my room
and read "The Stickit Minister"; later, a wet
walk to the river, where draggled merry-makers,
with disconcerted faces, alight from the boats. To
me this is a dark day; my poverty, a black hag.

100 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
rides me ; I fancy all things are turned against me.
At dinner Will charmed and pledged me ; we had a
cheerful time. I retired early to my room and
wrote some letters.
July 31. Edinburgh. Will, Charley, Jim, and
I leave Walton at eight o'clock for Edinburgh.
Truelove, our valet, is along. We stop an hour in
London and have a pleasant ride after passing
Newcastle, where a ship captain got into the car
riage. The captain's ship is the Roslyn Castle—
Southampton to Cape Town. We skirt along the
rocky shore of the North Sea, dotted with sails;
after a while Bass Rock is seen, and then Edin
burgh. We lodge at the Balmoral ; landlord with
swollen Scotch-whisky face and bald head.
August 2. I arose at five o'clock and walked
about Inverness ; the stone-cutters alone were work
ing. In the shop windows much odd Scotch stuff;
with it the Gunn tartan, which much elated me,
and I since have crowed over B. and raged
with a noble Highland fire. We take the boat at
seven o 'clock and start for Banavie ; weather fresh
and fair. Many passengers, some French ; one newly
married pair, the she of which seemed to fidget.
"Sandy," pilot, a jolly old soul with an over-red
nose, who confided to me with a look of disgust

1894] A TRIP TO SCOTLAND 101
that this was a "teetotal" boat, the captain and
purser being abstainers; despite his age, he had
an eye for beauty. We passed Urquhart Castle
ruins and many an ancient house; about noon we
landed to see a waterfall; toil wearily up a mile
and a half, and see a mere squirt of water, all of
which would go through a twelve-inch pipe.
We come to Port Augustine and the Benedic
tine Abbey. In the afternoon it rained; at three
o 'clock a girl with red but not unlovely face plays
a small chime of bells to the accompaniment of an
accordion played by an old callous-faced man
with a look of weather. Finally, although hoarse,
she sings ' ' Coming through the Rye, ' ' not without
feeling; certainly no prima donna has her incom
parable accent. Her eyes moved furtively but
keenly about, and as I smiled her face lightened
with a look of sudden, brightness, while a paltry
shower of coppers were flung on the ground for
her. She never notices the offering, and only when
the boat moves does she stoop to pick them up. At
the next loch is a husky-voiced, undersized bogus
Irishman, who skilfully twirls a shillalah. We
reach Banavie about five o 'clock, and go to Lochiel ;
in front, Ben Nevis wrapped in mist ; the torrents,
white as milk, dash down its sides. The guests are
mostly fishermen of high degree, who pay large

102 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
sums for the streams and then get very few fish.
The men are strong and mostly handsome; the
women are seldom beautiful, but always refined and
gentle. A vulgar, familiar person, with his wife,
hurries in the half-lighted passage into what he
supposes is the lavatory, rolls down the stone steps
to a dark cellar, and comes up "cussing mad."
We see a yacht go through the loch. After dinner
it rains; we hurry in. For a while there is a
frightful game of billiards on an oversized table,
and we go to bed on the top floor. Our floor, tin
candlesticks; floor below, brass; landlady buxom
and strong-minded, with a keen Scotch accent. The
house holds its head high; there is a rumor that
Her Majesty once went through here, but it is xm-
certain if she stopped.
August 3. We rose early, and after breakfast
walked to the landing, a mile away; the morning
was intoxicating in its freshness, the sky full of
vast, hurrying clouds from the north, and all the
distances and mountains veiled in mist. While
waiting for the boat, we talked with the attendant,
a Cameron of Lochiel, who said the clan were not
very pious now.
It is an ecstasy to walk the deck, surrounded by
the glory of these dark and beautiful mountains;
the water is very fine. Oban, a pretty town along

1894] IN ENGLAND 103
the little bay, crowded with pleasure yachts. We
take train for Edinburgh, a ride of great beauty
and interest ; the sun sends some bursts of watery
redness clouding at times the mountain side cov
ered with heather.
August 4. We reach Manchester in a dull rain ;
the country for many miles covered with tall
chimneys and sordid, unlovely factories. Man
chester, with a population of half a million, is vilely
common. As it is Saturday night, maybe it is
worse than usual ; the ill look of the place is height
ened by the rain. But I never saw a viler popula
tion : drunken men and women huddled into every
rum-shop, and they are very plenty; maudlin
scenes and gross and open caresses. We go to the
theater and hear an excellent performance of the
"Mikado"; the audience very much like the town.
August 6. Breakfast early and start for Haddon
Hall and Chatsworth.
Chatsworth indicates a man with money to throw
at birds; the artificial rock-work absurdly costly.
We reach home at eight. I bring some faded
flowers for Pauline from Edinburgh.
At dinner; I am much elated and vaunt the
prowess of my Highland ancestors ; Charley, aided
and abetted by Jim, makes light of them.
August 7. After tennis I go down to Walton,

104 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
and on the road encounter a drunken man, two
women, and a child in a cart singing "Annie
Rooney"; at the castle I meet a queer old fly pro
prietor and a servant with a huge family; the lat
ter takes a drop of Scotch and talks of the entente
cordiale between himself and his old master for
twenty years; his master's kindness when he
marries; gives him an old mare; £1,000 in colts
from her — nine in all. The old fireplace and the
pot-hook; the benches on either side; the stone
floor, worn in front of the old stalls. The two pro
prietors, bright and handsome, sons of Thomas,
the waterman for generations. The fly proprietor
takes me home and shows me relics and introduces
me to his family ; he shows an old reel for winding
lace threads ; I go home singing.
Augusts. The B.'s leave for home. Will and I
go with them to London; we are sad to have
them go ; Will and I stay in town ; there is to be a
bimetallic meeting at the Savoy. We dined— only
three— and sadly spoke of our friends who are
gone. August 9. Miss Davidge and Will go to town ;
I walk to Twickenham, twelve miles; fine, fresh
morning; a young man goes as far as Hampton
Court with me ; from him I get small news of Wal
ton and the mishap to butcher Rogers and the ail-

1894] IN ENGLAND 105
ments affecting his companion and himself. I start
to return through St. Mary le Bow at three o'clock ;
ride to Kingston and meet a jolly tobacconist ; walk
through Hampton Court to look at the bathers;
stop at a garden with barking dogs, and, after some
demurrer as the man is away, gather some roses
and sweet peas for Pauline. I overtake a workman
in dirty clothes, whose kindly, honest face is a let
ter of introduction; we walk to Walton together,
and I buy him a mug of beer at the Castle Inn. A
light breakfast with meat, and plain lobster for
lunch. The wine at dinner was very fine ; my absti
nence all day had made my senses keen. After
dinner we read Salisbury's fine paper delivered
before the British Association at Oxford.
August 10. Will and I leave for Malvern, going
first to London ; beautiful country ; fields with great
crops. Reach Foley Arms, Malvern, at two o 'clock.
We walk first, then drive with a red-headed coach
man continually saying "sir" and touching his
hat ; white horses ; the castle ; British camp. Eastnor
Castle ; huge, ugly pile ; lovely gardens ; the drive
a world's wonder. Great drive around the hills;
very cold ; after dinner we walked about the beauti
ful village, which at nine o 'clock was quite still.
August 12. Weybridge. We drive to Pirford
church in the morning; I walk there, starting at

106 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
3 p. m. ; I go on to the ruined priory of the Augus-
tinian friars,— time Richard I,— dedicated to the
Blessed Virgin and St. Thomas of Canterbury.
The ruin was absolutely lonely; a vagrant horse
startled me by poking his head through what was
once the great door of the refectory. It begins to
rain; I walk back the whole distance in steady
downpour ; a man who had struck a boy was being
hunted by a score of youngsters, keen for retribu
tion. A boy, not alone, under an umbrella, says,
"Da-aisy, why don't you make up your mind?"
Some swells from London, with hampers, soaked to
the skin; left their boat at Weybridge. I reach
home at nine o'clock, wet but happy; we dined
merrily together, and afterward I read from ' ' The
Stickit Minister" and "A Window in Thrums."
August 14. We lunch at the Bristol with F. and
G. ; G. a heroic type of man. Cool wind at evening,
moaning in the trees like November. We had the
first grouse of the season; not very good; cham
pagne without much quality; every one crazy
about yachting, shooting, golf, cricket, aquatics ; the
English are a sporting people ; it is pleasant to see
at every village, in the evening, games on the green.
My shirtmaker has gone for his holiday.
August 15. Will and I go to town ; we walk from
the station to the city ; buy champagne ; see M. and

1894] IN ENGLAND 107
the beadle at the bank; I stay in the City. Beau
tiful sunset; cool, windy day, with sharp shower
at three.
August 19. Dull and raining; we drive to King
ston along left bank; beautiful old house; re
turn by Apps Court. P. lunches with us for the
first time ; at four o 'clock Will and I drive to Chert-
sey ; beautiful old place ; see the house where Croly
died. In the evening we walk back along the river
to Walton Bridge ; carriage follows us. The ferry
man predicted rain in an hour, and it came. We
drove from Walton ; the wind is cold like autumn.
Saw Turpin's oak, said to be a thousand years old;
Garrick's house; every view nice. We have been
testing new champagne— each night two bottles. It
is decided that the '84 Krug is beyond the Ayala,
while I insist on the reverse.
At Chertsey, Croly and a dean got drunk; the
former lay out in a field all night, and so caught the
fever which ended his days. The bark of the
Crouch oak is a love-philter.
August 21. Rise late ; lounge about after break
fast. After lunch. Will and I drive over St. Anne 's
Hill; it drizzles for a while; beautiful view from
the hill. Afterward we go in to see a lovely garden
and the old house where Fox and Lady Holland

108 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
lived so long; the old woman had been in the ser
vice for thirty-six years. We walked home through
the beautiful roads, past fields covered with shocks
of grain and old cottages. Found a lost dog. This
is our last day at Oatlands ; we leave this country
with regret.
August 22. We leave in a special train for Mal
vern, where we are finally settled in pleasant
rooms, selected and secured in advance.
August 26. After thunder showers in the night,
a glorious day; we go to church in the morning;
priests all bald-headed and mumbling. The British
matron at my elbow takes so shrill and persistent
part in the services that all piety flees and I
am vexed. Will sings the responses to the Creed
with such an expression that my shrill dragon
boldly turns her head to see what truly holy man is
there. After we go out. Will and I pick the fabric
to pieces. In the afternoon we go to Tewkesbury;
reach there about four o'clock; church locked;
ask tall man where verger lives; he finds him.
Will gives tall man two shillings; he says, "This
will do some good; I have n't had no work since
Christmas,"— this almost with tears. How little
we know of the sea of wretchedness about us ! The
verger took us into the splendid old church; we

1891] IN ENGLAND 109
were quite alone. All the venerable past came
thronging back to me; for under this roof are gath
ered the echoes of a thousand years. I hear toads
on the altar-stone. We drive home, with littie talk,
through a most beautiful country, under a serene
sky radiant with the setting sun. In the abbey is
the organ once in Magdalen College, Oxford;
Cromwell caused it to be taken to Hampton Court,
and on it Milton played for him. At the Restora
tion it was returned to Oxford, and finally was sent
here at the dissolution of the abbey. Henry VIII
levied an order of £5,000 on the people of Tewkes
bury, with the alternative of having the abbey roof
stripped of its lead. The abbot's home is a beauti
ful, quiet house, and the large garden where the
monastery once stood is now rented for £100 a year.
The Avon and the Severn meet here, and the flood
sometimes comes almost to the floor of the church,
in which is the vault containing the bones of
Clarence, spoken of by Shakspere. The bones are
collected in a cage and placed on brackets against
the walls, above high-water mark. All the other
tombs are filled up, and no more interments take
place. A comical yokel slips on a livery coat and
stands with low-comedy face to open the carriage
door. At Severn End, near the old Rhyddorford,
Charles II stayed with its Roundhead owner, an un-

no HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
welcome guest; and, on the Restoration, the host
was mulcted £500 and was glad to escape confis
cation by consuming much humble pie. This old,
rambling house is like a fragment of an earlier and
more beautiful time. I look in vain for any house,
built now, that in two hundred years will be beauti
ful like this, or even picturesque. What has be
come of this sense of beauty which seemed an un
conscious quality in the old days ?
August 29. Will and I go to Chipping Norton,
and thence we drive to Wycomb to see the old
mansions where Will 's ancestors lived. The village
very old and small; we see the church and statue-
tomb of Sir John Braskett; the rector's wife, who
has to see for both— for he is blind— is not lovely,
but he cannot see her. The poor priest is a beauti
ful, joyous character. We write our names in the
little book and leave for Stow-on-the-Wold, passing
an old inn with the alluring sign of the "Spotted
Pig." Stow is on a high hill and is very old; the
houses have no gardens, but are buUt on the streets,
which, like those of all English towns, wind about.
The Talbot Inn had ready a mighty meal of roast
fowl and a great round of boiled corned beef, with
vegetables. The beer made at Chipping Norton is
very good, and the tap-rooms are cozy, full of

1894] IN ENGLAND 111
fox-hunting pictures and with the bar much dec
orated with fox brushes. The inner tap-room has
a stone floor and high-backed settees, where the
lower classes sit and quaff before the fire. We
glean information, which is sometimes conflicting,
from the grocer and the blacksmith. The land
lady makes light of the grocer as a source of infor
mation, saying, "Why, 'e 's hon'y been 'ere ten
years." Miss Trip, who in former days had a
fine house to let (now naturally owned by her law
yer), I find to have departed this life, and so an
ambitious matrimonial scheme of Will's fell to the
ground. August 30. The early morning was delightfully
fresh; all the way to Hereford the landscape was
swathed in vapor. After a short stop at Hereford,
we go on to Whitney, where we are met by the Rev.
Mr. Dew and his daughter, who go with us in an
open wagon to Clifford Castle, overhanging the
Wye, here a clear, swift stream. This old strong
hold against the Welsh was in a ruinous but most
picturesque state ; through the broken gaps in the
walls we had lovely glimpses of the river. Mr.
Dew, with the joyousness of a child, was our cice
rone; and I was pleased to see the respect with
which every one noticed him, the men touching
their caps and the women and girls dropping

112 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
courtesies. Then we drove to the town of Hay in
Wales, once a walled place perched on this steep
hill, venerable and picturesque; high over all, the
ruins of the castle and the medieval mansion oc
cupied by the canon, whose wife is Mr. Dew's sis
ter. We climbed up the broken wall over the en
trance, taking care not to slip through the slit of
the portcullis, and passed in through the ancient
gates of oak, studded with iron, which still hang.
The house is most curious, with vast chimneys ; the
family were very cordial.
The old town was alive, for it was market-day;
small bargainings were made in ducks and other
rustic produce ; we drove to a high point, where an
extensive view was enjoyed. Beyond the moor is
seen a house, built years ago by a retired East
Indian who had a rage for building "ruins" of a
flimsy character. A school leaving for dinner filled
the road with children ; it was pretty to see the little
things drop courtesies. When the hill was too
steep we walked, coming finally to Whitney Court,
the old manor-house of the Whitneys. The estate
is embarrassed, but it is hoped it will sell for £50,-
000, the amount of the mortgage. We visit the
church, which has a Saxon font, but is otherwise
without interest. Pleasant luncheon with Mr.
Dew's three young ladies and a son from India;

1894] IN ENGLAND 113
the house is full of objects from India; Mrs.
Dew unable to be seen.
Leave for Hereford and go to the cathedral,
which, in spite of " restoration, " is still solemn and
beautiful. We hear evensong and then drive
with an old man having a half-sad, half-cynical
face, who tells us, after some parley, how his whole
life is in the future. He is held up by vague
glimpses of better and loftier days ; and he said, "I
should have gone to London, where me talents could
have room ; I am lost and buried 'ere. But I am not
doing so badly; I 'ave me 'ealth." We visit an
ancient almshouse for decayed soldiers and ser
vants, a military sort of a place, presided over by
Corporal Williams, an erect old man with full,
well-combed gray hair and the fragments of what
must have been a very ' ' gallus ' ' youth ; his costume
from head to foot was red— red gaiters even— and
he wore a well brushed but ancient top-hat. In his
hand he held a huge cane, and he began oratorically
about the duties of his office, which were to report
all the doings to the commander at Hampton Court.
"But, bless you," he said, "when I 'ears a row
I goes in me room and locks the door, and so sees
nothink and 'ears nothink, and so 'ave nothink to
report." He sadly contrasted the copious dole of
the old day with the two shillings a week they now

114 * HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
live upon, hinting that it would be well if the Black
Friars were back again. He unctuously described
the morning procession of the friars as they went
to dispense the dole, doubtless largely drawing on
his imagination for the same. He accepted a tip
with a military salute, and I fancied a look of
recognition passed between him and our old driver,
who still " 'ad 'is 'ealth."
August 31. In the morning we walk up hill ; and
in the afternoon drive to the camp, and then walk
over to the old fortress, set high; but a haze ob
scures the view. We drive to the Wyck, and walk
home over Beacon Hill by St. Anne's Well. A
liquorish maid at the Red Lion bar sells us tickets
for a play to-night— "The Demon Barber of Fleet
Street." September 1. In the morning we walk on the
hills; in the afternoon Will and I go in a cart to
Eastnor and back. We visit the strolling players,
and are the only ones in the reserved chairs, while
the cheaper part of the place is crowded. The
female ticket-taker, once rudely beautiful, takes
interest in us and apologizes for the play, saying,
' ' On Saturday we make a popular program. ' '
September 7. Return to Malvern this lovely day,
with our old favorite slow horses. I long for

1894] IN ENGLAND 115
Stow-on-the-Wold; in the afternoon I walk to the
camp and back ; air cold and blustry.
September 10. We walk over the hills in the
glorious morning, starting from the Wyck. After
lunch. Will and I drive to Smith's nursery,
Worcester, and buy dahlias and begonias, coming
back by a new way and crossing the river on a
ferry. September 11. Go to Chepstow, a queer old
town full of yokels with sheep for the annual sale.
Go to see the old church, and find in the yard,
among the gravestones, an old, old man, with a
scythe, like Time himself. We drive to Tintern
Abbey, along a lonely road. No one can well de
scribe the beauty and dignity of Tintern Abbey.
We return and look at the castle, and find it so im
portant that we conclude to come back after lunch.
We look it carefully over— a jumble of the Con
queror, Cromwell, Charles I, Jeremy Taylor, et al.
We go to Worcester at five, and reach the cathe
dral just in time, a little bustling man for a fee
consenting to show us around. The great windows
glow with the setting sun. We see the tomb of Ed
ward II and a wondrous effigy of the Conqueror's
son; rich windows; the reliquary; the crypt; the
whispering-gallery; the wonderful cloisters; the
lavatory.

116 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
September 13. In the afternoon drove to
Worcester, where a gardener asks if we know a
man who came from America and lost his luggage
in Brussels. In the cathedral the great windows
glow magnificently with the low sun. We drive
back by the old hills ; and in the evening to see the
strolling players in a great benefit performance,
' ' Under Two Flags, ' ' mangled beyond recognition.
September 14. We go to Hereford and hear
the "Messiah" at cathedral; Wilson rises to great
ness in the aria; I was disposed to shed tears; an
interval of an hour in the program.
September 15. Will and I walk in the morning
on the hiUs. In the afternoon we drive to the
camp. Miss Dew lunched with us, and left a little
old pathetic birthday book for us to put our names
in; this woman has known sorrow.
September 18. The morning given up to final
shopping ; in the aftemoon we start in two carriages
and drive to Bosbury, over the Wyck and down to
the hop-fields, where we see the pickers; some
pretty girls with red gloves, many children— some
quite infants. The manager says it is a knack to
manage the women pickers; they have to be hu
mored some. The air is heavy with low clouds.
We drive on to Colwall Church ; venerable and old ;

1894] IN ENGLAND 117
curious porch; the door Norman, minus arches; a
solemn place; the big key always in the lock; we
have only to turn it and go in; its sanctity defends
it ; under our feet lies the dust of long departed and
forgotten people; the churchyard, "where heaves
the turf in many a mouldering heap ' ' ; old tombs,
with inscriptions long illegible; in the middle, re
mains of the old churchyard cross. The ladies
come in while we are there; when we come out it
rains and we start home.
Sad merriment at our last dinner at the Foley
Arms. September 19. We leave at nine o'clock. We
travel in special saloon carriages, past Birmingham
and the Black Country ; a reek of dismal blackness ;
the chimneys vomiting "the darkest smoke of
hell." Low clouds and murky air shroud Liver
pool. We leave on a special tender and board the
steamer in the rain; Pauline's nurse, leaving us,
takes a tearful farewell. I sleep in No. 54; Will
next ; Miss D. and P. on the main deck. We sit at
table with Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft D. and Mr. and
Mrs. Duncan ; the Shepards at the next table. The
ship does not sail until nine o'clock. We move
slowly along ; at intervals the strident notes of the
whistle fill the air.
September 20. The morning fair, with warm.

118 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
soft air. We reach Queenstown about ten o'clock,
and many go ashore ; Will buys me a pot of sham
rock; a large number of steerage people come on
here, the doctor carefully looking over them; the
mail — a mountain of it — is carried in piecemeal.
Finally we start, and in time leave Fastnet and Ire
land behind. The sky is more overcast, and as
night settles there is an uneasy heaving of the sea.
September 21. Fair weather, with moderate
sea; Mr. Bancroft D. tells of the Franklin manu
script, and how Belva Lockwood was long barred
from coming into court as a lawyer, but lobbied
through a bill admitting her; and the judge, full
of wrath, when she was about to kiss the book,.
roared : ' ' Take off your hat, sir ! " The ship made
five hundred and sis miles.
September 22. Beautiful, fresh morning. I am
out early, and walk a long time ; the deck clear of
chairs and people. The same old Nancy of a cap
tain promenades with a rich woman ; he is an abso
lute toady; only waiting to invite to tea such as
are worth while. P. is in great form, wearing
out three or four a day at walking, talking, or
cards ; marvelous recovery ; Jack B. is a good one ;
an Irish gentleman not overburdened with money,
—a common complaint, — but cheery and full of
good feeling.

ZOAR
NOVEMBER 13, 1894. Zoar. Now the days
are short. The first bell rings these cloudy
mornings before it is light. I think of the cold cow
herds plodding through the mud, and pull the blan
kets closer for another nap. Three hunters, with
many dogs, came Monday. They are city men with
white faces and rather fanciful shooting-traps.
They smoke cob pipes and wish to look like true
hunters. To-day there is a cold west wind. All
day dark, heavy clouds fill the sky. The swill-man
from Ganderebears has a pinched look, and collects
from each house for his grunting colony. Perhaps
he is some prodigal son, with better luck than the
one in Holy Writ, since he is not reduced to husks.
My Hermitage is cold in the morning. An open
fire is slow to warm a house. Toward noon I walk
to Bolivar with some photographs to be mounted
by the photographer there. The landscape has
still a beauty, despite the dull sky and patches of
snow. I meet two wagons, in each some chilly, duU-
119

120 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
faced farmers from the hills. How narrow are
their lives! In literature there is much ignorant
praise of country life. It is admirable only when
a high intelligence enables the rustic to see all that
is beautiful, avoiding the sordid cares of the town,
but keeping pace with civilization by books and
study. It is not a gross exaggeration to say that
half of the country people have little thought ex
cept for their toilsome round.
Yesterday we threshed, and to-day the village is
littered with straw. Now they begin to cut wood.
Some haul out manure upon the sodden fields ; from
the great heaps before the farm stable wreaths of
steam arise. The hunters come in, tired and hun
gry. They killed nothing to-day, but they have a
hunger and thirst most admirable. The last fish
erman left this morning. The wall-eyed pike may
now disport in peace until spring. Uncle Jo, who
has for so many years angled here, is too broken
with age to enjoy it longer. He was here not long
ago, cheery and lovable, but sadly aged and ill. It
was his seventy-ninth birthday. Some one brought
in some bottles of wine and a bunch of rude flowers,
with most kindly greetings.
Ludwig goes to Massillon and Canton to sell
buckwheat flour. It is not in great demand at three
and one half cents a pound. Think how many

1894] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 121
cakes a pound will make ! They come in, and we
play whist until nine o'clock. By that time silence
has fallen on Zoar. Nine o'clock in Paris on the
Boulevard des Italiens, last July, was a brighter
place where I could sit on the trottoir drinking
absinthe and seeing the crowd go by. I go
down-stairs. Christian is still up, warming his
back at the tap-room stove. I drink some whisky
and water, and from the kitchen fetch a slice of
bread and cold meat. Mrs. Ruof patches stockings,
but Lily makes lace. Thus is illustrated the change
from youth to age. Lace is to the old a vanity;
to the young, a necessity.
Now the clouds have cleared away and the full
moon shines with white sheets of light. Gretzinger
says that it 's always colder when the moon shines,
so the chill will be less by morning.
November 21. A soft, hazy day. The lean
photographer brings me the photographs he has
mounted. I show him those from Paris. The
splendor of the stairway of the Opera affected him
most. I start at noon and walk to Dover. Road
muddy and rough. There Fertig and Lachenmeyer
accept invitation to dine at the Hermitage on Sat
urday. A loquacious barber cuts my hair. I re
sist his advances toward shaving my neck. We

122 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
have two glasses of wine at Christ's, and start
back at three o'clock. The sun soon set, and be
fore long darkness fell— the last two miles quite
dark. The lights of the village gleamed cheerily.
I go to my house and get a slight supper. My
friends leave early and I go to bed, but so tired that
for a long time I cannot sleep. Some hunters come,
making an unwonted stir in the empty house.
November 22. I work in my garden, pruning
trees and covering tender plants. There is always
a charm about a garden. November is not quite as
pleasant as May, but still there is something inter
esting. I pursue some malvas with malignant de
termination. I believe the cursed weed grows all
winter. If they were scarce, there would be a cer
tain beauty about them.
Rear- Admiral Kappel brings gravel for my road.
He shall be rewarded with a quart of whisky.
There is nothing he prizes so much— good, rummy
soul! Joseph, John, and Ludwig come up in the even
ing. We play whist before the cheerful fire. When
I got home there came strains of music from the
band-room. I go in and hear the string orchestra
for the first time: First violin, Joseph Beimler;
second violin, Otto Seitz ; viola, Levi Beimler ; clari
net, David Hart ; cornet-a-pistons, Obed Burkhardt ;

1894] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 123
trombone, Frank Silvan. They play very well.
There is a warm wind from the south.
November 23, High wind and rain. The people
cannot husk corn at the station, as they intended.
Joseph orders my turkey for Saturday's dinner
from Mrs. Swank. Turkeys are being bought by
hucksters at as low as five cents per pound. I pay
the widow Swank eight cents ; this is cheaper than
beef. There is no doubt the turkey is the king of
table birds. I stuff with oysters only, and roast
before an open fire one and a half hours. The
result is most satisfactory. John helps me set the
sideboard at the Hermitage. On shifting the pump
to the new cistern, we find it leaks. Then I send
for young Breil, sixteen years old, who gets in
and bails out the water. We have stopped the
crack with white lead, but are not sure it will be
tight. In front of my house the field is full of sheep.
Beyond, blue smoke rises where the men are clear
ing off trees. Joseph is crazed to cut down
everything. I violently protest, and save what
I can. Later I cover my roses with stable litter.
Willy Kappel plants a vine against my tool-
house. I have a letter from John Todd, full of pleasant
banter about the doubtfulness of the general ask-

124 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
ing me to dinner Thanksgiving. I send the letter
to the general.
The air is perfumed with the odor of fried
sausage. Since pig-killing time, it is the chief ar
ticle of food. Jacob Brunmeyer is sick with a cold
and fever. He takes no care of himself. They
said last night that there were prospects of another
Brunmeyer. Something of the kind was, however,
announced by Joseph full two years before it
came. The band plays. Distance lends very much to
the music. I remember how, far off, I once mistook
for the perfume of flowers a malodorous fertilizer
factory. Incredible virtues always surround half-
understood and wholly unseen gods.
November 24. A fair day. I saw up the rub
bish at the back of my garden for my fire; then
work in my garden. It is now clean for winter.
Some green things, like roses and yuccas, give it,
under the bright sun, an inviting air. A high wind
tears off the last leaves from apple trees, and the
evergreens at the school-house toss wildly. Hugo
and Fertig arrive at three o'clock. I make ready
the turkey, stuffing him with oysters. We drink
often, and, elated, walk to the church to see the
sunset, full of ecstatic feeling.
The dinner was a great success: oysters first
and then turkey; celery salad; boiled potatoes;

1894] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 125
cherry-bounce of rare quality; later, hot whisky
punch. We sing. At one o'clock we go to the hotel.
John and Joseph go with us. Every one quite
merry. November 25. My guests breakfast with me
at the hotel. Fried chicken, sausage, buckwheat
cakes and delicious biscuits, new-laid eggs, etc., etc.
Still gay, we sing as we sit. Then we go up to
the Hermitage for a while, and they go home. The
day beautifully clear, but rather cold, I read by
the fire, and just before sunset go to the old farm
alone. Now the leaves are mostiy fallen and the rich
brown of the naked trees lends a fine ground for the
mellow, dull red of the oak leaves which glow under
the sun.
The brethren do not come in the evening, except
Joseph, We leave early and waste little oil; the
excitements of last night beget a weariness which
sends us early to bed. The stars shine with un
usual radiance.
"It is not worth while to look for too much mind in
the dialogue of Society. To be perfect it should not be
wholly devoid of sense, but nearly so."— Taine.
November 26. A radiant, cold day. The wag
ons, in a long procession, drag manure to the
meadow of last year, which is to be in com next.

126 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
I walk to Bolivar, looking at the wild trees and
the spruces. The earth— even the November earth
—is beautiful. The frosty air brings a new fresh
ness to my life. I forget that I am old. Let me
record that at fifty-six my soul has never been so
strongly moved by nature as to-day. Is it possible
that the end of life is to be more precious than the
beginning? If the world would leave me alone!
I sit before my fire and read, and— shall I say it?—
meditate, if that curious state of consciousness may
be called meditation— to sit and idly let the torrent
of thoughts fall, like a brook, through the brain.
From the past everything is summoned— the dark
and light— oh, the joy!— alas! the sorrow. Old
faces come again ; the dead, in blessed mercy, show
me their dear faces sublimated. No trace of earth
or sorrow, only the tender grace stays with me.
Beloved visions ! Why should I ask for the grosser
earthly shapes?
We play whist in the evening, and now the wind
in noisy gusts shakes the windows and with a hush
ing sound murmurs in the trees. I have a letter
from Pollock. We are to dine with General Cald
well on Thanksgiving ; there is doubt if enough will
come to drink the double magnum.
Will writes me to know if I can go to Rome and
Egypt with them. It is like being asked to heaven.

1894] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 127
I can only say no. But what shall I say of that
most dear friend who thus remembers me? Rome !
To see it once again, and dip my hands in the foun
tain of Trevi ! It may not be.
November 27. Sunshine and warmth of May. I
go again to Kranzberg, my wild hill. The in
articulate trees must know me now for a friend. I
long for this old farm as a collector does for a pic
ture. I transplant things in my garden. In the
evening John and Joseph come. The shriveled
little tailor is making trouble— an irksome insect.
It grows cold apace, and the shipwrecking wind
howls over the chimney. A light is burning still
in the ivurst-macherei, where pig is being trans
muted into sausage.
The rail-splitters complain of the heat.
"She ventures upon dangerous skirmishes, from which
she comes out, her vanity in triumph, her delicacy in
rags."— Taine.
November 28. Clear, but very cold. I walk to
Kranzberg and through the north woods. Once
in the shelter of the trees, summer comes again ; it
is even hot. How clear the air!— all the distances
as through a telescope. The boys, splitting rails
at eighty cents per hundred, are as cheery and ra
diantly strong as prize-fighters. They tell us the

128 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
can for dinner is well filled— that good digestion
waits on appetite.
John, Joseph, Ludwig, and I play whist and
drink "W. & W." A charming evening. We go
home at ten o'clock, the thermometer 15°, and every
star a comet in brightness.
Deobmbbe 2. The record of a small meeting of the
Arimathsean Shooting and Fishing Club.
It being the season when roast pig is most highly
esteemed, the members resident of the club care
fully selected one aged six weeks and five days.
This, according to Ean, who is deeply skilled in
such matters, is the limit of age. If beyond that,
they become hog; if less than that, they are too
young to remove from the maternal fount. Long
experience, then, has decided Kin to draw this line,
which we gladly do not cross.
The pig is sacrificed by Jacobus, placed in a
kneeling position, which suits for the spit, and put
away to mellow and ripen for Saturday, when he is
to go before the fire.
The resident secretary, Sebastian Banbaker, is
charged with the double burden of scribe and cook,
to which is added a general charge of the crypts
wherein the club have laid their store of wines and
other cheering fluids. It is hard to say, when both

1894] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 129
offices are so well filled, wherein Herr Banbaker is
more efficient; but it has been solemnly affirmed,
after the second punch following a young goose
roasted before the Hermitage fire, that while there
have been more celebrated cooks, there never was
one who, in the preparation of goose, could hold a
candle to Banbaker.
The most admirable aim of all true fishermen
and hunters, as held by Banbaker, is not to waste
too much time in the chase, but in the enjoyment
of the creature comforts resulting therefrom. In
this sentiment he is sustained by many traditions
of the great chief White Eyes, who was the first
sachem of the Arimathaea Club. This sapient sav
age, who early found solace in the fire-water of
the pale-face (so tradition goes), would, between
drinks, with the gravity of his race declare that
when a fat buck was killed, nothing became a hun
ter so well as to feast from the steaming, savory
pot and drink deep from the capacious calabash,
nor pause from aboriginal skin-stuffing while a col-
lop of venison or drop of ram remained. Stretched
upon a couch of furs, the air blue with tobacco, his
large assortment of favorite wives removed the re
mains of the feast, and the assembled braves, each
in turn, after the manner of modern hunters, told
his favorite lie about slaying deer, and of valorous

130 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
encounters with savage white-faced bears. No ef
feminate jargon of choke-bore guns or eight-ounce
rods weakened the statements of these hunters, who
were in it for results only.
Let all true Arimathseans mark how the fore
fathers of the present club upheld the trae prac
tices of the chase. First, with all craft and dili
gence to catch their hare. Having him, all care
vanished, to comfortably eat him. How, it may be
asked, was it possible for these aboriginal members
of the club, with smooth stones from the brook,
like David of old, to slay more game in a day than
all the choke-bores in a month? It may be that our
degenerate hunters weaken themselves so much in
' ' making up ' ' that small energy is left for pursuit.
Alack! to see some of the curled darlings, with
boots from Piccadilly and stockings from Dum
fries; gay shooting-coats from Poole's and a man
to carry the bag— and banish game. They bring
nothing home but a fierce thirst and ravenous
hunger. Warned by this decadence, nor hoping to reform
an abuse so well rooted, the Arimath^ans have long
since resolved to welcome as their sole reward this
unquenchable thirst, this voracious hunger. Why
beat the bush in vain, since modern civilization
makes it easy to procure food, while thirst and hun
ger have become like gifts of God?

1894] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 131
There are some carping people who, failing to
gain admission to this hard-to-enter club, scoff at
the idea of pig being classed as game. Such igno
rance is pitiable. No doubt the game laws are
silent as to the time they may be taken. It is
well known that sucking pig is always in season;
whether in the heats of midsummer or the dead of
winter, he is always welcome,
December 3. In my kitchen at breakfast; Lud-
wigs brings a telegram from Will, urging me to
join him December 5, at 9.30, on the Majestic. 1 am
stunned for a time, but, getting myself, answer that
I will go ; the brotherhood in great distress at my
leaving. • I move my belongings to the Corhscreiv
and leave for Cleveland.
December 4. Go to see General C, who asks me
to go to New York with him in his car. We leave
at one o'clock.

ON THE WAY TO EGYPT
DECEMBER 5, 1894. Reach New York at
7.30; go to club for breakfast; then to
steamer; day beautifully clear; Will and Paget,
Harry, Miss D., Mr. P., and Mr. J. in party. The
colonel, Dorothy, and Mr. and Mrs. B. see us off.
The usual hubbub of leave-taking ; I go to the other
side of the ship, alone in the great crowd.
There are not as many passengers as last Sep
tember, and few Orientals; the steerage is very
populous ; some of the officers are changed for the
better; my old friend the second officer is still on,
and the rugged boatswain,— real sons of Neptune.
I stand on the deck, looking at the grand and tran
quil stars; my old, familiar sky, as at my little
home in Zoar. The moon makes a dazzling strip
of radiance on the water ; the sea is calm.
December 6. A summer sea and bright sun; in
steerage some Swedes pray devoutly and sing
hymns; a workingman in coarse clothes and a
greasy plush cap preaches ; afterward an accordion
furnishes music for some dancers, who have more
132

1894] ON THE WAY TO EGYPT 133
zeal than skill. The ship was cold last night, but
we are now in the Gulf Stream and it is summer.
Sir William Van H. tells of his experiences in
mind-reading, and how Foster startled Hugh
Jewett. The moon, from a cloudless sky, floods
the sea with radiance ; I can see all my old, familiar
stars. We go to the smoking-room after a very cheer
ful dinner ; Will, Van H., Mr. Angus of Montreal,
a stately, silent man, and I smoke and talk ; Van H.
and I have Scotch whisky; the warning voice of
the steward admonishes us that it is eleven; the
decks are quite deserted. To-morrow will be my
birthday. December 7. P. gives me a bunch of violets at
breakfast, with congratulations on my birthday.
The day is clear and bright. A cake at dinner,
with ornaments of sugar— "A. G., 1850-1894";
I am quite young; two bottles and much merri
ment. December 8. Awakened by a crash of falling
objects; the ship rolling frightfully. All day
frightful sea; no rest anywhere; am reading— a
tasteless occupation; hardly any one at dinner. I
go early to bed, but cannot sleep; about half -past
one a fearful roll flings everything about; I dare
not arise, for fear of like fate.

134 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
December 9. The same weary sea. In the
night it cleared and the moon shone over the waste
of dreadful waves. As the ship rolls the port-holes
are very deep under the water. With daylight the
vast, dreadful waste of watery mountains, under
a pall of snow-storm strung along the horizon.
The fiend of a steward calmly says we are likely
to have this weather all the way over ! Van H. has
a great ado to get his wandering property, tossed
by the sea. At dinner Van H. says he has fifty-six
kinds of Japanese beverages.
December 12. Liverpool black and nasty; take
train for London.
December 20. Train to Dover; wild west wind,
with rain; all the party on deck; struggle in the
crowd. We have rooms overlooking the Prome
nade under the Arcade; rain and high wind; all
write letters; dine at eight.
December 21. Calais is dark and dull; no won
der Lady Hamilton died here; the wind roars up
the chimney.
December 22. On the road to Brindisi; Harry,
J., and P., with myself, in one room; stormy and
cold. First day in France; Dijon, Macon, Aix-
les-Bains, Jura Mountains; cold and icy; William
Gray, attendant, is a good cook. Next morning.

ON THE WAY TO EGYPT 135
Ancona ; the Adriatic ; freshness of the sea ; Rimini ;
quaint old fortified towns with noble churches.
At Brindisi a mob of valets de place clamor; we
embark at night; sing "Adeste Fidelis" in the
smoking-room. December 24. Rather stormy ; we come in sight
of the Grecian shore; I make acquaintance with
Walter Lawrence; in the evening, late. P., Law
rence, and I sit in the smoking-room and drink
Scotch whisky, and Lawrence, with singular feel
ing, recites from Keats and Shelley; we reach a
point of ecstasy and retire toward morning; the
ship rolls heavily,
December 25. At breakfast the table is decked
with holly and mistletoe ; a great array of presents ;
P., Miss D., Harry, and J. give me pleasant things
—Miss D. a copy of Shelley. The cabin is gaudily
decorated. At dinner the captain toasts the Queen.
A masquerade ball on deck; much rivalry among
the female mashers. The men come into the smok
ing-room for whisky; we come again together,—
Lawrence, P., and I,— and again hold high con
verse with the stars; after the lights are turned
off we still linger, talking of deathless things;
Walter, stem but kindly, admonishes some drunken
revelers who come to the smoking-room.
December 26, We reach Port Said at one

136 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
o'clock p, M.; a swarm of vermin-like human
beings blacken the coal-barges; they haul in the
rope with wild cries. Amid infinite clamor and con
fusion, we get into the boats and row ashore. Our
luggage, involved with a lot of others, is slowly
evolved; Truelove, our valet, is bewildered, but we
have a strong-legged dragoman, who, by dint of
clamorous gesticulation and what seems to be much
cursing, finally loads it on carts drawn by bare
legged men, who haul it to the open shed called
the Custom House. Wizened and monkeyish crea
tures load themselves with vast trunks, nor seem
to notice the weight. A majestic fat lady, who on
the ship was a model of perfect dressing, succumb
ing to the heat, turns red, and the sweat makes a
sad ruin on her painted face. At last we start for
the train in a crazy fiacre drawn by two lean horses
urged by a madman of a driver in a fez. We nar
rowly escape being upset, and it is a miracle no one
was run over, for the equipage was first on one side
and then on the other of the street. At the station,
infinite clamor and confusion. We finally wedge
into a little car, and at half-past three start for
Ismailia ; Truelove and all our luggage left behind.
We pass a lake swarming with ducks. Presently
the yellow light is reflected in the still water.
Night fell on the desert before we reached Ismailia,
where we found ourselves again in the clutches

1894] THE NILE JOURNEY 137
of the natives. One finally took command of us by
snatching our bags and starting for the other train.
We meekly followed, I keeping my bag in sight, as
I feared he would break away with it into the des
ert, A scurvy buffet furnished us with a meager
lunch. We waited a dull hour, and then, dead
tired, started for Cairo,— the chill air penetrating
the car. After four hours of great unrest, we
came to Cairo, where a dragoman met us with low
bows and conducted us in state to the Continental
Hotel, where we were lodged in sumptuous rooms ;
had supper and then to bed,
December 27, The servant opened my shutters
at nine o'clock; a flood of sunlight poured through
the window, I breakfasted in my room; then
smoked and looked out on the street at the strange
sights, and heard strange sounds,
December 28, Yesterday we drove across the Nile
and through a dirty, swarming village crowded
with nameless things to eat and drink. Children,
sprawling, narrowly escape death under our wheels.
In the squalid hovels, gaunt, ill-nourished fowls
perched about, on the edge of kettles— anywhere.
Tall palms, with long stems and tufts of leaves at
the top, stand against the sky ; donkeys everywhere.
Great care has to be taken lest you are defiled in
walking. December 29. We drove through the Arab

138 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i894
quarter, and to the citadel overlooking Cairo, A
solitary soldier with his book was perched where,
when his eyes left the book, all the pyramids, the
city below, and the Nile rolling in a turbid flood
came into one glance. We visited an ancient
mosque, carefully putting slippers over our shoes
to prevent our infidel feet from profaning the pave
ment. December 30. We drive to see dahabiyehs ; none
good enough. Go to the opera and hear "Herodi-
ade" by Massenet; ill sung; the harem, in closed
boxes, fill a good part of the house.
Decbmbee 31. We drive at eleven to the Great
Pyramid, through a beautiful avenue of acacias;
pass trains of camels; on either side, the green
fields, with here and there robed figures bending at
work. The first sight was disappointing, and only
when we drew near did the prodigious size reveal
itself. A group of Arabs, camels, and donkeys,
here awaiting their prey, pounced on us with
offers. Our dragoman introduced us to the chief,
a dignified old man, who laid about lustily with
his staff and scattered his retainers; then one
was told off, by a stroke from the stick of the
chief, to ascend the pyramid and return in eight
minutes. The agile, wiry creature tucked up his robe, and

1894] THE NILE JOURNEY 139
with incredible agility began the ascent, jumping
from rock to rock with the lightness of a chamois ;
as he ascended he shrunk away smaller and smaller,
and on the top seemed hardly larger than a monkey.
His descent was so rapid as to be fearful ; it seemed
more like falling down than anything else, and he
reached the earth in seven minutes from the tioae
he started. Passing some smaller ruined tombs, we
came to the Sphinx, whose vast and battered face
has for so many centuries looked out over the val
ley of the Nile. Here, with camels and all, a photo
graph was made, the camels keeping up a dolorous
clamor; then to the granite tombs,— some of the
blocks eighteen by seven feet, so exactly fitted that
the joints of these great pieces of alabaster, once
polished smooth, are hardly perceptible on the
face. On our return, the sheik gave us his kindest
good-by, and again cudgeled the more rapacious,
who would fain have seized us for more. The level
sun filled the plain with long shadows as we drove
home. In the evening to the opera— "Cavalleria
Rusticana," an excellent performance. M. Bey
spoils the intermezzo by remaining in the box and
talking of common things. Miss W. dined and
went with us to the opera, after which we sat up
until twelve and wished one another a happy New
Year.

140 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i896

1895
January 1. A beastly native band, playing a trav
esty on the "Marseillaise" at the door of the
French ambassador across the way, awoke me
at eight o'clock. The Embassy, in a great deal
of embroidery, was setting out; many servants in
Arab dress and wands attempted to keep order.
This mob increased in numbers about noon, when
the whole street was blocked by callers. All the
various sorts of ecclesiastics, in all kinds of queer
robes, called. One band after another of the native
sort, uninvited, added to the din; a clarinet,
trombone, two drums, and a pair of cymbals noisily
clashed by a dirty, small boy with head rolled up
like a sore thumb, was the usual array, and the
noise was abominable. In the aftemoon we drove
to Heliopolis to see the Obelisk stuck in the dirt in
the middle of a sordid field near a village of un
usual squalor; no sensation there for me. An
ostrich-farm at the end of the desert we saw;
and after to the legendary tree under which the
Holy Family rested— a palpable fraud. After
dinner we went to the smoking-room and heard
some stranded negro minstrels sing very well
indeed.

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 141
We have concluded the charter for the dahabiyeh
Sesostris, and the fitting out begins at once.
January 2. The weather is now settled and
warm. We walk in the morning, and in the after
noon visit the museums ; an immense collection of
Egyptian sepulchral inscriptions, parchments, and
such; many mummies of the old kings,— that of the
one who built the Great Pyramid among the rest,—
the All-Powerful, now peered at by Cook's tourists,
who make note of everything, even to the polish of
his well-exposed toe-nail. In the garden a Moslem
saying his prayers on the turf. The bargain is
made for the tug to haul us up the river,
January 3. One month ago to-day I was in my
home at Zoar, with no idea of leaving. We have
already been in Cairo a week, and gradually the
sights and scenes are becoming familiar— not that
they ever could become stale. We are invited
to dine on Saturday with Mr, Gorst at the Brit
ish Embassy; after to the opera. We go down
to the Sesostris; a swarm of Orientals on deck;
everything very handsome, but the fat cook has
only one eye. We drive to look for stuffs for
cushions, January 4, In the morning to the grocer's for
innumerable things to eat and drink. This grocer
is a splendid creature, like an emperor. We are

142 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1895
served with coffee and cigarettes; upon leaving.
Oriental salaams are plenty. In the afternoon we
go in a queer cart to an old mosque covered with
grape-vines, where we see the Howling Dervishes,
a curious, unlovely row of wild-looking, long
haired men, some old, some young ; they chant and
furiously wag their heads to and fro. One young
fellow reads from the Koran in a broken, pas
sionate voice, tremulous and near tears ; trombones
and a rude clarinet make the uncouth accompani
ment; a gaping crowd of outside barbarians gaze
idly on. After that, through incredible dust and
antique filth, to the Coptic Church; very old and
idolatrous. There is only a sixpence to choose be
tween the two. Rare mosaic of mother-of-pearl
decorates the sanctum; the rites indicated by the
machinery exposed are akin to those of the Greek
Church. A venerable man, like a picture of Moses
in our old Bible, receives alms at the door. The
narrow, dirty alleys, with overhanging, ruinous
houses, swarm with beggars proclaiming them
selves Christians and crying for backshish, I dis
pense largess to two. We drove to the water's edge
to see where Moses was found by Pharaoh's sister
(I think it was), and other memorials of him; all
expressed some doubt, but it is not an article of
faith; there are no bulrushes now in the neighbor-

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 143
hood; then to the Gezireh drive and back to the
Sesostris, and walk home.
January 10. We went on the Sesostris at 8.30;
Mrs. W., her daughter. Miss K., and Mr. B. of
Liverpool with us; also Mr. B., an entertaining
young man. The wind was ahead; we had two
tugs, rather weak and puffy; with both wind and
current against us, the pace was slow. Down the
river come the strange boats and stranger car
goes of the wild people in flowing robes. Al
ways, in the background, the pyramids. Palm
trees fringe the river and cluster among the mud-
walled villages scattered along the shore ; trains of
camels, with loads, and groups of goats and sheep
and cattle feeding, tethered or tended, in the
emerald-green field, without fences to mar the
harmonies. After dinner we land at ancient Mem
phis ; a mob of howling Egyptians and donkeys on
the bank. The sheik, laying on mercilessly with a
cudgel, drives away many; they turn on him and
throw lumps of dirt, with great outcry. Finally we
are perched on donkeys and the motley procession
starts, with a crowd of imploring beggars on all
sides; two young girls, with vast earrings, single
me out, caressing my legs and soliciting me with
the most endearing and complimentary titles of

144 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
Lord, Baron, and Prince. To this I tum a deaf ear,
A big Bedouin cutthroat assists me ostentatiously
up the steep places ; I wave him off with asperity,
and am shocked afterward to learn it was a sheik.
My donkey-boy Mohammed begins from the first
to ingratiate himself, with a view to ultimate re
ward. The patient ass I bestride is called "Tele
graph," and is a miracle of strength, carrying my
heavy weight with the greatest ease; I am pleased
to know how easy it is to ride them. We pass
through a most picturesque mud village; no two
houses alike, and standing at every angle. We come
suddenly on the vast heap of rubbish which once
was the great capital of Egypt; broken fragments
of statuary and sculptured stone flying about in the
majestic groves of date palms. On the ruins are
pitched the transitory tents of some Arabs; in
every direction, camels, goats, and buffaloes.
The first great fragment is a statue of Rameses
II, of colossal size, the lips large enough for a
man to stand on ; with legs partly broken ; terrible
almost in its titanic size. Around it are other
fragments, and, all about, the silent mounds of the
ruined and abandoned city: fragments of pottery;
indescribable heaps of rubbish. Further on is the
vast and nearly perfect statue of Rameses, inclosed
by a mud wall, over which a platform is built, and

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 145
up which we are conducted to look down upon the
face, severe and almost godlike, not in the least
disfigured; around it, heaps of rubbish overgrown
with palms. Return, followed by crowd from the
village, fawning and clamoring for backshish. The
climax was reached when we alighted amid stormy
howls and gesticulations. Suddenly the sheik lays
about with his cudgel and they scatter. A gro
tesque sight to see men with beards fly before the
pursuer like children; some, with lamentable cries
and well-counterfeited grief, crowded down to the
water's edge for more; even the one I had per
sonally tipped joined in the cry. I threw a small
coin; they pounced upon it, and one slipped into
the Nile and was fished out in a rueful state of
hanging drapery, like cerements; the wet one
raised lamentations, and in the row another fell
in. The sheik made another rush with his cudgel,
and as the boat moved away we saw them gather
around the donkeys with cries and gesticulations,
and then the whole group started toward the
village. We journey home under the gaudy evening sky,
the setting sun gilding the walls of the gaunt, bar
ren hills. We have a full moon, and part reluc
tantly at the end of a memorable day,
January 11. In the morning Will and I walked

146 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
about the town, picking up farthings for the jour
ney; met Mr. Reid, who was most polite. After
luncheon, went with the ladies to see the Dancing
Dervishes. They do not dance, but spin about to
the music of a pipe and some small, barbarous
drums, varied by a droning chant. The whole cere
mony is most trifling and lacking in religious feel
ing. A motley crowd of foreigners blocks up the
place, elbowing and staring; met the everlasting,
triangular-mouthed B. boy, with his guide-book in
hand. We drove from there through long, squalid
streets, with ill-smelling things to eat exposed for
sale, through a dirty plaza with revolving swings
full of half-naked children, and other unmention
able sights, to the tombs of the Mamelukes. An
Egyptian child at first refused a piaster, but finally
took it. The hired prayers in the tombs seemed to
be having a jolly time; one of the dervishes was not
more than ten years old. To-night, high jinks
and fireworks in the public gardens. After four
o'clock we drove to the Gezireh Palace and heard
the music of two bands,— selections from "Caval
leria Rusticana" and "Faust" among the others.
The sunset as we drove along was glorious. Just
then we were crowded to the side of the road to
make way for the Kledive, who saluted us. I don't
like this opera-bouffe potentate stopping every-

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 147
thing when he passes ; no royal personage in Eng
land does as much,
January 12, In the morning things are packed
for the boat which goes up the river to-day. We
are to overtake it by rail, leaving here a week from
to-day. After luncheon we drive out to the pyra
mids. The fat porter is amusing, saying, "You
can 'feed' no mosquitos here," which is a blessing.
We walk to the Sphinx, surrounded on every side
by Arabs with soft voices, laying the foundation
for backshish; a camel or two trail behind; we
are offered scarabs and other objects of doubtful
antiquity. Returning through the twilight, we
meet Mohammed Ibrahim, tall and handsome, who
will be our g-uide to-night when we go by moonlight
to the Sphinx.
I am charmed with the situation of this hotel,
"between the desert and the sown," as Omar says.
The band played; we dined merrily, and then, on
camels and donkeys, marshaled by Mohammed
Ibrahim, we went, under the light of the full moon,
to the Sphinx, and then around all the pyramids.
A strange, desolate sight under the pale moon.
Mohammed has a very musical voice and a most
quiet manner; I was strangely attracted to him.
The dry desert air blew cold.
January 13. We go to the Sakkarah pyramids

148 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
in three sand-carts and four camels, under Mo
hammed Ibrahim; visit the tombs ; very hot,— these
vast sarcophagi of granite where the sacred bulls
were interred.
Choice luncheon on the porch of Mariette Pasha.
Our donkeys are very tired when we get back after
dark. After dinner we talk with Mohammed and
his younger brother, a handsome youth of twenty-
two, and they tell us of the custom of honoring
their father ; they do not even sit in his presence.
January 14. We breakfast at ten ; menu crowd
ed with everything good from red mullet down;
the pluie d'or is having its effect. After breakfast
we wandered from the porch. As a regiment of
English soldiers in uniform marched up the ave
nue, with vans loaded with provisions and water
and wives and children, for a picnic at the pyra
mids, they haul the vans up the incline with a
sturdy silence; the same number of Arabs would
deafen one. Then we mount camels and follow to
the Sphinx. The dabs of red uniforms relieve the
dim monotony of the desert ; they lunch in the cool
tombs of polished granite.
We ride around the second pyramid, where the
quarries are; my camel was most comfortable;
when, after returning to the hotel, I seek to alight,
the beast sinks down, the girth breaks, and I roll

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 149
off, to the amusement of all the people; I am not
hurt. We have a charming lunch. Sad that it was to
be the last with the young ladies W. Drive home
to the Continental, reaching there at five o'clock.
P. and Will go to the opera with Mr. and Mrs. F.
to hear Massenet's "Cid." After dinner I walk
about; Cairo at night is a necropolis. We have the
memory of two very good days,— yesterday and
the day before,— and, for that matter, to-day.
January 15. I buy an ancient bowl, and Will a
pot, of the time of Abraham; at evening in a car
riage to some saint's celebration in the Arab quar
ter ; the streets, canopied over, are gay with flags
and blazing with innumerable lamps and candles;
grotesque sugar toys displayed in the bright
booths ; an intolerable swarming crowd, with danc
ing-girls. One big-mouthed but attractive negress
beguiles a coin from the head; this marks us, and
they swarm on us; we are with difficulty rescued
by the dragoman. Our carriage tries to penetrate
the throng, but we are stopped and alight. After
a short experience in elbowing the highly scented
crowd, we take refuge again in the carriage. J. is
mad to see dancing-girls ; I frown down the propo
sition. We spy some dervishes,— no, they are
common people standing in a circle with their

150 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
shoes off ; one man, a leader, in the center. Mov
ing their heads back and forth, they say at each
movement, "Allah." This exertion brings on a
kind of ecstatic state; they seem wild and quite
beside themselves. Some grotesque figures flit
about in the crowd : a female sheik with a curious
wand of office in her hand; beggars in raglans
made from coarse bagging; some young dancing-
girls with suggestive eyes. Over all, the din of
countless cries. From the mosque a stream pours
out one door and in the other. At last we tire of
all this movement and go home. The streets, in
contrast with the brightness of the festival, seemed
quite dark.
January 16. We came in the morning, through
most Oriental streets, to the so-called University.
In a mosque we saw the students learning the
Koran, squatted on their hams in circles on the
floor. They were of all ages, some very small.
One minute, gnome-like Sudanese, jet-black, aged
five, with ivory eyes and a capote of striped cotton
cloth pulled over his head, was learning to write
with a camel 's-hair brush on a tin plate. Next him
squatted a sweet-faced child, nearly white. An
austere pedagogue, with an ever-ready rod for their
backs, aided by a helper who freely slaps their
faces, moved about. They sway back and forth as
they recite.

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 151
In the evening there was a ball. I escaped that.
January 17. In the morning the Egyptian
troops march by to strange, barbaric music in a
minor key. The longer one stays, the more attrac
tive this place becomes. We have a clear sky,
with a temperature of 68° in the shade. Too much
small society to please me ; but, after all, that does
not seriously interfere.
In the afternoon I get a costume of the country ;
much merriment while trying on in the open ba
zaar. Mr. P. arrives in the evening. Every one
agog about Lady C. 's ball. Mr. S., the little officer,
asks the others to dine at the Gezireh Palace on
Saturday and go to the ball. They decline; they,
too, are engaged.
January 19. We leave at eight o'clock for
Assiut; a pluie d'or to the greedy and almost in
numerable servants, not forgetting the magnifi
cent head- waiter, whom may the Prophet wither!
The small, pallid landlord comes with us to the sta
tion with the other servants; he brings bouquets
for the ladies and is very humble. Owing to its
having been noised about that the golden flood does
not come from me, I am not disturbed.
We have a large saloon carriage with several
compartments, and the windows are so high we
are obliged to stand up to see out. This thing was

152 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
built to carry the harem, and so arranged that no
one could look in. Presently a panorama begins to
pass before us— of camels, asses; of innumerable
stretches of green fields crowded with tethered
sheep and cattle grazing on the clover; of natives
plowing, cutting sugar-cane, working in the ditches.
As we get further south, in the heat of the day, the
natives wear fewer and fewer garments ; sometimes
they are almost nude, the children often quite so.
In the aftemoon the heat and dust are for a little
time unpleasant. We have a temporary dragoman,
who is fat. When we reach Assiut, a cart receives
us, and there is the usual yelling crowd. We are
drawn at a furious rate to the river, where we find
the Sesostris blazing with lanterns and covered
with palm leaves and long purple stalks of sugar
cane, artistically arranged. The crew are drawn
up in lines, each burning a Bengal light; the com-
panionway is arched and strung with lanterns, and
the deck poetically strewn with orange leaves.
After dressing we sat down to a sumptuous din
ner, with turkey for the piece de resistance; much
champagne and many toasts; we smoke on deck
and to bed.
January 20. I look out at the sun rising; the
boat has been moved since daylight; the slcy is
serenely clear; the distance is sharply defined as

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 153
through a glass. We gather on the deck; a fair
wind fills our sail; a procession of green fields,
palm groves, mud- walled villages, camels, donkeys,
and white-robed black people glides by. When the
boat comes near the shore, where the high bank
makes a platform for their feats, the boys and half-
grown men, in their blue gowns, awkwardly turn
somersaults for backshish. The sailors sing, and
at the proper time eat their messes, cooked in the
big stone pot, all from one vast wooden bowl. It
was a sight to see them furl the sail in the half-
light after sunset; the long spar is over one hun
dred feet; twelve men crawl up like monkeys and
with sharp cries gather up the canvas and make
it fast; one, beginning at the highest place, winds
a rope around the whole sail. From the darkening
sky— for the twilight is very short— comes out sud
denly the old, familiar stars. Ibrahim winks know
ingly to me. The blazing jewel of the sky in the
North— the Dipper— swings low, the handle lost
below the horizon. Faint sounds of animals come
confusedly from the fields, and the wolfish barking
of dogs, afar off, indicates the presence of man. So
the night falls on a memorable day. In the dim
light the helmsman is seen praying, his face to the
east; his gaimt figure is relieved against the lumi
nous sky ; he bows low and then prostrates himself

154 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1895
again and again, while the man who has taken the
helm to forward his pious office looks at the south
ern star, nor seems to notice his fellow. Finally
we stop for the night, and stakes are driven in the
bank, to which the boat is fastened. My compan
ions, with a crowd of men armed with staves to beat
off the dogs, climb the bank and walk awhile. We
drink first to our Sovereign Lady and the Pope,
although the Archbishop of Canterbury is pre
ferred by Miss D. and Mr. P., who are crankily
in favor of that conglomerate, the English Church.
The wind is fair. The crew, in bed-gowns and
white raglans, call on the Prophet as they haul
at the rope. From the bowl, with long wooden
spoons, they breakfast— pea soup poured over fine,
broken, dried black bread. Black, bulky boats,
with torn sails, glide along, crowded with people
in long, rusty black gowns, like lost souls crowding
Charon's boat on the Styx.
January 21. This has been the greatest day yet.
I rose at sunrise. The river here hugs a white cliff
perforated with tombs. On deck the varying pic
tures make it impossible to read. After luncheon
our boat was cast off. The wind grew very strong,
and we were making great progress with the large
sail when suddenly a puff threw her around, and in
a trice she became unmanageable. The crew with

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 155
one voice squalled ; the captain, in a blue bed-gown
and bare feet and legs, began jumping in the air,
three feet at a clip, and calling on the Prophet for
aid; he cursed the men by the sacred beard and
bowels, and with a despairing gesture flimg both
hands in the air as we settled against an earth-
bank. No damage was done, and when the skipper
reassured himself he retired behind the ice-box and,
after the Moslem manner, with low voice and pro
testations gave thanks to Allah; then sat down on
deck, leaving the affair to the first officer, who
paraded the place in a ragged tunic and bare
legs. Across the river from the desert blows a cloud of
yellow sand, and with many cries the sailors haul
the boat further down, where the position is more
favorable for starting. The afternoon wears away,
and finally our tug the Mascot (the name should be
Hoodoo), with clamorous jabbering, takes hold of
us again and steams boldly across the stream. We
had not gone a mile when something broke and
again we lay perdu, this time anchored in the river.
Down sinks the yellow sun behind the great hills ;
the sailors, with many protestations, pray wher
ever they find an empty place on deck.
January 22. A glorious sunrise. The boatmen,
with strange cries, pull and haul aimlessly, many

156 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
nearly knee-deep, towing the boat. Starting near
shore and touching from time to time, we pass the
tiers of half-naked men, with small sweeps like the
old-fashioned well-poles, dipping the water of the
Nile from one level to another. As they work they
sing a low, wailing song. These are the drawers of
water of Holy Writ. The wheat grows rank and is
nearly ready to head out. I see tomatoes, melons,
and all the tender verdure of a Northern summer.
The half -nude figures of the fellaheen, bronzed and
magnificently strong, move with an easy grace.
Four things come not back: The spoken word;
the sped arrow; the past life; the neglected oppor
tunity. These sayings of Omar fit in this serene land
scape, rich with waving green wheat, alive with
tethered cattle and sheep, and swarming with hu
manity. These men earn only a piaster (five cents)
a day. With all their exceeding labor, they do not
seem unhappy. At noon we reach the village of
Akhmim, walking over fields, escorted by a sailor
with a long, heavy staff. There we found, at the
shop where our decrepit tug was being repaired,
a very pleasant French gentleman. Monsieur A.
Frenay, Societe Anonyme des Moutons d'Egypte,
who was most polite. We take vermuth with him,
and, our boat by this time drawing up, he came

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 157
on board and we had a glass of champagne; we
toast "Le Peuple FranQais" and "The United
States, ancienne amie des Frangais."
The scurvy population gathering on the shore,
but no one pestering us for backshish. Finally
we are painfully towed past the village, over and
around the strange craft, all the time with clamor
ous cries. Over all, beyond the mud walls, palm
trees bend their plumy tops before the wind, graz
ing ancient riparian structures of untold antiquity.
We finally reach the turn of the Nile, where we
feel the breeze, and, unfurling our sails, bowl
along before the wind. At sunset we see, set
against the splendor of a saffron sky, an old, old
place, its mud walls accentuated by tall, solitary
palms. In the half-light the buildings seem like
some impossible pile of palaces. From out the
dusky shadows come the cries of children and
the sullen barking of dogs; quickly the shadows
disperse and the stars usurp the sky. Far, far,
indeed, are Zoar and friends ; a tender, irresistible
emotion seizes me, and tears come to my eyes.
I try to re-people these banks with the innu
merable hosts who have been bom here in sixty
centuries, have lived and loved and died, and are
forgotten, their dust now mingled with the blow
ing sand of the desert.

158 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
I test the mess of the crew and find it good.
January 23. The night was passed tied to the
bank ; in the morning a calm, with occasional light
airs; we slowly drag along, hauled by men on
shore, past the monotonous mud villages and palms.
From the water comes the same wild, melancholy
cry. We send ashore at Girgeh for mail, but find
none. We sail until quite late; from the shore
confused sounds of men and the barking of dogs—
a continual sound here. C, takes the pistol from
his pocket. He says that the mauvais natives must
know we are armed and must let us alone. The
captain prays on the sand.
The same placid river and no wind. As we
skirt the shore, half -naked boys turn somersaults;
one, whom we called le petit diable, follows us
for a mile, begging to be taken into service. When
backshish is thrown to him he says, "Long life,
0 great Pasha ! ' ' After much chaffering, a sheep
is bought for the crew; the sheep-man repeatedly
turning away with his goods, but afterward coming
again. Finally the unhappy sheep is paid for and
put into the boat with our other live-stock, crying
bitterly for the green fields it will not see again.
English sparrows with impudent familiarity flit
about, and a glossy black swallow of the north flits
through the air.

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 159
Under the sky on the deck I lie, looking at the
stars. A strange jargon of sounds is this unknown
language. While the shores slide duskily by, the
crew below, satiated by a stew from the sheep pur
chased at Girgeh, supplemented by "hitting the
pipe" of hashish, sing their wild chorus, mingled
with cries of "Allah." And now we are tied up
for the night, and the tired sailors curl up in
bundles on the deck, great children apparently,
with all the simplicity of childhood. To-day, with
all its variety and interest, we have gone only ten
miles. The dragoman is discursive and pleas
ingly untrustworthy, always concealing unpleasant
truths, with an ever-ready but not always reliable
answer. January 25, The same dazzling sunshine; the
men towing, following another boat in like pre
dicament, said to have on board the Count of Ca
lais. The state dahabiyeh, with Mr. G.'s party,
passes, going down. We left in the forenoon ; boat
tied to the bank; all ashore for exercise. A black,
hulking freight-boat anchors beside us. An empty
bottle, thrown over, tempts a native, who, throw
ing off his bed-gown, jumps in and rescues it; a
fellow with rare delicacy takes him a thin and
dirty garment, too short at both ends, and he coyly
advances, only slightly clothed, with his treasure.

160 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1895
All the party cheerful, and we enter into another
Egyptian day with serene, almond-eyed compla
cency. We have abandoned every thought of
where we will be and when. The breakdown of
this tug was a blessing in disguise. Last night
the crew made merry, battening on their sheep and
smoking hashish. I smoke too.
January 27. We reached Kamak last night.
To-day we take asses for the temple of Denderah.
Through the fields run naked boys with garlands
and bunches of flowers, clamoring for backshish.
The dust increases as we near the mound of black
rubbish which at a distance conceals the temple.
This admirable temple, although hacked and muti
lated by Christian and Moslem alike, is so great
and majestic that it cannot be destroyed. The
portico puts all modem structures to the blush; it
has a majesty unknown in modern architecture.
We explore the inner chamber— the penetralia—
now so common, where in the old days once only in
a year a trembling king opened the great door to
enter and touch the consecrated lyre. When we
were coming out, there entered a group of Cook's
"personally conducted." On emerging, we found
that our greedy donkey-man had hustled back with
his animals to catch a load of tourists ; enraged, we
take others, and then confusion reigns. I think it
a blessing that we know no Arabic.

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 161
Finally escaping, we embark to cross again. The
head of the family, having, as he said, much experi
ence with steam-launches, told the swarthy helms
man where to tum; against his will the latter did
so, and we ran aground, having much ado to clear
again. In the aftemoon, with faint wind and the most
sultry air, we sail for Thebes. Again the most
beautiful sky, water, and earth, while through the
palm groves shines the first crescent of the new
moon. After dinner we go out on deck, singing
and listening to the sounds from the distant vil
lages, while, spread out before us, the vast dome
of heaven is filled with bright stars. I take a drink
of Pepper whisky and soda, and it adds a new glory
to the sky.
January 29. Luxor. Hot in the morning. We
go to the village and call upon the B. 's and the G. 's,
who refresh us with absinthe and gin and invite us
to dine.
At noon a one-eyed consular agent calls on us.
We go to the consulate and take coffee, and are
given an opportunity to buy antiquities "on the
ground floor." A one-eyed and most repulsive
young man takes us through the market, a strange
jumble, as odd as Kamak. Then we go by boat
through the hot sun to the river edge near Kamak ;

162 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
there donkeys, and then to the Indescribable Tem
ple. Clear indications of Phallic worship in the
sculptures. We see a bewildering lot of mined
obelisks, some standing and others thrown down,
and under the setting sun ride through the market,
which is paved with every kind of commodity, and
then back to the dahabiyeh.
January 30. We go for a little while to the tem
ple of Karnak; thermometer 88°. The boat is
decorated with palms and cane leaves and three
hundred and forty lanterns; and while at dinner
we are taken to the west bank, amid a great din of
pistols. Mr. and Mrs. G. and Mr. B. dine with us.
After dinner I put on my Oriental dress, and we
pass a pleasant evening.
January 31. To the Ramesseum and the tem
ple of Medinet-Abu; then to the statues of Mem-
non. In the evening to the races: buffaloes,
camels, donkeys, and men. Hot walk through the
fields. February 1. Went to the tomb of the kings;
lunch taken back. We lunch on board, and spend
the afternoon there vacantly. Go over to Luxor
and see the temple at sunset. In the evening cross
the windy river; the Misses W. and Mr. B. come to
call. P., with a sailor armed with a long cudgel,
goes out along the shore to walk ; she seems sad.

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 163
February 2. The day has been empty of events.
The same serene sky and placid, melancholy land,
with toiling people. It is hard to think of their
unending toil ; since the beginning it has been and
will be ; but what becomes of the All-Merciful ?
February 3. All day sailing; pass Edfu, with
its great temple; anchor at night twelve miles
above. February 4. Sail all day, and reach Assuan at
nine o'clock.
February 5. Move over to Assuan ; great crowd
on the quay. We go through the bazaars, and the
boat anchors at the island, where the motley crew
all day long go back and forth in a ferry. In the
aftemoon, at the bazaar ; in the evening, moonlight
ride on the water; a most lovely night. P. has
quite recovered.
February 6. Go by special train to Philte; re
turn through the cataract; to the bazaar in the
aftemoon to buy Sudanese arms and trinkets.
Again we sail by moonlight; naked negroes in the
rapid; strange song by the boatmen; left Assuan;
landed at Silsileh and wandered about by moon
light, misdirected by an Arab, and finally found
the Rock Chapel; Miss D.'s birthday; a cake
with a false date and offering of Sudanese ob
jects.

164 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
February 8. To Edfu and the incomparable
temple, and Geni, unspeakable with filth and
wretchedness, in the morning; and to the solemn
subterranean temple in the aftemoon.
February 9. Arrived at Luxor and found mail,
with nothing from my sister; in the afternoon to
Medinet-Abu, and in the evening by moonlight to
Kamak the Incomparable. We see a wedding with
palanquins, camels, black, dusty gowns and tur
bans, and roast in the sweltering heat.
February 10. To ragged tomb of Seti I; after
luncheon, sail with two tugs. W.'s asked us to
dine last night, but we could not. We sail down
under the blazing sun; the palms grow stately on
shore. February 11. At Bir el-Fahmeh; all on asses to
temple of Abydos, through fields of grain and
beans, past cattle, sheep, and goats. Three villages,
shaded by palm trees. We pass the rope-makers'
boys therein offering slings and toys rudely
made. The return is in the setting sun; all tired
but happy; the moon floods the river with ra
diance. February 12. Leave Bir el-Fahmeh and steam
to Akhmim, where a dozen of champagne is left
over for Monsieur Frenay. The keen wind from

1895] THE NILE JOURNEY 165
the north is felt. The hunters shoot pigeons. I
bargain for cotton stuffs and read how of old Pan
was worshiped here, and also Priapus. So we fare
on, the north wind blowing keen, past green fields,
mooring at last where Antaeus and Hercules went
for the final contest. At dinner many toasts and
many bottles.
February 13. Stop at Assiut, the point where
we took boat going up ; go in carriages and through
the bazaars.
February 14. Early at Beni-Hassan; made
ready to ride on asses to the tombs. My saddle
breaks down and I stay aboard disgusted. Near
here Antinous, Hadrian's immoral favorite,
drowned himself. The populace particularly grov
eling and scurvy ; two flat-footed Egyptian soldiers,
with muskets, .make a show of keeping back the
scabby-headed young beggars,
February 15, Left Minyeh, and sailed all day,
stopping for an hour to shoot pigeons. This day
we go one hundred and one miles. In the evening
the False Pyramid comes in sight. We have a
merry dinner, with many toasts,
February 16. Four weeks ago to-day we started
up the Nile, and to-day by noon we hope to be again
in Cairo,

166 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
February 20. I go before breakfast to walk, and
say farewell to Cairo, I will never see it again.
I wUl not forget its picturesqueness and its
peculiar charm,
I am unhappy. Why should that man, once so
dear a friend, stand, like a cloud, between me and
the sun?
February 21. We reached Alexandria at ten
o'clock and, after dinner, retired. The hotel was
once the palace of Cherif Pasha. The rooms are
very lofty, with double doors; a rat could easily
run under them.
In the morning we drive to Pompey's Pillar, a
noble fragment in a malodorous air, the whole
neighborhood defiled. Then Will and I walk
awhile. He buys me a very handsome cigarette-
holder. We go on board for lunch. My room is
not the one engaged for me, but is very good. I am
satisfied to leave Egypt ; for the last month I have
been ill at ease. While I can never forget the tem
ples and tombs, nor the picturesqueness of the peo
ple, a vague regret has been hanging over me, and
I have longed for Zoar.
February 22. The ship nears Jaffa, along a
barren, rocky coast on which breaks a line of surf.
At breakfast the first officer, Meyers, explains the
bunting and American music by telling us that we

1895] IN THE HOLY LAND 167
had overlooked the fact that it is Washington's
Birthday. There is a heavy swell, and we go ashore
with much rocking and just enough danger to be
interesting. A rain having fallen, Jaffa is a sea of mud.
The people waddle through the mud and over the
greasy stones. Finally a hack picks us up and we
reach the station. The train, with a hook-nosed
conductor, who gets rattled and says, "Mort de
Dieu!" at every tum, his spectacles blazing with
wrath, was another experience. Jaffa is where
the whale and Jonah had the combination; we are
entering the land of miracles, and I stagger at
nothing. It takes five hours to go seventy-five
miles ; we stop at every bush. The scenery first is
soft and beautiful. We pass the Vale of Sharon,
with orange groves and stretches of lovely green.
Here and there are many olive trees, and, all along,
where earth enough could be found, a tree is
planted. At the station at Jerusalem a great
crowd elbowing. We go to Howard's Hotel. The
young manager, Abraham Joseph Moralli, himself
an extraordinary type of beauty, and his wife,
petite and pretty, tum themselves out of their
rooms to make a place for us.
We go to the wailing-place of the Jews against
the old wall. They kiss the stones and lament the

168 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
downfall of Zion, praying for the return of its
glory. We dine in the private room of the handsome
landlord, who is, he says, Nimrod and Pharaoh in
blood. February 23. In the morning to the Mosque of
Omar— the site of the Temple; then through St.
Stephen's Gate, where Christ made his triumphant
entry and where Stephen was stoned. Then on
sorry donkeys to the Mount of Olives, a steep,
stony climb, with outbreaks of hideous lepers ask
ing charity with pitiful cries. The mount is cut
up by petty churches. The Garden of the Agony
is not impressive, nor is the valley of Jeboshaphat
nor the pool of Siloam,— everything is in small.
This Calvary and the Sepulcher are practically
under one roof. We came through the Via Dolo
rosa, where the Christ bore his cross and fainted
under it.
In the aftemoon down to Bethlehem ; the country
very rocky and grassless; one half stone wall.
Ancient olive trees and vines occupy what of the
soil is not rock. In the village the usual market.
Everything on the ground; over every door the
cross. The church, 1000 years old, where Baldwin
was crowned, was once splendid. Some patches of
the mosaic still to be seen. The main building is
occupied by the Greek communion, a side chapel

1895] IN THE HOLY LAND 169
by the Latins. Here an old man prostrates him
self in prayer, and a young girl with shoes off
comes in with an air of devotion and prays. The
crypt below is pointed out as the spot where Christ
was bom. Some dull-eyed friars hang about, with
a clear eye for backshish. Many lamps and tawdry
pictures adorn the walls. The entrance to the
church, owing to the violence of faction, is a mere
hole in the wall. When we came out I looked into
a room where many little boys, with beautiful faces
and bright eyes, were noisily conning their lessons.
A wide view below showed where the shepherds
watched; and from the round wall I plucked a
flower growing and blossoming there. We drove
back to Jerusalem, past Rachel's tomb. Lumber
ing camels in files carry blocks of stone. Later we
go to the Sepulcher, and I stroll about. Mrs. R.
has a fire started and smokes every one out. The
curiosity people wrangle in the halls. I talk again
with Ibrahim, and we protest an undying friend
ship. I toss long before sleep overtakes me.
February 24. We arise at six o'clock, break
fast, and start at seven. Ibrahim is along on a
fierce horse, and he shows his horsemanship. We
are all crammed in one car ; the bulk of the tourists
coming in an hour later. Mr. M. and Mr. C. of
California are on board.
At Jaffa a wild sea is running, with foamy waves

170 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
breaking on the rocks. I do not like the sea, but
get in. Twelve men row, with many cries. We
rise on the crests of waves and then sink into the
depths ; with great difficulty we reach the ship, and
are plucked out and on to the ladder by main force.
Sprinkled by the sea and dazed by the situation, I
am glad to have the ship under my feet. Soon the
other boats come, one after another, in a storm of
wind and drenching rain. The sea is lashed to
fury, and some of the women are half fainting.
Finally all are in, and the boatmen with wild fare
wells push off in the spumy sea. They strip naked
and drag the boats ashore, figures of splendid
beauty and strength.
February 25. The sea very wild, and hardly
any one to breakfast. The ship plunges heavily
into the sea ; wheel scatters a cloud of spray. This
is a mistral. In the aftemoon the sea went down,
and the evening was beautiful. In the distance, to
the east. Mount Olympus, and then the island of
Rhodes, February 26. Smyrna. Sunrise among the
lovely islands of the Greek Archipelago; at half-
past ten off Smyrna; a lovely day with a smiling
sea. The whole town turns out to see us disembark.
The American consul conducts us about town. The

1895] PIR^US 171
bazaars are interesting; the people cleaner and
more intelligent than in Egypt; the camels majes
tic; the luncheon bad. We go in special train to
Ephesus— an absolutely awful ruin— the very
ground in the fields choked with costly marble;
only a vestige left of the famous temple. I think
of the daring youth who fired the dome.
Here St. Paul preached and St, John and the
Virgin lived and died; here, also, St. Luke was
bui-ned and the first two councils of the church were
held. We came to the ship tired, but revived at a
merry dinner.
February 27. Early at Pir^us. When we land,
Nicolas Sigalas, dragoman, meets us and conveys
us to the Hotel d 'Angleterre. We then drive to
the various places in the evening. Mr. Charles C.
and Mr. D. 0. M. dine with us. I walk out and
look at the new, garish town set among the august
heights of antique greatness. The Parthenon's
broken colonnades stand clearly out against the
evening sky.
February 28. We drive to the museum and see
the "Homer" of Phidias and the bust of Antinous,
favorite of Hadrian. The deathless beauty of this
head embalms his memory. There is in the same
room a head of a young man resembling Christ. I
walk alone in the afternoon, as in the morning be-

172 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
fore breakfast. I went through the market-place ;
the people poor and their things poor; the palace
poor, being rich only in great ruins.
After dinner I walk. The streets are empty at
night. March 1. I go again to the temple of Eucleia
before breakfast. There is much loss of time over
small things. I sit on a bench in the dazzling sun,
waiting xm.til half -past eleven before we start. All
the faces I scan for traces of antique beauty, but
there are very few. The Albanians are picturesque,
but trousers lack poetry. I miss the flowing robes
of Asia and Egypt. Meanwhile the wind blows
furiously. A solemn strain, and around the corner
comes a funeral. A band of music ; then acolytes
bearing crosses and lanterns, and a priest who has
much ado to reef his gown in the high wind ; then
a bearer with a black coffin cover having a cross of
violets ; then an open hearse, on which is stretched
the corpse of an old man with a white mustache.
It seemed brutal to expose the awful, sunken face
of death to the staring crowd. Behind, bareheaded,
walked the mourners on foot — men and women.
The drive to Piraeus was windy and uncomfort
able ; white dust and sordid objects. We are back,
glad to get on board again. The servants welcome
us as if we were coming home. The prime minister

1895] CONSTANTINOPLE 173
of Greece visits the ship. There are national airs.
We sail away, past the place where Salamis was
fought, and Athens fades away in the west. The
rocky islands seem enchanted. On the heights
rises a colonnade of marble, once a temple. Night
closes in with howling storm and seas break over
the ship in floods. I go below and, with Mr. C,
listen to the music,
March 2, Constantinople, Awoke to see the
Hellespont ; all the mountains snow-covered and a
piercing wind from the southeast, I dread a chilly
Constantinople, The hills about are snow-covered
and have a discouraging look. We reach the city
at 4 p, M. and steam past, playing the Turkish hymn
and dipping flags to everything. On both sides
the same picturesque moldy condition,— alterna
ting palaces and sties, weather-beaten and rotten.
We steam to the Black Sea and then return. At
dinner-time there is much pompous orating by
Germans ; they seem to take possession of the ship,
and, I am told, they consider the English-speaking
passengers rude. The captain was toasted, and
then followed a rigmarole about Turkey and a
health to the Sultan, which I did not respond to
very cheerfully,
March 3. I go to the bridge and see the mar-

174 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1895
velous procession of people and costumes. There
is nothing like it in the world. My friends drive to
St, Sophia, I prefer to walk,
March 4. I drive to St. Sophia and to the treas
ury and palaces,— the former of great splendor
dulled by time. The columns came from Baalbec
and the temple of Diana at Ephesus. The Moham
medan religion adds nothing to a building. In this
church everything is awry, as the place of the altar
is in the east and the prayer-niche toward Mecca
is at one side of the center, I hope without much
enthusiasm for religion as here practised. The
time will come when these Moslems will be kicked
out; they are generally the ignorant scum and
dregs of humanity. This is the time of Ramadan,
and an unusual devotion prevails,— even men car
rying beads about in their hands, ostensibly for the
praise of God. Some very cutthroats swagger
along, telling beads. At night the minarets are
lighted, with striking effect, Constantinople dry
is abominable ; wet, as it is to-day, it is loathsome.
Mud covers the hideous broken pavement. The
crowd have no rule of the road. At every broken
corner where the scanty trottoir ends entirely, you
are flung into the mud of the narrow carriageway
and must be careful not to be overrun by vehicles.

1895] CONSTANTINOPLE 175
You may not avoid being spattered by mud. The
ever-varying throng swarm the streets like vermin,
and knots of mangy yellow dogs lie curled up
everywhere. They are the sole scavenging pro
vision of the city. The women look like fardels of
soiled linen with their skirts pulled over their
heads; how they get this globular form is a mys
tery. They are exact about their faces, but the
other end is often innocently but indecently ex
posed. There is a great lavishness in the slack of
their breeches, and cloth enough in their turbans to
make a dress. Their shoes are of endless variety,
from the sandals of classical times to English
boots. Some of the young men are glorious in
beauty; some of the old men grand in dignity,
with white beards, flowing robes, and serious air.
March 5. I go as far as the Museum. The sar
cophagus of Alexander, by Lysippus, is the finest
work in relief I ever saw or will see ; it is one of
the three or four things in the world. I stay long
on the bridge, watching the tide of humanity.
Come home safely and write to Mrs. B. My friends
come in late after dark. We drive after dinner
with Mr. M. and Mr. C. to view St. Sophia illumi
nated at night. We look from the gallery and see
the worshipers all in rows. When the shrill, la-

176 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
menting voice of the priest rises in clamorous
appeal, they fall on their faces as one man— a
strange sight.
We drive through the low streets of Galata, full
of life ; for in the evening they feast after the all-
day fast of Ramadan. From the vivacity of some
of the figures as they sway, I think they also drink.
I ride with the driver, in an ill frame of mind.
March 6. We sail at eight o'clock from Con
stantinople. Presently pass the Dardanelles and
the Hellespont, where Leander swam. Here is a
queer and most ancient fort, where Xerxes once
built a bridge uniting Europe to Asia.
March 7. With a stormy sea, we pass the south-
em coast of Greece. All day the ship plunges
through heavy seas.
March 8. We approach Sicily and look at
cloud-capped Etna. We reach Messina early in the
morning; some boats approach, one with an over
sized United States flag and a fat man in top-hat.
This proves to be the United States consul, Mr. C,
who promptly warns us against Sicilian trickery
and tells every one to go to Taormina.
We go ashore and look at the ships loading with
lemons, and have lunch at the restaurant where the
tenor Tamagno was once porter. We take train for
Taormina, and after a charming run reach that

1895] SICILY 177
lovely place. We drive up to the village perched
on the mountain over the sea. We climb up to the
Greek theater and sit among the picturesque ruins ;
before us, Etna and the sea and the beautiful shore.
There never could be a more poetical place for a
troth plighting.
Mr. M. and I start to walk down to the station.
There is a strange uneasiness all around. The
carriages overtake us.
March 9. Arrive early at Palermo. Go to the
Hotel des Palmes. Our drawing-room is where
Wagner wrote "Tristan und Isolde." We drive
about the city.
In the evening all go to the opera; a very cheap
performance, but a beautiful moonlight night.
March 10. We all drive to Monreale and see
the splendid church and cloisters. Some boys,
singing in the sacristy to the music of the organ,
affect me beyond control, and I withdraw from the
rest and, full of sympathetic elation, shed tears.
We stop and see a private garden on the way
home ; toward the sea, a vast grove of lemon trees.
In the evening we go on board and sail before dark.
This is our last night on the Auguste Victoria; I
am endeared to her by a thousand ties.
March 11. Land at Naples. Early in the morn
ing, from my port-hole, I see Capri.

178 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
Miss D., when I speak of Miss B., who is leaving,
says, "I could tell her something that would make
her hair curl."
March 12. Naples. Go to Pompeii. The wind
blows warm, and finally it rains. Gradually the
storm increases, and while we are at luncheon
rises to a gale with pelting rain. We sit on the
stone bench at the Street of the Tombs. The
music after dinner was very fine. One sang. The
Gardien de nuit is also an emissary of Venus. The
wise goats of Naples: I saw one looking sadly at
herself in a plate-glass window.
March 13. Wild, stormy, rainy day. I go out
with Mr. C. ; we look at bronzes. In the aftemoon
the music plays and one sings divinely. The spray
from the sea blows against the windows; there is
a great storm.
March 14. Raining in the morning. I walk in
the park and see the Aquarium. News comes of the
death of Mrs. P. My friends go into mourning.
Mr. C. and Mr. M. leave for Rome. In the after
noon Will and I walk, the carriage following us;
then we drive up the high part and see the view;
it rains. We dine— at last alone again. Will buys
for me the bronze ' ' Narcissus. ' ' Music plays while
we dine, and one sings with great feeling.

1895] IN ITALY 179
March 15. I walk before breakfast ; in the fore
noon we drive— Will and I. In the afternoon I
walk alone through the old town, and hear wonder
ful singing by fishermen, with instrumental accom
paniment. At the fish-market, before a shrine, three
men sing with impassioned earnestness and great
feeling. In the evening Will and I go to a cafe
chantant. All day a succession of beautiful people.
Looking on these radiant faces, I am sick to think
that I am old.
March 16. Will and I drive to Baiae, on the way
to the extinct craters. In one the hot springs exhale
noxious gases; another is still active, with steam
and gas coming out ; the ground, when struck, gives
out a hollow sound. We see the ruins of a theater
and coliseum and fragments of temples and palaces,
for here once the court of imperial Rome was
placed. March 17. I walk all day in the city. In the
park in the morning make an acquaintance. In the
afternoon in the city. In the evening, at dinner,
they play, and one, dark and passionate, with eyes
like a basilisk, divinely sings.
March 18. We sail to Capri ; the day fair, with
smooth sea.
We lunch in the open air, above the marvelously
beautiful sea. Two bottles of Capri wine we drink,

180 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1895
and three musicians play and sing. We are in
heaven. The tawny women come to sell corals.
A boy with frank, joyous air asks for money and
sings in the old woman's donkey's ear, "0 Belle
Margherita." We drive up to the town and then
go down to the boat. Then at Sorrento— at the
Tramontane. Vast and splendid rooms : two great
saloons, a dining-room, a boudoir, an open gal
lery over the sea, and four immense chambers. I
can hardly see the ceiling of my room, whereon
is painted a fresco of the Apotheosis of Venus.
After dinner the people who dance the tarantella
give a private entertainment for us. There are
about twenty people; they dance and sing and dis
port in the joyous way peculiar to Italy.
March 19. Sorrento. I awake in my vast and
splendid chamber. I had dreamed horribly of
hard things— of losing Miss D.'s cloak, and the
like. I walk out in the fresh and lovely air, and
hear music from a church. I enter. It is St. Jo
seph's day. The altar is splendid; the priests,
grandiose and rich, move in stately dignity before
the tabernacle. I meet young Antonio, who talks
alluringly in broken English. I cannot conceal
from these people the adoration I have for their
beauty. I meet again the one-legged beggar, who.

1895] IN ITALY 181
with rapturous affection, remembers how I was
kind to him a week ago.
In Pompeii I meet again the guardian who takes
me by both hands and with his heart in his face
radiantly welcomes me. These things enrich my
soul. We drive from Pompeii to Naples— Will and I
in one carriage. Miss D. and Polly in another.
March 20. Leave for Rome.
March 22. Rome. To the Sistine Chapel and the
frescoes of Raphael.
March 23. Visit the Vatican to see the marbles.
In the aftemoon I walk about, alone.
March 24. In the morning we drive about
through ancient Rome. In the aftemoon I walk
alone to St. Peter's, where I linger under the won
derful colonnade and listen, later, to the singing
of the papal choir. The bells are like a strain of
music. March 25. Annunciation Day. Shops closed,
like Sunday. Walk alone in the morning. After
noon, drive with Will to Coliseum; we climb the
high part. Then he goes to call on Princess R.,
and I wander through old Rome and about the
Piazza Navona. We merrily dine ; I announce that
I will return about the middle of May.

182 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
March 26. In the morning we start with Mrs.
"Jack" G, to see the frescoes at the Palazzo Mat
tel. My coachman loses the others and we return
in bad humor to the hotel, I walk to St, John
Lateran in the afternoon. Will and I go to the
Borghese Palace to see an antique silver service
for sixty persons ; splendid, but useless for private
people. The Borghese Palace is a junk-shop.
The salons, of marvelous splendor, are occupied
by sharking antiquity vendors hawking a beastly
lot of ugly, worn antiquities. Then we walk in
the Corso to the Piazza del Popolo, meeting the
Queen. One H., best man at the P.-G. wedding to-mor
row, a blase, bald, old-young man, dines with Van
A. at the next table, and laughs loudly. Miss D.
unusually toploftical at dinner, with superior,
grand-duchess airs.
March 27. This day Miss A. G. weds one P., a
hard-faced, handsome man. We meet the bride on
the way to church ; the people on the carriage very
smart, with enormous white nosegays; the bride,
splendidly arrayed, inside with her mother. A
very sacrifice. Garlands encircle H., who comes as
best man, with a hard, old-young head, partly bald.
Then we go to the National Gallery and see the new
finds— the most important a boxer much bunged up

1895] IN ITALY 183
with a deadly boxing-glove of leather fastened with
iron; no four-ounce gloves here. In the aftemoon
I go loose.
March 28. We drive on a four-in-hand with Mr.
and Mrs. G. to Ostia,— Mr. L., the archseologist,
with us. Will drives us out; we blow a husky
horn ; all the Romans stare. I am ill at ease. We
lunch at Ostia, a cook and two waiters Avith rich
food having been sent from the hotel, in two car
riages, one freighted with table and chairs.
Coming home, we meet a drove of beautiful dun-
colored cattle. In the evening to see Salvini play
Saul. A great performance. Enthusiasm of the
audience. The Queen is present. We come home
and read the story of Saul and David.
March 29. With Will to the Vatican to see the
"Transfiguration" and the "Communion of St.
Jerome" by Domenichino; then to the Baths of
Caracalla, vast and imposing, where Shelley wrote
' ' Prometheus Unbound. ' ' In the aftemoon to the
Coliseum, where I am escorted about by a tele
graph messenger. I walk to the Piazza Navona.
March 30. In the morning to the Barberini
Palace; afternoon, to the arch of Janus, the Coli
seum, and the Forum, where Emanuel misplaces
the temple of Castor and Pollux; then to San Gio
vanni in Laterano— the sacred Chapel of St. John

184 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
—where women may not go. When leaving, the
pagan bronze doors are made to give out musical
sounds. In the Baptistery, suddenly, from the
splendid chapel with ceiling by Michelangelo,
pours out a poor funeral, the coffin on the shoulders
of men, the people following with candles. I
shrank back, appalled at the sudden presence of
death. Then to the Scala Santa, where people are
going upon their knees. Here Luther weakened.
Then to the New Commerce quarter and the Porta
Pia house,
March 31. I arise after a sleepless night and
go out at seven o 'clock. The rain of the night has
left a radiant freshness. I walk to the Coliseum.
April 3. We drove to see the frescoes at the
Villa Farnesina; afterward to see Guide's "Au
rora"; then home. It rains. In the afternoon
I wander about. In the evening the boys come and
we dine merrily together.
April 4. We decide to go to Naples to-morrow.
April 7. All day I wander free in Naples. At
dinner all distrait, but finally we mellow.
April 8. In the morning. Will, H., P., and I
drive in two carriages to Pompeii. H. and I are

1895] IN ITALY 185
together. A most charming drive. I see my one-
legged beggar and my custodian; both welcome me
with a glad enthusiasm. To me they were more
than the mins. Then we drive to Sorrento. The
gloom of threatening clouds lends a new charm.
April 9. We walk in the bright, windy air to
Monte Deserto, pausing to look on the blue sea
fleeced with white waves. Some pleasant young
beggars follow us. At the Monastery we have
luncheon, Fra Joseph, in his habit, serving. We
drink the red wine and our tongues wag merrily.
We have each a bottle of wine, and Emanuel de
fines his ideas of religion. I want Bismarck's pic
ture taken away, but the mild friar says, "God
forgives, and we must." We go on the high turn
and are blown; Miss D. with hair like Medusa's.
Then we drive back— Will and I together— beside
the dazzling sea. In the evening the dancers per
form for us. The barber Giovanni rises to great
ness, with a charm that would lure a bird from a
tree. They have wine, and dance and sing with
charming abandon.
April 10. We go to Capri. Who can write
what came this day ! Oh, stay, land of music and
beauty ! The very sight of the faces is intoxicating.
We had luncheon on the terrace. The music played ;
one with a face of deathless and alluring beauty

186 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
came to sell things. We did not live— we swam
in 'ecstasy ; and over all the sun, and the blue,
transparent sea at our feet. Oh, Italy ! What can
I say of you? Land of song and beauty! Where
even the weeds are beautiful ! Oh, ye Powers who
made me, shall I long in vain for an eternity like
this, where the hungry soul is fed with beauty
and with music? When we landed, a child of un
earthly beauty, like Raphael's angel, took me by
the hand.
April 22. Florence. Since writing before at Na
ples, weakly striving to find words to tell the influ
ence of Italy on me, we have been in Rome, coming
here on the 20th of April. I have kept no journal
of these twelve days, for they are too rich to be
weakly told on odd scraps, at a time more pre
ciously employed. In Florence divine art and
nature are combined, and man, although less
beautiful than in the South, has still a resistless
charm. Florence, the home of art and beauty, is
not so much a city as a community whose lives are
given up to beauty; all the sensuous grace of the
antique world comes here.
April 25. The same helpless feeling of trying
to tell what Florence is ! To-day how rich ! With
Will in the morning to see the National Museum,

1895] IN ITALY 187
with its bronzes by John of Bologna. Then to the
Galleria delle Belle Arti, to see the pre-Raphaelite
pictures. In the evening, when the lights skim
along the Amo and distant music is heard, all the
procession passes. The telegraph-man brings a
message from the consul at the Museum. I dread
the hour when I shall leave Florence, which is
already so near. The beautiful, virile people look
like descendants of the antique gods. On Sun
day we drive in the lovely park along the finest
avenue in the world, varied by the costumes of the
soldiers scattered about to give color to the picture.
Mr. and Mrs. B. dined with us. last night ; to-night.
Count S. I do not go to the opera, having an en
gagement. I do not like the "old master" Will
bought yesterday.
April 26. It rains, and in the river under my
window, some boatmen, like Hercules, dredge sand
in their boats. I am hindered in dressing, looking
at one who would be the despair of a sculptor. I
walk before breakfast. In the forenoon Will and I
go to the Pitti Palace, stopping on the way at a
wonderful old art collection which is for sale. We
walk over the river and through the gallery to the
Uffizi. In the aftemoon to see the Delia Robbia
sculpture, and to the Church of Santa Croce, where
Michelangelo, Galileo, Cherubini, and Dante are

188 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I895
buried. I then go to the grand cathedral and, in
the gathering darkness, pray.
May 2. Venice, What gaps ! All eloquent of how
hard it is to do regular things in an intoxication.
We left Florence abnost in tears, passing through
flat, rainy landscapes. We stay at Bologna in
an old palace full of busts and ruffed portraits.
There is "Punch and Judy," with a large audi
ence. We see the leaning towers and the vener
able and splendid churches, one of which has col
umns from an old temple of Isis, my Egyptian
god. And then we come to Venice, I land in
toxicated in a strange and beautiful place, the
sight of which is maddening. We are splendidly
lodged at the Grand Hotel, We take tea with
Mrs, G., and then see the pageant on the canal.
Words cannot describe it. I meet Pietro Marina
and go with him to the Lido. To-day I ascend
the Campanile with a brawny porter in blouse for
a gTiide. I ride with Matteo Mossetti, enraptured,
in his gondola. We dine with H., and after on
the water with Will to hear the music. Afterward
I walk in the Piazza, and see much Venetian life.
May 3. The same rapturous condition. I am all
day with Matteo in his gondola, he teaching me
Italian. His pure and beautiful face lends a new

1895] IN ITALY 189
charm to this most wonderful, old, splendid, de
cayed place. We wandered through the watery
streets, not caring where, hearing music, while over
us towered the sad, crumbling palaces, on whose
marble balconies the rags of the poor were dry
ing,— where once leaned the beauties now long in
the dust,— sad commentary on the brevity of hu
man greatness!
We dine with Mrs. G. in the beautiful old palace,
served by her people in livery,— the vast and
splendid rooms filled with frescoes and rare works
of art. A memorable night. Will sits on her right,
and I on her left,— her plain face transparent
with genius; a great woman. We then go to the
opera, lighted by thousands of candles. The King
and Queen come; all rise; the Queen most grace
ful. Will and I leave at once and go with Matteo
on the canal in the moonlight, listening to the
music. It is a dream. Can I see this only once?
Afterward on the Piazza St. Marco, where I see
many things.
May 4. It rains all day. The gondoliers wait.
Oh, Venice ! city of my soul ! I am so full of ex
alted emotion that I cannot write. My life is now
in flower. I am bitten by Venice.
The ticket porter who took me to the Campanile
knows me as I pass.

ZOAR
NOVEMBER 18, 1895. Zoar. I am home
again from the splendid wedding. I am
heart-sore at the coldness of one, once my friend,
who treats me now as a stranger.
And so I came away from the splendid wedding,
sick at heart. My life is clouded, nor can I shake
off the settled distress that weighs me down. I
sometimes think of death as a thing to be wel
comed. Certainly the bitterness of neglected and
impoverished age seems near me.
Why can I not have the peace of mind I had
one year ago ?
At the wedding Mr. Crocker and I are asked
by Harry up in the very front of the church.
Nordica sings; also Edouard de Reszke: Gounod's
"Ave Maria," with violin obbligato— heavenly;
"The Crucifix," by Faure; duet, Nordica and de
Reszke, with orchestra and organ. The responses
are plainly heard.
He who was once my friend ******
'M' ^ M" tP tF tP tF
Yesterday I went to my high farm, sadly drag
ging my feet through the rustling leaves. When
190

1895] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 191
hope dies, man dies also. Where is the ecstasy
of a year ago?
Mrs. Edwards writes' me, in a kind letter, to
come and dine with them on Thanksgiving; but I
have promised to go to New York with General
Caldwell. I dread to go to New York. I do not belong
there. It is the resting-place of luxury and heart
less pride. Some near and most dear friends are
there; but, oh, the hard, brutal, corroding riches
that flaunt in the face of the poor! The money-
grubbing men, with their hard eyes and harder
hearts ! It will be well when I stay al^yays in the
country and go not to cities and poison my soul.
John and Joseph have had a quarrel, but it is
healing up ; that is another disturbing event. How
worse than death are the cold eyes of one who has
been your friend!
I work all day in my garden, making it ready
for winter. The warm south wind and fitful sun
shine are almost like summer. The somber woods
glow in the sun as he sets, while from afar the low
ing cows are driven in for the night. They husk
com in the church field, coming home through my
lane with ruddy faces.
To-night Jacob and I go over to hear the or
chestra, and, being there, I send Jacob over for

192 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
eight botties of wine. They get bread and cheese,
and we eat, drink, and are merry, and the music
plays. The old ecstasy of Naples comes to me.
Oh, Italy! Home of music and of joy. Naples!
where I have been so happy. I sit again at the
table with my most dear, kind friend. The wine
is poured, and the music in the antechamber plays
apace. The basilisk sings with a burning passion-
ateness that does not belong to this cold. Chris
tian time. The inflamed splendor of pagan feeling
is in his voice. I can hardly hold myself, trans
ported with intense feeling. I abandon myself to
the present, full of light and joy, nor heed the cloud
ready to burst over my head. Now sits gloomily
my evil genius, with malicious eye, to blast my
happiness. November 19. An idle day. Too listless to work,
I wander in the woods over my high farm, slowly
through the fields to Bolivar. I did not see a soul.
The earth seemed depopulated. Heavy haze and
clouds cloak the sun— all distance swathed in vapor.
The south wind is warm.
The cheery little photographer, as elusive as
ever, had not made the photographs I wanted. Here
he lives with his Mndly-faced mother. He too has
had shipwreck. He brokenly told me once, in the
earlier years, of a hope drowned and never again

1895] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 193
brought to life. He smiles and seems contented.
In his heart are the deep scars the eye may not
see. I walk back along the canal. At the lock the
lank, white-bearded old man raked the weeds from
the gates. To make talk, I asked if he thought it
would rain, but he would not go further than to
hint that he thought we might get rain by and by.
Across the canal, under a thicket, a sorry tramp
had kindled a smoky fire and was cooking some
mess. What has he done to suffer the peltings of
the storm and chew such bitter bread? One sole,
lone fisherman in his boat with infinite patience
waits for the fish that never comes.
As I write, the band is playing. The baritone
takes the old air, "Then You '11 Remember Me."
I think of the time I heard William Castle sing that
first, thirty-six years ago— radiant, young, and be
loved. Now, with the music comes a tender flood
of memories, and my ready tears flow. I pity the
poor vessel which holds my soul.
Now the storm wind breaks from the north, shak
ing my windows. In the barroom below the mde
swains crack coarse jokes, and the murmur of their
voices is broken by bursts of beery laughter.
Last night I went over and heard the orchestra
play. I sent Jacob for wine to the Hermitage.

194 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
One brings cheese and another bread, and we drink
and make merry. Then they play again.
Old Kappel develops an unexpected knowledge
of geography, as I pass him herding the cows, by
asking is Jerasalem in Egypt. He was strangely
sober. The old cowherd is sick. If he should die,
the quaintest figure left in Zoar will be lost. The
bar will miss him, for it is his custom, after the
cows are in, to come to the inn and drink one glass
of beer and one of tbe vile whisl^y they have here.
This, he assured me, made a fetching combination.
It is a week to-day since the wedding. I will
never forget that wedding breakfast, nor the stony
face of one who was once my friend.
December 5. I returned to-day from New York,
having gone there a week ago with General C. and
his niece.
I stayed to see Dr. B. about the note due for
the Mangas Springs purchase, for which I ad
vanced the money. On Monday, with an unusual
dejection, I found the doctor had not returned. I
feared to lose the amount. Every hand seemed
against me, and, in despair, I went up to see my
friend. I was received with a kindly, affection
ate enthusiasm. I told my troubles, and without
any effort he solved the difficulty, and I turned

1895] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 195
the note over to him, and he will collect it from
Dr. B. More than this, he made an advance on my
hopes. I was made to stay to luncheon and to din
ner. After that we went to the opera and heard
Jean and Edouard de Reszke in "Lohengrin."
Seidl conducted. From the depth of trouble my
friend lifted me and made me glad. This man
has made life full of light and kindness; I shall
not forget while life lasts.
Ludwig, Joseph, and Jacob come to my room.
There has been a general meeting of the society,
who have been informed how they have been spend
ing more than they make. Every one seems triste—
Christian the younger very gloomy.
The people from Cleveland will not come to dine
with me on my birthday. Herman Smith's child
Helen is recovering from a dangerous illness. Now
Harry's mother is ill, and so it is postponed.
The house is very still. It is said there has been
little drinking at the bar since the meeting.
December 19. Sturm and I plant trees on the
Via Sacra. This honest, simple man, fulfilling his
round of duties, is an ideal member of a commune.
If all were like him, there would be no want or
trouble. Two nights ago Joseph and Levi invited me to

196 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
come to the school-house and hear them play— or
gan and violin. They pleased me very much. A
concerto of Weber, intricate and very beautiful,
was the gem. We had wine and bread and cheese.
Yesterday I went with John Sieber and Charley
Lengeler to the Hermitage Hill in the great wood
to cut an opening to the west. As the trees feU,
slowly opened the vast landscape to the west; far
off, a line of purple hills. We saw several par
tridges and one gray squirrel— the only one I ever
saw in the woods. I came home at sunset, alone,
through the lengthening shadows.
Last night John, Ludwig, Joseph, and I played
whist at the Hermitage. I have a letter from Her
man Muller, with verses on my birthday.
The snow has gone, vanishing under the warm
south wind. I write to sister that I will not be
home until after Christmas, leaving the coast clear
for her annual Christmas dinner, I will stay here.
Sometimes the monotony is harrowing, but the
world is still worse, and if I go out I long to re
turn again. My seclusion is so absolute that the
grave will not be more quiet.
All the week pig-MUing has been going on, and
new sausage abounds. All the various "wursts"
are again being made.
Link's daughter goes off with one of the saw-

1895] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 197
mill men to be married. Her father bitterly op
poses the match. The big son marries one of our
kitchenmaids, and there will be a charivari— to
extort beer. Joseph and his whole family are get
ting my twenty geese ready to ship— my annual
offering to my old friends.
The Lockwoods are here still. I hear early and
late the loud voice of Mr. L. Ben and he are great
friends, making a good team. One year ago we
were in London, We started for Brindisi on the
21st, While we waited at Calais the storm broke,
and shook all the buildings. We came on the late
boat; some of the luggage had fallen into the sea
at Dover, spoiling some fine cigars.
To-night the young moon shows its thin crescent
through the light clouds. Last week I sent my
bicycle to P,
December 20, This dull, short day ended sul
lenly in heavy clouds and a sighing south wind.
This morning I got all my Christmas geese off.
Sturm and I plant trees in the aftemoon.
John, Joseph, and August come and play whist
in the evening. We were having a glass of wine,
when in bursts Charley Breil, breathless and husky,
his neck in red flannel, with a gruesome tale of
how Sarah Newhard and her husband had been
shot by tramps in their lonely house. Link, next

198 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i895
neighbor, sent hastily to us. The brethren fill
the barroom of the hotel and talk muddily of the
tragedy. August and I finish a bottle of wine and retire.
God save us all, say we, these gruesome times. The
country is overrun with sturdy vagrants.
December 21. Ludwig comes back from Massil
lon, from a fierce war atmosphere. With Tobias
shot, the Swiss apothecary wants to shoulder a
musket. Pah !
John, Joseph, Jacob, and I play whist, and leave
early, every one tired. The Monroe Doctrine mes
sage seems to be completely upsetting everything.
It rained heavily all day; the wind, whirling to
the west, brings down the temperature 20°.
My sister writes a beautiful letter to me, la
menting.

1896
January 11, Last night Joseph and Levi played
in the school-house— organ and violin— Weber's
concert very well, and other high music.
Sitting back in the dark, almost alone, I was
touched by this music. Something from "Rigo-
letto" was played, and quick I was turned back

1896] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 199
forty years, hearing old Peter Ruhings and his
lank, shrill- voiced daughter, long before the war.
David and August also were there. I purveyed
some wine, and after the concert we drank and ate
bread and cheese. This, with wine, made an ideal
repast. Winklemann lived entirely on bread and
wine in Rome.
To-day they finish hauling ice ; nearly all engaged
have a sodden look; every special job must be
drowned in beer.
John and Joseph go to Massillon. The affairs
of the society must have great importance there,
for the road is well beaten between here and there.
This aftemoon came the woman, from the Stras
burg Road, who was attacked by the two tramps
the day before. She did not recognize the two we
had in jail as her assailants. She had been repre
sented as quite old, but I could plainly see that she
was young enough. I do not think there will be
a serious struggle at the trial of this case.
Not long ago fat Sarah Z. and her young husband
were desperately shot by masked men, who came to
rob ; they are recovering. John and Joseph had to
assist Dr. Lewis to bind up Sarah's wound. Jo
seph is lost in wonder at what he has seen at the
clinic. The hotel is full of wood-choppers. They are

200 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i896
selling the timber. All the beautiful trees on the
river bottom toward Bolivar are being cut down.
A sawmill set up there cuts them into boards.
This is Ludwig 's birthday, and we have a meet
ing. First, whist and hot whisky punch ; then sup
per of baked pork and beans; then cold punch,
with a bottle of Clicquot. Much merriment ; later,
Joseph was sulky and I sent him home. We retire
at midnight.
May 11. Planted melons. Weather hot ; last week
very hot. This morning, light shower.
May 12. First humming-birds. First evening
of crickete— a sound as of autumn.
May 13. Ben leaves the society to rejoin his
wife, who will not return.
May 14. I go to town, returning in the even
ing. To-night the weather turns cool, without
rain. May 15. Listiess and tired all day ; worked very
little, but retire early and pass a good night.
May 16. Arise much better; the morning daz
zling bright, with dew and sun. Still dry ; no rain
since two weeks ago, when the MuUers and Schmidt
and Harvey came to stay over Sunday, bearing
much beer, wine— and a picture by Gottwald. We
made merry under the trees. To-day I see the first

1896] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 201
young robin. As I write at sunset, the birds sing
in every direction ; the villagers make their garden
on the Via Sacra.
It is two years to-day since I left to go abroad
with Will on that memorable journey— the pleas-
antest I ever made. The horse-chestnuts are in
bloom here ; I do not forget their splendor at Hamp
ton Court and Bushy Park, nor at Paris and St.
Germain. My face is always turned to the past,
which contains all my happiness. I do not like to
look ahead, where shadows gather. I am no longer
in dread of death, after the turmoil and weariness
of life ; and yet my life has, on the whole, been bet
ter than the average. I do not complain, but "I
have drunk my cup," and must pass on to make
room for another. Why did I come? Why go?
No one consulted me.
Shephard, who has the pea-fowls, tells me that
they lay only five eggs, and rear only one brood in
a season. He corroborates Horace, who says they
are no better than the ordinary fowl.
My pear trees blight sadly. Herman truly calls
them "ungrateful" trees.
In the evening we brew a punch, and drink it
merrily in the summer house.
May 17, Sunday. In the morning, soft wind
from the south and every sign of rain. Later, very

202 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i896
high southwest wind, and sky full of fleeting white
clouds. At half -past eight Jacob and I start for Wines-
burg, with a young dog in a box to be taken to
George Herman. The dust raised by the gale is
at times uncomfortable, but the day, so gloriously
bright, made it a happiness to be alive. As we ap
proach Winesburg the road continually rises, until
a wide and lovely landscape is brought out. Under
the vine-covered porches of the pretty houses the
farmers sit at ease, taking their Sunday rest. The
young farmers make us welcome. We have dinner,
and are served with cider and a fermentation of
elder-flowers. Cheered by these libations, we later
go on to Winesburg and down through the quaint
place. We drove home in the evening, and early
to bed.
At Winesburg I saw a shabby, Micawberish man
in shabby-genteel black and a top-hat of great an
tiquity, said to be a music-teacher. Doubtless this
decayed swell once, in happier days, lived in some
great city ; but, buried there, he retains only the old
outside to remind him of the past. At one of the
two beer-shops, the ancient, very respectable old
woman, the owner, eyed me with great suspicion,
but finally yielded. I was noticed and curiously
watched; no doubt few strangers come to Wines-

1896] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 203
burg, which seems to sleep gently on its hill, nor
worry to make money or (having everything it
wants) be a larger town in the state of Nirvana.
May 18. A small rain in the forenoon broke the
drought. Prodigious clouds marshaled across the
sky— grand enough to be the avant couriers of the
final judgment.
A numb depression has crushed me all day— a
weariness of the load of life. I shrink every year
more within myself, sad to look about among my old
associates and note the change— in all physically,
and in some, not many, by the death of the soul—
cold, hard eyes that once were kind. This is worse
than death. I believe the classical adage, ' ' Whom
the gods love die young." Unhappy is the hoary
fragment of what was once beautiful and young.
Yet some natural dread I have of annihilation, when
I look at the beautiful green earth; but then the
beautiful rest of death— eternal, profound. I pray
for no further reincarnation, for no one here is
happy. What if indeed there may be some hap
pier star where the trammels can be shaken off?
I was intruded upon this afternoon by some curi
ous, vulgar people to see my house. It is hard to
be polite to such brutal curiosity. I treated them
with an austere politeness, not wishing to conceal
the annoyance I felt at the intrusion. They seemed

204 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i896
shocked at the chaste nudity of the bronze "Nar
cissus. ' '
In the evening the faithful came, and in the light
of the young moon we drank wine in the summer
house. May 19. I am to-day reading Lawrence's book
on Kashmir, and see the gulf between us— this
man of profound learning and experience, and,
on my part, only a vague feeling for high things,
but no road made; longing, to fly, but without
wings. We came together on the steamer; I did
not know he was so wise, nor he I was so igno
rant; only the faculties we had in common were
used. I comforted myself with the idea we were
equal. "But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page.
Rich with the spoUs of time, did ne'er unroll ;
ChiU penury repress 'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul."
To-day the women sheared the sheep, and from
the cotes are clamorous rejoicings in all keys at the
reunion of the mother with its lamb. I do not know
if the divine atonement symbolized by the sacrifi
cial Lamb took cognizance of its helpless innocence,
or the wild, appealing eyes. When, a year ago, we
were in Naples at Easter, the garlanded victims—

1896] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 205
the little lambs— were before every door, so near
they are to the seven-branched candlestick and the
smoking altar of the older religion.
To-day I eat my first strawberry, which I shared
with the birds, who had already broken fast.
Rear-Admiral Kappel is now cowherd, and, with
jug somewhat oversized and distended leathern
wallet, accompanies the cows to pasture. If they
only knew his lack of "gray matter," they would
kindly send the old bell-cow to take him home.
To-night the band is in rehearsal for the 30th
inst., to play for the Swabish picnic. They play
with a vileness only relatively bad, as the artists are
more serious than usual.
All day clouds, but no rain; and now, at quarter
before seven, the gray-black, pearly light— the green
of the trees and the grass is heavenly under it.
Poor old Fidelis hobbles home, tired to death. Why
does God afflict his creature so ? He never harmed
any one.
May 20. All day cloudy, with soft. England
like air. All my plants grow to-day. I work all
day, watering, mowing, and destroying weeds and
insects preying upon my shrubbery. A Buddhist
would not do for a gardener, who must continually
kill. I have a lettuce salad of my own, and fancy
an unusual crispness in the leaves.

206 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i896
The women shearing sheep have lunches, with
much beer; and, despite their sordid occupation,
laugh and are merry. Near is the great, rusty-red
old farm-house. The hired yokels live there, and
when the iron bell gives signal for their meals they
troop heavily in, hardly less noisy than their horses.
The head of this family, worthy Mathias Dishinger,
was in his youth, it is said, a handsome man, but
a kick from a horse broke his nose and made a
mash of his face, like Hugo 's ' ' Man who Laughs. ' '
Innocent and good he is, but with an imquenchable
thirst, too often ministered to; so, between the sun
and the wind, the cider and the wine, his complex
ion is deep copper-color. In complete contrast is
gentle, good Frau Dishinger, with a most sweet face
and cheery, chirping, gentie voice. Long an in
valid, she bears her sufferings with unvarying pa
tience. It is a blessing to see her. Now her daugh
ter, Frau Kappel, takes charge of the house and
the stout maids who forever cook and clean and dig
in the garden.
I exchange plants with my amiable neighbors,
and look over the fence with a professional envy
when their cabbages head before mine. In their
garden a martin-house is full of clamorous birds,
whirling always about and making a hard fight to
keep the sparrows from crowding them out of the
house. Willy Kappel, the young frau's husband.

1896] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 207
is a gentle creature, and the two little boys have all
the sweetness of their grandmother. Robin, the
elder, aged six, grows apace, and may be seen clam
bering over the shed roofs and asserting his grow
ing boyishness, nor will he now descend to hunt
eggs with the maids— a task which one year ago
delighted him.
I take some roses to Frau Breil, who is in a de
cline. She says, "Next spring you must give me
some of those to plant in my garden." Next
spring! Where may we be then? And we look
ahead, serenely unconscious of the sword over us,
sustained by the frail thread.
May 21. For two days the sky has -been over
cast, with an English air. Everything grows de
spite the drought, now nearly three weeks old.
I walk to Dover by the canal— a good ten miles—
and reach there a little after five, very much tired
and with a great thirst. Ludwig meets me there,
and we start home at seven o'clock, driving by
moonlight. Roses are in full bloom, fully two
weeks earlier than usual. Wheat is all headed out,
and will be ripe in two weeks.
May 22. Very warm and partly cloudy, with
north wind. One year ago to-day was the ter
rible killing freeze. Henry Wick, of Youngstown,
and a party on a coach are here to stay over
Sunday.

208 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK ims
July 11. I wonder what the cost is of feeding a
man well for a day. Thoreau lived nearly two
years on less than twenty dollars, but his menu
of corn-meal and mush and treacle is too austere
for the average man.
I am sure there is as much wasted as there is con
sumed in Zoar. I will give each day the articles
consumed. To-day— 6.30 o'clock. Breakfast: coffee (best
Java) ; steamed bread ; fried potatoes. 12 m. Din
ner: hash; bread; tomato salad. 6 p.m. Supper:
stewed beets; apple sauce and toast; bread. The
experiment showed that a man can live in luxury
on one dollar a week, and well for fifty cents, so far
as food is concerned. In the country comfortable
houses with garden can be had from one dollar to
one dollar and a half per month.
August 6. The village is infested with a com
bination picnic of Southerners; two bands of un
rivaled discordance vex the air and drown the cries
of the prior picnickers. The bar sells a flood of
beer. Thermometer, at 11 a.m., 90°.
December 25. Christmas Day this year falls on
Friday. Christmas Eve I have roast goose. Jo
seph, John, Jacob, Ludwig, and August are at din-

1896] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 209
ner. We have a hot punch before and another
after. John sleeps heavily after dinner. Last week
came George M. Pixott, the painter who is doing
McKinley's sunny face, to spend the day. It was
miserably dark and rainy. I mended my fire, and
soon we cheered up. He is very agreeable. Has his
father's enthusiasm and fluency. I got supper for
us in my kitchen. We drank a bottle of Catawba,
and enjoyed the meal. I went with him to the train,
at seven o'clock, through the rain and mud, light
ing the way with a lantern.
Sister had her usual Christmas party. I went
to town Saturday morning, and spent Saturday and
Sunday nights at General Caldwell's. I have a
cold bottle at luncheon and dinner, and enjoy the
novelty. CaU on Mrs. H. Captain C, of the T., is spend
ing Christmas there. A ship captain is usually a
snob, continually picking out the most considerable
people to honor with a seat at his table.
It is comical to see the struggle to be invited to
the five-o'clock "teas" in the captain's room. I
went to one and found little comfort, and went no
more. George and Hugo come to dine ; bring a sheaf of
carnations and roses— very beautiful.
We had capons, and they did not come out quite

210 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i896
to our taste. There was much merriment, and
every one quite mellow when we retired.
December 28. Came out on the train. Herman
brought me to the station in Cleveland. I brought
from the library four volumes of the Lewis and
Clark Expedition.
At Canton, Ludwig came on the train. At the
junction were John and Joseph. Very pleased
to get home.
December 29. The snow rapidly thawing under
a bright sun and south wind.
December 30. In the evening punch and whist.
December 31. Dinner, Roast turkey. Punch.
Whist.

1897
January 1, The brethren come in at two o'clock.
I make egg-nog. Whist. In the evening, whist;
later, hot spiced rum,
January 2, August's birthday. Turkey roasted
in a covered pan at Joseph's; very good and un
commonly tender.
This is the fourth and final celebration of the
New Year,
I announce that my house will not be open again
until Wednesday next— "Twelfth Night."

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 211
January 3. Bright and warm. John and I walk
to Hermitage Hill. Heat oppressive. For the last
two days I have sat in my summer house and read.
From Hermitage Hill, John for the first time sees
the prospect to the west that I had cut last winter,
and also the dreadful havoc of the storm with the
trees last summer.
January 4, It rains miserably. I write letters,
paying my bills for the year. I fancy my Christ
mas gifts are now all in.
January 5. Cold and snow. Bitter, black win
ter, and deep despondency.
January 6, I suffer with a cold. In the even
ing— "Twelfth Night"— we have whist and punch.
I write to Crocker,
January 13. Last night they came for whist.
Joseph and John do not like the cramped kitchen.
I consented to build a fire in the Hermitage. The
thermometer was 28°, and it took some time to get
it warm ; the radiance of the fire was pleasant.
I proposed that instead of having, on next Satur
day, a double punch, we have only one and take the
other now. This was warmly approved. Ludwig
had some lemons in his pocket, and brewed. We
drank and played and— went home at nine o'clock.
To-day I walk to Hermitage Hill alone, A thick

212 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I897
snow partly covers the groimd. In the dense woods
hounds bay, and suddenly across my path a scared
fox flies, soon followed by th.e baying hounds.
There seemed to be no hunter, I fancy the dogs
were hunting on their own account. Further on
three partridges ran.
On the way home I join a yokel of the hills who
grubs roots on some of our land. He tells of a
neighbor, aged twenty-two, married this morning
at six o'clock. All the neighbors are bidden to
the feast at the groom's house at noon; then aU
meet at the bride's house for supper; after that,
dancing until morning. The people are Catholic;
my yokel says there will be great store of cider and
wines and beer— abundance of good cheer. No
doubt more real happiness than at the Vanderbilt-
Marlborough wedding. I am just reading how
John Churchill, the founder of the name— time
William and Mary and Anne— was a man of ex
traordinary personal beauty and alluring attrac
tiveness. Lady Castiemain, one of the mistresses
of Charles II, was enamoured of him. In the me
moirs of the Comte de Grammont are many in
teresting details concerning him. His wife Sarah
was very intimate with Queen Anne, and aided
in every way her husband's ambitions. Churchill
was a man of the highest capacity, but deficient in
some moral qualities.

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 213
It is pleasant to see the brother who lives on the
plain toward Bolivar— Koecherer, once the baker,
now happily retired, handsome, rosy, plump, in
youth a soldier during the great war. The place
is well called the "Soldiers' Home," There is no
danger of exhaustion from work.
January 15. There is fear of an ice famine, for
until now there has been no frost hard enough. I
have had a restless, idle day, full of longing to be
away, yet unable to endure the town. I would be
glad to go to California; it has grown a necessity,
this annual pilgrimage. Yale writes a dolorous let
ter. The great Hlinois Steel Co., whose factor he
is, groans under the complication, and, despite its
great wealth, shudders like a pauper. The ad
vance agent of prosperity, as the politicians said
of McKinley before election, has not brought the
promised healing on his wings.
I go to hear Joseph and Levi, on violin and or
gan, at the school-house to-night. Below, in the
barroom, the mumbling voices of the tipplers,
among which, like the unending drone of a bag
pipe, is heard forever Lockwood 's voice.
"Fond fool! six feet shall serve for all thy store,
And he that cares for most shall find no more."
Hall's Satires.

214 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I897
February 6. All day an icy rain and water
everywhere ; the frozen earth sheds all at dark. The
ice breaks in the river, which is very high. At
eight 0 'clock Obed died, after a long, dreadful sick
ness. I am glad the sufferer is at rest.
It is Saturday, and I have a goose roasted. Even
when we were at the table with merriment, death
came to our friend.
We sit before the fire and play whist. At mid
night we pick our way through the black storm
over the icy road.
February 7. Very dark. The clouds drizzlingly
lie upon the earth, obscuring the distant objects.
I pay the penalty of excess last night by heavi
ness to-day; I have moralische Katsenjammer.
Ludwig comes yawning in, and shortly goes
away; later, John. We read and bask before the
fire— a warmth more steady than the tropics, the
burning wood crackling softly. Frau Dishin
ger 's hens, with depressed tails, prowl along
the fence, sadly peeking at the grass. The drag
gled cocks are too dull to crow, and neglect their
harems. The wheat fields, stripped of snow, are green like
spring. February 8. In the morning all is white with
soft snow; every twig is alabaster. Obed is buried

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 215
in the aftemoon, the mourners and coffin on sleds
over the half -frozen ground. I do not go any more
to the Zoar funerals. My sensibilities are tried by
the uncouth disrespect— apparently only, not real.
Not a word is said; some smothered sobs, some
tears. The coffin is opened, and the rude crowd,
with covered heads, push up and stare at the awful,
solemn face. In other countries how different! I
do not object to the simplicity. I would have near
my clay at such a time, however, only those dear
to me in life. Death may claim a privacy as well
as life. All come in the evening, and we play
whist. February 10. The band plays, and we have to
hunt for Jacob to make a hand at whist. We brew
a punch from the Large whisky sent from the Du-
quesne Club of Pittsburg by Colonel S. Only a
gallon came; to be sure, it was a demijohn, but
very small.
February 11. To-morrow I go to Cleveland, and
do not purpose to return before April, as it is in
tended to leave soon for California with General
Caldwell. A letter yesterday from Mrs. H., in
closing one from Frewen about the old book of
devotions written by his ancestor, the sometime
Archbishop of York. Mrs. H. says Ralph will go
to California with us. I am glad.

216 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1897
April 1. I return on the evening train. For seven
weeks traveling en prince with the general and
Ralph to California and back, I welcome the ruder
state and humbler fare.
April 2. Early I go to my house and open the
long-closed doors; everything is as I left it, and
I soon gather food and begin my charming Crusoe
life, eating when and what I please. The grass is
green in my garden, and I gladly find a hundred
things to do. Soon the road is cleared and the
walks put in order. In the evening Joseph and
August and Jacob come. We play whist. Later,
Ludwig and John— after the rehearsal. The band
is crippled by the departure of Otto, the clarinet-
player, who left last week to try his fortune in
the world.
April 3, Saturday. All day I work in the gar
den, and night finds me very tired. The brethren
come in the evening. We have the first cold punch.
The farm-house roof takes fire, and there- is a hub
bub of bells and whistles and much running to
and fro.
Mrs. W. sends me her portrait— a beautiful
creature. The martins came March 28, and the rudder-
tailed blackbirds April 2.
April 4. To-day it rains ; a soft, warm air, and

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 217
all the hills are green. Sebastian Burkhardt helps
with the sheep— the shepherd is sick, and has been
for months— also his sister, a malade imaginaire.
The Lutheran preacher was not welcomed by the
trustees at Solomon's funeral. He preached in the
school-house. What was the use? Solomon never
troubled himself about such matters. The widow
is Catholic, but not in active communion, it is
thought. She is a large, strong woman, and was a
servant at the hotel years ago when Solomon mar
ried her. The two boys are fine, strong speci
mens. John says she wants to have them leave and
learn a trade. I commend her for looking ahead.
April 15 (Good Friday). The rain continually
falls, and my garden is too wet to work. I sit in
side. The rain patters on the roof. I have for a
week been hag-ridden. All my days are full of
gloom— the past full of regrets, the future dark
with crowding cares. When the sun shines these
dark humors will disappear like the rain, I hope.
Old Frau Zoller was buried Wednesday. A Lu
theran preacher at the school-house. Survivors are
frantic to have funerals. In this case most absurd,
for the defunct was openly out of the pale, and
knew only one god— money. It is a survival of
the Catholic idea, dimly seen, where priest and ab-

218 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1897
solution smooth the way to heaven. All the vil
lage trooped up to hear and see. Most people have
a horrible curiosity to look at the dead. Death
should be covered from the sight, and its awful pri
vacy left inviolate.
Two years ago I was in Naples.
The martins came April 1.
Swallows, 19th April. Frost-23°.
April 21. The robin has four eggs.
April 22. The first butterfly; during the in
tense cold no swallows were seen. Where did they
go? To-day warm. The trees tum green apace.
Swifts arrive.
April 23. South wind; partly cloudy; 80°. The
robin sets on her eggs.
April 25. Go home. Dine at General C.'s. At
dinner some one said Dr. Mary Walker was the
only self-made man, and she had limitations.
April 26. Return to Zoar at night. Sharp frost ;
at sunrise the mercury at freezing-point.
April 27. Take out and plant dahlias. Clear,
cold north wind. The poor brewer sick abed. They
issue cider to the hired hands.
April 30. Bobolinks and orioles appear. Apple
trees begin to open flower.

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 219
May 12. Tuesday afternoon Joseph drove me over
to Dover to deliver the dahlias to Beecher. We
put the horse up, and went over to New Phila
delphia; the villagers stare at my English clothes
and broad shoes. The attempted splendor and
style in such places is wearying the young men. All
wear the sharp-pointed shoes, and their clothes are
cheap and flashy. We drove home by moonlight,
reaching there about ten o'clock.
Levi did not get a very large vote for member
of the Advisory Board yesterday. The orthodox
have not forgiven his revolt a year ago. Many
women voted, and there is much excitement. The
old fat woman living in the shoe-shop waddled up
to the church and voted.
The blacksmith's wife is said to be mad, and
regrets she did not vote for Levi. I have radishes
from my hotbed. Last night the whippoorwill sang
loudly.June 26. Jacob and I go to Owville and buy a
road wagon. His friend meets us and has the con
fidential, whispering manner of most people who
deal in horses.
The carriage-dealer is glib and hustling, seeking
to gain, through us, more customers.
We go to see an auction sale of Percheron horses.

220 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I897
A valuable, energetic auctioneer. The crowd,
mostly there for amusement, is a study, many with
the vacuous look common to those whose minds and
hearts have long lain fallow.
There had been an accident to a pleasure excur
sion train from Akron, and many wounded were
in the baggage-car groaning. We returned in fifty
minutes from the time we arrived.
In the evening, punch and whist, the chilly air
making the house comfortable.
June 27. A day of marvelous beauty. Cool and
clear, with some wind. The wheat-fields are turn
ing yellow, and, under the wind, roll in slow, heavy
waves like the sea. From the wood the continual
cry of the seventeen-year locusts.
Last week the old story of love and forgetful-
ness. Alfred has not yet returned, and the lady
and husband left on Thursday. Great ado over the
most natural of aU impulses. No one is to be
blamed. The Wicks of Youngstown send me a book and
box of cigars. I have asked them to come in
the fall for goose roasted before the fire. This
aftemoon we are to have a keg of beer, under
the trees, purveyed by Gottwald, who called this
morning with Koltmann, the water-color painter.

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 221
July 3. I leave on the early train for Canton.
McKinley is to come to-day to visit his mother. It
is very hot. At the junction the luxurious Reedy,
the woodman, gets on the train, already primed.
At Canton no sign of enthusiasm. A thin crowd
swelter in the heat, and as the President passes
there are some half-hearted cheers. Mrs. McKinley
has the same sweet smile. McKinley, in a few
words, said there was no place in the wide world
so dear to him as Canton. The crowd howled and
cried, "God bless you!"
This over, I go on the train to Akron. More
heat and greater dullness. I buy a cabbage, for
five cents, much larger than any I have in my gar
den. The rewards of gardening are not great. The
man who raised this one never got over three cents
for it. Some very drunken yokels take the train
at Canton and get off, in a storm of profanity, at
Meyersville. We have a gathering in the evening ; the lantern
is hung in the center of my summer house ; its soft,
party-colored light is pleasant.
Jacob is not here. Since the brewery is making
good beer, he quaffs deeply and steadily in its tie
fen Keller. His capacity is quite beyond that of
any one I ever saw.

222 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1897
The road wagon I helped him to buy is here, but
I have not ridden in it yet.
I have a letter from Dr, B, to-day, saying that
the two companies have sold about one hundred
thousand dollars ' worth of cattle, and there will be
a dividend, Laus Deo I It is the first, and I have
waited for it eleven years,
July 4, Last night a din of noises from small
cannon vexed the air. This morning it began
again. Parboiled, perspiring, with temperature
96°, These littie annoyances make life a burden.
In the aftemoon the band played wearily. A few
peasants listened, but sparingly bought peanuts
from the carrousel stand. I stay all day at home.
July 5. Charley, the oil-well driller, has gone
to Dover with his helpers and the wan littie con
sumptive, who was yesterday enmeshed to drink
deep. July 7. Last Sunday we had our chicken feast
in the woods. All goes well until evening, when
rain falls, with wind— a glorious storm; we go
home through the pouring rain.

September 11. We make preparations for the an
nual Woods feast. Herman I comes on the after
noon train. The heat intense— 95°. In the even-

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 223
ing the quartet and the Cleveland friends. Jacob
takes train at Sandyville. Herman II boards the
train there aud escorts them to Zoar.
Noisy welcome at the station; they come to the
hotel. After supper they sing in the patio. Then
to the Via Sacra, where the orchestra is playing.
The whole village assembles. The quartet sing,
alternating with the orchestra; every one seems
pleased. After the concert we bring a long table to the
road in front of the Hermitage, and sit about and
drink Rhine wine and sing. The singers are in
high feather, and sing with great delicacy and
effect. The full moon floods the place with radi
ance, and the wine and music, in the soft, cool air,
exalt us all.
Of course, Ludwig gets hungry, and Tdeiner
Sprotten are served.
At three o'clock we start for bed, all the village
dazzling in the high moon. We stop and serenade
Frau Dishinger, then Jacob's house, then Ludwig,
then the ladies at the hotel.
Mr. Schmidt and Master Frank fall asleep on
the bench under the maple trees, and get home an
hour later. Schmidt's trombone, being perishable,
is left at the Hermitage.
September 12. Still clear and intensely hot. I

224 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1897
arise at six and pull myself together. Go up and
get together the various items needed in the woods
for a picnic.
Jacob comes at eight. We load up and start.
Adam Lehr and I follow, escorting Mrs. Y. By the
time we reach the camp, Jacob has unloaded the
hampers and barrels. The fire bums brightly, al
though we are dissolved with heat.
The pots are put on, water brought, and soon
they begin to arrive, all with a Gargantuan thirst.
Ernest Muller also arrives with Mr. Gehring;
after that, the joyous George and Hugo, the Dover
Canal members. All quaff, and the singers sing.
It is "God's day." Seitz sagely tastes the stew to
see if it is properly seasoned. Joseph broils, and
soon all are feasting on the savory fowls. Song,
light laughter, and merriment. Sometimes the sage
Herman I lets forth some beautiful thought. We
tum to the wide, beautiful landscape in the west
and invoke all the favorable powers.
In the aftemoon some doze in the shade, while
others stroll through the woods. We come up with
long staves, singing the "Pilger Chorus."
Ernest criticizes my stew, and I resign my office
as chief cook. He then makes another stew, with
much conjuring by Rutz. We eat and drink and
sing. Hugo and George in ecstasy. At four o'clock

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 225
they leave, with effusive demonstrations all around.
Finally the sun sinks, and while the daylight lasts
we gather the things. The moon rises. Burning
spots of electric brightness show her place be
hind the trees; the half-light makes the wood en
chanted. Stragglingly we start for home, Henry
ponderously perched on the high wagon. Her
man I and Gehring bring up the rear, talking of
high things and quoting from the poets. John is
speechless. Jacob and Joseph only are alert and
capable. The table is brought again to its place in front
of the Hermitage. We gather around it. Herman I
makes some kind allusions to my supposed excel
lencies, and shortly we retire, for we have been
for thirty hours astir, save three hours for sleep.
This has been the most important celebration we
have ever had. Gehring was admitted to the so
ciety. September 16. In my old home, close shut, the
air is cool. Outside, in the shade, 96°. This fright
ful heat has prevailed for sixteen days. There has
been no rain since the first day of September;
everything is withering; I keep a few things wet,
that sister, when she comes, may not lose all the
flowers. Now comes the news that the ice is giving out.

226 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i897
A shudder pervades the commune when they think
of the beer supply cut off thereby.
At nine and four the bell rings, and all flock for
cider. There is not anywhere the spectacle of peo
ple hired to work and then made unfit by entertain
ment given by the employers, except in Zoar. I
am particularly vexed by an ape-faced peasant,
who acts as stable-cleaner, perched on the steps of
the farm-house with his jug. He munches and
sings, at all other times smoking a pipe. I at first
noticed him and said, "Good morning," but met
with such boorish rudeness that I pass him with
out notice.
Burkhardt, the former brewer, talked with me
yesterday of Obed. He had dreamed of him the
night before. It was just after lunch, and, affected
by hard cider, he wept copiously as he spoke of his
lost son. He is gentle and honest.
The well-drillers linger, waiting for some tools
to pull out the pipe from the well that had nothing
in it. Yesterday they played cards all day long.
Levi hangs the paper in my room. Last night,
when I came home late, Emil and the fair-haired
Iritchenmaid were very close. She should remem
ber the old story.
Gretzinger seems softened lately, but his little
red dog has the look of some infernal red-hot cur,
only half cooled, from hell.

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 227
My melons are a total failure this year, the tem
perature has been so uneven.
Mark Hanna is to speak at Dover Canal on the
21st. What fine things men do when fired by am
bition !
November 16. For three days a sullen rain has
steadily poured. The earth, before like ashes, is
sodden. This morning daylight was slow in com
ing. Aurora seemed to dread wet feet. The wind
has risen, and all the branches wave wildly in the
storm. From the apple trees some faded, belated
leaves are torn and whirled before the wind. My
fire bums gently, and I enjoy the still privacy of
my old house. I am reading "Daniel Deronda"
again. From the chapter-heads I put down some
things :
"Let no flower of the spring pass by us. Let us crown
ourselves with roses before they be withered."
Book of Wisdom.
"The gods don't give us everything at one time. I
was a young fellow once, and now I am getting an old
and wise one."
"No penitence and no confessional; no priest ordains
it, yet they 're forced to sit in the deep ashes of their
vanished years."
"A wretch so empty that if ever there be
In Nature found the least vacuity,
'T wiU be in him."

228 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i897
November 24. Last night we had roast turkey,
preceded by panned oysters. "Aniline" wine was
served at dinner. This week Will sends me three
cases of Dagonet, vintage '86— very rare and costly.
It is so pleasant to be remembered. Last Sunday
Jacob and I drove over to Dover. The day warm
and clear. George and Hugo come to dine with us—
oysters and turkey, both excellent. I sing softly
while dressing, and go up with George and Hugo
to the Hermitage. We kindle the flame anew, and
they leave for home. They bought for me some
splendid chrysanthemums. John develops great
skill as superintendent of roasting, and has con
trol of the tasting and spit-turning.
After the Dover people leave, I look for Jacob;
find him asleep in the tiefen Keller at the brewery.
We arrange to drive to Dover and return the visit.
He comes to the Hermitage and we breakfast, guy
ing Catharine, who is busy washing the dishes and
clearing up the kitchen. We leave joyously for
Dover. Meet George and Hugo, who have a car
riage-load of their children, going over to New
Philadelphia. George and Hugo take turns answer
ing the children.
We go merrily back to Dover, order the horse
fed, and go to Canadas. The brethren stare to see
me, with the thermometer 20°, seriously walking
off to the Hermitage in a straw hat.

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 229
Jacob says his coming baby is expected at Christ
mas, and he told his wife he had no objection to
a girl. I predict a boy, and make light of girls.
Goethe says of the Laocoon:
"I can boldly contend that this art work exhausts its
subject and happily fulfils all artistic conditions."
"What sort of earth or heaven would hold any spir
itual wealth in it for souls pauperized by inaction?"
George Eliot.
"One shudders at the thought of what the genus pa
triot embraces."— George Eliot.
[I think of the blatant, spurious "loyalty" of
the pension-eating Grand Army.]
"My spirit is too weak. Mortality
Weighs heavily on me, like unwilling sleep ;
And each imagined pinnacle and steep
Of god-like hardship tells me I must die.
Like a sick eagle looking at the sky."— Kjeats.
December 5. Alfieri says the plant, man, is born
more vigorously in Italy than elsewhere. I com
mence a regimen to reduce my weight, and in twen
ty-four hours fall off five pounds. John says at
that rate in forty days I will weigh only twenty-two
pounds. Alone in my house, reading Taine 's "Italy."

230 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i897
Dark sky, scattering down light snow. The wind
sighs through the crevices and shakes the few dead
leaves clinging to the trees. My fire to-day is pre
cious, and talks softly to itself as the clear flame
rises. The village is silent; the people seem to be
hibernating, and do not stir out. Two years
ago to-day we sailed for England on the Ma
jestic.
December 7. My birthday: sixty— the remorse
less years piled like fardels on the struggling
back. No, no, you may not shake them off; nor
are the lamentations heeded by the unknown power.
Strange, I am not less happy for all these years.
There is some compensation for the loss of youth.
There is less ardor, but more refinement. All my
senses are trained, and I enjoy, with a finer sense,
what is left. In youth we grossly and thought
lessly waste, nor know the values. I am entering
now on the calm sea of old age, what Whitman calls
the halcyon of life.
This is Tuesday. On Saturday I had a dinner
party. Last night, at the orchestra; to-night, an
other dinner. We roast the birds before the fire.
All have a hand in the preparation as in the en
joyment of the dinner.
This is Taine 's description of my bronze "Nar-

1897] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 231
cissus, ' ' given me by Will. I have always thought
it the most beautiful object I ever saw— some fig
ures on the sarcophagus of Alexander at Constan
tinople alone rival it.
"One called 'Narcissus' is a young shepherd, nude,
and bearing a goat-skin flung over his shoulder. It
might be called an Alcibiades, so ironic is the smile and
the turn of the head. The feet are covered with the
cnemids, and the fine chest, neither too full nor too spare,
falls to the hips in a beautiful waving line. Such were
Plato's youths educated in the gymnasium; such Char-
mides, a scion of the best families, whose footsteps his
companions followed, because of his beauty and his re
semblance to a god. ... It may be said that nobody
by the side of these people ever so felt and comprehended
the human form."
I wander to-day again through Rome with Taine
in his incomparable book. The solitude of my cot
tage is complete. Even the fowls, dejected by cold,
are silent. I inspire myself with a bottle of cham
pagne. Now the imagination is set on fire— and
my soul expands.
Taine, describing an antique statue, says :
"Physical joy in antiquity is not debased— nor, as with
us, confined to mechanics, common people, and drunkards.
In Aristophanes Bacchus is at once merry and sad, cow
ard, knave, glutton, and fool, and yet he is a divinity."

232 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i897
Plato divides education into two equally impor
tant branches— gymnastics and music.
"What is the country but a means of returning to our
earliest youth, of finding again that faculty of happi
ness, that state of deep attention, that indifference to
everything but pleasure and the present sensation ; that
facile joy which is a brimming spring ready to over
flow at the least impulse?"— Taine.

1898
April 1. Last night I arrived from California;
Jacob was at the station to meet me, and the others
were all at the store.
It was pleasant to sleep again in my old room;
the blazing fire made the room radiant. The storm
was cold without, a strong contrast to the summer
mildness of San Francisco. I am glad to be away
from that charming place, for the daily round of
idle company and intemperate living had sickened
me of the town. I will never stay long there again.
My old home was just as I had left it. Soon the
smoke poured from the chimney, and in a day all
dampness was driven out. I gather together the
materials for my simple cuisine, glad again to eat
food cooked by my own hands.

HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 233
There is no such delightful liberty of action
where you are made to eat at some stated time,
elbowed by strangers. I dine in state, like a king
or an admiral ; my privacy is complete.
April 22. In Goethe's "Travels" (with the al
lied armies in France), September 1, 1792 ("The
Siege of Verdun"), I read:
"Commander Beaurepaire, pressed by the distressed
tovraspeople, who saw their whole town would be in
flames and in ruins with the continuance of the bom
bardment, could no longer refuse to surrender ; but, im
mediately after giving his vote for it in the town hall,
he drew out a pistol and shot himself, thus giving one
more example of the highest patriotic devotion."
The same :
"After the capture of Verdun, an occurrence happened
which, though an isolated case, created a great sensa
tion and excited general interest. While the Prussians
were marching in, a musket shot was flred from the
midst of the French people, which hurt nobody, but
which daring act a French grenadier, who was accused
of it, neither could nor wished to deny.
"At the guard-house, to which he was brought, I saw
him myself. He was a very handsome, well-made young
man, with a firm look and composed demeanor. Until
his fate was decided, he was allowed to stand free. Close
to the guard-house was a bridge under which flowed a
branch of the Meuse. He mounted the parapet, re-

234 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i898
mained quiet for a time, and then threw himself back
ward into the abyss, and was then taken out of the
water, dead."
Yesterday the Spanish Ambassador left Wash
ington, and the American Ambassador left Madrid.
I cannot make myself believe that this war is neces
sary. A passionate fever seems to stir some peo
ple—and, strangely enough, those who must suffer
most from war. For this fight cheap demagogues
in Congress, with an eye to office, lend their voices,
and the worst element in journalism feeds the un
holy flames. I believe the world is little better than
in the Middle Ages ; all the brutal, bull-dog instincts
are rife. Where is the much vaunted arbitration?
This country will listen to no one. Pray God it
may tum out well. Will there not come up some
heroes like those described by Goethe ?
I wrote to-day to Mrs. W., who has been brought
from Aiken to New York, still very badly off, but
in a more hopeful condition than at first. I will
not believe that this lovely and amiable creature
will not recover.
"War, a foretaste of death, makes all men equal,
abolishes all property and threatens even the most ex
alted personages with pain and danger."— Goethe.
"One must not be too particular about the means when
vdshing to escape the bitterness of Fate."

1898] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 235
April 24. Rain two days. The trees are turn
ing green. Peaches and plums in bloom. The
first swallows.
April 26. I watch the men put up the new
bridge over the river; with incredible agility and
strength they climb to the top of the scaffolding,
and carelessly work at that dizzy height.
The foreman, a Hthe, lean man of thirty-five,
called Jack, with great energy and skill, together
with much profanity, dragoons the grimy work
men ; his very gestures are imperative and eloquent.
No orator has this power. He came and sat by me
a littie while; I found him of keen intelligence, al
though apparently of slight education. He says
the men at this work have a fondness for continual
change of place, and are generally strong and ca
pable, but wild.
"It lies in my nature to admire, willingly and joy
fully, all that is great and beautiful; and the cultivation
of this talent, day after day, hour after hour, by the
inspection of such beautiful objects, produces the hap
piest feebng." — Goethe (Letters from Italy).
April 27. Go to town; in the evening, whist
and punch— Joseph, John, Ludwig, and I in
executive session. We can talk with absolute free
dom.

236 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i898
April 28. I take out and plant my dahlias.
Adolph helps me in the garden. Mr. Beiter gets
some dahlias. The bobolinks are here, and all the
birds sing. Sharp frost this morning, but nothing
killed. April 30. Walpurgis Day. Swifts arrive. Ap
ple trees partly out. Thermometer 70°, noon; in
the evening, clouds indicate rain. The bobolinks
make the air musical. Hysterical demonstrations
at Cleveland over the departure of the Fifth Regi
ment; all the busybodies on the platform at the
flag presentation. Conflicting stories of naval en
gagements. The navy seems to have a keener nose
for merchant vessels than for Cuban fortresses.
This custom of seizing non-combatant vessels and
stealing the property of innocent people is flat
piracy, and is unworthy of civilized people.
Go to Wheeling on the morning train. The
town dull, the weather hot— 84°. Go to Mounds-
ville, and find a curious policeman, with coat and
helmet and shabby trousers; he talks volubly of
the war, and says he thinks it will be over in a
month. His ideas about Cape Verde and the Phil
ippines are very wild. The recruits are mainly
thoughtless people, who long for an opportunity
to see the world and take their chances on the
rest.

<N

1898] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 237
All the back doors to the saloons are open— an
apparent abstemiousness only; the officers of the
law wink at its violation— another argument for
anarchists.May 2, All last night warm, with bright moon;
the bridge-buUders drive with girls who sing and
talk wildly. Later, they sit on a bench and ex
change civilities under the shadow of the big maple
across the street. During the night Nature has ar
rayed herself in flowers like a bride. Perfume loads
the air, and the glad song of birds lends another
charm to the marvelous beauty of the morning, I
dispense my superfluous dahlias and cut the grass,
which grows apace,
I am happier here than anywhere else. To-day,
with my natural, innocent occupation, is much
pleasanter than the idle lounging of yesterday in
Wheeling. The itch of unrest is a real disease.
May 21, All the earth again is green. Flowers
and music of birds. Distances soften in the humid
haze; each day it seems as if nature has a new face,
I hear from Dan O'Connell, dated Sunday, that
Jim C, is dying in San Francisco, Good, kindly
heart; even wealth could not entirely sour him.
May his soul rest in eternal peace. I am to buy

238 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i898
the Hermitage, something tells me. I shall yield
here my last breath, I am harassed by ailments,
each reminding me I am mortal. When shall it
be my turn to cross the river? If man could
quietly fail like the flowers or the wild birds, with
no grief, and be reclaimed by nature silently. But
the advertisement, the undertaker, and the funeral
with cold attendants. I lack that enthusiasm which
to the believer shows the open gate of heaven.
Help thou, 0 God, my unbelief! I am innocent,
for I do not know.
The partition of Zoar is being prepared. The
brethren ever more carelessly respond to the bell
for labor.
The isolation of my cabin is almost complete.
In a day hardly a person passes. The little boys
go romping by; I have taught them the only Eng
lish they can speak— "Good morning"; they have
no idea what it means.
Four years ago to-day we reached Queenstown.
How the years fly! Then I was fifty-six, now I
am sixty. "Hasten, ye hours! who shall retard
your eagle flight?"
The war is haltingly managed ; we seem happily
unskilled in such hoi-rid business. This needless,
hypocritical war, fomented by the ignorant, the pas
sionate, and the vicious, blown by scurvy politi-

1898] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 239
cians— when will it end? The lives, the treasure,
the pensions— three millions per day are said to be
expended. For what?
May 24. This crowning splendor of light and
warmth and color— this day is the best of the year.
Summer, with musical birds and fine scent of flow
ers, and young twigs.
I walk in the Via Sacra slowly back and forth,
while the sun flings across the green fields bars of
transparent gold. Some village women, planting
vegetables, no doubt think me mad. As I go to
and fro under the ancient trees, I see things hidden
from them. A serene complacency soothes me. I
think of the sweltering gunners on the war-ships,
of soldiers in tropical swamps dying of pestilence
—why? What raging devil sets men at war?
Some noisy newspapers, molding a senseless lAa-
jority; some place-seeking, scurvy politicians, who
would murder civilization for some paltry votes.
The war started under an imposition. We debauch
a nation to spuriously aid a handful of worthless
people. The surveyors and arbitrators are making ready
for the division of the Zoar property. The great
woods are sold for fifteen thousand dollars. I shall
not dare to wander in the profaned and mangled
woods again.

240 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK (i898
The people looking for fire clay do not find very
rich deposits, but still keep boring.
In Green's "History of the English People,"
King Alfred is quoted as saying :
"Do not blame me if any laiow Latin better than I,
for every man must say what he says, and do what he
does, according to his ability."
June 14. John Sturm was buried to-day, aged
twenty-six. There were many tears. Now he is
where old age and poverty and trouble can never
reach him. A Lutheran clergyman was here from
Bolivar. The old prejudices have been against
hired preachers.
Jacob Burkhardt 's girl, aged sixteen, died this
morning of some throat trouble. Another brand
from the burning of the hard world. She will stay
forever young, like the fly in amber. There will
be no more change.
The Laocoon,—
"Coiled by misfortune, sublime image of so many
lives."— Balzac.
"Books and flowers are as necessary as bread to a great
many persons. "—Balzac (Cousine Bette).
"Life is but a garment— when it 's dirty, brush it;
when it 's torn, mend it ; make it last as long and as good
as you can."— Balzac {Cousine Bette).

1898] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 241
Jean Paul says of music :
"In it there is sadness, because it speaks to us of things
that in all our life we flnd not— and never shall find."
"Let me not live (quoth he)
After my flame lacks oil, to be the scoff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain."
All 's Well that Ends Well.
June 25. After great heat, at 10 a.m. a grand
storm, with copious rain and thunder.
The hay-makers ran home, drenched to the skin,
clothes clinging "like cerements."
The Cleveland Arimathseans disappoint us again.
We had made every preparation for a feast in the
woods to-morrow, with the singers from Cleveland.
"There is no spot in a forest which does not have its
signiflcance. Not a glade, not a thicket, but has its
analogy with the labyrinth of human thought. Who is
there among those whose minds are cultivated who can
walk alone in the forest and the forest not speak to him ?
Insensibly a voice bfts itself, consobng or terrible, but
oftener consoling than terrifying. If we seek the causes
of the sensation — grave, simple, sweet, mysterious — that
grasps us there, perhaps we shall flnd it in the sublime
and artless spectacle of all these creatures obeying their
destiny and immutably submissive.
"Sooner or later, the overwhelming sense of the per
manence of Nature fills our hearts and stirs them deeply,
and we end by being conscious of God."— Balzac

242 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [i898
The storm darkens my little house, and now,
with distant mutterings, passes, its rumblings
fainter and fainter, like the throes of that busy,
troublesome world which is so far from my still
refuge. From the field before my door, where the hay
has been newly cut, comes a fragrance like that of
a bunch of roses. An ineffable freshness glorifies
the earth, and the birds break into joyous song.
July 1. 90° in the shade.

September 12. Yesterday I discovered that a fence
was being built in the middle of the Via Sacra.
When I saw John and Ludwig, language was not
enough to express my resentment of the outrage.
I shall never willingly look again upon the pro
faned alley where I have so many times walked
to and fro at the end of day. I fancy it but
the beginning of the ruthless changes made by in
nocent and worthy people who have no sense of
beauty. The division will soon be made. It will
be fortunate if all are pleased with what tiiey
get. I went to town Saturday, and dined at the club
with some old friends. After dinner we played

1898] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 243
poker. I won orders for eighteen dollars' worth of
supplies, and left for home well cheered.
Sunday at P.'s, to dine with Hap and The Child.
For dinner a young turkey and lobsters. After
dinner, Jim Hoyt came in and marveled that I
cooked my own food, and how I could endure to
dine alone. I have great company at dinner.
Sometimes Shakspere, at others Balzac, and the
great people who have left books. Thoreau and
Emerson dine often with me, nor in the airy, spir
itual sense make any inroad on my larder. I drink
for all the immortals gathered at my board.
George Eliot says :
"And for whatever purposes silence may be equal to
gold, it cannot be safely taken as an indication of spe
cific ideas."
I see in the "World" that Mrs. W. is no better,
and the gloomy certainty closes down that she never
can be well. This is the cruelest thing I ever Imew.
Nature made this incomparable woman, and then
ruthlessly destroyed her. Whatever can be of aid
in sympathy I offer her from my heart, but there
is no power on earth to help.
October 5. The sale of Zoar chattels continues.
A crowd of country people, only a few of whom

244 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK dsss
have any idea of purchase— they eye me curiously.
The morning opens with drizzling rain. There is
not the crowd expected by John and Joseph, who
have improvised a stand to sell light refreshments.
All night I was disturbed by the amateur night-
watchmen, who converse freely and, toward morn
ing, rather thickly on the store bench. Like Dog
berry's watch, they sit most of the time.
Taine speaks of the time—
"When the fire of life is gently cooling on its ashes."
The field opposite my house is filled with imple
ments—wagons, cider-tanks, and every kind of rus
tic gear. The auctioneer, with incredible fluency,
urges the rustics to bid. His gestures would make
a stump orator frantic that he could not equal them.
He talks in every fiber of his organization. Some
women linger about, draggled in the wet grass.
Some of the old members move about, dazed to see
the ancient objects scattered. Sturm wants some
things, but seems too shy to bid.
December 17. Last night I came home, after
being ten days in New York. I am glad to have
my simple life back again. The game of social
prominence and great wealth has no stake I would

1898] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 245
play for against my little old home, my fire of logs,
and my dear books.
My cat, half starved, welcomes me with every
demonstration of feline joy. Her black kitten does
not appear,
Mr. L, and Mrs, C, were married on Wednesday,
The dinner afterward was sumptuous. There was
abundance of champagne and much affecting drink
ing of healths,
I have Mary pluck me a young goose, and it is
now before the fire for dinner.
Colonel B, died the day before yesterday in New
York— an adroit money-maker, with many kindly
qualities, 1899
January 13, The brotherhood is rent in two fac
tions over the possession of the meeting-house;
one, under the restiess schoolmaster, favors com
plete occupation, with a settled Lutheran preacher;
the other refuses to yield aU right. The black
smith's wife, who has great industry to spread
trouble, sticks fire in the flax, Ludwig, John, Jo
seph, and Jacob have been to Cleveland at another
celebration of my birthday, and she openly declares
the funds of the society were divei-ted to pay for
this festivity. John and Joseph go to Bolivar and

246 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [I899
coming home they resent these tales. John tells
her to avoid his house, and makes some very
strong statements uncomplimentary in nature.
Later Joseph goes to her house, and openly insists
to her husband that she shall cease this malignant
tattle. Her husband takes sides with Joseph and
rebukes his spouse, who weeps crocodile tears.
Yesterday the three went to Philadelphia, and
Mr. N. assures me that the Lutheran faction have
no power to attain their purposes.
My cat is very faithful, and seems much attached
to me— especially to the warm fire. Cats are like
men— they make friends with those who feed and
cover them. As she sits basking on the hearth, she
is an embodiment of domestic comfort and peace;
one advantage is that she cannot annoy me with
twaddle, like most men.
The Trappists may, after all, not be so far amiss
in their perpetual silence; nearly everything talked
about had better be left untold.
It rains drizzlingly, and the snow slowly yields,
leaving the sodden, dejected fields bare again.
Some draggled hens, with drooping, dripping tails,
take refuge under my porch. Lydia, the daugh
ter of my neighbor, is said to be failing fast with
consumption ; her little, cheery boy does not appre
ciate this, and pursues his joyous way.

HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 247
I am reading Gouvemeur Morris's "Diary,"
written in Paris in 1789. He paints a somber pic
ture of the state of France, and foretells with pro
phetic pen the horrors which so soon fell upon that
country. In a letter to Washington he wrote of ' ' the creed
of General Gates, that the world does a great part
of its own business, without the aid of those at the
head of affairs."
I fancy this maxim may account for the immo
bility of McKinley.
Speaking of Louis XVT, Morris says :
"If the reigning prince were not the small-beer char
acter that he is, there can be but little doubt that, watch
ing events and making tolerable use of them, he would
regain his authority; but what vsdll you have from a
creature who, situated as he is, eats and drinks, and
sleeps well, and is as merry a grig as lives?"
Dining in Amsterdam with W. Willinks, en fa-
mille, ten at table, he is placed in an arm-chair at
the end of the table, his hostess on his right and
his host on the left. The first course, boiled cod.
The liver in one sauce-boat, the drawn butter in an
other, with mustard and boiled potatoes ; he takes
sufficient fish to be covered against contingencies of
fragality in later courses.

248 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1899
According to Morris, they had "two miserable
fowls whose sharp breast-bones complained of the
fire, by which the little juice they once might boast
of has been driven away. A watery sauce, which
surrounds them, can but ill supply the defect of
nature and the waste of art. A flat pudding and
four plates of greasy vegetables make up the
second course."
The dessert, it appears, was a little better as to
quality. The quantity, however, showed that the
principles of a rigid economy had been duly
attended to.
The wines might have given that indigestion
against which due precautions had been taken in
the dinner; but, from a similar cause, there was
little danger of excess. Some insipid Madeira fig
ures in the dessert, with some sweet wine which is
called "White Cape." The conversation is flat,
like the feast, and turns upon business.
January 15. Last night, Ludwig 's birthday
celebration. Turkey roasted with oysters. Whist
and hot punch. To-day, beautifully clear and like
spring. Jacob and I are to dine with Frau Lachen
meyer in Dover. Hoar makes a great argument
against the acquisition of the Philippines— a piti
ful scheme of political harlots to catch votes. There

1899] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 249
can be nothing but sorrow in having such provinces,
so far away, fastened to the country; if persisted
in, it may be the beginning of the end of our real
greatness as a people. A craze of speculation is
on the country ; everything is incorporated, and the
stocks blown to excessive height in price ; this can
not hold. If I had stocks of any kind, I would sell
and put the money on deposit.
Morris, in a letter to Washington dated 1791,
says: "Their garde nationale, who have turned out as volun
teers, are in many instances that corrupted scum of over
grown populations of which large cities purge them
selves, and which, without constitution to support the
fatigue or courage to encounter the perils of war, have
every vice, and every disease, which can render them the
scourge of their friends and the scoff of their foes."
"Give me the haunch of a buck to eat and a drink of
Madeira old.
And a gentle wife to rest vpith, and in my arms to fold.
An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride,
And a house to live in, shaded with trees and near to
a riverside ;
And such good things around me, and blessed with
good health with all,
Though 1 should live for a hundred years, for death
I would not call." George Borrow (Lavengro).

250 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK
Morris says:
' ' The art of living consists in some considerable degree
in knowing how to be cheated— that is, to take it good-
humoredly. ' '
January 22. On awakening this morning, with
a paroxysm of coughing, I found, on examination,
a little hemorrhage. During the day not much
cough, but that accompanied by a little blood. I
do not know how serious this may be, but I feel
strangely indifferent about living.
January 23. Very slight cough, stiU stained
with blood.
January 24. I go to Massillon for books. On
the way home, I am again spitting blood, which
increases alarmingly. At ten o 'clock I call Joseph
to come. I send for salt, which arrests the bleed
ing. Joseph wants to stay all night, but I made
him go home. I take half a Dover powder and
sleep well; in the night, a furious wind,
•January 25. I arise at nine o'clock and dress,
feeling perfectly well, Dr, M. of Massillon says
I have no trouble with the lungs to cause a hemor
rhage, but that remains to be seen; however, I am
more interested in living than I have been for sev
eral days. My right lung is sore in the old spot.

1899] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 251
January 29, Have had no recurrence of bleed
ing, and feel again a sense of permanence ; but, after
all, how uncertain life is— in very fact, "a brief
candle," George William Curtis, in writing to
Hawthorne, says:
"When I am at beautiful places I am attended by
troops of invisible friends."
How true it is that our lives are woven in with these
precious friends ! From the grave they come back
again. 0 dear and well-beloved ones !
September 29. The night falls clear and cold,
after a wild, almost wintry, day. I go about my
garden at sunset, taking leave of my flowers and
plants, doomed to death by the frost to-night. I
almost hear their lamentations. How short the
summer is ! It is only four months since the spring
frost left.
Poor Mrs. Freitag fell dead at her wash-tub
Monday. The grave must be a relief after the
sordid, toilsome life she led. Her husband, a wild-
looking, uncouth creature, and her half -wild chil
dren, as the procession went by the hotel, broke
into clamorous lamentation. Very like the Irish
peasantry. There was a hearse from Dover and attempted

252 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK [1899
elegance. After the burial, all go to the meeting
house and listen to a long, dull sermon.
November 6. To-day came Mr. Johnston and Mr.
Graham, chief engineer of the B. & 0. They looked
the brewery over, and came to the Hermitage for
dinner. If a person has devoted himself with honest per
severance to some one thing, it will be a blessing
to him throughout his whole life. The day is clear
and sunny; the russet woods glow dully under the
bright light. 1900
January 24. Cicero says:
"As for myself, I find the ripening of hfe truly agree
able. The nearer I come to the time of death, the more
I feel like one who begins to see land and knows that
some time he will enter the harbor after the long voyage. "
November 30. I have been to town to see my sis
ter; the rain falls, with gusts from the northeast.
The storm began Saturday morning, and this is the
third day.
In Balzac's "Magic Skin" I read to-day:
"The great world banishes the sufferer from its midst,
just as a man in vigorous health expels some morbid ele-

1900-1901] HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK 253
ment from his body. Society abhors sorrow and the sor
rowful, hates them like a contagion, and never hesitates
in its choice between them and vice— vice is a luxury.
No matter how majestic grief may be, society knows how
to belittle it, and to ridicule it with witticisms ; it draws
caricatures aud flings them at the heads of dethroned
monarchs, in return for affronts it fancies it has re
ceived. The young Romans of the Circus society had
no mercy for the dying gladiator. 'Death to the Weak!'
is the cry of that equestrian order. Faithful to its code
of selflskness, the world punishes sorrows that dare to
invade its feasts and dim its pleasures.
' ' Whosoever suffers in body or soul, or lacks power and
money, is a pariah in society.
"Let him stay in his own desert. Stay on your beds,
ye dying!
"Old men, live alone beside your smoldering hearths."

1901
(An unfinished fragment, written in pencil, at Nauheim, some
time in July or August.)
Often, to my veiled reason, comes a voice to
which, without any sense of incredulity, I listen;
this pure note—

THE HERMITAGE GARDEN BOOK

HERMITAGE GARDEN BOOK
INVENTORY OE TREES IN MY GARDEN
West Side of Garden

1st Row

6th Row

1st 5 Lawrence Pear

1st

5 Duchesse d'Angouleme

2d 5 Easter Pear

Last 10 Howell

3d 5 Lyson Pear

7th Row

1st

10 Howell

2d Row

1st 10 Louise Bonaede Jersey
Pear
1st
8th Row
4 Baldwin Apple
2d 5 Souvenir de Congrfes
Pear
5, 6 and 7 Alexander Apple
8, 9 and 10, Sweet Bough
Apple
3d Row
11, 12 and 13, Wealthy Apple
1st 10 Bartlett Pear
9th Row
Last 5 Clapp's Early Pear
1st
10 Yellow Transparent
11, 12 and 13, Gideon
4th Row
10th Row
1st 10 Sickle Pear
1st
9 Duchess of Oldenburg
Last 5 Clapp's Early Pear
10, 11, 12 and 13, Duchess of
Oldenburg
5th Row
11th Row
Whole Row — Duchesse d'An-
1st
5 Munson Sweet
goideme
2d
5 Red Astrakhan
In Crabapple Lane
1st South, 6 Martha
2d South, 6 Transcendent
Last four. General Grant
257
258 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK
In Arimathcea Street
10 Keeflfer Standard Pears

INVENTORY OE MY ROSES

On North Side of Walk

i

Commencing at House

Noi

Gloire de Dijon

1st Row

T

La Pactote

T

Hermos

T

Souvenir de Dr. Pettot

Noi

Isabella Gray

T

Luciole

HP

Olga of Wiirtemberg

T

Climbing Niphetos

T

Nobannand

Bou

Mme. de Grace

T

Douglas

T

May Rivers

T

Jos. Metral

T

Marie Guillot

T

Marquis de Vioiens

T

Souv. Victor Hugo

HP

Carblim Marinesse

Bou

Mme. Isaac Perriere

T

Valle de Chamonix

T

Marie Lambert

T

Soeur Clairvaux

T

Mme. de Vatry

Pol

Mignonette

T

Marie Bravy

T

No name

T

Caroline Cutter

HP

Meteor

T

Mme. Welohe

T

Aline Sisley

T

The Queen

T

Mme. Seipon Cochet

T

Mme. de Watteville

T

Climbing Perledes Jardins

T

La Marque

T

Chas. de Thezellot

HP

Mme. Alfred de Roquemont

Near West Fence
1 Reach Early Triumph 2 Reach Early Toledo

On North Side of Walk

Commencing at House

HT

Duchess of Albany

2d Row

T

Devoniensis

T

Ernest Mitz

T

Marie Van Houtte

H

Douglas

HP

Alfred Aubert

INVENTORY

259

On North Side of Walk— continued

Commencing at House

T

Countess Anna Thun

2d Row

T

Cornelia Cook

HP

Clotilde Soupert

T

Edith GifiEord

T

Safrano

Noi

James Sprient

Pol

Bernit

T

MarSohal Niel

T

Th6r6se Lambert

T

Sunset

HP

Grace Darling

T

Eliza Pugier

T

Natalie de Serbie

T

Captain Christy

HP

Mme. Cusin

T

H. M. Stanley

T

Solfaterre

HP

Earl of Dufferin

HP

Waban

T

Jean Guillaumez

T

Souvenir de Mme. Perriet

HP

La Reine

HP

Mme. Pierre Guillot

HP

Baron Magnard

T

Dr. Grill

T

F. Levie

T

Bon SilSne

T

Coquette des Blanches

T

Baroness Henriette de
Locis

Pol

Flora

South Side of Walk

1

Commencing at House

T

American Beauty

1st Row

HP

Anne de Diesbath

HP

The Bride

HP

Ulrich Brunner

HP

Antoine Verdier

HP

Mme. Plantier

HP

Mme. SohwaUer

HP

Mme. Masson

T

Mme. Cecil Brunner

HP

Silver Queen

Pol

Blanche Rabatel

HP

Fisher Holmes

HP

Magna Charta

HP

Marie Rady

Pol

Perle d'Or

HP

Clementine Eibault

Bou

Crown Princess Victoria

HE

Mme. Georges

HP

Souvenir de Wouton

HP

Perle des Blanches

T

C. des Alpes

HP

Duke of Wellington

HP

Marie Bowman

HP

Abel Carrier

HP

Marchioness of Lome

HP

Silver Queen

T

Pearl Rivers

HP

John Hopper

260 HERMITAGE-ZOAR NOTE-BOOK

South Side of Walk

I

Commencing at House

2d Row

HP

Mrs. J. H. Laing

T

Jules Margottin

HP

Brilliant

T

Eclaire

HP

Jacqueminot

T

Baronne de Bonstetter

HP

Prince Camille Rohan

HP

Gloire de Magottin

T

Mme. Elie de Lambert

HP

Mme. Caroline Lestout

HP

Comte de Paris

T

Souv. de Lady Ashburton

T

Pearl Elvers

HP

Marshall P. Wilder

HP

Victor Verdier

HP

Brightness of Cheshunt

HP

Gloire de FExposition

Bruxelles

HP

Eugene Furst

Bou

Crown Princess Victoria

T

Charles Darwin

HT

Triomphe de Pernet Pfere

T

Louis Van Houth

HP

Climbing Victor Verdier

T

Mme. Etienne

T

Perle des Jardins

T

Setina

T

Mme. Jas. Wilson

T

Mme. Angele Jacquier

HP

Dinsmore

3d Eow

T

Mme. Chas. Wood

T

No name

T

Sombreuil

Noi Washington
T Sappho
T Colossal
H P Vick's Caprice
H P Paul Neyron
H P Gen'l Washington
T Duke of Edinburgh
Pol Gloire des Polyanthes
T Princess Sagan
Pol Jean Driven
H P Papa Gontier
H P Pierre Guillot
H P Queen's Scarlet
Pol Paquerette
T Susan Blanchette
H T Vicountess Folkestone
Noi Wm. Allen Eichardson
T Princess de Sarsina
T J. B. Varronne
T Soeur Clairvaux
T Madame Martha du Barry
T Golden Gate
4th Eow
Noi Queen Marie Heursette
T Princess Hohenzollern
T Mme. Alfred Carrier
T Etoile de Lyon
T Mme. Jean Sisley
T Agrippina
T La Princesse Vera
T Chromtilla
T Catherine Mermet
T Coquette de Lyon
China La Phcenix
Duchesse de Brabant

INVENTORY
Six at Side of House

2G1

Beginning North End

T

Niphitos

H P La France

T

Souvenir de Malmaison

T Eubens

T

Mme. Jas. Schwartz

T Mme. Hoste

Two Roses Back of the Six

North
Souvenir des Amis

South
H P Camvers

RECAPITULATION
Hybrid Perpetuals, 54 Varieties China, 1 Varieties
Teas, 95 " Bourbon, 4 "
Noisettes, 5 " Hybrid Eugosa, 1 "
Hybrid Teas, 6 " —
Polyanthus, 8 " 174 "

LIST OF PLUM TREES PLANTED IN APRIL, 1897

In the row, be
ginning of the
south end,

'1st "Simon"
|2d"Willard" 3d "Ogon"
4th "Satsuma"

5th "Burbank"
6th "Yellow Japan"
Near gate inroad, "Berman"
Near tool-house, "Abundance'

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